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Martini. It's a fabulous drink. I think it's my drink. I feel like I could have many.  I don't even bother with the shaking and stirring...I'm not JBond. And while olives are tasty, I prefer them with cheese. 

Here is it...my thirst quencher, my summertime loving in a glass 

Act10

We were chatting about actors. And how people obsess over them. Are they that great? And it occurred to me, that while there are a few I rather like, I don't have an actor I could gush over. As in "oh my god, i'd just DIE if he/she was here". And in fact I don't think I would....people all the same. I am the girl that stuck her tongue out at Jared Leto so...I guess that could be proving my point. Well, I didn't want him to think I was a fan-girl. And he stuck his tongue out too, so I feel like it was mission accomplished. 

Yes, there are loads I admire. Appreciate for the fine performance they put on. But obsess, dream, want to be or be with?  Nope not one. When I was a pre-teen.....hell yes....being as young as 8 and arguing, no screaming at my considerably older cousin that a singer was going to be mine. The fact he was gay put a spanner in those works. And I've never met him...but I'm still confident he'd like me more than he would like her. 

Maybe Jared Leto is my favourite. He  ticks actor and singer boxes. Maybe I'm just not 10 anymore. 

From Brighton with love of gin

Casino again. I love this place. It just has the best energy. I've been to others, I've seen the losses. But this one. This one is full of people who just don't cry. They're the people with money to spend and they're spending it. I've just noticed that all the signs are in English and Chinese. I've made friends who assume I'm moneyed up as well. High flying holidays to Bali have been discussed. I guess I can snob out as well as the next. Mr Pavey sir, you are a gentleman of the old guard and it suits you. Then there's my new friend in the seat next to me...I guess I have a friendly face. He's just won a substantial amount and is waiting for the big guns to validate his win. He's playing it cool, but by the way he's clutching his receipt and keeps looking at it, caressing it with his eyes, it's a large amount. He's a happy man. He's also a polite man. 

So this place rocks. I'm wearing a great dress...I'm money up so have walked away from the bloody machines. Now it's time to watch. 

I also have a new drink. Gin with elderflower. It's supremely yummy. What a great weekend. Wowee 

Might be fit

Joined the gym. Yup get the laughing done before you read on. 

But it's great. Now I've joined a gym before and it wasn't a wholly pleasant experience. 

It was a sticky place. By that I mean, you could feel (physically and mentally) the sweat that had passed through, the failed fitness dreams. The yuck. 

I did not like the same sex change rooms for swimming. Yeah sure, I got to converse with TB but, I also got to thinking that maybe it wasn't all sweat and water I was stepping in. 

And I had to be bribed to go. That's not effective to anyone, least of all me, considering the bribery took form in ice cream. 

I have a feeling that there will be no coercion required at this new gym place. 

For one, I don't feel sticky when I leave. Everything is fresh and clean and lovely. And I don't feel like I'm a pleb because i don't know what all the machines are called-apparently they aren't medieval torture devices. 

The pool is fantastic with a stop watch thingie so that I know I'm super fast....and I am slightly competitive enough to want to break my current lap time. 

I feel happy when I arrive and amazing when I leave. This has all the markings of a great experience. YESH!!!! 

Wordage!

I do like a Haiku... hadn't written any for many a moon and today I've done 5.


I remember my first one I did... English class with Mrs Levy - there was no way she was a Mrs though... she was a stern old bird, who dressed head to toe in black. Very Crow-esque (the movie, not the bird). And she had a tongue like a bee's stinger... sharp and pointy.


Age 14, I was petrified, I was convinced she would hate me - she didn't... and she bloody loved my Haiku - even if it was about a boy and I don't think she liked boys a lot. Mrs Levy - I've been lucky with my English teachers, she's up there with Mrs Shepherd - both gave me William S, love of drama and writing and words - all the words!!


I've been trying to remember that lovely first haiku - failing miserably. Here's one though:


I wrote a haiku
Levy said was FAB-U-LOUS
Haven't done one since


Not my best work, not my worst.. but the best bit about them, is that they are fun. And I'm enjoying words again.




Number 6 of the day:


Pitter Patter Rain
drops falling down, fast and hard
On the steps outside


AJG

That's history that is

Oh man! It's been a fabulous day (week). Tennis has been played in the sun. And won. We've had great emails. A few road trips in one day. Sunshine and happiness. 

And now I'm in my second favourite cashino. Dressed to kill and nursing several martinis to their freedom. 

I have also just noticed that there are elephants on the floor. This might push Red to first place.

It's so busy, not a machine or table free. Which is good as I'm on a fine losing streak. My game is off. My head hurts like a bitch. 

Be a rainbow

It's been a week. A week where you find out the inside colours of people. Some are a nightshade of black, others are a rainbow of rainbows. 

And those nightshade ones...you want to tell them to go ride a bike to hell. A bike with no seats. But then the rainbow inside says, chill cat, you'll be shot of them soon enough. 

The delicious bear is a rainbow, had thoughts I would do this, even though I had talked myself out of it.  Even though he's waiting for his own stuff, he's been celebrating for me. How cool is that? 

That my reader, is a man. Not many would put their own stuff to one side and be so totally overjoyed for me. 

And while this might seem a smushy old posting. It's not really. It's hashtagword. 

Dear Diary....I'm sorry

I worry about my words. All my words. I've written so many. And they live inside books, notepads. Some of them are not great so they hide. But I worry about them after I'm dead. Who will love them? Who should read them, if anyone. 

I've kept diaries since I was 10. That's a lot of sentences. I haven't written constantly. Not every day for every year. As I got older, and more people took access when they weren't allowed, I got scared and censored when and what I wrote. 

And now I'm doing the same....I can feel myself being censored. And I hate that and I worry about my words. 

My will needs a clause, no one to read my written words until I have been gone for decades.