Living for Disco

I dyed my hair dark again a couple of days ago. Actually, it’s black, and has the effect of making me look pale and interesting, and so I have started to wear lipstick and a bit of fluffy pink powder on my cheeks to make me look less ‘living dead girl’.

So, this morning, I left my front gate, a little late, after having rinsed off the tasty, yet unflattering bits of rice pudding that had splattered onto my skirt from breakfast. Still, I felt shiny and new, and thoroughly hydrated – something that doesn’t happen often at this particularly sweaty time of year.

“Hello my dear” I heard David, the security guard next door say, as he habitually does, through the bougainvillea. Recently, he has taken to telling me how much my hair looks ‘not good’, so I thought ‘at least now my hair is dark, he can’t tell me how rubbish I look, and I won’t have to run inside for a balaclava/paper bag/shot of hard liquor’. And then…

“You slept well, yes?”

“Yes, thanks! I did, as a matter of fact.” I stopped short of skipping and saying ‘tra la la laaa’, but only because it was too hot.

“Yes, you do not look so terribly tired like you do every day.”

My GOD! It’s too hot for balaclavas. I am going to have to start bringing the gin into work.

Prince Charles has bought a house next door to my Mum!

Well, not quite, perhaps, but Myddfai*’s not far off. As far as I can remember it’s a pretty village, without many people in it. A bit like the village I grew up in, except a bit more picturesque, and in possession of a shop, and a post office.

Despite the naysayers who think that the mushrooming of unlived in holiday homes is sapping the life from villages in the area, I think that this could be very good for everyone. I expect he will be setting up one of his famous biscuit factories, which will provide many jobs.

I also expect when I go home, pull on my wellies and my waterproof, and take my daily ten mile walk into the soggy hills, as is my habit when I am at home**, I will be bumping into Prince William and his entourage, which no doubt includes many wealthy young bachelors in search of an alluring older woman to help corrupt them. I may have to adapt my wardrobe to the situation, and purchase some sexy tweed twin sets, or something. Mind you, they’ve probably got tweed twinsets coming out their ears. Maybe I should go for something scarlet, in satin, and buy wellies to match.

This is very exciting. I wonder if Mum will invite them round for tea?

*For those not familiar with Welsh pronunciations, this is pronounced Muthvye (th as in mother).

**I do not, as is commonly believed, spend days sitting on the sagging chair in the living room, waving imperiously at my mother to bring me tea, and demolishing packets of McVities plain chocolate homewheats, while watching back-to-back DVDs.