xma
yes like the skin disease.
No.
I am at the Parkers for Xmas, it is lovely and we are drinking wine, well, I am, and we had a lovely meal which was like christmasses of old with my family, the past few years though the Porters have all got a bit lax, and xmas is like bbq and salads, easy stuff.
Nice.
Thats all for now.
Update when I can think.,
posted by ... @ 5:37 am
2 comments
2 Comments:
Looky look sophie! It's the lovely, wonderful, glorious poem that i love to bits and squishy pieces...
I think it was Donald Mainstock, the great amateur squash player, who first pointed out how lovely I was. Until that time, I think it was safe to say that I had never really been aware of my own timeless brand of loveliness. But his words smote me, because of course you see, I am lovely in a fluffy, moist kind of a way. And who would have it otherwise? I walk, let's be splendid about this, in a lightly accented cloud of gorgeousness that isn't far short of being, quite simply, terrific. The secret of smooth, almost shiny loveliness of the order of which we're discussing in this simple, frank, creamy, soft way, resides not in oils, ungents, balms, ointments, creams, astringents, milks, moisturisers, linaments, lubricants, embrocations, or balsams, to be rather divine for just one noble moment. It resides, and I mean this in a pink, slightly special way, in one's attitude of mind. To be gorgeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely, all one has to do is believe that one is goregeous and high and true and fine and fluffy and moist and sticky and lovely. And I believe it of myself - tremulously at first, and then with mounting heat and passion because, stopping off for a second to be super again, I'm so often told it. That's the secret really.
please forgive any spelling or grammatical mistakes.
Wow greerie, that is great.
I can't blog because this stupid computer is set to some other bloody language and I don't know what to press.
ARGH
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