VICTORIA PARKER: TOP SECRET: KEEP OUT!!

18:21:59 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet
Hearing Kelly Rowlands.

Im not about to ramble about the warm pudding, stuffed with lemony sugar, but rather the metaphorical two sides to a story. I have realised that even when you stare at the same pancake, you propbably see different markings; like a cloud formation, when you are shouting "Look! Look, it’s a sky bunny!" but all they can see is a yellow submarine. John and I were looking at that pancake for years.

Pancakes are flat, we are in agreement, "Flat as a pancake" is used nearly as much as "well... at the end of the day." And if we are in agreement that a thing is tangible, then why can we not appreciate that there are two sides to a flat solid? We can’t, not just John and I, but Charles and Diana, Everton and Wayne Rooney, the list goes on.......... And as a nation we hurl our disappointments at each other as though they were custard pies. I hate it, and I am as guilty as the next clown.

Today I have a patch on my arm, it’s heart shaped, and is slowly releasing tolerance into my blood steam. It combats cravings for reproach, recrimination and holierthanthouness. I have bought a big box of them, and am secretly slapping people on the shoulder, planting a patch without their knowledge; if I get caught, I am hoping that they will be drugged up enough to forgive me!

Xxxxx Vic X xxxx ( Ambassador for World Peace and Love ; )

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22:31:12 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet
Hearing U2

SUPER MEN.........

It’s amazing how things bubble to the surface. I had weighted down my "issues", tied them up in a bin bag, and thrown them as far into The Pond of Notlooking, as possible! Like a prop from the Hammer House of Horror, it surfaced, and it didn’t take a detective in a long Mac to work out what needed investigating! Looking back at my poetry and prose, it was always there, but I was so busy being "OK", that it took another breakup and the death of Christopher Reeve to extract a confession........... "I miss Alex."

I was a YTS nurse (Youth Opportunity Scheme ) and I worked alongside Alex, who was an auxiliary in the same Nursing home. I was applying to hospitals in my area, and hoped to do my training, he had a wife, much to my disgust, who was already a staff nurse, and I couldn’t compete. Neither of us stayed at the nursing home long, just passing through on our way to better things, but we "connected"... then lost touch. I read about his diving accident in the local paper, I remember crying.

Ten years later, I met Alex again.

He was in a nightclub, when I spotted him, in a wheelchair, and heavier than I remembered, but still a Mel Gibson look- a- like. I walked over, sat down next to him, and the world around us melted away. We didn’t lose eye contact all evening, and had so much to catch up on, that neither of us wanted to leave. Weeks later, Alex confided, he’d "decided to marry me that night!" If he’d asked, I would have said yes. We began with our phone numbers, and an idea that it was hard to breathe without each other.

We went driving on our first "date". Ali picked me up, and I marvelled at the way he negotiated the transfer in and out of his car. It’s an art, the movement of a half a sleep body into one space from another, it’s in the momentum, a bit like swinging a bucket of water over your head without spilling a drop. It’s also a physical effort that is beyond most Tetraplegics for the first year after their accident, it takes tremendous upper body strength to do it successfully. Ali prided himself on being a "super - tetra", and had arms like Popeye. I wasn’t phased by his physical limitations, I think my nurse training, and my work on the stroke rehabilitation unit had prepared me for most things, after all it was Alex, and he was everything to me.

We hated being apart. We would fall asleep nose to nose, drifting in and out of each others breath, our fingers entwined, and when I couldn’t sleep, I would whisper "Tell me a story Baby"and Ali would softly recall his adventures until I was asleep in his arms. When he stood up, he towered above me; I use to slip under the bars of his standing frame, through the leather straps and lean against his chest, while he exercised his lower body. He would put his chin on the top of my head, and kiss me as though I were the most precious thing that he had ever encountered. We would talk of Christopher Reeve, and the work he was doing for the victims of spinal damage, and dream of the day when Ali and I could walk down the street with our hands in each other’s back pocket.

I can’t begin to tell you of the effort Alex put into "normal" life, he was a real super man! He also managed to bring mobility into the lives of local people who were disabled, through his work at the driving centre. When Ali guided clients through the maze that is disabled mobility allowance, he gave the outside world back to them. Suddenly, the thought of taking a wheelchair, and a useless body further than the hospital or Tesco was feasible, and Ali was living proof that life didn’t stop after you broke your neck, it just changed.

Ali drowned when he dived into the sea, and hit a rock with his head. He was resuscitated on the beach by his hysterical wife. I dread to think what those newly -weds went through, I am just glad it wasn’t me, I chose Alex after his accident. He used to tell me that drowning was a beautiful way to die, kind of scary at first, but then as you relaxed, it was similar to having a general anaesthetic. Strangely, this knowledge gave me comfort, and I don’t get as upset when I hear of drowning accidents.

Normally I have a joke or a punch line, but just now I am reflective and quiet. The death of Christopher Reeve will bring spinal injury back into the spot light, and all politics aside, I have to say........ I hope Superman’s work continues, for all those people who rode like the wind, and walked alongside their lovers, I hope that the medical research progresses.

God Bless Christopher, his family,

and Goodnight Ali, ( The tallest man I have met.)

Xxx vic xxxxx

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00:10:01 o'clock BST
Feeling Chillin'
Hearing Sade.

DUBLIN FOUR............

So there I was, tongue stuck to the pillow, dreaming of alarm clocks. I kept hitting the snooze button, but the noise continued , and then a voice filtered through......

"FIRE!! Wake Up!!" Claire shouted.

 I sat up in a daze as Louise let Claire in.

"It the alarm, they’re evacuating everyone!" she informed us.

"I can’t wake Hannah either. Going to get her now, meet you down stairs!!"

After she’d dashed off, Lou and I looked at each other, packed our valuables in our handbags, got dressed, and contemplated a visit to the toilet before wandering out into the hotel corridor. We went to call for Claire and Hannah, but they had gone, so we ambled down the stairs, and congratulated ourselves on our Non-panic. We passed a sooty fireman who was on his way up, he was running.

Our sense of danger increased as we neared the Hotel lobby, it was full of guests who hadn’t brushed their teeth or picked up their digital cameras. Lou and I were as conspicuous as those proverbial sore thumbs, and the glances from the fire men indicated that we were the sort of silly girls who made their job risky. I felt guilty, and slinked out onto the street. There were three fire engines that had parked in a hurry, and a crowd of pajama- clad evacuees still talking about their shocking wake up call. It was 6.30am and the rest of Dublin was asleep.

We were informed via the chain of communication, that our hotel kitchen had been gutted by an electrical fire. We were offered breakfast and a rest room at a sister hotel which was "down the street"... the only problem was, Hannah and Claire had left their shoes in their room, stupidly thinking that their lives were more important than having the right footwear for O’Connell Street! The shock was wearing off, and we needed coffee, so we headed for the new hotel. Now Dublin was walking up, and as we walked behind our bag lady friends, we realised that being lost in nightwear wasn’t the kind of experience we had hoped for.

I don’t know whether Fire Ladies would have got the job done any quicker, or whether the extent of the danger was greater than my hung-over brain could comprehend, but it was agessssss before they let us back into our rooms! By the time we had turned tail and found home, half the work force in Dublin had seen me with no make up on, and I was bursting for the loo! Do you know if you sit sidesaddle on a hotel chair, and loosen your trousers, you can avoid incontinence, but not indefinitely! I have to say, it was something of a relief, when the sooty fella in a yellow helmet finally gave us the all clear.

We went straight back to bed, and slept until lunch time. After so much excitement, we needed a cultural experience, so decided to hop on the city tour bus, and hop off at the Guinness factory. www.guinness-storehouse.com  Brilliant idea that bus! Now being a secret anorak, I had researched "things to see and do whilst in Dublin" and had found a site that gave great advice. One of the top -tips for the Guinness factory was..... "Go up to the sky bar in the lift, then come back down to the exhibits via the stairs, that way you avoid paying the entry fee." Could we do it ? Nope! Much to our horror, we discovered that we were good girls, and paid through the nose.

However, the Guinness ticket was brilliant, and I still have mine. It’s a transparent pebble, the size of a Jaffa cake, and at the centre it has a drop of the black stuff, the concentrated essence of 250 years of brewing history. ( apparently ) You are supposed to turn in your pebble at the sky bar, and have a complimentary pint of Guinness, I put my keepsake in my pocket and paid for my drink.... the only time I have drunk a pint, and it was bloody luverlee!

The trip around the factory was interesting enough for four adventure jaded ladies, but we sprang into life as we entered "GRAVITY" - the sky bar. It was worth the trek around interactive, bubbling exhibits, worth the shuffle behind the posh lady who was making smells and looking innocent, and it was definitely worth spending the rest of the day there! Creamy pint in hand, we sat on the highly polished floor in a pow wow, and took in the 360 degree view of the city through the glass walls that cocooned us. The pint was amazing, the day was crisp and clear, and we were as close to heaven as we were going to get.

Xxxxx Vic xxxxx Slainte! (cheers)

 

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12:07:24 o'clock BST
Feeling Mischievous
Hearing Neil Diamond - "Best of album" lolol

Neil Diamond, I love him! I developed this "crush" when I went to see The Jazz Singer at the Astra Cinema in the 1970s. I sat next to Susan Kench ( best friend) with my 2oz of sherbert pips, not realising that this movie was to propel me into a world of teenage infatuation. The house lights dimmed, the red curtain lifted, and the opening credits started with the thump thump thump of "Coming to America"... I have goose-bumps as I write!

I remember NOT sucking the sherbert pips until they were so tiny they hurt your mouth, and NOT saying a word to Susan throughout the film. From the minute Neil Diamond AKA Jess Robins bounded onto my silver screen, I was in love! I went home and told my mother that I wanted to be Jewish. Posters of John Travolta and Bjon Borg came down and Neil was pasted all over my white daisy wallpaper.

Even today, I remain Jew curious, and have a preference for chaps with dark hair and chubby chops. When Alex ( Irish Husband) and I got married, we had our reception at home. We had flowers everywhere ( of course ) 1,000 hellium balloons on the ceilings in shades of purple, lavender and ivory, and a corker of a buffet. Irish music was mandatory, but as I prepared the floral arrangements the day before our wedding, I played Neil Diamonds "Best of" album to death. Certain tunes evoke memories, for me, "Forever in blue jeans" takes me back to the evening before my wedding.....

Friends and relations rushed about the house, moving chairs, making potato salad, whisking away cold meats to store in their fridges, drinking Jamesons, and setting up the bar. Friends that I hadn’t seen for years were staying with people they didn’t know, and they all had a hand in the activities. I kept glancing over to Ali, he was smiling so hard I thought his face might burst, "Beautiful Noise" belted out.

Neil was absent for a few years, the music went out of my life after Alex and I got divorced, but then....... Neil Diamond toured the UK! I couldn’t believe my luck. I booked the tickets on line, and John and I headed off to the Nation Exhibition Centre in Birmingham. We played the "best of" album all the way there, I was in fine singing voice, and ready to join Neil on stage at a moments notice. I think John tolerated me, I can be a bit of a pain when excited! I had a white wine to calm myself down, humming "Love on the Rocks" as I downed another one. The wine was sold in those lovely little individual bottles, and I felt quite decadent as I sat in my seat and collected the empties by my feet. The British are soooo staid, do you know I was the only one in my stall to whoop loudly as Neil came out onto the stage!!

He looked like a tiny action man, dressed in diamond encrusted spandex. He was the optical illusion that I’d practised as a teenager. I would make Susan stand at the bottom of the garden, while I lined up my flat out stretched hand, and my mother would take a photograph. When the pictures were developed, it looked like I had caught a pixie. I held my palm out towards Action -Neil, and watched him sing to ME as I squinted a squiffy squint. His performance was wonderful, by the end of the show I was dancing and singing very loudly, and revelling in the embarrassment of my very English co-stallers. John took me to the car over his shoulder ( Ex fire man .. Most handy) I don’t remember the journey home, but I do remember Neil Diamond singing on my hand! A lovely, lovely evening!

xxxxx Vic xxxxxxx ( Sigh ; )

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13:17:24 o'clock BST
Feeling Happy
Hearing Back Street Boys.

DUBLIN THREE:

I don’t know how Hannah managed it, She is just one of those fortunate girls that can accessorize, I guess, One small holdall and six different looks! I wasn’t able to unravel the mystery, I wasn’t sharing a room with her, but I imagined that she twisted a scarf, uncoiled a belt, and with a pin of her broach she was ready to take on Dublins night scene. Lou had a different approach, and I sat cross legged on my single bed as I watched the proceedings.

Shower - 45 minutes

Hair - 30 minutes

Dressed - 10 minutes

Change of top - 5 minutes

Nails - 15 minutes

Make up - 15 minutes

Jewellry - 5 minutes

Packing of handbag - 10 minutes.

Now it could be that as a mother of three, I’m used to getting all of us ready in less than an hour, or it could be that I have lost the art of fine grooming, in either case, I found myself laughing at the extent of pampering needed to get one body out of the door. By the time Lou had got to packing her handbag, Claire and Hannah were sat on my bed........ also waiting.

"HURRY UP LOU!!" We hollered.........

Dublin by winter evening is poetry, and I am sure people have tried, so I won’t : ) The streets were filled with beautiful people, who laughed and had their heads down in lucid conversation. Buses rolled past us, shop windows were illuminated, and traditional Irish music blared out of sound systems, and onto the streets, as we walked arms linked, in the style of Davey Jones and the Monkies.

We grabbed Guinness and toasted cheese baguettes, before marching across the Ha’penny Bridge, and heading into Temple Bar. This footbridge bridge, is cast iron and as pretty as a pergola, its one of Dublins best loved land marks, and takes its name from the toll demanded until 1919. We stopped on the bridge for photographs, and then danced across it like billy goat gruffs. Later, as we wove our way home, the bridge was adorned by young girls, who charged more than a Ha’penny for a kiss.

We walked past the hotel owned by U2, and down the road which ran alongside the Liffey. The Rod to God was lit up, and looked short of an over sized conductor and his orchestra. The crowd buzzed in sober anticipation as it swarmed towards the fairy lights and music; I think a few people had had the same idea as us? Did you know, that approximately 43 percent of Irelands population is under 25, not only does that make me very old and wise, but it makes the queue at the bar longer! Temple Bar is known as the "vibrant" and "cultural" centre of Dublin, and its mix of restaurants, pubs and bars attract thousands of visitors, from all over Europe, for weekend breaks. ( Nightmare when you’re thirsty!! ; )

On the plus side, the mix of cosmopolitan people gave the pubs and clubs a buzz that we don’t often experience in sleepy Llandudno. Impulse led, I re named myself.... Talula Blanchard, writer and poet. ( Born in County Wexford, which would explain the dreadful accent Id picked up, and divorced after my husband had run away with his chiropodist...... I hate feet!) Drama queen high on life, watch out! Louise, and Hannah sipped their cocktails, while Claire and I thrashed about on the dance floor in a wild and whacky way. The craic was ninety!

Hannah had her lucky top on, it was pale lavender, silky, and had a few gems that twinkled when they caught the light. It must have been one of her twinkles that caught her admirers eye, because when I got back from the dance of the funky gibbon, she was deep in conversation with a Ronan look a like. I think he was deaf, because they were having to lip read very closely... I made plans to borrow the lucky top, a quick swill round the hotels sink and a radiator would do the trick!

There is only so much dancing and drinking a girl can do on no sleep. The clock struck three, and that kebab was calling. We prized Hannahs lips off Ronans, and frog marched her out of the club. She was still smiling that silly smile of the chosen one, as we propped her up against the window of the sausage shop. I have photographic evidence to substantiate this, but I swear, next to Hannah, on that window, the shop boasted it had the biggest sausage in Ireland!!! I swear to God! We had struck gold, and entered at once.

"Four looks at your biggest sausage landlord!"

We demanded and rolled about in school prank mirth. I imagine the landlord hadn’t heard such innuendo, and found our little joke refreshing.

Back up the Liffey, past the Heineken building, over the bridge to O’Connell Street, and home. Our feet were hurting, and we had run out of words. We flopped into our beds, and our first day in Dublin drew to a close as the bells chimed 5 o’ clock. We slept, and slept and slept... even as the fire alarm rang out, I dreamt of hot sausages. It was only Claires insistent banging on the door that finally stirred me......

"FIRE!! Wake UP!!" she shouted ......................

Xxxxxx Vic XXXXX ( with an Eastenders dum dum dum dum dum at the end )

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11:24:04 o'clock BST
Feeling Happy
Hearing Backstreet Boys - The lads , I luv em : )

Did you know...... that teddy bears have different faces? Yes, actually, they don’t look all the same to me. This theory has been reinforced by my recent visit to a teddy bear trade fair. Im not a collector or an expert, but I know cute when I see it, and there is a need for cute in this hard edged world.

I arrived at the venue, and peered into the function room; a sea of furry faces winked back at me. ( No, not the reps! ) The displays were set out in "season" and I shuffled into winter wonderland first. Fat ones, long leggies, old and scruffy, slick and hip, pocket sized, glittery, even bears that smelt of chocolate.... a smorgasbord of cute.

While I was there, I ordered my Christmas bears, my Valentine range, and my Easter bunnies. I don’t know whether it warmed my heart to be knee deep in fluffy unconditionals, or whether it was the retail buzz, but I couldn’t stop smiling. I emitted "ooh" and "ahh", "arent they sweet", and "how could you not?" for the whole morning; and when they arrived in their big box later that week, I did that >>clap your hands and rub your nose thing too... daft or what?!

The smiling and general good spirit isn’t really bear enhanced, I have a secret weapon. I have been to a stress management seminar. When I first met Howard at my Business meetings I thought he was a laid back dude.... now I know why , He is www.cognoscentetraining.com   I made a point of NOT sitting next to him at our breakfasts, just in case he reached over, took my nails to the quick hands, and asked me how I REALLY was !! Howard runs stress busting seminars from his beautiful home in the middle of deepest Wales. ( Deepest Wales, local villages that only have a Spar, or a red pillar box as a land mark! )

I imagined the room to be bigger, and the suit clad delegates to be armed with palm tops. I was way off, as usual. I was met by Howard, given coffee and biscuits, and introduced to the three people I would be sharing my day with. Howards home was cosy, with a Bilbo Baggins ambiance, and my new -stuff- wobbles subsided. The day was relaxed, the work that we did was simple yet effective, and I began to believe I was fire proof. That feeling has stayed with me, I can tackle any thing now and not get stressed. I think the "wings unfurled" thing might startle a few people, but I am all goggled up and ready to go Ginger!

( Another analogy might have been...... Me, dressed in brown flannel, stomping round a waterfall in Austria, guitar case in hand, singing "I have confidence in me" as I wave good bye to the Nuns; but that’s a bit long winded and I don’t look good in brown curtains! ) .......... on that note,  xxxxxx vic xxxxx

MOTHER’S GONE MAD:

By Victoria Parker

My mood is as light as little feathers,

tiny ones too small to have belonged

to a bird ready for flight

.....too small to be lost.

The kind you put to your lip,

and set your face alight with a tickle.

My mood, responsible for mischief,

inspired salt dough of pink

which made messy creatures

....and ruined my carpet.

My mood demanded bubble bath,

expensive and decadent,

The sort I don’t need

but will have up to my nose.

And my mood...... sweet and nostalgic

makes me spin on one foot

for no special reason,

 in my big skirt I twirl faster, and faster

so I look like an umbrella

to the pilots I wave at.

 

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00:44:21 o'clock BST
Feeling Quiet
Hearing Sade

We had the last monthly news letter from Melanie McGrath today, She has been a huge part of the AOL writers group, and my biggest encourager. These were a few of my poems that she liked, I have dug them out again because I will miss her sooo much, and its my way of tipping my hat to her. xxx vic xxx

CLOWN PANTS:

By Victoria Parker

My self esteem

it lived in my trousers,

those special big pants,

with a hoop at the top.

 

Like a seal to a fish

I ran with hands clapping,

catching a compliment,

gulping at love.

 

I tried hard to fill them,

horde treasures of kind words

but they slipped to my ankles,

then fell at my feet.

 

Now I don’t let strangers

look into my clown pants,

and my self esteem

well it’s under my hat.

 

GOSSIP:

By Victoria Parker

 

I don’t want to talk to paper dolls,

whose hands snap free

with the first gust of wind.

 

My laundry has been hung

in public gardens

and I didn’t put it there.

 

Inspiring as I may be

I don’t want to be a newsflash

or anybody's reason.

 

I want to be me,

muddling, fuddling, confusing

and in private.

 

FUSED:

By Victoria Parker

I had grown accustomed to his hand,

small and bristly

touching me.

When we were finger to finger,

palm to palm

he fitted me.

My shadow, my match

with Peter Pan tears

I miss him.

 

A stick stirring day.

By Victoria Parker.

A long one, the stick

wooden and knarled,.

with nodes worn smooth

by the hand of the agitator.

 

The kind of stick that reaches down

to the bottom of the pot

and creates easy momentum.

 

Small swirls loop, and swizzle

until all manner of feelings are sucked

from emotional stock cupboards,

and soup is made of calm waters.

 

AWAY DAY:

Victoria Parker.

Today...........

I parked outside the very house that I intended to visit

and I relaxed to the sound of incidental noises.

Today...........

I kept my mobile phone switched on,

I left lipstickon my cup lip

and I rolled about in time

like a lottery winner in new bills.

Today.....

I was the start and end of your day,

not a little part, not an inhopeof part.

And it was nice,

not to have to think about your wife.

 

TO BE SURE:

By Victoria Parker.

Leap into my arms,

be sure of a kiss.

 

Turn out my belongings,

and be sure of a reprimand.

 

Thump your fist on my chest,

and be sure of a welcome.

 

Bring your foul little temper,

be sure of a safe place.

 

Be you two, four or fifty,

be sure that I love you

 

IDEAL:

By Victoria Parker:

Show me a real man,

and he will have feeling.

He will weep, his heart ruptured

by moments of tragedy.

 

Show me a real man,

and he will be kind...

Room on his shoulders,

for others to lean on.

 

Show me a real man,

and he will be human.

He will falter and laugh

before dusting his knees.

 

Show me a real man,

and he will be open...

Hopes and his dreams

on a flat outstretched hand.

 

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19:01:53 o'clock BST
Feeling Chillin'
Hearing U2

If You Have To Ask: Victoria Parker

 

If it feels ok,

like a new shoe

but slips at the back as you walk,

it ain’t it!

 

If it has momentum

like a backtofront tea spoon

but judders as you sweeten your tea,

it ain’t it!

 

If it needs the sleeves shortening

the legs turning up

the button moving,

it ain’t it!

 

Because

love fits,

leaving both hands warm,

not that you’d notice.

 

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18:22:08 o'clock BST
Feeling Chillin'
Hearing U2-Joshua Tree

Apologies for my absence friends.... I have had a crazy week.... again. : )

I didn’t sleep much on Monday night, I had got myself into a knot of nerves over the TV show, and couldn’t switch my restless brain off. I spent Tuesday morning shopping for sweatshirts, then finding a printer who would put my logo on them. I packed my car full of wonderful flowers, and set off to collect my friend Claire. ( Of Dublin trip.) Now Claire is not only very attractive, and gives my business more sex appeal, but she is also a very calming influence. ( Unless we are drunk and then we shouldn’t be allowed to play together! )

Decked out in our corporate best, we headed off up into the hills in search of the 60 minute make-over location. As soon as we drove into the tiny village of Bryn Y Maen, (Brin urr mine, also home to RSPCA shelter ) we spotted the lights, camera and the action. It’s not a big village and there were a thousand cars parked outside the house we needed. The set was hectic, the crew busy, and Claire and I just looked at each other in horror.

"Next time, I get the phone!" I told Claire

"You did get the bloody phone!" she retorted.

So there we were, up to our eyes in it! We were spotted hovering, and a couple of the kindly crew came to help us unload the car. They put us and the flowers on a wooden table out in the field / back garden. Now Bryn Y Maen is a really pretty village and situated on the top of rolling Welsh hill tops, the view is wonderful, and the force ten breeze off the sea, bracing. So Claire and I braced ourselves, and hoped that the wind wouldn’t take the ears off the sides of our heads! Overcoat, body warmer, waterproofs, all would have been acceptable, but I had paid for the shirts to be printed , and by jingo we were getting www.fleurdesigns.co.uk on camera, even if it meant frost bite!!

Richard Randell, designer of possible GOD like status was easy to work with, and after he bombarded me with what he would like and I had nodded in a blank way, the production manager gave me his list. Three arrangements for the lounge, "We are talking rich and dramatic with a contemporary twist.", three for the kitchen, "Soda colours and botanical spin." And for the bedroom "We are thinking hotel boutique chic, with a no kids ambiance." Now I’ve experienced most things in my floral career, but working with designer- speake just makes me laugh, Claire and I have decided to dub all things pretentious "HOTEL BOUTIQUE CHIC" from hence forth.

I had brought 100 roses in ice cream shades to the set, and they all had to be stripped and de thorned for my vase work. We set to it, chop chop chop, the leaves falling to the ground while we chattered and watched Claire Sweeney do her intro. "I could do that!" I chuntered, as Claire S did her third take, but when a man with large camera, a sound guy and the director ran over to us, with Richard of GOD like status in tow, I looked like I’d been poked up the bottom with a sharp stick. Startled and wooden the production lady said, which I thought was harsh, but I was better on the re takes.

There was much activity and several loud whistles, Claire and I just got on with what we were supposed to be doing, but the weather took a turn for the worse, and making arrangements in high winds wasn’t much fun. The 60 minute make over seemed to go on for two hours, and when we had finished, we sat out of the way and watched the dance of the headless chickens. Claire Sweeney pounced on my Claire, and I’m not sure what was said, but she came back sheepish. After the shock had worn off, my Claire phoned everyone she knew, and told them she was working on TV. Lololol, then it was my turn to be a calming influence.

Leaving the set was a huge anti climax, the flowers had gone, they had kept all of my best vases, I hadn’t got any autographs, and I didn’t know when the show was going out. But we had done it, we had produced some lovely designs, in the worse weather conditions possible. A drink was in order, and we marched arm in arm to our local with matching fleur design shirts and I felt like I had won a prize.

Lots more to tell you, I will try and catch up this week.

Xxxxx vic ( show biz glasses off and feet back on the ground.)

 

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23:29:46 o'clock BST
Feeling Worried
Hearing THE POUNDING OF MY HEART!!

Just a quickie, i have checked out 60 second make over, and I "get" the concept. Claire Sweeney is a lovely lady and i will be thrilled if i get the chance to talk to her, but...... Richard Randall is the designer on this Colwyn Bay Show, and having checked out his profile I have to say that he is a GOD!!

Good looking, designery, a writer, tv personality, does a bit of DIY too I believe? lolololol   I am star struck and will probably stand in front of him and the camera making "Bub Bub Bub" noises. ( Ohh I hope Not.) My friend from New Zealand still remembers my stage fright, and all the speach and drama competitions i made her enter with me.... just so i could show her up apparently lol.

I dont think I will sleep tonight,  am off to check out Laura Ashleys floral designs, Richard was a head designer for their Midland branch.. hope he's gay, then I won't bat my eyes at him... Think flowers.. think flowers..... think flowers.

xxx vic ( panic neurotic panic...slap me! )

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