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What is Love?

It started with a question. Nothing of significance, he asked me where he could get a photograph taken. 

I wasn’t particularly impressed, in fact I was probably a bit taken aback by his self-assurance - on top of which, he had a very questionable sense of style.


 I wasn’t very happy about last week’s blog, but then, I wasn’t very happy!

The previous weekend, my sisters and I had a hot and happy day, strolling and eating our way from Borough Market (arriving early, to squeeze in before the crowds) to Mayfair. Pausing in St James’s Park, after a sun soaked walk along the Southbank and Whitehall.

I always get lulled into this crazy assumption that, when the sun’s out in England, it will remain so for the foreseeable future.

It's a Blogging Cheek

Recently, I noticed a tweet on my Twitter stream that suggested "This discussion is the most insightful and thrilling one that I have ever read about"

Now, call me easily intrigued but I clicked the link, partly because I felt the brilliant use of 140 character enticement deserved further investigation. Plus, I’m easily intrigued.


This week I was going to fill you in on my planned weekend trip to London. Unfortunately, it looks like we're in for some very unpredicatable weather and, for that reason - I'm going to give you a hint at what we MAY be able to do, if it doesn't rain on our parade! 

Eye for Accuracy

Have you ever thought about whether you have an eye for accuracy? I have, quite often; I think it's part of the job description, when you write a blog.

Certainly, it's not without an 'Oh dear' or 'thank goodness' that I notice grammatical, spelling and layout faux-pas in some of the print that I read these days. I started to get so worried about my own eye for accuracy, that I booked myself on a grammar course (it was ok, but I think I wasn't the only one who didn't get the semi-colon explanation).

George Clooney got me thinking, (not in THAT way) when the Daily Mail ruffled his feathers recently with an inaccuracy about his mother in law.

Despite the fact that the Mail has often printed provocative inaccuracies about Mr Clooney, it takes the suggestion that his fiancée's mother was unhappy with her daughter's choice of future husband, for a whole can of worms to be opened.

 In the midst of the continuing cases of years of covered up accuracies, you may think he's taking the 'keeping Mother in Law happy', a bit too seriously.

Of course this case has a far more serious undercurrent to it; with the consideration of inflaming tensions around a suggestion of religious differences.

Unlike Vanessa Feltz, who spoke this week, at the request of the police, with complete accuracy regarding an historical interview she had conducted with Rolf Harris. It seems he had decided to conduct his own dirty performance, within eyeballing distance of his wife.

In case you are unaware, Vanessa was bombarded with a torrent of venomous mysogony from Twitter trolls who must think that they have the looks and attraction of a film star themselves.

Vanessa has handled herself in the educated and eloquent manner that I remember her for - hand tap to her.

On the matter of those narcissitic trolls - don't you just wish that there really was three Billy Goats Gruff to kick them off their Twitter handle bridge?

Failing that - where's George Clooney when you need him?!
with thanks to for the perficpic

To review, or not to review, that is the question

The only good thing!

LSH and I were able to snatch a few stolen days, stepping off the hamster wheel, embracing our inner adolescence and having time to do what we pleased, when we wanted.

Once upon a day, we decided to book lunch at a family run Georgian House and Restaurant that had been creating quite a buzz of publicity about itself. A well-known internet review site had a good few rave reviews, and the Ramsey trained, Royalty serving chef seemed keen to immerse himself in the community – receiving, it seemed, a welcome with open arms.

And that’s where the fairy tale ends. Our experience was awful.

We received an apathetic ‘welcome’ and soon realised we were alone in an empty dining room. The sound of the local radio station (presumably an attempt at atmosphere) coming from an old transistor, which had been ‘hidden’ next to our table. We had started to hear the sound of distant muzak-alarm bells.

The building is impressive – as is the garden - and I believe that local people with learning disabilities, help with its horticultural care. 

We tried to open the windows, on what was one of the hottest and most humid days of the year; we were told they didn’t open. We thought about eating outside, it wasn’t offered, but discovered the empty tables were smattered with the stuff of ‘a dove from above’.

The food was overpriced and underperformed. Excited by a salad - marketed as being picked from the garden – it arrived as a trilogy of limp leaves, cherry tomatoes and cucumber pieces. Undoubtedly stripped of their supermarket packaging and presented naked and undressed.

Am I sounding pompous? The thing is, my background means that I know that serving an undressed salad is as insulting as serving Moules Marinière in cream, with 2 parsley leaves and un-finely chopped squares of onion. No garlic, no white wine, no R in the month (indicating that the poor mussels were also out of season and presumably vac packed?).

The meal experience was so embarrassingly short of our expectations, we spent our homeward walk laughing and listing the failings. An attempt to distract our thoughts from our mistake in booking and the resulting overpriced bill.

We stopped when the number reached an embarrassing twenty, in much the same way that the Brazilian football team probably wished they could have halted a certain semi-final match, before the half hour mark.

So I return to my title – To review, or not to review? If I posted what I have written in this post on that well-known internet review site, it could cause a lot of lost revenue for this unnamed place. If I don’t, others may suffer; as we did.

So what do I do? I wonder whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the guilt of not naming the cause of our misfortune; or speak out about the slings and arrows of outrageous, overpriced failings and stop others from being caught in the cross fire.

What would you do?

Coughlin's Law

Just as I started to get my thoughts together for today's blog, I was hit by a red-top newspaper headline: 'Girl performs 24 sex acts for £4 Cocktail'.

Who Wrote 'Be Prepared'?

By the time you read this blog, youngest giant will be on the bridge of his week of sun, sea and best not thought about.

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