The ‘great’ British summer has been pretty damp these past few weeks, so it was particularly depressing to see rain forecast when we saw the legendary Nile Rodgers and Chic at Hampton Court Palace Festival at the weekend. But I had a secret weapon. I’d invested in clear plastic, disposable ponchos for us.
A few days before we went, I scoured Amazon and found just the thing, complete with ‘attractive’ drawstring hoods.
This last feature may not be stylish but it was sadly essential as I didn’t want my hair ending up looking like a cross between a Hungarian Puli and a lampshade by the end of the night.
Mike, understandably, was not keen. I mean, who wants to wear what’s basically a man-sized carrier bag?
I think he probably preferred to get rained on. But, as far as I’m concerned, if I was wearing one, he was going to as well.
Ever the optimist, I’d like to think we made a sort of alternative, post-punk retro 1970s’ fashion statement rather than resembling ‘boil-in-the-bag’ vegetables.
However, if it was going to be chilly – which it was by 9pm – we were more likely to look like the contents of freezer bags.
To complicate matters, we had posh tickets which meant we also got a three-course meal and a Champagne reception first. So then we had to consider the ‘posh frock’ dress code for the indoors bit and then the plastic mac and something warm for outside later. Challenging.
Why is nothing ever easy if you are a woman?
Men can just turn up in something vaguely resembling smart-like trousers and a jacket, but a new, floaty long dress was going to look a tad daft when I was swathed from head to toe in polythene looking like a Midsomer Murders victim.
I was hoping to look effortlessly elegant, cool and summery, not like a decorator in disposable overalls or a forensic scientist at a crime scene.
The only good bit in my opinion is that they are disposable so I had great joy in ripping it off and shoving it in a bin before going home. What fun.
Up all night with a sick little one – just like having a baby
Don't get me wrong, I adore our little Yorkie, Milly. She's my baby. But she was just like a new baby the other night as she got me up no less than five times throughout the night with, er, tummy trouble, for want of a better description.
Each time I managed to doze off again I’d hear her scratching at the door so had to leap out of bed and bolt through the house at lightning speed to facilitate her escape.
So, I had the worst night's sleep ever and the conservatory rug isn’t feeling too clever either.
Now Milly’s sleeping like a baby whereas I’m a demented, snarling zombie. So, don't approach me if you see me. I'm highly likely to be dangerous.
Electronic mat which takes the effort out of exercise
I laughed out loud when scrolling through Instagram the other day. One of those sponsored ads popped up that was yoga related.
It was for an electronic yoga mat. I’m still giggling now at the stupidity but, apparently, what you do is plug it in, charge it, put it on the floor and lie on it. That’s all you have to do. The mat does the rest.
It allegedly ‘guides you through a series of gentle yoga stretches with no effort required’. Come off it. So, all I have to do is fork out nearly £200, lie back and think of England and enjoy a totally ‘effortless’ exercise experience?
Why would you want exercise to be effortless? What’s the point?