C’s over in the UK spending a few days with E and the boys before heading home on the same flight as our next house guests, our old friends the Worthies. I’ve been busy getting the pool de-algified, the garden strimmed and getting on with my unromantic anniversary gift to C, re-decorating the lounge whilst she’s away. It’s not quite as bad as buying a set of pans but it’s hardly a love token. I’m a crap husband.
Well it’s been one of those weeks. I was only writing a few days ago about how pleased we were with the extensive repairs to the extension and how good the house was now looking. Then earlier this week I noticed that a crack, albeit slight, had reappeared on both sides of the extension. Groan. It may be just settlement but we’ll see. Knowing our luck we’ll wake up one morning with the dining room in the pool. Continue reading
When I was 16 a friend of mine had been on a visit to Carnaby St (and bear in mind this was the swinging 60’s) and had come back with a very cool pair of flared hipsters with big leather belt. Sounds unlikely, and very Austin Powers, but these were the thing for blokes to wear. And I really wanted a pair. So off I toddled to Blackpool’s equivalent of trendy boutique street (one shop) and blew all my savings on a pair of flared hipsters made from bold orange corduroy.
Well I’ve done a number of postings about Sir Cliff. I have to say that I find him to be a self-absorbed little man with a fascination about his own looks. A modern-day Narcissus if ever there was one. He’s also incredibly successful at what he does and I acknowledge he has a huge of base of adoring fans – most of whom are middle-aged women. But I can’t help but comment on his preening and his self-obsessionism. And here’s a staggering conclusion; if he’s not gay I’ll drink my swimming pool dry. Don’t misunderstand me, he’s perfectly entitled to a private life and I don’t care what he does with consenting adults in his own home. Being gay is absolutely something to be proud of. But I’m always enraged by his obfuscation over the subject and by the many women who rush to his defence whenever I say something like this and by their denial over his probable sexuality. I suspect I know why Cliff doesn’t come out – he’s afraid that army of women fans will disown him and his earning capacity will decrease massively. Down to the last £100m are we Cliff and what, too graspingly money-grubbing to be honest for once?
Well I’m delighted that a fellow blogger has asked me to do a guest posting on her very popular site. ‘I am the Lost Girl’ writes interestingly about the entertainment scene, mostly in the US, but covering many British celebs and artists too. She’s sharp and funny and at times a little poignant too, as she reflects on developments in her own life. I enjoy her site enormously and it attracts simply huge numbers of visitors; it’s been around half the time that mine has yet has pulled in 7 X the visitor levels. And I think my visitor levels are staggering – particularly given the random ravings and indulgent rubbish that I come out with. So I’m thrilled to do a guest posting on a super blogsite. It’s a little piece on what happens after the celebrity career’s over and should appear from Monday I think. If you’d like to check out The Lost Girl’s site just click on the link on the right hand column of the Pasta Paulie home page (and to get there just click on the mast-head above). Blogging eh….bloody good fun.
Who’s the hardest sportsman you can think of? Uncompromising Roy Keane… nah a pussy cat. Lance Armstong winning 7 Tours de France having overcome testicular cancer? Yep that’s staggeringly brave and tough. But I was reading one of my trivia books and came across some interesting stuff (more in a sec) but I reckon the guy Manuel Dominguez takes the biscuit for incomparable sporting toughness. What did he do? He was a matador in the 19th century (maybe that’s why you don’t remember him) who was gored in the eye during a bullfight at Puerto de Santa Maria in 1857. Painful, and possibly crazy, but what’s so hard about it? Well he only went and tore the wounded eye out, threw it to the ground and continued the corrida. He lived on to 70. Now that’s hard! Continue reading
Well I’d like to tell you that this is shot taken with my camera but it’s not. But we are pretty damn sure that one or more of these rascals has been visiting us recently at night. We had our neighbour P and her house guests James and Mary Lou over for drinks the other night and when ML went outside for a smoke she was convinced that she saw a large shape run off into the nearby bushes. The other night we were returning home from dinner out. I went round the back to open the door. We have no lights outside and it was pitch black – I was using the lit screen from my mobile phone to find the lock for the key – when I heard the sound of a largish animal running past and off into the nearby undergrowth….I nearly cacked my pants.