Clown6

I am as you are all probably aware in a permanent state of befuddlement, a look rather becoming with my bed head hair and constant expression of random cheerfulness.

But at night I lie awake pondering. Not the meaning of life or why men like football more than they like anything else in the world but teeny little questions that having an answer to might in the smallest of ways do nothing to change my life, but could make the garden look a bit tidier, or stop me poisoning anyone who dares to eat with me…

Number One.

Remember the gorgeous pink and  delphinium blue hydrangeas  I had in the garden over the summer? Well they are all scrumptiously, gloriously decrepid now. Do I cut them down or leave them to die a slow death? I don’t know the first thing about gardening as you can tell…

Number Two.

What the heck is barkcloth? Do we even have it here in England? Is it a kind of gorgeous linen type printed fabric or is it sacking done up pretty? What do we call it here? Why are you Americans so mad about it? Tell me, tell me, tell me…

Number Three.

Will I die if I eat frozen fish? I never, ever, never eat frozen anything. No ready meals. No frozen pizzas. Nothing. (Except Ben and Jerry’s). But with the rising cost of Marks and Spencers smoked haddock, it has been brought to my attention that the very same little yellow delights can be bought for half the price in the freezer aisle. Well yes, but what will it taste like? Water? What if I don’t defrost it properly and die of smoky food poisoning? Should I even be eating smoked things? My Dad is forever wagging his finger about free radicals. Whatever they may be. It’s a worry.

Number Four.

Is patience a virtue or just downright daft when you could be pursuing other more likely to happen delights? Is wanting more than you can have too painful to bear or a useful exercise in learning to recognise what you really need?

Number Five.

Does a little bit of what you fancy do you good? I am on a diet. I have lost five stone since April. I am ever so good at dieting when the mood takes me  but I’d be Kate Moss by now if I stopped eating secret chunks of Green and Blacks and  too many glasses of red wine. While I suspect choc choc as Finn calls it is good for my soul, I swear its doing nothing for my cellulite. Is a zero tolerance  ban what is called for now?

Number Six.

What are fruit flys all about? I haven’t got mouldy fruit in the kitchen. Nothing dead anywhere as far as I can tell and yet I’m currently inundated with fruit fly’s harassing my tangerines.  Have I got the heating on too much?  Is the changing warmer climate to blame? Or is it the local  councils fault for making us change to gruesomely ugly wheelie bins and then choosing to take the liberty of collecting them only once a fortnight? Will they go away or do I need to call pest control??

Number Seven.

How come I’ve taken up kind of dribbling in my sleep? This is plainly unattractive and I swear it never happened when Mark was talking in his sleep next to me. Am I sleeping heavier alone? More relaxed to the point where the muscles in my face  give up the ghost in the middle of the night?  I tell you, its driving me mental. Is it old age? I am thirty four.  And I’m changing the sheets all the time so I don’t have to deal with aesthetic evidence of my inabilty to sleep with my mouth shut. I bet I even snore nowadays too.

Number Eight.

Should we all stop aquiring as much junk as we do? Are all these pretty little ditties good for our soul or are they just nine more things to dust? Do we need to get some perspective on our constant urge to find buried treasure or is it simply part of who we are? With gaps in our lives big enough to warrant the penny pinching purchase of ornamental nonsense?

Number Nine.

I still can’t decide and trust me I’ve given it a lot of thought. Is it more economical to shop weekly pre-empting what you might fancy Thursday teatime on a Monday morning? Or would it be more sensible to shop only as you need to? Take for example my prawn fetish. So at the beginning of the week I buy enough prawns to see me through the week, but not enough salad and cucumber cos it seems to me that my fridge takes great delight in speeding up the rotting process. So I have to go to the shops regardless to buy fresh stuff. By which point I’m bored of prawns and decide to have beans on toast and let the poor little Santini tomatoes rot regardless. I tell you, its a conundrum.

Number Ten.

Would it be ok to borrow someone elses husband once in a while? I don’t want one and his bad taste cluttering up my living room or curing my dribbling habit on a permanent basis, but I do need someone to traipse through the yard with the binbags in the dead of night. Fix the glass doorknob that keeps coming off in my hand and get down on his hands and knees weekly and pull up the relentless obnoxious weeds in the front garden…

Thank you in advance for your words of wisdom. I have come to rely upon you.