:: The Pursuit of Beauty ::

A rather aesthetic weekend... Having bailed out of Tongue-in Chic's dinner party early on Friday, I was a little disappointed at the (lack of) talent on show. Despite a number of rather attractive and engaging ladies, the male contingent seem to rely a little more heavily on "personality". I was knackered anyway, and felt the need to depart before the strudel or the excessive alcohol got the better of me. Not that I'm a body fascist - I certainly don't have any right to be. I find the increasing aspiration to bodily perfection and the effect this may have on mental health a thoroughly depressing business. Let us elevate our minds therefore, to higher planes of beauty. Let us sup on the nectar from Narcissus' nipple. Let us drown in a pool of blissful hyperbole. Ladies and gentlefolk, I present to you (courtesy of b3ta) the all new Apple Mackintosh:

Saturday was a good'un, with a birthday outing to Chessington World of Adventures. Not my birthday, you understand, but that of Chairman Ma. It was a chance to get wet with a whole group of people you've never met before. Top pikey moment of the day was hearing a teenage mother scream in lingua councillia "Jessiccaah! Stop it. Come 'ere!", before turning round to see that the said child was diligently stamping on each Ritz cracker she'd just dropped. The wet rides were alternated with spinny ones to dry us off and the company was good too. Since Tigger was there too, I shan't reveal the identity of the one I particularly liked, but it probably wasn't too hard to guess. I got back to The Smoke in time to join in the final part of another friend's birthday pubcrawl. Strangely I got talking to another rather attractive young man, and even went part of the way home with him in a taxi. Anyway, nothing was ever going to happen (no matter how much I wished it). I'm convinced they're both straight and happily so.

Another relatively early night meant there was plenty of time on Sunday morning to scoot around the local deli in preparation for a posh pique-nique with La Gribouilleuse. No jam sandwiches and smiths salt 'n' shake washed down with a panda pop for us, thank you. Freshly baked bread, olives, salami di Napoli and some weepy brie were delightfully accompanied by a glass or seven of kir. Traipsing back to mine, we used the local recycling centre to get rid of our used items:

And yesterday... well, I took Blondinka B back to my Mum's house for the day, where we visited the village horticultural show. The exhibits were shown complete with comments such as "Despite having a lovely golden brown appearance, these scones were damp in the center. Use a little less flour on top for a better result." This could have been Midsomer Murders - I was expecting the rector to run into the marquee, to announce breathily that Mrs Fortescue had been tragically killed in an accident with an oversized marrrow.

Exhausted, I returned home, my sanity only marginally intact.