on me uppers

Howdy Doody.

I find myself with time to spare, so a little catch up is in order.

I should like to note the arrival of the new heir to the throne.  I am a big Royalist, and it makes me happy to see the British Monarchy thriving and drawing interest from around the world.  I am also happy that I have earned myself £45 from betting he would be called George.  Heh heh. 

This is a turning into a great summer.  Having spent many summers whining and spitting furious embittered rants at the sun, heat, and anyone within earshot, this year is different. 

Different for a few reasons.  Firstly, I have had my colours done, and gained some confidence in the clothes I am buying and wearing.  Secondly, I have lost over a stone in weight meaning that choosing new clothes in my colour spectrum has been from a wider range of styles than previously.  Thirdly, I have been wearing shorts.  That's - shorts.  Short shorts.  For knocking around in the hot days at home, out and about, and walking to the park to play tennis in.  And not worrying about pale cellulite-covered flabby thighs.  They are still a bit flabby, but thinner in width, and lightly tanned from my fourth reason that this summer is different - a week in Lanzarote in June, meaning that my English summer got off to a good start by not having to work on pasty body parts in the confines of the back garden for weeks on end with endless layers of factor 50.

O joy to the world. 

This is the new wardrobe I am dressing myself from, give or take:

And this is me today:

In teal and aubergine.  If Picasa Photo Editing let me, I would have whittled a couple of inches from my hips and pasted on a smile, but hey, you can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear. 

We have been making impromptu trips to the seaside, which has been simply lovely.  There are so many beaches within ten miles of us, it is wonderful to live in Devon.  The sea has been divine this summer - cold, but not icy.  Refreshing in the extreme, and the smell - the smell whilst swimming in the sea is beyond compare.

Only one of these Mr Whippys is actually mine.

Really.

Today we ventured into town for a long overdue eye test for me.  After many years of wearing glasses due to short sight, I had my eyeballs zapped in 2006.  Since then I have had no problems with vision, but find that lately I am having to squint at small print and hold jars and packets at arms length to read them clearly.  The optician told me with some glee that I could do with getting reading glasses now.  READING glasses??!  I tried to argue the toss, but he rolled his eyes, sighed audibly, and in a very pained voice, said, 'don't look so depressed - jeez.  It was going to happen sooner or later anyway.' 

Fuck me! 

Is this the standard of eye care I can look forward to in my dotage?

I very sulkily, and with much ill-grace it has to be said, chose the cheapest pair in the shop.  I can't see me getting them out the drawer anytime soon, particularly as Oliver fell about laughing as I was trying them on. 

Might as well buy myself a one-way ticket to Shady Pines Rest Home for Gentlefolk and have done with it. 

A lunch in Starbucks was a tonic after this - I had a £10 gift voucher for my birthday (thank you Kim!) and as our chosen foodies and drinkies came to £9.95, I could not have been happier.  The only thing which would have made it better was if I had noticed that Starbucks was actually situated opposite the opticians in the High Street as I came out, and not, as I thought, half a mile away opposite the museum.  Buggeration. 

Lastly, we went top shopping in H&M.  It's good to take Oliver with me - his unique perspective on suitable clothes is always helpful.  In between admiring himself from several different angles in the changing room mirrors, he throws me a 'yeah, that's alright, get it', or 'oh God no, that's awful' and an occasional 'that shows your flabby bits'.   Truly he is an invaluable personal shopper, as he doesn't seem to give a shit about my feelings, only what I look like on the outside. 

That's my boy.