Face Cream that really works? Be still my beating heart.

Beware you are unlikely to get a lumber wearing this.

The trauma of the mirror continues to horrify on a regular basis. Inside I feel 18 and exterior wise – the swags and tails that used to adorn curtains in the 80’s have moved into my face. Dear God. It is now clear the image of the original gargoyle must have been based on an Aberdonian woman in her 50’s.  So I am at the

The Brandon at Canonmills – yum yum yum.

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In the place where Cross and Corner used to live there’s now a wee bar/restaurant on that corner of Broughton Street and Eyre Place called Brandon’s of Canonmills.  A refreshing groovsters hangout with food that frankly my lips haven’t stopped smacking themselves about since we tried it. When I say groovsters hang out clearly not just groovsters as we are about as far from the

Empty nester.

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Our son left home last year to go to University. The Empty nest syndrome is something I see all around. Sad eyed middle aged women getting up like clockwork to put out the endless boxes of cereal to feed the ones who have left. Our body clocks pinging at 4pm and the Pavlovs dogs reaction of shovelling a half hundred weight of biscuits onto plates

From a sweet young boy to a hairy cowboy in a moment.

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Follow my blog with Bloglovin   Hannibal Hayes and Kid Curry the two most wanted outlaws in the history of the west, and in all the trains and banks they robbed they never shot anyone. God I loved Ben Murphy. For no reason whatsoever that intro jumped into my mind this afternoon. I tweeted it and got some banter going with fellow fans of the

“Gap Years are a waste of time” – ahem – sorry?

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Steam, smoke coming out of my ears. Blood pressure risen to dangerous levels. I am not only in high dudgeon am floating well above it and grinding my rapidly diminishing teeth to boot. The reason The Daily Telegraph. I know I know it’s called the Tory graph for a reason. It’s not the only paper I read but today I was so incensed I dumped

Skiing sausage dog.

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Follow my blog with Bloglovin We are taking the sausage skiing.?Oh yes. Well he will be mainly sledging and stomping and I will be skiing. I can’t wait. What to wear??? No not me! Him. I have a ski suit which I will squash my Christmas body into but him. The sleek red haired ginger man of love. What will I drape his sausage form

Granny becomes fashion victim

Silly trouser alert

Have you seen these breeks with holes, slits cut right up and down the leg? It looks as if they have been in a thresher. Trendy in the extreme just now. But not for menopausal women. If I wore a pair of these each hole would be pushed to bursting as croissants of undulating flesh pressed to escape the confine of the trouser so why

Jackanory with photos. Great new app!

Who needs a Playstation?

  Which creative genius suggested they make a TV show consisting of a person reading out of a book sitting static in a chair for 20 minutes and called it Jackanory. No sets. No special effects. No fancy costumes and yes it was a huge hit! The intimacy as a 5 year old sitting cross legged in front of the telly watching a lucid adult

A-Z of Scottish Storms. Never mind Henry.

I'll gie you Henry

Follow my blog with Bloglovin Life is confusing enough without names for every puff of wind coming our way. Apparently it’s so we pay more attention. So far we have suffered a series of middle class names with strange associations. 1. Abigail – a gingham clad extra in an Enid Blyton book. Irritating but not scary. 2. Barney – an irritating Purple Dinosaur who has

Terry Wogan. The boss. Gone.

The perfect shirt for radio.

The first time my name was on the radio was  a birthday request by Stewpot for my 6th birthday. “Mares eat oats and does eat oats, and little lambs eat ivy….”.no it does exist it’s just that I am ancient. From that moment to this, my overwhelming obsession in life has been radio. A medium where you as a listener really connect to the presenter