So, spring has sprung Down under … not that you'd notice! Cold and miserable is the order of the day, so I'm taking matters into my own hands and throwing winter out the window with a post that extols my favourite new season virtues; as well as some last season irritants, because what is life without a rascally rant every now and again?
Have you heard of Melody Gardot, an amazing vocalist, with the soul of a poet and an inspirational life story to boot? 'My one and only thrill', is her latest work and it's fast becoming a firm favourite and new 'Jus, the movie', soundtrack.
Actually, I've been wanting to ask someone about this for ages, however I'm not sure I want to talk to a real live person about inner weirdness, so I'm unleashing my egomania onto the bloggy world… does anyone else have a soundtrack to their life? I know that the funeral song has become something of a talking point of late, and anniversary/wedding/first snog songs have been around for ages, but I have a 'walking down the street when my hair's super bouncy' and 'standing in the queue at the supermarket, pulling the zen face, whilst inner turmoil rages as I debate whether or not to throw that Curly Wurly into my trolley' songs. In fact, the list is endless… am I alone?
I am uber excited about the tiny green shoots popping through our waterlogged patch. I am and always will be a lover of a good, hearty stew, but all good things must come to a natural end and I'm craving a crisp, crunchy mouthful of sweet, baby veggies fresh from the garden.
As promised, I'd like to end with a gripe.
I am an avid Op Shopper, blimey I even volunteer one morning a week in the local Sally Army store sorting through smelly linens and old man undies, such is my love for the Charity Emporium; but can somebody please tell me when the Op Shops forgot they were Op Shops and started to believe they were bleedin' Marks and Spencers!!! Sleek merchandising with price tags to match and Saturday girls who simultaneously smirk and yawn are expected in the malls, but I prefer my charity shop to smell faintly of cats wee and moth balls. It needs to be packed to the brim with soft toys, mismatched cups and saucers, cheap clothes and grubby bedlinen and I'd like a law passed that the old dears behind the counter always have time for lengthy conversations about local bus routes, cups of tea and grandchildren.
Thank you for listening… x