Do it your selfie

I don’t really do selfies. Not as a rule but in general I try to avoid seeing what I look like of a day as to not feel guilty about the sight I am inflicting upon others. (Think Wurzel Gummage crossed with an overly tired moomin). Although it might be handy if I did do selfies more regularly to avoid going out with Mr Tumble stickers stuck to my forehead and also to realise that my dress was on back to front ALL DAY LONG.

However, the other night whilst perusing my phone it came to my attention that one of us, namely Boy 2 is quite the selfie pro. So here are a few pointers to get the perfect one;

1. Steal a phone.

2. Try the easiest combination of numbers ever like 1234 to crack the password and you’re in. (If the phone’s owner is on the clever side then try it backwards.)

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3. The most important thing to take into account is that your fringe is perfectly aligned. This will give body to your photos, ignore the centre box on the screen. Follow your fringe. Always.

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4. Create an air of mystery. No need to properly open your eyes or change your facial expression.

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5. If you do move away from the safety of your fringe, then don’t forget to focus on your nose, it adds a certain “je ne sais quoi” aspect to your shots.

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6. Repeat and repeat at least a zillion times, until you find the perfect one which is no mean feat!

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THEY SAY…

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As well as the Frozen soundtrack , I spend a lot of time hearing They say ….and I often wonder who THEY are, where THEY are and why THEY think THEY have the authority on everything

 I was hoping to spare you the agony of my poetic attempts, unfortunately I have failed and have scribed a bit of a ranty ditty about THEY, whoever THEY are.

They live in tall towers, smelling of flowers, whilst sipping the best champagne,

Shaking their heads whilst tutting, “She did it again”

They tut if you do, tut if you don’t,

Moan that you will and groan that you won’t

They won’t let you know if you’re doing it right,

But will wake you up with a fear of failing, during the night

They tell you to do it this way, but don’t delay a day

Because their theories change as they please,

Whilst guffawing at you on your knees.

They see you through their giant binoculars, serving fish fingers again

Whilst they have organic, fresher than fresh meals delivered  by electric train

They put their hands over their eyes as you drop a bookcase on your foot

Whilst soothing a baby in a sling and desperately trying to find the toddler’s favourite book.

They don’t know why you don’t get a grip and wear nice clothes

Whilst they strut about in pristine robes

They don’t know what the fuss is about

It’s child play, although it must be wooden and raved about in the latest magazines

They wonder where you read that puke and snot was better than a healthy, make up sheen

They release new techniques, which you think you have mastered

Just as they put their hands on their perfect hips

And say there were glips,

So please swot up on the latest trend,

Before you blink and it’s reached its end.

After spending three hours following their latest getting the baby to sleep rules before you unwind

You collapse on the sofa, which has taken an hour to find

And breathing a sigh of relief , throw a stray nappy in the bin

Which misses and  unwittingly covers the spy camera

They left there to check you are on track, day out and in

You smile, pop a straw in the bottle of wine and enjoy leftovers of many a processed meal gone by,

Blissfully unaware of  THEY,  hopping mad in their headquarters ,

Somewhere up in the sky.

TOPPLE LIKE A TODDLER

I never thought I would utter these words, but Madonna and me have something in common. We both had a topple in public. Granted, Madonna’s crowd was about a zillion deep and all eyes were on her, my crowd comprised of hundreds of freezing parents clapping at their offspring´s graduation. Also, mine was in a cathedral , not a swanky venue and I don’t think anybody noticed mine, not even my Mum who had been kindly seated behind a pillar.

I had been terrified about falling off the rickety stage , but I needn’t have worried about that as what actually happened was that in my relief at receiving my scroll (is that what it’s even called?) and not crashing to the ground , I leant forward , tripped over my feet and watched in stilted slow motion horror as my cap flew off my head and kept going as if it had accidentally lost its way from Hogwarts.

Cue, me stretching out like a drunk octopus and somehow managing with a bit of a mix between a run and a star jump catching it before it fell with a thud. I was ever so slightly mortified. My “friends” were highly amused and still are to this day.

Madonna, however, handled it with grace and managed to carry on unscathed. If that had been a toddler who had toppled down the stairs, they would have;

a: thrown the world`s largest most vocal tantrum, pointing fingers at everybody and screeching until everything , everywhere came to a standstill.

b: laughed uncontrollably and pulled everybody else down too.

c: hopped back on stage and done it over and over and over again.

d: probably found something to eat whilst on the ground and discovered a secret tunnel.

e: managed to locate you in the crowd and blame you for letting them wear the cape. After all, it is always your fault, remember?

 

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