Tag Archives: Birthday

The Seven Stages Of Hair

28 Sep

I have to say, I love turning fifty!  I’ve been celebrating since July and it’s not over yet – it’s the birthday that keeps on giving.

My lovely friend Christine told me to keep last Saturday morning free.  She collected me at 8:30 and walked me up to her hairdresser’s, Hair @ 42 on Bloom Street in Edgeley, where I had a cut and blow and a manicure!  How annoying that I had showered in honour of our date.

Right now, Christine is on a cruise, celebrating her own birthday.  As she won’t be here for my birthday, spoiling me was the least she could do, I’m sure you’ll agree.  Christine knows I haven’t been to a hairdresser for about six years; and I’ve never had a manicure.  I have the best friends!

The idea was that we do the whole thing together – me for my birthday; Christine for her cruise – but she couldn’t get matching appointments.  She waited in the salon, however, denying boredom and taking barked-out camera direction from me, for your delectation.

Janet the Hairdresser was lovely but I’m not sure she was a real hairdresser because she wasn’t at all intimidating and she seemed genuinely interested in what I wanted done to my hair.  She was most obliging, as well, stopping to allow Christine to take a picture whenever I gave the word.  When it’s time for my next hair cut in six years’ time, that’s where I’ll be going.

The hair part was fun but the manicure was funner.  Christine knows Alison the manicurist well and we had a girly, giggly session, the likes of which I haven’t had since my teens.  I can’t tell you what was said because what happens in the nail room stays in the nail room; but I can tell you that I went to the toilet before we started (just as well, with all the giggling that followed) and I was so enthralled with my hair, admiring it in the mirror, wondering if I could ever reproduce the style, that I forgot to wash my hands.  Fortunately, I realised before I touched anything, and went back to do it.  I don’t think that has happened since I was a toddler.

Bet you wish that information had stayed in the nail room, don’t you?

The Seven Stages Of Hair

*

Disgust

(On my part, when I worked it out and then had to say it out loud)

You'll have to lose 2 1/2 inches if you want it in good condition. Six years!  Tch!

You’ll have to lose 2 1/2 inches if you want it in good condition.
Six years! Tch!

Resolution

Just do it!

Just do it!

Anxiety

Will the Hub ever speak to me again?

Will the Hub ever speak to me again?

Acceptance

Take the picture, Christine: I don't mind looking stupid.

Take the picture, Christine: I don’t mind looking stupid.

Delight

I'm being pampered!  I LOVE going to the hairdresser's!

I’m being pampered! I LOVE going to the hairdresser’s!

Vanity

Get me, all posh!

Get me, all posh!

Gratitude

Christine&Tilly Friends 4EVR

Christine&Tilly
Friends 4EVR

 

Surprise, Surprise!

23 Sep

A parcel arrived in the post from Australia:

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The parcel was expected; the contents were not.  

That’s not as daft as it sounds – the lovely Blubee read my South African poetry collection via email; and was kind enough to print it out and send it back to me in the UK, with her annotations.  She also sent Maltesers, poetry, dogs, pens, napkins, Earl Grey, notebooks…she is clearly an avid reader/stalker.  She knows me well.  

I confess, I wouldn’t have opened the parcel until next week if I had known it was for my birthday; but I’m not sorry.

If you would like to learn more about Blubee, you can find her here.

As delighted as I was with everything, however (especially the book of poems written by dogs; so close to the truth, I suspect my own dogs may have submitted to publishers and not told me because they have greater success than I do), as lovely as it all was, what really touched me was the beautiful note Blubee wrote about my poetry and how it affected her.

Thank you so much, Blubee; you made my year.

London Day 1: Afternoon Delight

12 Aug
Spud getting our bearings in the map.

Spud getting our bearings in the map.

11:43 Board train to London.

11:45 Bored on train to London.

13:55 Train arrives in London.  Tilly and Spud hit the ground running.  Ow.

14:00 First things first – decide where we’re going to go.  The Tower of London it is!  Hub has pre-paid the Tube tickets so we just have to ask for directions.   Begin serious hammering of the Hub’s credit card by buying entrance tickets to Tower of London at Euston railway station.  What a strange world this is.

Some time after 14:00 (Tilly giddy with excitement; doesn’t look at her watch or remember to phone the Hub to tell him ‘Arrived safely’: Take Yellow Line* to Tower Hill from Euston Square Tube station, carefully holding tight to belongings as per Hub’s instruction not to get mugged.  Stand facing each other as directed so that we can see each other’s backpacks; realise we will have to walk like inverted pushmi-pullyu and decide to risk attack from larcenous Londoners in order to perambulate like sensible human beings.

*Not the official name; just the colour on the Tube map.

Slight moment of panic: Tube crowded – people piling off and on in free-for-all – Spud climbs on – doors begin to close while Tilly still on platform – Tube virgin mother (me) acts on instinct – reaches in to closing Tube and yanks son out with supermother strength – exasperated Spud scolds unrepentant mother – laughs – notice a notice on boarding next Tube that doors will not close if teenager trapped in them.

Q: Where did Beefeaters get their name? A: Nobody knows (straight from the horse's mouth)

Q: Where did Beefeaters get their name?
A: Nobody knows (straight from the horse’s mouth)

Later: Dismount at Tower Hill; make way to Tower.  Just in time for Beefeater* guided tour.  Laugh at all his jokes because he is a retired soldier with lots of ribbons and missed his calling as an actor.  Funny, too.  I checked his name tag: Simon Dodd.

*Officially known as Yo! Man of the Guard.

Later still: Marvel at standing on the very spot where a young Princess Elizabeth (the I) entered the Tower at Traitor’s Gate.

'Much suspected of me.  Nothing Proved can be.  Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.'  Etched into a window in the Tower by QEI

‘Much suspected of me. Nothing proved can be. Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.’
Etched into a window in the Tower by QEI

Marvel at viewing the very window where the young Princes are said to have last been sighted before their murder.

Marvel at Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn and Jane Grey and a couple of others were beheaded.

Marvel at the houses they stayed in; and where our present Queen occasionally stays*, the Tower being the Crown’s oldest residence.

*Accidentally typed ‘strays’.  I’m sure there’s never been any of that sort of business by our very moral monarch. 

Marvel to be in the very chapel where Katherine of Aragon and many another prayed; and where six people are interred, including Sir (now St) Thomas More.

Marvel at…well, you get the idea.  The whole visit was marvellous.

Later than that: The one thing I have ALWAYS wanted to do is see the Crown Jewels.  The queue was roughly twenty minutes’ long.  I’d have waited all afternoon.  The jewels were fabulous, of course; but what took my breath away were the swords: jewel-encrusted and simply beautiful.  The crowns were amazing.  Charles II’s maces were amacing (give me a break – I’m exhausted; you’ve seen my schedule).

Even later than that: Return to the use of present tense.  Visit the Line of Kings which is the oldest organised visitor attraction in the world and comprised of a bunch of old armour on wooden horses, representing the armour worn by kings; but not the actual armour worn by kings; but historical because old in its own right.  Only in Britain….

DSCN1610

Take call from frantic Hub, wondering if we’re still alive.  See off his outrage by whining, ‘Don’t be angry – it’s my birthday.’  Birthday not for another seven weeks.  Can’t believe it works.

Finally: Get chucked out of Tower (how ironic) and regret not arriving in London at the crack of dawn and spending all day there.

Last finally: Visit gift shop.  Buy tacky souvenirs for Hub.  That’s how much I love him for sending me on this birthday trip.

Happy Birthday, Aquatom

13 Mar

The Laughing Housewife Goes To Tellyland is taking a short season break and will be back tomorrow.

In the meantime, it’s somebody’s birthday…you may remember this banner:

TillyOne

Aquatom created it for me; now it’s my turn to create something for him.

His birthday poem has chops and changes in the rhythm: that’s my homage to his ever-changing blog look and not an indication that I might have struggled writing this one.  

  • Read it out loud to a rapping rhythm
  • Take a breath after the first stanza, to allow for the change in rhythm
  • Rush through ‘dotwordpress’ on the last line, or it won’t sound right.

Well, here goes:

For You!You!You! youyou!

His name is Tom with the prefix ‘Aqua’
Read his blog; you’ll enjoy some laughter
You won’t need gin or wine or vodka

He’s a really nice bloke
And he likes to make a joke
But he also does bespoke

Christmas headers for this Tilly
In return I give this silly
Rhyme from a grateful filly

His name is Aqua with the suffix ‘Tom’
If you’d like to give him a birthday balm
See wellheregoesdotwordpressdotcom

Happy Birthday, Tom!

*

If you would like a nonsense birthday poem, leave your details in the comments section or email me at thelaughinghousewife@gmail.com

Spud Is Miffed

27 Jan

I am a bad mother.  I know this because my youngest son told me so.  He told me while avoiding eye contact because he can’t bear to look at me at the moment.

My heinous crime?  I didn’t write a birthday post for him.

Whoops.

DSCN0880

*

Spud turned seventeen twelve days ago.  He loved his Vivquilt (it went straight on the bed, as you can see).  He liked his other presents (especially the money). He enjoyed his brother’s homemade birthday cake (coming in another post).  He snaffled the bulk of the cakes he took into school to celebrate.  He had a great day.

Great.  That’s what I want for him.  

Moving on…

Five days later:

Spud:  Hey, Mum…where’s my birthday post?

Mum:  I didn’t do one this year; you don’t read my blog any more.

Spud [indignant]: Yes I do!

Mum:  No you don’t.  Whenever I ask you, you say you haven’t read it.

Spud [patient]:  I’ve told you – I read it in clumps.  I expected a birthday post.

Mum:  Sorry, sweetie.

Six days after that:

Spud [indignant]:  Hey, Mum…where’s my birthday post?

Mum:  I didn’t do one this year; you don’t read my blog any more.

Spud [irritated]: Yes I do!

Mum:  No you don’t.  Whenever I ask you, you say you haven’t read it.

Spud [impatient]:  I’ve told you – I read it in clumps.  I expected a birthday post.

Mum:  Sorry, sweetie.

Spud: [hurt]:  Call yourself a mother!  I want a birthday post.

Mum [scrambling]:  I’ve got one planned – the Weekly Photo Challenge is ‘Love’ and I’m going to feature the cake your brother made for you.

Spud [outraged]:  That’s about Tory Boy!  I want my own post!

Mum:  But you never read my… [a scuffle breaks out]

Consider me chastened.

Happy Birthday, Spud.  I may be a neglectful mother but I do love you.

*~

DSCN0885

 

 

A Belated Happy Birthday, Janet!

14 Dec

I feel terrible.*  Janet’s birthday was on 12/12/12.  She mentioned it on her blog and in my comments but I didn’t read either in time to respond.

I am quite literal: because Janet is too polite to say, Oi!  I want a poem! I didn’t write a poem for her birthday.  Remember, if you want a nonsense birthday poem, you must tell me in the comments or via email.  Maybe I need to set up a separate page.

Fortunately, Janet got over her politeness to demand, Oi!  Where’s my poem?

I first met Janet when she emailed me out of the blue to tell me that my gravatar was not linked to my blog.  We’ve been firm friends ever since.

Janet’s first language is Chinese but you’d think it was English.  She has a lovely, clever son of twelve, called Ben, who has his own rather impressive blog.  He could teach us all a thing or two about history.  Janet is sweet and kind and well worth a visit.

Happy Birthday Janet

Happy Birthday JANET (Photo credit: ali eminov) You can find anything on the internet – even virtual cakes for friends!

A Birthday Apology To Janet Williams

Not elated
I’m belated
She’s deflated

On her birthday that’s not good
I’d time travel if I could
I know she’d understood

Battling with my tenses
This poem is nonsens-
ical’s my consensus

The kindest girl on the planet
is my dear, sweet Janet
whose name rhymes with ‘pomegranate’  

Umm, one more thing, chum:
you are a great mum
I mean it, by gum!

Happy birthday, Janet.  You have the honour of receiving my most nonsensical poem yet. 😀

*Don’t worry: I can assure you that Janet will assure me that I have nothing to feel terrible about.  She’s that kind of person: kind.

Happy Birthday, Janie Jones!

5 Dec

There sure are a lot of birthdays in December.   I guess we know what bloggers’ parents like to do in March.

 

 

This is Rosie the Riveter.  In America, she’s a famous World War II icon.

 

My friend Janie Jones, who has a birthday today, is not really called Janie Jones; it’s a pseudonym.  She uses Rosie the Riveter’s picture, sort of: it’s a facsimile she drew to make sure the nasty SOPA people (remember them?) can’t lock her up:

 

 

I can see her building planes and munitions because she’s tough, after the things life has thrown at her; though she’d rather tell a joke – usually dreadful, and therefore hilarious to me.

 

I have always liked her blog but I liked it even more way back when I was awarding Cowabungers (remember them?) for the blogger who left the best comment of the week in here.  To stay clear of the SOPA police (you must remember them), she didn’t use the image that was her award which I had stolen from elsewhere on the internet; instead, she drew another facsimile:

 

 

Janie put it in her sidebar and gave it the title:

 

Winner of the Coveted CoWAbunger Award, October 10, 2011

 

See that?  COVETED.

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.

 

*

 

I Like Janie Jones A Lot: A Birthday Poem

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.
Of plenty she’s not got.
She works real hard
though it be ard
uous to raise alone a tot.
Dedicated parents are scarce
in this selfish universe,
but selfish she is not.

 

I like Janie Jones a bunch.
One day I’ll buy her lunch.
I might even tease her
with a single Malteser
she won’t be allowed to munch.
Dedicated poems can be ard
uous to write but not hard
this time.  This line is the punch.

 

Sorry for the weak ending, Janie.
I know it’s kind of lamey.

 

Happy birthday, Janie Jones.  I hope the future’s rosy.

 

Happy Birthday Single 7"

Happy Birthday Single 7″ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

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