. .
..(*I've had that ©ed, I'll have you know)
.
there are no rules (well, there are some, actually, but I'm [fairly] sure you're not really that interested. . .) and you can munch to your heart's content on that Swizzles Matlow flavour as you go. . . of course, you could just go down to the sweetie shop and buy yourself some other kind of sherbert or fizzies. . .
.
there are no rules (well, there are some, actually, but I'm [fairly] sure you're not really that interested. . .) and you can munch to your heart's content on that Swizzles Matlow flavour as you go. . . of course, you could just go down to the sweetie shop and buy yourself some other kind of sherbert or fizzies. . .
.
(suggestions follow)
. . .and save the results of the Love Heart Bingo for posterity. . .
.
but love's not like that, is it
.
.
love is a sometimes ephemeral transitory thing: like a leaf on a tree, a bud in spring and full of promise and all withered and dried up by autumn; or the soft fluttering of a butterfly wing, moments before it is caught up in a spider's web and eaten; or dust that sits quietly minding its own business in the corner of a room and is then vacuumed into oblivion by the hoovering of an over zealous housewife; or the water molecule at the peak of a wave - thinking it's just about to break gloriously on the shingle or sands of the shore, but actually left behind in the foam as the next molecule picks up the energy and continues on with it. . .
where was I? oh yes, Love Heart Bingo
.
I played it in France. . .
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I played it in France. . .
.
ha ha!
but when I asked you delightful people what you wanted to know about my hols, noone wanted to know about the men of this summer's France: so I'm not going to tell you anymore about it; what I will tell you is that I am to become An Art Student! YES! I signed up for 2 (repeat two) classes at the local College of Art and Design. . . I walked away with the beginnings of a rather smug grin on my face, thinking of what my mother told me when I was fifteen, "nice girls don't go to Art College", and how she wanted me to become a secretary instead (or a nurse), and then I stopped dead in my tracks in the street
.
.
what if she was right?
.
(not that I'm assuming I'm a nice girl, anymore)
(not after the last eighteen months anyhow)
(not that I'm assuming I'm a nice girl, anymore)
(not after the last eighteen months anyhow)
8 comments:
Good Day, ILTV!
I've been gone. Haven't caught up on your lovely blog. But I did read this one.
For the record? I want to hear about the men! (I voted for "everything" and "everything" includes men!!)
But Art School! I am beyond excited for you!! Oh, the creations that await.
Hugs to you this morning.
<--has seen tidbits of that artist in you
<--has experienced the niceness in you
<--believes in you bunches
<--knows how wrong mom's can be
There.
Thinkin' that about covers it.
Oh....
<--is excited about art school!
(and voted for 'everything' as well.......so pfffffftttttttttt!!!!!) G'head.......tell!
Art classes! Woo-hoo! I'm looking forward to hearing about (seeing???) this venture.
And you are a big girl now and you don't have to wonder whether your mother was right.(Personally, I don't think so, but that's me)
You go to your art classes and fling your own metaphorical paint at the canvas.
you are the nicest girl I know
and you have an artistic talent too
so your mother was wrong!
YES!!!!!
Brilliant - Art College:)
:)
I am so excited for you!
Never mind what nice girls do - you're a lovely woman and you can do what you want!
Anyway, your mother was wrong. I went to Art College. And at the time I was definitely a 'nice girl' :)
Oh and I voted for everything too. Men please :)
wow
it had never occurred to me that my mother might have been "wrong"
I just wasn't brought up like that
however because I was brought up like that, and knew I didn't want to bring my children up like that, I have always given my children lots of information when they ask questions, the benefit of the doubt if there is a differing of opinion, let them air their opinions, argue their case, make their own choices (when suitable and within reason)
it's really hard sometimes - when as the parent, the adult, the one with some experience, I want to clamp down a little. . .
but I think in the long run (however hard it is for me to feel and experience the consequences of this, their "freedom", in the short run) it will stand them in better stead
I hope so anyway
now, my mother might have been "wrong" - what a perculiar notion! and yet, in some small ways (very very miniscule right now), I seemed to have turned out "okay" anyhow - despite her being "wrong". . .
(apart from the wanting to be dead bit)
. . .so how did that happen then? can you see my dilemma?
oh, and about the "men" - there were various. . .
I didn't flirt or chat any of them up, because quite frankly I'm just NOT INTERESTED right now
(and I don't do holiday romances, on principle)
however, it (the "me not doing holiday romances")started on day one when I was pulled out of the security queue at the airport, on some pretext or other, by a rather lovely security man (who I explained Love Heart Bingo to)(he wanted to play, but I didn't want to be late for my plane) who said he thought I had very nice legs; I was then doted on by a native chauffeur (very useful, to have a friendly driver at one's beck and call)(altho he might just have liked me cos I tip well, when appropriate); when my phone wouldn't work, a drop dead gorgeous and totally charming salesman in the phone shop spent two hours pulling out all the stops and helping me out, and then once he'd sorted my phone, he wanted me to spend the evening with him - of course I refused, despite his protestations, as I had better things to do with my time (he was lovely tho); I was serenaded in a restaurant by a bona fide musician (albums released and everything, I've googled him!)(in which case why was he serenading me in a restaurant you might wonder - I wdonered this too, and then dismissed it as a small nuance of the difference between the mentality of Frenchmen to their English counterparts - but wonders never cease, eh) who then kept turning up by chance everywhere I was for the next few days; someone young enough to be my child (I pointed this out many times, but he wouldn't leave me alone. . .) bought me drinks one whole evening long, I did nothing but practise my school-girl French on him, dunno what he was after. . .
and the rest? there were some, but I'd say the above were the highlights
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