In my dreams Father Christmas has enlisted the help of a small army of elves to help him stuff a duck egg blue Aga into my over-sized seamed stocking, while in reality the chances of my ever owning one of these much coveted wonder ovens is right up there with Robbie Williams applying for divorce because he has finally realized he just can't live without me. Because yes indeed, in the fantasy land in which I choose to permanently reside demanding men are quite the perfect accessory to the kind of demanding oven that won't let me bake a quick cake on gas mark eight... Still a girl can dream can't she? And in the meantime she can satisfy herself with the purchase of a few of Betty Twyfords Aga orientated polka dotty cleaning products and PRETEND, which might I suppose also explain why dear darling Richard is forced to spend many an unhappy hour crooning Angels and pretending to be in a middle aged boyband all over again.
All that to say I just adore the packaging of Betty Twyfords cleaning range.
That's all. I will shut up now. Perhaps boil a whistling kettle for a pot full of tea and settle down with the latest Joanna Trollope? Try and stay out of trouble, though I feel the urge to confess that I have just discovered a bottle of milk in the cleaning cupboard. How, oh how, oh WHY??
Suspect I'm gonna have to get my act together before Robbie/Richard moves in aren't I?