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Muttonmother

Oh dear – I really must revive my flagging blogposting-ness. I’ve been far too busy fending off 54 unwanted Hold’em Poker requests and Compare Your Friends Pants surveys on c*ntbook to even get time to concoct a blog post. I’ve even been enveigled into playing Scrabble at 08:00 of a morning and once been late to take the ginger Squidget to school as a result of feverishly ‘trying to place my bingo!’. For those not in the know of really important online things such as Scrabularse – that’s when you score 80 points with one word. All I got was a request to fill the late book and a bit of a scowl from the school receptionist. Cow.

I made a purchase this week. I made a ridiculous purchase this week. I made a purchase so thoroughly ridiculous that when I described it to my friend Thom yesterday he genuinely snorted like a pig. I knew he wouldn’t understand – he was born in 1982 for god’s sake. Anyway, back to my story.

Are you sitting comfortably? (You will need to sit down – just warning you). Now I’ll begin.

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Once upon a time, I had a pair of trousers I was really proud of. It was 1979. I was 13. I’m not quite sure what happened to those lovely trousers. I think they were impounded and thrown away by my mother who was scared that I would ‘become wild’ if I wore them any longer. So this weekend I was working in Covent Garden and went for a bit of a wander into Urban Outfitters – a favourite clothes haunt of mine. I picked up this and that and tried a few things on. And then I saw theeeeeese:

Pink and black faded leopard print very very very tight jeans. If you can imagine the picture above is really a much shorter 3-dimensional plasticine model and if you squash it a bit with your hand so it splurges out the sides and looks a bit fatter – that’s what I look like in them. Actually, not that bad but not quite svelte 13 again that’s for sure. I had a ‘hang on, do I look a bit mutton in them moment – for about a millisecond – and then in a fit of revisited teenage fever I bought them. So far – I have worn them in the changing room of the shop twice (you see – I really did have to convince myself) and once in the bathroom at home. I was thinking recently that I should probably try and lose half a stone. I have done a lot of running in my head but so far not any real life running. I was sort of experimenting with the idea of whether I could indeed think myself thin? I bought the trousers thinking that they would be the catalyst for a rigorous self-induced weight-loss programme but rather fantastically because they are so tight they squidge everything cleverly re-distributing here and there and I actually don’t look that bad in them at all.

Goodness knows when I shall wear them but I shall. mutton

Noun

1. the flesh of mature sheep, used as food

2. mutton dressed as lamb an older woman dressed up to look young [Medieval Latin multo sheep]

In the continuing absence of a Listen With Rockmother podcast please listen to this instead – it is much better than anything I could ever dream of doing and was originally broadcast on 12th October 1976 – I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it. We made sure we stayed in especially.


And if you are still with me – check out this man – a one true diamond of this hard cold world. I had the absolute pleasure of working and talking with him yesterday. I am very lucky.

PS: blogger is rubbish and has decided that everything shoud be in italics even though I keep telling it not to.

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