Going mayhaps to be an Eclair

Today I finally took action to ensure thatI am not wandering around Egypt nekked I can travel in appropriate clothing whilst being baking hot. Its 40 Celsius, is it just me or is that a tad antisocial? I know the planet does not revolve around being sociable to humans, and nor should it ever. But bloody hell that is scary.
We had difficulty in 26C heat and were pleading for someone to follow us around with a fan to prevent us from dying. I have difficulty coping in the south of France. Which I'm sure most (all sane) people will admit is not Africa nor anywhere near African high temperatures. So I am willing to place money one my one action of the hot afternoon will be to crawl into the shade with something cool. And maybe some knitting (I still haven't decided what to make. Eeeep).

From personal experience what Dara said about the melting point of an Irish person applies to people North of the border as well as south. And I am one of those things that melts, goes gooey and at the same time, crispy bright red on the outside.

However the point is, I needed clothes that did not make me look (as my mum would describe it)like a "sack of spuds tied in the middle" without spending a fortune. What is wrong with designers? It seems to me that Bigger=no waist is in their opinion a law of physics. Which may be shocking to some people when they find out, this isn't true. Anyway, off we went (CGBF to stuff me back inside a likely shop to keep me from not trying on anything). Town was heaving with people, it was a horror. Shop after shop it was like a swarm of flies all over things. I got scared.

We found somewhere quieter and there was a small child screaming in the changing room. Screaming non stop. Her dad was making her try on stuff. I could sympathise. I was 2 minutes from that happening to me. Actually the chances are I'd been that screaming child when I was wee, noisy (actually I'm still noisy) and hated the whole process of buying clothes almost as much as I do now (that dislike has been cultivated).

The first thing I tried made me look like a pudding. For some reason this led into me asking CGBF "If I was a pudding what sort would I be?".

Now he decided I'd be an Eclair.
Now what made him decide that I looked like a long, randomly lumpy sausage-like splodge of pastry coated in sticky stuff and filled with cream that squirts out when poked I do not know. Its hardly complementary is it? Apparently stuff does come out when I'm poked, its almost entirely noise though. Which he insisted on testing at random points during the day (I am quite screamy I will admit).

But an Eclair? Not something light luxurious, delicate and a rare delicacy (moi? high opinions? Never). No, a squidgy bun that is commonly available (that latter is most certainty not ever going to be true). Sob.

Anyway (the prologue) we got there eventually and he realises why I am a horror to shop with. I'll go in disparage everything, want to leave, get hauled back (repeat five times) until I am eventually stuffed into a changing room with a handful of stuff (I don't like but if I try it then I know I'll dislike it and its horrible) and reject it all. Bar one if things are going well. Repeat 3x and I have 3 trousers (one all you can leave bum prints on things, whats wrong with colourfast garments?) and 4 tops.

And rest. Then notice something and start some serious wondering.

We were in asda wandering around the clothing bit (between the DVD's and food). Oooh on the subject of DVD's we got I am Legend, Mongol and a few others I can't remember the name of including a scary sounding one. Anyway, (the Prologue) we nearly wandered into to the Granny pants (seriously they were that big, even the small ones). They were just lurking and yet looming all at once. Yes, it is possible to lurk and loom. They hid in a Granny Weatherwax fading into the background with just as much malice in a clueless manner (they are pants) and them looming out of sheer elephantine enormity, weighted down with lacy frilly fancy bits. Don't get me wrong, I'm not adverse to fancy pants just like the rest of you (assumption here but I'd like to think most of us here have style). But when it comes to HUGE Granny pants the size of a small child or almost, my Torso? I was thinking to myself that having heard people describe clothes as being fit to walk. Not mine I hassen to add, I'm compulsive about having clean and fresh frilly things and socks. Anyway (the prologue) should this Giant Pair of lacy Pants come alive, it could easily eat a child and savage small right up to medium sized dogs, maybe an adult if it moved fast enough, if it could move. Maybe the lace could take on a vast peristaltic movement that would allow it to undulate it around. That'd give us a clue how to stop it, pants have very little lace on the back.... But when you consider it Giant Savage killer pants aren't normal so that may not work because savage killer pants aren't normal so nothing can be construed as being capable of stopping them. Maybe I need more sleep. I am so talking bollocks but anyway. That at least is hardly abnormal.

CGBF just wandered in and said 'yes, yes you are'. Awwwwwagh

Maybe its the withdrawal symptoms from lack of spinning. Its making me INSANEEEEEEEEE Araghhhhh I want to spin but instead I'm degenerating into a mentally desperate person.
I can hang on until I've finished the final bobbin and plied them all up, I can, yes I can I HAVE TOOOOO.

Anyway (the Prologue)Why why why would someone try to make a 'sexy' pair of granny pants, especially those that are big enough to fit a pair of grannies in? Do 'sexy' and 'Granny pants' not mutually destroy each other like a pink frilly antimatter and matter reaction? Minus Gamma rays or an end times that could be taken seriously.

Slogans on pants, these really confuse me, the one that has me bitching has 'I love shopping' along the elastic. Why would ANYONE want the world to know 'I love shopping'. There is no way I would be happy wandering around with that embossed on my bum bits. Especially when it is a sickly egg yolky yellow and has hot dogs, burgers and other random pictures on it. How tasteless can you get, well as tasteless as nasty yellow pants but that brought it beyond the tastelessness that is that, by each tiny increment of decoration. We found some lumberjack shirts and CGBF admired, yes I did ask was he ok? And did his dad have any secrets I should know about and more importantly, did his mum know?

Some of the stuff there really smelled fusty* so we didn't stay long besides staring bemused at the pants. I mean really, who would want Betty bo on their knickers, or Tas Mania. Was glass gemstone studding one pair too. In the end we started wandering around after one of those woman who smell like they have marinated themselves in perfume as well as washed their clothes in it. Managed to pace myself so that I was in her wake, riding the bow wave. That tiny habitable patch between the awful fusty clothes smell and being overpowered by the perfume. Like a planetary system really that was. I was orbiting the over fragranced woman.

*Great Aberdonian word which I have really taken to, means something like musty and mouldy. As in chocolate cake, fusty cake, fusty cake, chocolate cake and more fusty cake (from an old manager). Another Aberdonian one is Spirtle. Which is not a porno pokemon as it sounds. Its a gadget for beating porridge or mashed potatoes up. Truthfully it looks like someone has taken a stave off a chair back. Who knows...I need to get out, CGBF has declared this. I have no bobbins and I need to tidy *sob*

We have now completed packing (I did the socks and knickers) and tidied the kitchen as well as having a dose of hysterics at the spider skin on my shoes.

Well me for now, I've slightly degenerated into a exhaustion rant but there you go. These things do sometimes happen. I need some serious canoodling to sleep before the holiday.
Will report back in just over a week :).