Where The Air Starts To Thin

I have a gorgeous pair of new shoes. They were a bargain and exactly what I was searching for, perfect for Kirsty and Jims wedding in a couple of weeks time.

However I have a few issues regarding these implements of sluttish behaviour:

1. They have the most massive heel. Somehow I look a little less Glamazon and a little more Danny La Rue in them. Lets put this into perspective, in these heels, I'm as tall as Dave.
   
   Dave is 6'3"!
   
   ....I'm a man for gods sake!
   
   
2. The fact that I haven't adorned such dizzying creations since the start of my antipodean adventure means that I am very bad at walking in heels. So much so that I have found that I actually walk as if protecting a scrotal sack between my gargantuan thighs!
   
   Or at least I'm strutting like Beyonce Knowles at any rate...
   
   
3. Because I have been living as a sandgroper for two years means that I have lived in flipflops and now my feet have spread and resemble those of Frodo the Hobbit. I have tried to stretch the shoes to fit non-asian princess feet but I fear nerve damage and amputation before my forth coming holiday is over.
   
   
4. I fear altitude sickness.
   
   
5. And alcohol....
   
   Did you not see Naomi Campbell in those Vivienne Westwood platforms that time? That will be me sashaying up the aisle to deliver my reading only to topple and drag the best man down with me, possibly showing my knickers to the entire congregation in the process!
   

Do you have any advice for me?

How do I learn to walk in heels in the manner of Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex and the City?

People, you have two weeks to whip me into shape!

Swing Out Sister

Swing dancing lessons....

What a great way to meet young hot guys (yes I know I'm taken but there is nothing wrong with a little window shopping). I've always swooned at a fine gentlemens two step.

Reality....

Twenty guys varying from sweaty young things with issues of counting, to seventy year old hunk of spunks with wiggly hips and a colostomy bag.

I'm having the time of my life!

The Rise And Fall Of The Modest Mouse

Please note: The following pictorial is a re-enactment only. Please do not try this at home. No monkeys were harmed during the filming of this sory

Picture this. It was a Saturday morning. I was wearing the heavy overcoat of my hangover acquired from the cheap wine of a friday night. As I tentatively made a healing cup of char I saw something scuttle across my kitchen floor. Screaming, I threw myself onto the kitchen counter in the manner of some 1940s chick flick.

Egor the mouse was loose in the house.

He found refuge in the metal underbelly of the fridge. I lay in wait for nearly twenty minutes taunting him with my weapon of choice, a strip of highly polished bamboo flooring. When Egor tired of my pathetic torture he made his escape scurrying to the nearest cupboard.

Needless to say, I was now very cross. As I flung open the kitchen cupboard doors to illustrate my anger I spied the many many 'presents' Egor had left me. It was obvious that our prisoner had been escaping the theatre room every night after we had retired to bed.

So I stealthily opened each door locating the little bugger in the last cupboard. However, there is a reason why mice don't rule the world, they simply don't understand the principles of camoflage and staying hidden. He was crouched between the plates and the wall with his bum and tail fully visible practically chuckling to himself with his fantastic hiding place.



I looked at my bamboo plank and re-assessed. This wouldn't cut it. Obviously I needed a grabbing device. I quietly searched around the kitchen for such an implement when my eyes came across the barbeque tongs!

Perfect.

I crept up to the quivering mouse clad with pink rubber gloves (myself, not the mouse obviously) and with tongs held aloft. There I waited for my moment.


That's when Dave came home. Quickly I thrust the tongs at him, jumped around the living room waving pink rubber hands and bamboo around. Dave grabbed the mouse who was shrieking (the mouse and not Davo) and I held the door open for him as he marched outside and launced the mouse over the fence!



See, I caught him all by myself! Aren't I the bravest thing on the planet?