Well here I am in Jersey now nearly 2 years on. I did think of writing lots of different things but at best I was a bit weepy and at worse I just went vacant, thinking back over the two years. So many things have happened so many things have changed. Sometimes I still miss home but those thoughts are far between. As I am writing this the beau and his two girls are sitting in the lounge giggling about something. The house is full of chatter, its a lovely sound. Not sure how I got here but I did and for that I am glad. The house is so much different now. Today I have been sorting out my garden bits and pieces with a pal. Here are the photos.
Well its nearly July which is my favourite month because its my birthday and I will be looking forward to my party. Its also the month my pal has her first baby. Its a boy and that will be something exciting for them. I haven't really much else to say except for those who are fathers tomorrow, Happy Fathers day.
Its been nearly two months since I last blogged, all I can say is I have been exceptionally busy with work. I kept meaning to sit down and write but each time I thought about it, I never got there. Its not like I have been doing anything exciting well I did do something. I flew home.
The reason I flew home was to catch up with friends and have a night out in Manchester. I took me plus one; not the beau but my fellow Jersey RO. The beau was supposed to be going but he couldn't, so to get him out of a " what do you mean you can't go its been booked for months discussion", he said take "me plus one". So I did and what a delight she had.
Do you ever think you aren't your age readers but then realise when you wake up you are indeed (for some of us) in our 40's. This weekend was like that. I blame the tequila, no I blame the cocktails, no wait it was the sailor Jerry rum shots those silly boys bought us. A heady mix of alcohol brings on ridiculous chat and allure. I can't think of any other reason why I would be jumping up and down in a club dancing to Chumbawamba like I was still a student. Rolling home at 5am didn't deter a full on shopping trip the next day.
OK I need to confess the true reason for going back to Manchester. I went to MEN to watch Barry Manilow. Don't stone me! My pal put a message on her Facebook; "Anyone want to come and see Barry with me?" After about 20 posts of sod off from people I wrote, " Me, Me, Me". I think secretly I fancy myself as Lola the show girl. I saw him a few years ago and he was quite fab, camp but fab.
Its you! Its Lola
I mean look at him? His tasteful crimson velour jacket, his cheesy smile and his trademark conk. Despite being a tad older he can still knock out a tune. However it was a bit weird this time. I swear I thought he was going to put a hip out. The problem with oldies still doing concerts they feel the need to modernise their act. This only works for Madonna. It was slightly uncomfortable watching Barry repeatedly thrust his pelvis and make grunting noises whilst shouting " I still got it, I am a sex god". The roars from women and the whoop whoops could just as easily been caused by the fact they were tripping on lactulose, HRT and Nitrazepam.
His warm up act was a comedian that told bad jokes and look liked he had been dug up. The highlight was watching my pal getting excited as she shouted Barry. Sadly I don't think I will be going to see him again. I might just wait for Englebert Humperdinck to tour!
Which brings me to another joy in my life, Eurovision song Contest. I know its politically rigged, I know the songs are crap and I know generally its not about music but I love it. Even my pal Babs in Oz remembered how much I love it as her Facebook post said
Watching the road to Eurovision....and thinking of you !! Missing a Eurovision party.
I did indeed used to have Eurovision Song contest parties complete with pad and paper. It wasn't something serious it was just fun. Its not the same since Terry left. As the clip below illustrates his wit as he precedes to get drunk on Baileys throughout the process.
Ahh well as much as I loved the Russian grannies, like Barry; the Eurovision isn't the same. We were never going to do well with a chap who thought changing his name from Arnold Dorsey to Humperdinck was a good idea!
