I may have mentioned my accident-proneness before. Well today, I excelled myself. I was coming out of M&S, and was temporarily blinded by a dust-bearing gust of wind. I staggered forward womanfully, and then my feet hit something...on hearing sounds of mild consternation around me, I halted, and dabbed at my eyes. On regaining sight, I realised that I had walked into a sand sculpture of a monkey. This had done it no good at all. The man was very very forebearing about it, and a couple of punters (and me) dropped money into his hat. But I was mortified.
I am always doing things like this, and yet my arty friends continue to invite me to private views, unveilings of kinetic sculptures, and into their lovely homes. They are either foolhardy risk-takers,optimists, or have very short memories. There is a trail of smashed, dented and broken objets d'art in my past. I don't confine my destructiveness to the "creative sector"; having broken lots of more prosaic objects too, but there is something about a delicately positioned wire erection depicting humanity's aspirations towards the the sublime in abstract, that will inevitably catch my eye. Closely followed by the corner of my handbag.
So it is with mixed feelings that I recieve the information from ROSPA this year, that 5,450 people around the British Isles have managed to injure themselves on their socks, trousers, and pyjamas. I have had a sheltered upbringing, but I can just about envisage a few ways in which the unwary male might court a trouser injury. And if you include sliding across highly polished floors in with the sock lot, a reasonable picture emerges. But I cannot for the life of me imagine how I might injure myself on my pajamas. In fact, I am convinced that pyjamas are a force for good, and have probably saved far more lives than they have ended or endangered. Without them,the number of people sleeping naked would doubtless increase, and so, possibly,would the number of people...The British are a chilly and indolent race, thank goodness. However, remove the flanelette barriers separating couples of a usually tepid bedtime disposition, and who knows what might not spring forth in the way of unplanned episodes of lust?
I had some satin sheets once, and very nice they were too. I also had some satin pyjamas, of a creamy, Clara Bow-like nature. I did make the mistake once of inserting myself between said sheets in said pyjamas, It was an error, as I was slipping all over the shop like a seal. If I were to do that again, I should have to sew Velcro on my bottoms.
JimJams are much on my mind today, as one aspect of my mission to town was a need to buy a pair. Without revealing TOO much about my domestic life, I can say that it often features sleeping on sofas, and in other people's spare rooms. Therefore decent winter pyjamas are a must. But can they be had? Not even for ready money. Practically all garments I saw today in the nightwear sections fell firmly into two camps. One being " Cheap Rhino-skinned Hooker". What sort of woman snuggles into bed wearing harsh red nylon mini-pants edged with spiky lace, and an underwired top?
The other category is " Infantile Simpleton". Pink. Lots of pink..and soft fluffy fabrics, embellished with appliqued bunnies and bears and birds and stupid words in curly writing. I am appalled when I so much as toy with the idea of wearing a pair ; a sad-eyed cartoon kitten stretched and straining across my improbable breasts.
In the end, I discovered a third, small sub-category; Mad Old Poorly Woman pyjamas. I shan't describe them. A girl has to retain some mystery. Suffice it to say that I am The Woman In Blackler's; (which reigned supreme as the reliable purveyors of sturdy winceyette nightwear for the gentlewoman, sadly missed). I shan't sleep THAT soundly, though, as I shall be brooding on ways to injure myself with the things.
I am always doing things like this, and yet my arty friends continue to invite me to private views, unveilings of kinetic sculptures, and into their lovely homes. They are either foolhardy risk-takers,optimists, or have very short memories. There is a trail of smashed, dented and broken objets d'art in my past. I don't confine my destructiveness to the "creative sector"; having broken lots of more prosaic objects too, but there is something about a delicately positioned wire erection depicting humanity's aspirations towards the the sublime in abstract, that will inevitably catch my eye. Closely followed by the corner of my handbag.
So it is with mixed feelings that I recieve the information from ROSPA this year, that 5,450 people around the British Isles have managed to injure themselves on their socks, trousers, and pyjamas. I have had a sheltered upbringing, but I can just about envisage a few ways in which the unwary male might court a trouser injury. And if you include sliding across highly polished floors in with the sock lot, a reasonable picture emerges. But I cannot for the life of me imagine how I might injure myself on my pajamas. In fact, I am convinced that pyjamas are a force for good, and have probably saved far more lives than they have ended or endangered. Without them,the number of people sleeping naked would doubtless increase, and so, possibly,would the number of people...The British are a chilly and indolent race, thank goodness. However, remove the flanelette barriers separating couples of a usually tepid bedtime disposition, and who knows what might not spring forth in the way of unplanned episodes of lust?
I had some satin sheets once, and very nice they were too. I also had some satin pyjamas, of a creamy, Clara Bow-like nature. I did make the mistake once of inserting myself between said sheets in said pyjamas, It was an error, as I was slipping all over the shop like a seal. If I were to do that again, I should have to sew Velcro on my bottoms.
JimJams are much on my mind today, as one aspect of my mission to town was a need to buy a pair. Without revealing TOO much about my domestic life, I can say that it often features sleeping on sofas, and in other people's spare rooms. Therefore decent winter pyjamas are a must. But can they be had? Not even for ready money. Practically all garments I saw today in the nightwear sections fell firmly into two camps. One being " Cheap Rhino-skinned Hooker". What sort of woman snuggles into bed wearing harsh red nylon mini-pants edged with spiky lace, and an underwired top?
The other category is " Infantile Simpleton". Pink. Lots of pink..and soft fluffy fabrics, embellished with appliqued bunnies and bears and birds and stupid words in curly writing. I am appalled when I so much as toy with the idea of wearing a pair ; a sad-eyed cartoon kitten stretched and straining across my improbable breasts.
In the end, I discovered a third, small sub-category; Mad Old Poorly Woman pyjamas. I shan't describe them. A girl has to retain some mystery. Suffice it to say that I am The Woman In Blackler's; (which reigned supreme as the reliable purveyors of sturdy winceyette nightwear for the gentlewoman, sadly missed). I shan't sleep THAT soundly, though, as I shall be brooding on ways to injure myself with the things.
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