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Saturday, 20 July 2013
So the post on dressing gowns seems to have a chord. Thank you, darling Lizzie, for making me smile so much this morning when it arrived.
FTR, L was not at my prep school but I have no doubt that she, too, had a nylon quilted dressing gown in a hideous colour....
(It is really tough to take a photo on the computer - all that fiddling around with the mouse and turning round really quickly....)
I am most splendiferous in red dragons. I just wish my hair was a little less wispy - is that bad of me? I am lucky to have any at all, to be honest. However, I yearn for a back view with more hair and less ears. Sigh.
I have had some lovely presents and I appreciate them all greatly. Thank you. The family think I am mad when I burst out laughing at my Chinese dressing gown. The girls don't read the blog so they have no idea! (Insert evil laugh)
The dressing gown that the Fairy Blogmother wore whilst here has been declared a "Never wash again" zone.
I am looking forward to another vague hand-waving day today. HWISO has gone off to Lords to watch the cricket. G is at a festival and Em and I have decided to have a cooking frenzy. My very dear friend, Sophy P, is coming over. She, too, went to the same prep school as S and I. I will have to find out about her dressing gown and keep you posted. I know she knows where the kettle is and is a dab hand at eating cake - we'll be fine.
I am always amazed at how many people read the blog. My greatest surprise was Loose commenting about the "labia pink shirt" - an in-joke from 70 million years ago. How did she track me down? My favourite L story is about her father, who was made High Sheriff of Hampshire. In accordance with tradition, he bought in vast quantities of expensive wine with which to impress the other local dignitaries in the endless round of quaffing, which is mandatory when High Sheriff.
Unfortunately, a few days later, unprecedented rainfall flooded the cellar and all the wine bottles lost all the labels.
There followed a year of High Sheriff parties where you played Russian Roulette with the wine after the R family rescued what labels they could from the stinking water and slapped them back on the nearest bottle. You were as likely to get a glass of St Emilion Premiere Cru from a bottle labelled "Tesco's Everday Wine" as you were the other way round. It added a certain "Je ne sais quois" to the party that has been unequalled since.