Part homage to the late, great Ian Dury and part to the Recessionista ( I so thought I had made that up and then found this… (darn!)

Recessionista – a person who evokes being affected by the recession because its the ‘in’ thing to be, especially if they have no real need to; they may even pay more for the privilege of having just the right down-market accessories or habits. ie; We’re going to Mel’s diner tonight. The decor’s a little shabby, you know with the recession and all, but they have the most fabulous oysters served in replica sardine tins. (Ref: http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=recessionista)

Hmm, no, that is not moi! ; ( I don’t eat things in tins! :) I was also thinking along the lines of a more positive type of person with a more uplifting attitude to this (quite frankly) dull and dreary recession.   But we shall carry on; and in that vein; carrying on, well that is the thrust of the post,  my angels of lust.

I have always maintained that you have to have something to look forward to. You must.

Whether its the next silly email from a TW who has tried since 2008 to arrange a date and cancels continuously (you know who you are mister).   Hehehe – ‘a life’, and ‘get one’ springs to mind – and he sounds so normal too! -  I think he read my post on timewasters and that spurred him into action, yet again..  Sadder than sad Jack McSad he is (and God knows he was sad!)

I have very, very simple things that I look forward to every week. You may be surprised at what they are.  Oh before I tell you though, I do have other biggies that I plan and look forward to, of course.   These are just the daily grind, if you will pardon the pun? I also have the total pleasure of meeting your fine self etc etc…

So…..

One day of the week I can look forward to my lovely, lovely cleaner coming and making my house all sparkly and clean – ahhh, bliss!

Another day I just love to read the Sunday Times.

And another, I chat on skype to a very, very special member of my family.

Another, I catch up with one of my fantastic, fabulous and gorgeous friends in London.

On another  I watch Shameless, one of the best tv programmes, ever. Ever, you hear?

On most days I get to sit on my back balcony and enjoy the beautiful sunset in London.

And yet on one more, I try to be a touristisa (Im getting carried away now) – alright,  tourist in London – fab.

Oh and on Friday’s my edition of ‘The Week’ arrives – I love that.

See?  I bet you have simple,  lovely things you do too and I bet you didn’t know I enjoyed simple things :)

I’m a bit perturbed about some wealthy people like the Royal Family though  (Kate) showing signs of thrift.

Should they, really?  Oh I know, it stems from the second world war when it was a ‘We are all in this together’ kind of mentality. But what signals does it give out?

Mend and make do, negative thoughts, we cant afford things, we are broke.

Bad energy folks.  You know about quantum physics, yes?

What that means is no one is going to buy anything which means businesses closing, which means loss of jobs, which means people cant afford things,  which means  – a vicious circle, ….

Spend some money I say, spend money on English things (not being xenophobic here; each country should do the same)

We’ll soon get things up and working again, tickety-boo.

Oh, and a lovely lady I know has had a crazy experience lately but had a lovely date, so I hope that compensated a bit? I wanted to send this card but I couldn’t. She will know what I mean?  ;) xxx

I told you I wouldn’t forget this year didn’t I?  Happy St George’s Day one and all!

Oh no!   Tony Hart has died.  You remember him dont you?  Now, I am no artist but even I wanted to create a masterpiece from whatever Tony told me I could do.  The point is, this guy was an inspiratation, and a gentle fella too.  That is what came across if you watched his programmes.  I liked him – a lot.  83, is that  decent age to die?  Yes I think so.  I was once told I would live til 92 – me being me, I want to stretch that – shall we shall 100 then?  :)

Here is his obituary…

Tony Hart, who has died aged 83, used his immense creative range to sow the seeds of artistic interest in generations of children as a presenter of several hugely popular and long-running television series.

Whether using paints, clay, textiles, foodstuffs or a cast-off object of almost any description, Hart had the magical ability to produce competent, entertaining pieces of work at impressive speed and in an unpatronising fashion. His avuncular, mildly eccentric manner made him the ideal host for children of all ages; indeed, at the height of one of his popularity in the mid 1980s, Hart’s request that viewers send in their own pictures to exhibit in “The Gallery”, a large wall showcasing their efforts, generated 6,000 submissions a week.

In a television career which spanned more than fifty years, the majority of them spent on the screen wearing his trademark cravat, Hart demonstrated artistic techniques both elementary and advanced while never forgetting his motto “Show them don’t tell them”.

Norman Anthony Hart was born at Maidstone on October 15 1925. His father was a local government official whose own artistic leanings were actively discouraged by his parents; his mother was an amateur singer. Their mutual devotion to the arts meant that they adopted a liberal attitude to their children’s careers. “My father always said to me don’t work in an office,” Hart once recalled. “So not working in an office became very important to me.”

After attending a London choir school with Dickensian attitudes to discipline (beatings routinely took place on Sundays), and then Clayesmore in Dorset, the seventeen year old Hart applied to be an air gunner with the RAF. A minor eye defect prevented him being assigned flying duties, however, so he followed in his father’s footsteps and joined the Indian Army instead, training for a commission with the 1st Gurkha Rifles. It was throughout his four years in India that Hart first nurtured serious ideas of becoming a professional painter: dazzled by the colours and patterns of the subcontinent, he spent much of his off-duty periods at an art school in Madras.

Following India’s independence in 1947, Hart returned to England and took up a place at the Maidstone College of Art, from which he graduated in 1950. He then moved to London where he worked briefly as a window display artist at a department store on Oxford Street before turning his hand to freelance graphics work for cinema, television and newspapers. He was happy to paint murals on restaurant walls in return for free meals.

A chance meeting with a television producer at a party in 1952 resulted in a BBC interview which took place over lunch. At the end of the meal Hart was called on to demonstrate his draughtsmanship by drawing a picture of a fish on the napkin which accompanied his coffee. The deftness of this sketch was enough to secure him a job.

Initially he worked on an early Eamonn Andrews show, before advancing to the position of graphics artist on the Tonight programme. Soon after he was engaged as resident artist on the children’s show Saturday Special. He stayed on it for two years before moving to another programme for the young, Playbox, which ran until 1959.

Throughout this time Hart also worked on the original Blue Peter programmes, the first of which was broadcast in October 1958. In the weekly transmissions he told and illustrated stories, invariably about a little white elephant called Packi. His loose involvement with Blue Peter continued into the 1960s with the creation of the galleon which became the programme’s well-known logo . Aware of Blue Peter’s enormous popularity, Hart asked for a penny for every time his design was used. His request was turned down and he was paid a flat fee of £100 instead.

Stints on Ask Your Dad, Disney Wonderland and Stories in Pictures followed, and led to Hart’s first appearance on the long-running puppet programme Titch and Quackers, in which he operated the latter. Then, in 1964, came his breakthrough programme, Vision On.

Originally screened for the deaf, Vision On was a milestone in children’s television and gave a platform to Hart’s natural vivacity. Whether drawing a huge profile on an empty beach with the wheel-tracks of a motorcycle or making a 180ft picture of a tractor on a Sussex hillside using 144 roller towels, this quirky and sometimes surreal programme soon successfully stretched the boundaries of every child’s imagination – regardless of their ability to hear.

Vision On ran for over twelve years and introduced the world not only to “The Gallery” , but also to the groundbreaking talents of artists Peter Lord and David Sproxton, the former of whom went on to co-create the Wallace and Gromit series. By the time Vision On ended in 1977 it was being screened around the world and Hart’s genial manner was winning international acclaim.

The following year, Hart was given his first solo vehicle, Take Hart. It too was an instant success whose overwhelming attraction lay in the presenter’s inclusive approach and positive attitude at the drawing board.

Hart’s desire to encourage by example and by humour meant work of all standards appeared on the wall of “The Gallery” – from children as young as four to that of older teenagers. It was during this series that Morph, a six inch Plasticine figure created by Lord and Sproxton, was born.

As his name suggests, Morph was capable of extraordinary and amusing feats of metamorphosis.

The cleverness of his creation was that the seemingly unintelligible language he spoke in fact made perfect sense and he and Hart could converse with each other. Morph was later joined in his adventures by his irascible friend Chas and a host of other miniature creations. Morph was granted two series of his own in the early 1980s and continues to enjoy enormous popularity.

Tony Hart was awarded his first BAFTA for the series in 1984. Unaware that he had won, he did not attend the ceremony because his wife, Jean, had not been invited to it with him. It was only as he sat at home watching the BAFTAs on television that he realised he should have been there, a fact that always amused him.

Hart Beat, a variation on the same theme as Take Hart, followed. It ran between 1985 and 1994 and continued to show “The Gallery” and to chart the fortunes of Morph. Mr Bennett, an accident-prone caretaker, was introduced as a character to add some comedy value. Hart was also helped over the course of these shows by a series of young female artists.

Throughout the 1990s Hart continued to present other television programmes, the most recent of which include Morph TV and Smart Hart.

In 1998 he was awarded a second BAFTA, in this case a lifetime achievement award acknowledging his contribution to children’s television.

Tony Hart was active in a large number of charities throughout his life. Among the beneficiaries of his efforts was the Gurkha Welfare Trust to which Hart donated pictures which were later auctioned for “substantial” amounts of money.

Hart once described himself as “a loner who can’t wait to get back to my squirrel’s nest”, referring to his cottage in Shamley Green, deep in the Surrey countryside, where he lived for many years. In the years after his retirement in 2001, his health began to fail and he suffered two strokes, which robbed him of the use of his hands. In an interview in 2006 he described no longer being able to draw and paint as “the greatest cross I have to bear”.

Cora Pearl (1835– 8 July 1886) was a famous courtesan of the 19th century French demimonde, born Emma Elizabeth Crouch.

Early life

Her date and place of birth are disputed, as she was believed to have forged her birth certificate, giving the date as 23 February 1842, and the place as Caroline Place, East Stonehouse, Plymouth, though it is more likely that she was born in London in 1835, and the family moved to Plymouth about 1837. Her father was the cellist and composer Frederick Nicholls Crouch. Pearl had inherited enough musical talent to perform the role of Cupid in an 1867 production of Jacques Offenbach’s Orpheus in the Underworld.

Life as a courtesan

While she was still trying to find her way in London, Pearl became involved in a life of  prostitution, and happened to meet several reasonably wealthy men who were interested in becoming involved with her for more than just an evening’s amusement. These men needed little convincing, as their main concern was an involvement with a woman who was pretty, and who could be socially acceptable, intelligent, witty and discreet. This was her doorway into life as a courtesan. She became the mistress of Robert Bignell, the proprietor of the Argyll Rooms. Together they visited Paris, a place she fell in love with so much that she refused to return to London with Bignell. In Paris she adopted the name of Cora Pearl, and embarked on a theatrical career, but was more successful for the sex appeal she exhibited than any other talents. Cora had learned excellent manners at the convent school she had attended in her youth, which helped her appeal to wealthy men. Cora’s theatrical reputation quickly began to spread, and it was not long before several rich and powerful men of France were involved with her romantically. Although she had little money, she began wearing dresses by Charles Worth and Laferriere with the idea that her appearance of wealth would attract wealthy men to her, and she was right. Victor Massena, the Duke of Rivoli, became her first major benefactor around this time. However, while with him, she developed a serious gambling habit, and after bailing her out financially one too many times, the Duke ended their affair. But she developed new benefactors, including some of the richest, most powerful men in Europe. A skilled craftsman of the time earned between two and four francs a day, she earned 5,000 a night. Her extravagant income allowed her to perform acts such as dancing nude on a carpet of orchids and then bathing before her dinner guests in a silver tub full of champagne, and no one seemed bothered by her Cockney French, or her frank self interest. According to Duc de Grammont-Caderousse, “If the Fréres Provençaux served an omlette with diamonds in it, Cora would be there every night.” Her lovers included, Prince Willem of Orange, son of King William III of the Netherlands; Prince Achille Murat, grandson of Joachim Murat; and the Duc de Morny, Napoleon III’s half-brother. Morny, described by one historian as “a taller, handsomer edition of the Emperor,” has been said to be the most intelligent and distinguished of her lovers, with an insatiable sexual appetite. As mistress of the Emperor’s brother, she felt important enough to rent the little Chateau de Beausejour on the banks of the Loiret outside Orleans in 1864, where she spent a small fortune entertaining. A few years after Morny’s premature death in 1865, Cora became the mistress to Prince Napoleon, cousin to Emperor Napoleon III. He bought her two homes in Paris and supported her financially until 1874.

Gambling, scandal and downfall

Pearl’s activities had earned her great wealth. By the late 1860s, she owned several houses, stables, the finest wardrobe and extravagant jewellery. British accounts reported that one bill for lingerie from a supplier in Paris came to more than £18,000. Pearl’s lifestyle did have a cost. One wealthy man, Alexandre Duval, harassed her constantly, never ceasing in his attempts to manipulate her. He threw large sums of money at her, and was extremely jealous of her involvement with other men. Her attempts at ending the relationship were unsuccessful. When she finally was able to end the affair, he came to her home, produced a gun and shot himself on her doorstep. (Duval was severely injured, but survived.) Pearl did not summon for help, nor contact the authorities. Instead, she retreated into her house, and went to sleep. Rumours of the incident spread quickly, and abruptly ended her theatre career. She fled to London, thinking that a change of scene might improve her spirits and her reputation, only to find that rumour had traveled faster than her ship. Her attempts at continuing her career as a courtesan in London were unsuccessful, as few men of wealth wanted to have her as an acquaintance. Returning to Paris, Pearl was dismayed to find that much had changed. The admirers of the past were gone. A new conservatism prevailed, and like London, no wealthy men would take her on. Her gambling habit continued, and she soon learned that shopkeepers and casinos expected to be paid promptly, one of the life skills Pearl had never mastered. However, she no longer had a wealthy benefactor to pick up the debt. In desperation, around 1876 she began to sell her possessions, first slowly, then ever faster, and returned from time to time to a life in prostitution. She lived in relative comfort for ten years despite her rising debt. By 1886, desperately ill with intestinal cancer, Pearl was forced to move to a shabby rooming house, where she died in poverty and virtually without anyone taking notice.

Thank you so much Turin! xx

http://www.punternet.com/frs/fr_view.php?recnum=87579

Do you remember this pic?  I took it last year I think,  with a point and shoot camera whilst looking in the mirror and no bra  involved – just a latex dress.  Puppies spring to mind. This is one of those outfits that has to be confined to the boudoir and has never, ever seen the light of day.  I am a laydee dont you know!  (well in public anyway ;)  Now, as you very well know, I like to keep abreast (groan!) of all things saucy, and as I have already addressed and discussed briefly the needs of the bum man, here’s a little piece you may find fascinating if your thing is…

Breastology
An Essay

by Wayne Wallace

Breasts, boobs, tits, hooters, yahoos, yabbas, knockers, chi-chi’s, ta-ta’s, mammaries, and any number of other names have given to those beautiful symbols of female sexuality over the years.  I love breasts.  In fact, I have made an exhaustive,  personal study of the female breast for the better part of forty-five years.  I am, and always have been, a member of that elite group of men who are known as “boob-men”.  (I suppose that in the interest of political correctness I should acknowledge here that there are probably a number of women who might fall into this category as well, effectively changing the term to “boob-persons”).

During this forty-five year period, I have been engaged in an avid study of the female breast.  I don’t feel that my study of breasts is an obsession, for I am able to function in society without too many embarrassing incidents concerning the observation and study of the twin mounds.  I must, however, plead guilty to my wife’s accusation of always beginning a visual inspection of any woman, with an appraising look at her breasts.  Call this sexist if you like, call me a chauvinist pig, but this is honestly where my attention is focused and where the majority of my interest lies.

Of course, other areas of female anatomy appeal to me as well.  For example, a beautiful face is certainly an attention getter, or a nicely shaped butt in a tight pair of jeans has been known to turn my head.  I appreciate a shapely pair of long legs as much as the next guy, but, as I am enjoying and appreciating these attributes, rest assured that I have already checked out the boobs!  For me, these other enhancements merely add to the total package that the breasts headline.

The ultimate objective of most men (the hell with political correctness!) is of course that taco shaped universe that women sit upon, and around which, most men’s lives seem to revolve.  That part of the anatomy that has as many pet names as do the breasts, ‘the crown jewel” also has my admiration and respect.  However, the study of, the usage of, or the mere observation of this area requires far more time, commitment and risk than does the study of the female breast.   The study of the human breast is much more easily accomplished.  Some tact must be used when observing the female breast during “field studies”.  Blatant, open-mouthed, drooling stares, though not totally unheard of in my studies, are not considered gentlemanly behavior and certainly not in the best interest of the science of Breastology.

If one is discovered, observing the breast in its natural habitat, it is best to be discovered by the observee, than either by your spouse or the observee’s spouse or significant other.  The reason for this is the reaction of the various parties involved.  The reaction of your spouse is likely to be a punch and a “you never look at me like that” line.  The reaction of a rival male in this situation could be like that of a bull elk in one of those nature documentaries with all that head butting and antler rattling, etc.  The reaction of the subject being studied, usually, at its worst, merely results in a hand being placed on the neck of a low cut dress or an arm being pulled up to obscure the view of the breasts.  The most desirable reaction, although rare, is the willing smile directed at the observing “boob-person”.

I have often wondered why I have this “pointed” interest in the female breast.  It could be related to the fact that I was a breast fed baby and consequently, my earliest memories of the female breast conjure up such thoughts as nourishment, pacification, security, warmth, etc.  Assuming that this was the starting place for my interest and study, Junior High School certainly had to be the Basic Training Grounds of the science for me.

While puberty is changing a young man’s voice, causing acne problems and growing hair in previously barren areas, thoughts of breasts provide the necessary fantasy material needed for his struggle with sexual maturity.  I can remember being in 4th hour math class, staring at Mary Ann Mosely’s boobs, and daydreaming.  My sadistic math teacher, Miss Groffman, an old spinster woman of about 75, and by the way, whose boobs I NEVER checked out, called me to the board to reduce a fraction or something.  The very noticeable erection that I tried to conceal, became the laughing matter of the classroom for the rest of the semester.

National Geographic Magazine’s full color photos of African women’s breasts also served as an excellent resource for early study.  This of course, was in an era when Playboy magazines were not easily obtainable for pubescent males. Adding fuel to the fantasy fire were the Junior High girls, also struggling through puberty, whose newly developed boobs were often proudly displayed in padded bras under tight sweaters or white, transparent blouses.  That practice has not changed significantly to this day

As an avid breast observer, I often accompany my wife to any of the local shopping malls and wait, sitting on one of the benches while she shops.  This is the perfect observation post.  Ever wonder why all the old guys congregate there?  Young Ingenues may still be observed, sporting their newest, uplifting training bras in search of pubescent males with the intent of driving them out of their one-track minds.

During the late sixties and through the seventies, the “braless fad” afforded tremendous opportunities for the dedicated Breastologist.  It was during this era that I became a recognized expert as to  whether or not a bra was being worn.  I was often called upon to settle disputes, between old codgers waiting for their wives on a bench at the mall, as to whether a particular set of 38s were or were not holstered.

Just as Junior High school is the Basic Training Grounds for “boob-men”, High school is the early “field-study” area for the determined, life-long student of the female breast.   In High school, as dating becomes a possibility, being alone with a female “subject” in a car affords, at least the opportunity for advanced breast study and research.  One actually has the potential to touch, examine, and if one is extremely lucky, actually see, a pair of female breasts.  The search for the ideal female subject becomes the early goal of the high school age “boob-person”.  The criteria are these, in the order of their importance:

1.  Great breasts

2.  A willingness to allow extensive breast study and

observation for the benefit of science.

3.  Relatively attractive facial features.

4.  Someone not looking for a long-term commitment.

Young “boob-men” often plan their “field-studies” or dates around allowing adequate opportunity for observation and study.  Here is an example of a typical agenda for female subject field study.

Pick subject up at her house —————— 7:00 PM

Dinner at Restaurant —————————— 7:15 – 8:15 PM

Movie ————————————————— 8:30 PM – 10:30 PM

Private scientific observation & study —- 10:30 PM – 12:00

Subject home by 12:30 AM

The degree of scientific observation and study attained during these field studies is also recorded in degrees. ie:

Scientific Level Attained                                Study Accomplished

Level 1                                                             “Copped a Feel” – a light squeeze of either one

or both breasts through the clothing.

Level 2                                                             “Pressed the Flesh” – Actual contact with bare

breast, usually accomplished by inserting hand

into the bra.

Level 3                                                            “Nipple Contact” – Self explanatory

Level 4                                                             “Loosed the beasts” – Unhooked bra and

explored extensively.

Level 5                                                             “Visual Contact” – Actually observed the

breasts in their natural habitat.

Level 6                                                             “Tasted the Fruit” – Also, self-explanatory.

Attaining all levels with a subject may take several “field observations” to accomplish or they may all be accomplished in one encounter.  This usually is dependent upon the willingness of the subject to participate in the scientific study.  If all levels are accomplished in one field study, this is known as the “grand slam” of breast observation and is not only a very rare scientific event, but could actually lead to a chance encounter with the “crown jewel” about which I spoke earlier.  At this point in the field study, the researcher must make a decision whether to further his study of this subject, which in all probability would limit the student’s observation of other “subjects”, or to just move on to other subjects, in the interest of science.  This proves not only to be true for the dedicated “boob-man” but for exploration and discovery in general in most relationships from the high school age on through senior citizen status.

My first one of 2009, Thank you Mr Greybeard! xxx

http://www.punternet.com/frs/fr_view.php?recnum=87416

The condition shared by all males wherein a common illness (usually a mild cold) is presented by the patient as life-threatening.

This is also known as ‘Fishing for Sympathy’ or ‘Chronic Exaggeration’.

When the patient is your boyfriend, he will exhibit the standard symptoms (such as an overwhelming desire for compassion) while simultaneously rejecting any and all efforts you make to placate him.

A rare strain of flu so powerful and so deadly it can only be matched by the Bubonic Plague and Aids. A incurable virus which has adapted to only effect the “XY” gene found in men. The virus attacks the immune system 10,000 times harder than the average flu virus, causing excruciating pain for the victim. Man Flu has no cure and prayers can save the forsaken life of the infected. The often deadly virus is mostly laughed at by women who sadly cannot contract “Man Flu”

Woman: Is he ok?
Doctor: I’m afraid not, I’m sad to say he has Man Flu

or… (This is my favourite, hahaha – I more than love this one!)

The one week out of the year when a man has a cold, and doesn’t feel good, and exercises his right to complain and whine- contrary to every fucking day of a woman’s life when we have to hear you complain.

The man flu is usually accompanied by a lack of sympathy from females, which further advances the adverse symptoms of the man flu.

GF: Ugh, BF is so annoying and whiny, all he has is a cold.
BFF: Oh, yeah, the Man Flu.
BF: GOD FORBID you take care of ME for ONE DAY and not complain!!!!

~~~~~~~

The above sadly NOT written by me , but much appreciated by me :) hehehe  Huge apologies for all you sufferers out there – I mean it, honestly!  Get well soon! x Shall I be nurse?

Hey, you know I am the queen of the lists right?  Yes, I am back to my list fetish.  Ohh I bet some of you can come up with a great name for a list fetishist…..

I have lists for shopping, lists for things to do that day, lists of places I still have to see, lists of lists I have yet to write (only kidding, or am I ?!)  Lists consolidate things, make you work towards something, hell you can even call them goals if you want.  Now there are a few lists out there (not mine, there are apparently other list writers – maybe we can all get together sometime and make a huge list of……?)

I bought a book during the year, well I actually bought many books and was kindly given many, many books.  One of the ones I bought was 100 things to do before you die.  I also have a list of 100 things, I wrote it a while ago and I take it out every year.  I have done 75 of them.  I need to add more.  I am running out of things to do! (I have just added – find a way to join the mile high club in 2009 – hmmm – you so know who you are! Run! hahaha)

Now this book, the book of a 100 things is more of a ‘crazy/interesting things to do around the world’ kind of thing. Like go to the burning man project in the Black Rock Desert in Nevada (I nearly got there one year) or watch the Monarch butterfly migration in Michoacn, Mexico.  You get the idea.  My list is more of a mixture of things.  I would be really (really) interested to hear about your list if you have one.  If you dont, why dont you?  Here’s someone’s short list  I found on the internet…

1. Write a script for a TV show
2. Do stand-up comedy
3. Write a children’s book
4. Go camping
5. Ride a gondola in Venice
6. Learn how to salsa dance
7. Host Saturday Night Live
8. Visit a Renaissance fair
9. See the Mona Lisa at the Louvre
10. Witness a solar eclipse

and a couple of mine that I have been lucky enough to tick off…

Swim with wild dolphins

Follow grey whales from California to Mexico where they give birth

Do a 12000 ft parachute jump

I ticked off a massive one in 2008, sorry cant share that one here just yet.

Now, see just how much fun you could have with a little list?

Have a sparkling New Year’s Eve and a very healthy, happy and prosperous 2009 – Hope to see you then xx