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.

7 Jul 2014

Hestia's moment with redcurrants

We are just back from a week in Stafford and by Stafford I really mean Alton Towers.  Not me, personally, of course - hey, I know my roller-coaster limitations and that limit is Blackpool Pleasure Beach.

But I'm not here to talk to you of vomiting small boys and ultra-expensive pottery!  NO! On our return, I spotted that the Redcurrants were not only gleaming like rubies from the Orient,  but that the blackbirds were gobbling them up as fast as they were ripening.

Picking had to commence forthwith.

30 Jun 2014

Hestia ....and Justin Currie

Relax, this isn't going to be a replica of When Hestia Met Paolo.  There was no pressing of the flesh, but I was still well within hormone affecting distance.

So, Nero and Sonshine were duly dropped off at My Day Carer and her husband (The Grass Fairy). Tartarus and I turned joyful Solstice faces towards Glasgow and set off on the ferry.  In fact, everything went entirely according to plan - the accommodation I had booked was expecting us! We got a car parking space right outside!  The studio apartment was luffly!  We had tons of time  to get to the gig!

We decided to walk.

Not an error in itself, but it took us a goodly half an hour, strolling down Great Western Road, sweaty joggers puffing past us, taxi drivers tooting, people unsure whether to drive in the bus lane or not....all the usual stuff.

27 Jun 2014

Hestia ....meets a local Rock God

If you read my Tarot blog, look away now because YOU HAVE HEARD THIS STORY ALREADY.  But like I said, I will NEVER stop telling people about The Day I Met Paolo :-D

So, I'm out having a totally marvellous grown-up moment with two girlfriends, celebrating my friend's 60th birthday and having a jolly nice time at a discreet and 'spensive restaurant.  We are just perusing the extensive menu when I happen to glance over the balcony (that's how posh it was, it has a BALCONY) into another part of the restaurant below.

Oh. My. God.


Paolo Nutini was standing chatting to some friends, well within hormone-affecting distance.  PAOLO NUTINI!!!!! Don't know who he is?  

Last Request was his first hit single.

And now, three albums later, the boy is well into his stride:

To cut a very long story short (and that's a LONG story that I will NEVER get fed up of repeating to my long-suffering friends, I can ASSURE you!) he looked up at us on our balcony and I just blurted out "can I take your photo, please?'

"Wouldn't you prefer to come down here and have your photo taken with me?' his face crinkled into a smile up as he looked up at me.  Cue melting heart and middle-aged lady googley-eyed adoration. Also, strange stirrings in very sleepy bits.

WOULD I?!  Is the Pope a Catholic?!  Does a bear shit in the woods?! With my knees knocking and my heart pounding I ran down the stairs two at a time.  Dignity.  Always dignity.

And lo! Out he unlocked the private dining room door and emerged into the restaurant hallway, slender, floppy haired and cute as anything! He kissed me on the cheek, shook my hand, snaked his arm around my waist (I sucked my tummy in for dear life!) and my friend snapped us on her camera phone.

As per all situations that make me nervous, I began to get the ol' verbal diarrhoea: 'I bet you hear lots of people saying this," I wittered, 'but I AM a big fan and I was really disappointed not to get tickets for your Glasgow gig before they sold out.'

Then he said these immortal words: "Want me to put you down on the guest list for the Edinburgh gig?"

Reader, I might actually have let out an involuntary little 'squee' at that point!  And so it was that he took my name and scribbled it on a sheet of A4 from the goggle-eyed receptionists and stuffed it into his suit pocket.

Update:  I didn't go to the gig (I was going to see Wicked in Glasgow the following night and it was going to be a logistical nightmare, plus I didn't think that the bit of paper would make it out of his suit pocket since he was jetting in to the First Communion and from Germany and jetting straight back out again).  On one hand, I feel sad about missing out on the gig, but yanno what? It doesn't really matter for "I too had my hour, one far fierce hour and sweet, there was a Nutini by my side and shaking knees above my feet."

*apologies to G K Chesterton's The Donkey for bastardising its lines :-D

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