Grammar, Disciples, and A Reich.

Oh, woe is me. ~melodramatic sigh~ You see, I keep making little spelling/grammar/punctuation mistakes. They pain me. One of these days i'MmA typ3 lIk3 th1s jUsT 2 mAk3 a p01nT.
Moving on, my pretties, I have another tale of woe for ye all. All three of you beautiful people. The tale of woe is this; we are thin on the ground. My many disciples have not come flocking as I'd planned. Now, I hate to sound whiney and all over t'interwebs, but, I need to suck some more t'interweb trawlers into my orbit. But, how? You see, mortals, the only reason I still bring myself to do this when I get the chance is because I like your comments. We need more comments, to build a Reich zat vill last a zousand yars! -That was me immitating Hitler. I feel I should point out here, that I am not a Nazi. I swing neither left, nor right. Nor any other way for that matter. Just saying. I'm digging myself an even deeper hole now, so let me finish this little digging session with: swing whichever way you will, children. Just don't do drugs, and always use protection. Too much?
A nugget of wisdom: (and I will even make it deep and meaningful for you 'orrible lot) Do as ye will, but harm ye none. Wiccan rede.
Love. Luck. Tea.

Daphne.

Borrowers, Mud Tents, And Lace.

Hello, my pretties! Where have I been these past fifteen days, I hear you cry? Well, my dears, I have been everywhere. Every little corner of my mind has been searched. And all for nothing inparticular. Simply, you wombats, because I've had nothing else to do. I thought about meaningless things, like me as a Borrower. YOU as a Borrower. I thought about building a tent of mud at Glastonbury. I thought about te best way to mend lace.
What's next? You tell me.

Daphne.

Bailey's, Secret Santa, and The Money Tree.

Afternoon, m'lovely jubblies. TODAY I WENT CHRISTMAS SHOPPING. I wonder what it is in the human mind that causes us to want to kill for the last bottle of Bailey's, gauge out eyes over wrapping paper, and lunge for the throats of stroppy teenage shop assisstants...
On the subject of Christmas shopping, why is it that every year we all agree to do 'Secret Santa' and yet  there's always that one girl (or other non-denominational human being) that gets prezzies at the begining of November, and you somehow end up buying for fourteen people, AND a Weasley sized family. One of these days, I'll have to start watering the money tree...

Daphne

Humpty Dumpty, Fat Kids On Tyre Swings, and Synthetic Milk.

Children! Children settle down! ~ehem~ Enough of my patronising you, and let me first apologise to my err three dedicated followers, for abonding you for almost a month. I am ashamed, believe me. And another apology to my fantastica friend, Ria, a mortal I befriended on Earth, to whom I promised to blog last night, and I would have, if I hadn't have found myself in someone's front room, with a load of teenagers (one wearing a 'Strongbow' box as a hat?). Anyway, salutations.
Lately, les examens have been swallowing me up, like Humpty Dumpty and his secret alcohol addiction. Think about it...why else would he be sat on a wall, if he knew he was an awkward shape to balance? It's like putting a fat kid on a tyre swing. Sorry...that was unpeacy.
At the aforementioned mortal's request, here it is...A nugget of wisdom: "Argh! There's synthetic milk on my face!"

Daphne

Jeremy Clarkson

Ah, Jezza. Shall I count the ways in which I love you?
1. Your hair. Beautiful in its own right.
2. Your dress sense. To pull off brown suede is a dying art, Jezza.
3. Your uncalled for stressing of every other word; the orators of Rome would fall and weep, knowing any effort they made would surely be but a dying candle to your speech, sir.
4. Your bluntness.
5. Your exquisite  vocabulary. (By this I mean cars, and things I have no real understanding of.)
6. The slightly unhinged look you have about you most of the time.
Yeah, there are six things...today's was one big nugget of wisdom- bon appetit.

Daphne.

Lest We Forget.

And with my love of Lieutenant George and the rest of Blackadder's beautiful cast, comes the necessary respect for our war heroes. So, with the going down of the sun, and in the morning, we will remember.
Today I got up at an hour I didn't think existed on a Sunday, piled on a thick sheet of powder, lippy, and mascara to cover up my mistake-of-a-late-night, and pulled on the forties gear. Very nearly stabbed myself awake trying to put the poppy onto my black coat, and rushed out of the house to get to church for Remembrance service. I'm not, by usual standards, religious. But today I went with the Brownies (that I'm semi-incharge of...that might be an overstatement...I volunteer) and put down a wreath on behalf of the guides, although I'm a little too old to be considered a guide now. Church wasn't as cold as I feared. But my mind did wonder to my old Army Cadet det. parading in Dorchester...
Nugget of wisdom: the Germans took 5 million Russian prisoners of war throughout the second world war.

Daphne.

The Adventures of a Golden Slipper Woman, and Friends.

Everyone! I've not been buried by an avalanche- much to the disappointment of humans around me, I'm sure. Meh. Humans continue to confuse and repulse me, so it's no crying shame...
I joke, I joke. I'm a "people person" or whatever you call it. And today's post will be all about people. So, have you noticed that in every hotel, campsite, and resort, there is ALWAYS the golden slipper woman? By this I mean a woman who, classicly on campsites, can be heard at midnight shrieking with tipsy laughter, dancing around in a negligee that really should have been replaced with something sturdy and less silky (more, say, concrete) a good dozen years ago. In the morning you'll often find this rare breed nursing a slight hangover, shuffling around in her golden slippers, drawing on the end of the timeless 'roll up'.
Next, we have the camp straight man. Need I explain more?
The country bumpkin: commonly found near the Farmer's Market, looking confused, chewing on straw.
The Eccentric. Big hair, funny blazer, buck toothed, crazed-eyed, public school boy- well, typically, anyway.
There are many many more, but they will have to come later, as, quite frankly, I'm knackered. And I've been running off six hours' broken sleep for atleast 4 days now. 10.00 pm. Sweet dreams, humans.
A nugget of wisdom: Ask the golden slipper woman. She told the bumpkin, but he's shy, so you might be better off asking ol' George the eccentric...

-Daphne