26 Aug 2014

Hestia...is poo-less!

I have a hate/hate relationship with my hair.

My hair.  Actually, also my make-up
On the day that I wash my hair it curls beautifully.  But if I have to go outside (entirely likely) it begins to frizz.  Come day two after the hair wash and I look like I've been fighting (unsuccessfully) with badgers in a hedge.  From there on in, I scrape it back into a pony tail.  Although I've never seen a pony with a tail that looks like my hair.

I have had it straightened in the past - a keratin treatment which is actually quite good for your hair for reducing frizz - but I still had to do a lot of straightening.  And straightening isn't good for your hair.  And then there's the time.  And the cash.....

Reader.  I.  Have.  Had.  Enough.

22 Aug 2014

Hestia.... learns about denim

St Tiffany - patron saint of Denim Wearers
If you know me at all, you will realise that I am a fairly unreconstructed fashion person: I have written before about how my dress sense is more Matt Baker than Ted, my hair more Gene Simmons than Jean.

I love reading fashion blogs though, but usually while I'm slobbed out on the bed with my ipad and munching my way through a Tunnocks Caramel Wafer.  Like swimming with sharks and base-jumping off the top of the Eiffel Tower, it's grand to watch and read about, but frankly, I haven't got the energy or inclination to take part.

Then I happened upon the Guardian vlogs.

12 Aug 2014

Hestia.... has another tidy fail

I am a sucker for self-helpy-motivational booky stuff.  My friends joke that if there was a book to wean you off self-help books, it too would adorn my bookshelves.

Many a happy hour I have lain on the sofa, Loose Women chuntering on aimlessly as background noise,  reading about how to energise my life and git myself motivated.  I never stir from the comfort of the couch.

There are those who change their lives and those who just change their sitting position.

I am, unfortunately, one of the latter.

19 Jul 2014

Hestia's... #minionfail

Never send your minion out unescorted to buy coriander:

14 Jul 2014

Hestia....has a funny smell

Niffy footwear - fablas for clearing sinuses

We have a shoe cupboard.

Not quite as grand as maybe having a walk in thermidor containing your cigars, but still classier than anything that contains the word 'Kardashian'.

I'm not sure what the cupboard was created for originally, but it has a marvellously rumbly sliding door and shelves.  Lots of shelves.

I don't use the shelves for the shoes; they lie in a heap in the middle of the cupboard floor, causing the hoover to quake fearfully in the corner next to our never-empty washing basket.

The shelves are used for kitchen towels.  We have a gazillion kitchen towels - tea towels, hand towels, dog towels, glass cloths, aprons and the like.  And I don't think I've ever purchased a towel in my life. They must breed in there, in the darkness.

There is also an enormous amount of hats.  Mostly with novelty value.  Things that look like jesters caps complete with bells, a hideous ginger wigged thing that plays a Scottish tune when you press a concealed button, numerous skip caps, beanies and a straw sun hat (that I have worn once - to the Royal Wedding party a couple of years ago).

Also, eight single gloves.

And all the jackets and bags of every shape and size.

Got the picture?  Good.

I noticed that there was a bit of an odd smell in the shoe cupboard.  Initially I put it down to my running shoes.  I should really put the word running in inverted commas because I don't actually run in them.  I mainly jog along for a few minutes until Nero sniffs A Smell That Must Be Sniffed and my shoulder dislocates in protest at his sudden stop.

Anyway, it was an odd smell.

I took my running shoes and set them down next to the back door that night before I went up to bed. I rumbled the cupboard door closed. Lifted my handbag and went up to bed.

This morning I rumbled the door open again and the smell was greatly reduced.

I then went out to post some bits and bobs and get my daily shopping high in the Co-op. I opened my handbag and caught a distinct gust of something Unpleasant.

I snapped my bag closed and looked round apologetically at the rest of the queue.  No one was gagging.  I might have got away with it.

Once through the checkout, I stood in teh pouring rain, hauling the contents of my handbag out for everyone to see - purse, spectacles, house keys, phone.....

And there it was - the source of the evil smell.

Note to self:  When buying herring fillets on a Friday, make sure that they're not still in your handbag on the Monday.

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