Backwards In High Heels

Happy Birthday To Me

It is my birthday today.

After a long, hard deliberation I have decided that this year I will 27.

Off to find my birth certificate and the tippex.

Bring on the Champers

Woohoo – a win after a very lean spell and a very nice prize too, a spa day for mum and myself.

It was quite an odd competition. It was with Virgin Radio. I registered via their website a few weeks ago. It is in association with Orange phone networks and is promoting their new magic number offer. You had to nominate who would be your magic number and why. If you were chosen you’d have to prove how well you knew that person.

I nominated my mum (why? Because it’s always handy to have someone with all the answers at your beck and call!)

So yesterday I got the call from Virgin (off air) to say was I up to see if I could win us a spa day. I had to phone mum and without letting on it was a competition make her say a phrase they’d give me, and by the wonders of technology they could record the conversation.

So an hour later “I” phone mum, from the kitchen and have to make her say….Cornish postman. Well there’s a phrase from everyday life!

Mum answered the phone here in the study, I think she thought I was winding her up. It isn’t unusual for me to phone her from another room – hey, we all find entertainment in different ways.

Spookily or fate, however you see it, I knew Jean’s diaries were on my desk and the top one, the first I am transcribing is ‘To The West’ and in the very front is a map showing their route in Cornwall. So I asked her to look at that. She sounded bemused as I started wittering about how Jean received letters on holiday – wasn’t that odd and how did it happen.

“They have postmen in Cornwall you know!” was the befuddled reply.

“Really? Down there in the 1950s” I replied, come on Mum.

“Of course!” she said. “They had Cornish postmen just like they had Welsh and Scottish…”

AIRHORN “You’re a winner!”

Poor Mum! But she she was soon relived that (a) her daughter hadn’t totally lost it and (b) we’d won a great prize!

This morning I was phoned at 6:45am to ‘appear’ on the Breakfast Show (I’m becoming a radio regular!) and they played our entry and confirmed our win. Great fun!

I cannot wait to be pampered. They may need to physically remove me from the spa!

Sympathy For The Devil

Never again will I venture into the Post Office on a Saturday morning. I was stuck in a queue that defied the laws of time in stuffy air surrounded by old people moaning and toddlers rioting.

The only thing that helped me keep a grip on reality was at least my part of the queue was by the greetings card. For the most part I was in front of sympathy cards.

I have never liked sympathy cards but that is another rant. If I remember rightly if you bought a sympathy card in the past you had a limited and tasteful choice of white cards with a beautiful watercolour of a single lily or some cards had a religious slant with a cross but that was about it.

Not so now. Now they are all but 3-d and specifically worded. Whilst stood there I clocked not only ‘On the sad loss of your husband/wife/son/daughter/mother/father/x-in-law but also your cat and dog.

So it would appear if you can lose it there’s a card to commemorate it. So in my usual role of verse provider here are some you may find yourself needing when your nearest and dearest ‘lose it’.

The Trauma of Everyday Life:
The tears are flowing,
Will the pain ease?
My heartfelt hope
Is you find your car keys.

1 in 4 of Us Will Have Mental Health Issues:
So sorry to hear
Your life has been blighted.
I hope you and your marbles
Are soon reunited.

When The Letterbox Falls Silent:
I doubt this card will reach you
But I felt I had to say,
I was so sorry to hear
That your postman passed away.

greeting+card+verses, humour, humor, poetry