Thursday 2 April 2009

ME AND DEBBIE MCGEE

Busted flat in Baton Rouge and waiting for a train, feeling just as faded as my jeans ... these appalling words by K. Kristoffersen could never have been written for me and the lovely Debbie McGee, and I will tell you how I know.  On Monday, feeling strangely unsettled, I drove to the nearest town, which is Reading, to immerse myself in the only therapy I trust.  Obviously, those kind souls who know me well will now raise their bespectacled eyes to heaven and sigh, oh no!  Another post about Tanqueray Export Strength and inebriation, but they would be wrong.  I speak of shopping, and lots of it.  Shopping in its keenest sense, wherein the spirit and the flesh are equally willing. One has in ones L. Vuitton multi-zip a myriad of payment methods (not cash; don't be so silly) and plastic fatigue is the aim!  I know the VERY few women who read my words will sigh in agreement and envy; none of them are wealthy enough to indulge as I do, but so be it.   I was to shop with a purpose, however.  Let no-one be foolhardy enough to paint me as one of those idlers who might be glimpsed schlepping about HMV with the best of Richard Clayderman in her palsied hand! Or later in Waterstones with a remaindered copy of the Bob Holness Story. No, I was Out There; I was In The Zone;  I had a Date with Destiny (good heavens! I nearly wrote "Dentistry".  I wonder what vile Freudian vibe has raised its head?) I had to assemble a frankly slutty series of ensembles to entertain Lord Numb during our forthcoming vacance in Jumby Bay and I knew where to start.

My dear old nanny always said "A lady should build on a foundation garment", and how right she was!  In the old days, the good old days of plenty and profligacy, I would have gone to Agent Prov. and racked it up.  However, we live in straightened times, and I have had to cut my cloth accordingly, so at 1400 hours on Monday, I was to be found in La Senza, a rather down-market lingerie outlet in the Oracle completely awash with filing clerks and housewives from Tilehurst. I steeled myself, however, and in short order had an arm piled high with folderol of the basest type, which is what Lord Numb prefers.  I had a multi-bow lovelace thong in neon pink, a balconette ruched ribbon polkadot bra, a lullaby lace peppermint frou-skirt, a Pussycat Dolls satin panel split crotch and a tangerine bow-back boypant.  Vile, I know, but needs must.  The queue was long, and I bore easily, so imagine how I felt to see the Lovely Debbie McGee lining up behind me!  Simply in the spirit of research, and to bring my breathless readership news of great joy, I can reveal that she was carrying an almost identical selection!  Her colour choice was different, however, as she is a true English Rose, whereas I have the gorgeous glow of West Hampstead.  To call me sallow is a compliment; my own dear father oft-times diagnosed Addison's Disease.  However, this means I can wear orange, which is not a shade chosen by many, and leaves me quids in with Ends of Ranges.  But I digress.  The point is that The Lovely is buying the sort of lingerie that I am obliged to purchase to keep Numb interested.  What does this tell us?   Two things, I think.  Firstly, P. Daniels is still reeling with shock and grief at the recent demise of Ali Bongo and needs cheering up with some frivolous lingerie and, frankly, who doesn't?  And secondly, the recession is biting far deeper than we suspected, with  The Lovely and Mrs Pouncer having to shop in downgrade knicker emporiums.  C'est la vie.  However, this is where we part company, because I  was wearing my Britt Lintner silk jersey dress, my Marni shoes, my Anne Klein jacket, whereas The Lovely was dressed by M&S. Noblesse oblige.  Poor old conjurers' wives.

Oh, I don't know.  Maybe because I'm facing this vile birthday, or maybe because it's past 2.00 am and I'm still awake and pissed and feeling antsy, but I feel guilty about being snotty about Debbie.   I wasn't always like this.  I DID have a life at one point, and I have won awards for set design.  In particular I was known for staircases.  Staircases in the theatre are only temporary things, as you know, but are treated with great reverence because of Health and Safety.  I am now quoting from the handbook which all set dressers are given: :"Staircases  provide a means of effecting vertical movement about a building for persons circulating upwards or downwards".  Well thank heavens for that elucidation!  I was extremely good at this sort of thing and made my name in handrails and balustrades. Part H6(2) of  the Handrail Regulations arose from some of my observations from my design of a installation for a musical with a huge juvenile chorus.  I decreed that a handrail should be securely fixed with at a height of not less than 840 mm and not less than 1 m measured vertically above the pitch line, and must be terminated with a warning feature such as a scrolled end.  I know you will all breathe a sigh of relief on reading this.

The main point of this post is one of AGE.  Metaphorically, I am looking over my shoulder and seeing naught but missed opportunity and wasted potential.  And I don't mean just ME, before you get too complacent.  No, actually, I do mean me.  Oh Christ.  What next?





48 comments:

  1. Thanks for a great laugh. Would a photo of this outfit be too much to ask?
    I have yet to get away to the paddock, and the Easter bunny. And believe me it is as good as it sounds.
    x

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  2. Mrs Pouncer, so you really do know about stagecraft and everything; I see I was wrong to doubt you. Maybe a conjurer would brighten up your life right now and you should do a Debbie McGee - I'm sure Jimmy Bastard has Jerry Sadowitz's phone number. No, maybe not.

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  3. However, this means I can wear orange, which is not a shade chosen by many

    I'm green with envy.

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  4. I don't know why you're bothering to dress up for Lord Numb, Mrs P, he sounds like a rather insensitive fellow. Have you ever asked Ms McGee what attracted her to the millionaire magician she married?

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  5. I'm sure you have a huge box of tricks in the bedroom Mrs P.... and you know what to do with a hand saw, but never ever skimp on lingerie, especially during a recession.
    Sx

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  6. I'd imagined you as more of a Moschino woman.

    On this topic (just), do you have a view of Wheels and Dollbaby ("clothes to snare a millionaire") as a purveyor of expensive slutwear?

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  7. The sallow complexion is probably symptomatic of a blocked bile duct (often arising from a genetic quirk peculiar to Sephardim descended from the King of Kazan). You are probably in no immediate danger so long as you siphon off the excess bile into your ink pot.

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  8. If you tell me that you did the set design for Oliver at the Albery, when Roy Hudd played Fagin, then, by dear Mrs P, we have met. I'm sure there was a staircase involved.

    It's good old June at Rigby and Peller for me although she's probably dead by now - and in any case I hardly ever return to the UK these days.

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  9. I've no idea what a multi-bow lovelace thong in neon pink is, but yes please.

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  10. Orange and I are strangers to each other, given that I (unlike Scarlet) am of a more titian hue.

    It is reassuring to know that the LDmG still makes an effort to keep the home fires burning. Maybe Mr McG is known for his slight of hand or indeed his ability to conjure up something from nothing, even at his age.

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    Replies
    1. I'm a workin-class benefit-claiming bed-sit dwelling Glaswegian alcoholic - So I have no Idea why I'm reading this...except It's very well done and funny

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  11. Mrs P , I have a bone to pick with the Lovely D Mc G . The chinless baggage once barged into a boat mooring in front of us on the Norfolk broads (Dont ask....not a holiday of my choosing), showing a typipcal lack of manners and breeding . So I for one hope her chavy undergarments bite and chafe like the very devil.

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  12. I hope his Numbship is worth it and I'm sure you'll look ravishing. Orange - gorgeous!
    Long ago when - purely for research- I dabbled in such things I found the garment which created the greatest reaction was a simple blue and white gingham affair. Never understood it.

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  13. I can recommend 'Writing Therapy' as a good alternative. (Shameless plug - sorry!)

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  14. Inky: funny entcha? I assume you have been talking to a mutual friend? You gits. And have you seen the piccie? Do admit. The black velvet Bardot dress has never looked better.

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  15. Mrs Pouncer, at the risk of being banished from your blog for ever, were you in Tesco, King's Meadow, Reading, at about 1645 on Tuesday? I saw an appealing femme d'un certain age attempting a befuddled credit card exchange with a similar lady, the latter being intent on buying up the shop's stock of Lindt chocolates. If so, I was the chap in tweed carrying change mats, a bottle of Palwin No.10 and some medicinal bourbon.

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  16. Those who want to be feared and hated are always whining about their own success.

    http://columbine101.blogspot.com

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  17. Hey, I'm only trying to be in touch with my feminine side. Next time I mention Lily Pulitzer. No, I've got it: Pucci.

    (The pic is fab darling. But no BVB dress is visible.)

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  18. Dah-ling, I recognised you from your latest photograph, and I nearly said 'hi' when I noticed you browsing in Matalan on Wednesday. Sadly however, I was on a brief visit to the Southern hell, and couldn't stop to chat.

    The Pussycat Dolls satin panel split crotch and a tangerine bow-back boypant... lovely item, but does it come in a smaller size?

    Seriously hen.. great post. The talent was simply oooozing.

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  19. Good God, woman, what need of a balconette bra when you can built a perfectly serviceable stage staircase? Some men don't know they've been born.

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  20. Sorry, I meant to say Ashkenazim. The effect of ingesting an excess of heterocyclic amine I dare say.

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  21. Hello, Grump, and thanks for sticking around in this holy season of Lent. I am actually compiling an arousing album of candid lingerie shots - subscription only, I'm afraid - in an attempt to service my toxic debts. Btw in predictive text "holy season of Lent" is "inky reason of Kent".

    Gadj, you are a bad brother and no mistake. Fancy doubting my word! Of course I KNOW about stagecraft. The problem is, I know about very little else. Nothing else, actually. However, you are right: I should be servicing a Glaswegian prestidigitator instead of sulking about the passage of time.

    MJ, so you should be. Few can wear orange with the sort of chutzpah that comes naturally to me. In fact, only Diana Ross springs to mind: Some Day We'll Be Together on TOTP. Tangerine chiffon with satsuma accents. Parfait.

    Darling Gorilla, Numb is worth every penny, and I am a bargain, as far as he's concerned. I'm not looking for sensitive, anyway. I'm looking for lavish and ravish. I'm at that age. And I wonder what DID attract Debbie to millionaire Paul Daniels? It's an enigma.


    Scarlet, you trollop. The lingerie HAS to be skimpy, otherwise you might just as well go back to 18-Hour Girdles, and I don't have that sort of time.

    Inky, I apologise. I thought you'd been gossiping with an unreliable man. I have three Wheels & Doll Baby garments, and they work a peculiar magic, I have to admit. Well done for knowing about them! Hardly anyone else does.

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  22. Hello Ellis. Atah medaber Ivrit? I am grateful for your words.
    I am a doctor's daughter - have I ever mentioned that? - and this sort of symptom-speak brings me great comfort. The sallow complexion is nothing more than inherited colouration, and nothing to do with faulty hepatics, although I DO understand why you might suspect it. My dipsomania has resulted in a liver like an old hotwater bottle, but I roll with the punches. Descendants of King Kazan: I spent today on Brighton beach and felt more like a descendant of King Canute. Do you know Goldberg's speech from The Birthday Party ("after lunch on Shabbuss we'd go and sit in a couple of deck chairs ..") It was EXACTLY like that.

    Hello Frenchie! No, 'fraid not. 1977 saw me in what was laughingly called the Foundation Year, wherein a superannuated draughtsman with a hacking cough tells you that your portfolio is shit and you should've done Typography. I think they treat youngsters more kindly these days. Hope so, anyway.

    Emerson, helloooooo. Come into this cubicle with me. As you can see, the multibow lovelace thong operates thus: tiny ribbon laces here, and you simply pull the bow apart, and it falls open at the back. It is fine if you have the toches for it, which I do.

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  23. Well of course you should have done typography. Your insouciant attitude to fonts, accents, cedillas and the umlaut is the despair of those who otherwise admire you devotedly.

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  24. I find a mushroom umlaut perfect for a light Sunday Brunch !

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  25. Good heavens, I do apologise. I don't know what happened there: I must be deleting in my sleep. Anyhoo, as I was saying:

    Madame D, I urge you to drop your cowardice! Orange is the Way To Go, and not just here in the glorious Thames Valley. BTW nothing rhymes with orange, or silver. Isn't it strange? Haliborange and Quicksilver don't count. Kev Musgrove will probably try and insist that there is a Lancashire word such as "bilver", but don't believe him. Also, purple. Does anything rhyme with purple?

    Beast, please don't depress us with talk of East Anglia! I went to Norwich. Once. Cleft palates and calipers as far as the eye could see. Also, there's nothing wrong with a bit of bite in your underwear.

    Oh, Pat, I know. Pathetic pushovers. On Saturday, I was rocking my take on the milkmaid look; sorta dairy dominatrix. It worked on so many levels for so many men.

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  26. Kev, I knew you'd come through with a sturdy lump of common sense. I am a magical combination: think Simone D'Aillencourt measuring up for a floating screed. Next week, I will be advising on horizontal pivot-hung windows, and answering questions on extruded metal-framed partitions.

    God of Bacon, Observant, I'm afraid. Strictly kosher.

    Boyo, oh I wish! You know how I feel about Tesco - Shirley Porter notwithstanding. I suggest you haunt the Twyford branch of Waitrose on a Thursday evening, or better still the all-night BP garage at the top of the A4 (Marks & Spencer concession) any day, any time.

    Inky, duh, ok, whatever. I just thought you had some inside information. That is, outside information. You KNOW what I mean.

    See Jimmy, you should try and get in touch with your feminine side, like Inky here. My prescription: Rosamosario panties, Falke stockings and a pair of Erickson Beamon crystal drop earrings. There. Don't I look nice?

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  27. Sorry, Dotterel, I missed you! Welcome and congratulations. I will read your tome with all available haste. And don't worry about shameless plugs - all plugs are welcome here. I would never turn down a plug. (However, Plugs: it wasn't the hundreds on the hideous repro fire-surround that hurt, or the eleven quid on the husband's porn; no, it was the 88p that Jacqui Smith claimed for a bathplug. Christ).

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  28. Maybe dear Roy reprised his Fagin role at the Albery (why have they renamed this theatre - Ian Albery was my boss at that time, why take his name and his forefathers name away from this wondrous theatre) in the eighties. In 1977 I was a party girl - who had time or energy to go to work?

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  29. p.s. I never wear orange - ghastly colour.

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  30. In view of my balcony;)

    Orange hibiscus flower (Hibiscus Sanseev)? orange read? orange poppy!!!

    No I found "Paradies flower", it goes very also with the blue (the blue of eyes)

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  31. Blimey... and I thought I'd been hullucinating again...
    Sx

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  32. ...and you never see Noel Coward and Mrs. Mills in the same room together.

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  33. I am so smitten by the twinkling occular awesomeness of your avatar that I cannot recall a single word of your post...
    except for your rose amongst the thorns expedition into La Senza..

    "I had a multi-bow lovelace thong in neon pink, a balconette ruched ribbon polkadot bra, a lullaby lace peppermint frou-skirt, a Pussycat Dolls satin panel split crotch and a tangerine bow-back boypant".

    You most certainly are an expert at providing a means of effecting vertical movement.

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  34. I thought I must be mistaken. You should have your man deal with this cut-price imitation at once.

    I can usually be found in the snug at the Black Horse, Emmer Green, 1630-1720 - just before nursery kicking-out time.

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  35. Dunno, Frenchie. 77 marked the start of the Lost Years. Actually, I am still waiting for them to finish. And you are worryingly wrong about orange, although I think you might have seen Princess Anne in a tangerine poplin pinafore dress in about '68 which might've skewed your vision. Kinder Aggugini is the only waytago.

    Crabbikins, you will find me reclining in a bower of flowers. I sneer at the pollen count.

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  36. Oh, Scarla, what fresh hell is this? What is "hullucinating"? What fresh Hull is this? Are you suggesting you might be from the Humber Estuary? Is this why Kevs is always on your coat-tails, so to speak? Do southern-up a bit, I beg.

    And Kev, you encourage her. Just because you share a penchant for pianists of the basest nature, there is no need to spread your vulgarity. However, A CONFESSION. I do so love Sidesaddle by Russ Conway that I oft-times trill it to myself to annoy my immediate coterie. You may consider posting a You Tube offering for me. It is my birthday month, after all.

    Mr Coppens, my devotion to you grows in direct proportion to the outrageous compliments you pile on me. I even forgive you for bringing to mind the image of a toy crane. I will not be able to think of you now without seeing something mechanised, possibly with a Meccano engine whirring away. I don't find this vision off-putting for some reason.

    Boyo, I have often suspected a doppelganger. Someone else tells me they see me in the foyer of the Ibis, Friar Street, on a regular basis. And another ingrate swears I am to be found in the Rafina Coffee Lounge next to Primark! Imagine such slurs. Your purlieu sounds grimy, but I am totally there. I will be outside, smoking, in satsuma Gareth Pugh (nice nod to the Welsh).

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  37. Yep, I had a feeling it was wrong, but at least Hull now gets a mention...
    Sx

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  38. Yes, Scarlet, but I will thank you not to besmirch my glamorous page with offensive geography. Kevin will be encouraged to reference Ancoats now, or the Wirral.

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  39. You have told us a great deal about what you will wear to entertain Lord Numb, but, except for what we can deduce from this, we know nothing of the man. Could it be the same Numb who, as I have just remembered, was at school with me and Kevin? He had particularly shiny brogues. Numb, that is, not Kevin. Kevin used to wear socks and sandals.

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  40. *Jumps up and down at the back of the class with hand in air*
    But did you click on 'Hull' Mrs P??? Please Mrs P, click on 'Hull'!!! And can I have a gold star please?
    Sx

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  41. Inky, you are in luck. Numb is the best known bon vivisecteur this side of Heston Services. He intends to visit this sumptuous coterie in the very near future. He is currently exploring a business venture with Dr Maroon, as they have an interest in a life science project which aims to make dissection more family-friendly - they may even open a theme park; think of the fun! You MAY be confusing him with his cousin, Beau Wyndeau, who I think you remember from school.

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  42. Scarla, you are a good. clever girl. This has put Hull on the map and I am totally getting a Pigalle Sophia.

    Crabbicakes, rien n'est vrai comme ce qu'on sent.

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  43. Ancoats?! Ancoats?!

    Was that you being thrown out of FrouFrou's in the organza ocelot?

    Inky tells half a story. The sandals weren't on my feet (we all lived in fear of algebraic extremists)

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  44. Le désir désigne la conscience d'un manque et l'effort pour le combler. Le manque est une souffrance qui résulte d'une absence ; c'est l'absence d'un objet qui ferait naître le désir. Et le désir, dans la suite de son processus, chercherait à supprimer cette souffrance par la consommation de l'objet lui-même. Une fois l'objet consommé, le désir disparaîtrait dans la satisfaction...

    Sorry,I does not know what took me !!

    Everything is only illusion !??


    Bises ,Crabbicakes

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  45. Is Russ still alive? He never quite lived up to his promise I felt.

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  46. Si jeunesse savait, si vieillesse pouvait, Crabbikins.

    Pat, Russ died about 5 years ago. He was more successful than you remember - or have you forgotten Snowcoach on purpose? He never married, and Elton John sent a wreath to his funeral, so maybe he DID live up to his promise.

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