Dog Day Afternoon
Sonny is our dog. He is 10 weeks old.
It’s time I did a wee Sonny post as he is a bona-fide member of the Flying Martinis . I promise not to do another one any time soon, as there’s nothing as dull as folk going on about pets. Indulge me, this once.
Here’s 10 Sonny-related facts
1. The three cats hold regular conferences about him on the stair landing. I swear I see them congregating far more regularly than they used to. The conference organiser is Harleyboy, the elder statesman (he’s 15, which is old for a cat and like Nelson Mandela he shows no sign of slowing down), Libby is Mary Robinson and Lulu is Condoleeeza Rice. They are proposing sanctions and a trade embargo.
2. I have used more kitchen roll in two weeks than I ever have in my entire life. Toilet training is a tricky business. I am thinking of applying for shares in “Bounty”. That and getting wooden flooring.
3. Dogs prefer cat food to almost anything else. But if they manage to steal and eat any, they will produce twenty turds in half an hour.
4. Puppies are clever little beasts. I taught the boy how to sit in five minutes with some cat munchies and a clicker. Five minutes! Crufts here we come! Get my flat shoes and tartan skirt ready!
5. He is so beautiful – everything about him is beautiful. But I can’t stand to look at his man’s parts. They upset me. I’ll need to come to terms with them, soon. I would like it better if they were pixelated when I looked at them like on censored images.
6. He’s an underwear fetishist. He presented a visiting Sky telly engineer with a bra of mine and I think the bloke thought he was in a “Carry On” movie for a second. Nae luck, mate; I’ve given up sex-blogging.
7. He has eaten his way through a computer mouse cable, the strap of my green wedges shoes, a set of fairy lights and this weeks’ Grazia. He’s nothing if not full of variety.
8. He has been blessed with a bark that isn’t commensurate with his small frame. Surely some mistake in the dog factory. Somewhere there is a Rottweiler who opens his mouth and a little girlie squeak comes out as Sonny has stolen his bark (and probably his pants)
9. Junior Missy is bloody good with dogs. She is particularly good as spraying carpet cleaner and taking Sonny out for a pee whenever I ask. She’s channelling her inner pup and Sonny loves her. She’s the next Barbara Woodhouse, but with better dress sense.
10. The Flying Martinis are definitely dog people.
A Piece of Kate
I cannot be accused of never giving of myself where the Misssives are concerned. Maybe I give too much away. Maybe I divulge too much, and have no anonymity to protect myself. But I can’t do it any other way. Today I perhaps give too much to the Misssives, but, in the words of Brian Adams, “Everything I do, I do it for you”.
Today I opened myself up to total embarrassment by checking out and more crucially TESTING out the new Kate Moss range in Topshop for The Misssives. Holy Moly, I even took photos. But I’m still not sure I want to put them up. I’ll mull that over for a while, I think. May need to take advice on that one.
So in I go to check out Moss’s range. First of all I’m in Aberdeen; we’re only allowed a token amount of the range, being the unwashed plebs from the provinces. To be able to access the full range you have to be cool as, and come from the more metropolitan areas. So I find the small corner of Aberdeen’s Top Shop devoted to the Moss collection. It’s easy to find as it is surrounded by lasses (of all shapes and sizes, I may add), elbowing each other and grabbing at what ever they can, as the meagre amount of clothing “allocated” to us by those in control at TS, depletes before our very eyes.
I’m actually initially only interested in buying one item. Here it is.
It’s not there.
So in lieu of a wasted journey my thoughts turn to the Misssives and I think (somewhat bravely), “I’m going to try on the hot pants and waistcoat for the Misssives, that’ll be a laugh”. I pick up the size 10 as I reckon they’ll never fit me. I AM a size 10, but I am fully expecting that this range will be smaller than usual for some reason. This’ll be funny; I’ll take a photo of myself trying to get these over my knees. But they are huge! I would say between a 12 and 14 by normal standards. They gaped at the waist. Of course, cynical me thinks that this is ruse by Top Shop to make the larger lady think that she’s a size 10 and that she can carry of Kate sized cheek hugging pants. But no matter how big the shorts were on me, I still looked like a pig in knickers, somehow.
I paired them with the classic Kate waistcoat and as I fastened it up, one of the buttons came loose. It may have the name but don’t be fooled, the clothes were still made by the same sweat shop churning out Primark’s finest.
I have to say, I felt a right idiot picking the waistcoat and hot pants off the rail and taking them up to the changing rooms to be checked in by the twenty year old attendant. I’m 38 for godssake! My pal was going to take pics of me, but that would necessitate me coming out of the changing room. I wasn’t going to completely embarrass myself by doing this, so I took the pics myself, readjusting my phone settings so that the audible click of the shutter was silent in case I drew even more attention to me. Mind you I needn’t have worried. When I got back downstairs there were women a lot older and bigger than me scrambling for a piece of Kate, so I took a photo of them too and then we legged it out of the shop to head to H and M to check out Madonna’s stuff and then onto Millets, where Margaret Beckett is launching a line in tweed and beige womenswear.
So, in summary: Reasons I Don’t Want a Piece of Kate
1.Rearrange the following well known phrase: Dressed mutton as lamb.
2.Hot pants are the naggy knickers of the shorts world
3.I can be fashionable without copying some overrated fashionista waif’s style wholesale
4.This is just another example of the cult of celebrity taking over our world
5.It’s low quality tat that will be copied for a 5th of the price next week by Primark
6.I’m holding out for the Kylie line. She’s 38 too.
7.My cashline card got swallowed this morning by the Bank of Scotland’s malfunctioning ATM.
