The institution of marriage is a serious business and should never be enterprised lightly or wantonly according to my good friend Mrs. Mills.
A report in yesterday’s Dail Mail claims that an algorithm has been developed to find Mr. Perfect. Whisky Tango Foxtrot!!
What to look for in a man? Brave, intelligent, suave, sophisticated, thoughtful, kind, handsome, funny? Wrong, solvent, hygenic and not afraid of the odd bit of housework . Find a man who can keep you in the style you would like to become accustomed to who doesn’t have his own personal odour. Forget GSOH or SWM, when placing your personal ad in The Farmers Journal include HLOD(has loads of dosh) and DS (doesn’t smell).
As an expert on such matters, I feel it’s my duty to share other qualities often overlooked when it comes to choosing your man. No need to resort to dodgy matchmaking sites making dubious claims while charging an arm and a leg. Neither internet or algorithms have a place in cupids plans. Ignore my counsel at your peril. My advice has over the years prevented many an unsuitable attachment
You may need a measuring tape for this one. A man may be judged on the length of his sideburns. Sideburns should never exceed 4 cm in length. I recommend carrying a small ruler or measuring tape on your person on first dates. Immediately discount any potential suitors overstepping the mark. When it comes to the sideburn rule, all severities in (even Bridget has to ask Mark Darcy to reconsider the length of his sideburns).
2. The correct level of forgetfulness. A man should never remember anything you say, but still retain the ability to remember anniversaries and birthdays.
3. The perfect man should suffer from body dysmorphia, when it comes to his partner that is. He will always view you as ‘a mere slip of a thing’, regardless of your weight or size. The words ‘fat’, ‘chubby’, ‘stout’, ‘well rounded’, ‘child bearing hips’ will never pass his lips. These words will simply fail to exist in his vocabulary.
4. A man should never let the side down on the dance floor. The ability to tango or quick step should be held in the highest esteem. This shows an innate talent to interpret and communicate feelings through the physical form. Word of warning though, draw the line at sparkly unitards if your man is over the age of 24. Mr. Fifty loves nothing more than to start the day with an invigorating foxtrot.
5. A man should be able to hold his whiskey. This comes in useful if you’ve had more than a few ‘lemonades’ and need a steady hand to guide you home. If just doesn’t work if both you and your partner are a bit on the wobbly side.
6. A man should never indulge in excessive grooming. Anything more than a haircut every 6 weeks is vulgar excess. Remember, the entire household grooming budget is for you.
7. Never date a man who wears socks with sandals, a clear sign of a deeply disturbed mind.
OCEAN’S ELEVEN, George Clooney, 2001, © Warner Brothers
7. If your suitor answers to last name Clooney, first name George, discount numbers 1, 4,2 and 5 above. Also 3 and 6. He’ll do just fine.
Some ideas for personal ads?
Do you feel angry more often than you should?
Ensure chocolate levels are kept up. I recommend 500g of chocolate or two Walnut Whips daily.
Practice wearing a crown. A tiara will do if you can’t get hold of the crown jewels. I recommend you begin with walking around the house, carry out your normal housecraft wearing your crown before attempting to venture outdoors. This will ensure excellent posture, a prerequisite to inner poise.
Take a yoga class. A guaranteed shortcut to inner poise, while meeting interesting people.
Never utter the words ‘Um’ Yea’, ‘Hi’ or ‘Yo’. Acquaint yourself with the terms ‘Hello’ and ‘Yes’.
Channel your inner Bridget Jones. Bridget’s unique brand of grace and poise is an inspiration to all.
Reply promptly to dinner party invitations, RSVPs or declines. If you can’t attend have a good excuse to hand. I always say “I’m having my pearls restrung”, but “I’m having my toenails curled” or “I’d rather stick pins in my eyes” work equally well.
Four days of no housework, no cooking, crisps and takeaways for dinner. A weekend where I hang up my domestic Goddess crown, normal life suspended while we curl up in front of the TV to worship at the altar of golf.
I can’t say when exactly my devotion began, I think by osmosis. If I leave the room while watching The Good Wife, I return to find it magically switched to Sky Sports News while the ads are on. There was no epiphany, just a form of gentle brain washing combined with years of exposure to golf talk.
Maybe I was drawn to the sheer beauty of Augusta, although knowing my deeply shallow disposition, it was probably the clothes. I clearly remember watching ladies golf and loving the cute little pastel shirts with matching check shorts. Whatever the reason, I can now talk shop with the best of them (I even know what a swing coach is).
This year’s Masters provided the right amount of highs and lows. Fellow countrymen McIlroy and Shane Lowry had promising starts but fell apart on day 3. The back nine on the final day is what really sorts the mice from the men and this years didn’t disappoint. Westwood, one of my favourites, had a chip-in eagle on the par-five 15th to put this former number one within a shot of Willett, only for a bogey on the next and two final pars to leave him short. Danny Willett, seemed to come from nowhere on the last day to claim the glorious green jacket. .Never mind Rory, there’s always next year.
I’m travelling to Berlin next week. I’m taking carry-on luggage only.
Anticipating opulent old colonial chic I purchased a large new suitcase to accommodate my Nile wardrobe. New swimwear, expensive sun creams, day dresses, deck shoes, ‘going out’ dresses, my diamonte earrings for sipping Pimms at 6pm (conventional wisdom dictates that one should never wear diamonds before the cocktail hour). You name it, it went in the case. A girl has standards and I had to look the part on my grand tour. We were booked onto a boat called ‘The Romance’ , described as having a sophisticated relaxed ambiance. What could be more perfect. We’re talking classy, none of your tacky cruise cabaret here. A packed itinerary would ensure I got to show off even my floral tea dresses (afternoon tea would be served on deck at 4pm daily). I had the correct attire for any occasion even if like Agetha Christy I was called upon to solve the odd murder.
We arrived to the boat late at night ready to set sail at 10am the following morning. The next morning I put back on my crumpled clothes I’d worn travelling the day before. My shoes were not suitable for any grand tour. I looked around the boat, bereft at the sight of a pool on deck and me with not a bikini or swimming togs to my name. Baba, one of the porters working on deck felt sorry for me and insisted on taking be shopping before the boat sailed. I was about to hit the high street in Luxor. Suddenly feeling more optimistic, “I’ll pick up a bikini and flip flops as well as a couple of dresses”.
Fellow domestic Goddesses will be well versed in the intricacies of maneuvering through aisle traffic, but I’ll share my tips with those less informed. Let’s be clear about this, many a woman’s reputation has been ruined on the slip of a wheel or the destruction of an apple pyramid among the aisles of Fallon and Byrne. From extensive observation of supermarket behaviour, I have deduced that men are the root of all evil in the supermarket. All this dithering hither and yon, seeking out preferred items, not knowing their pilchards from their sardines, causing untold mayhem in the aisles, preventing women from sailing through the deli section unimpeded.
No wonder men suffer more accidents when constantly subjected to trolley attack by women. Statistics show that tall, dark, handsome men are particularly accident prone, leading me to suspect the intentions of some.
Some younger women are equally misbehaved. On a recent excursion to the supermarket I encountered two young ladies in the pickle aisle taking selfies with the mini cucumbers, trolleys askew (preventing access to the mini gherkins). Such reprehensible behavour, I immediately jumped in, photobombing with a full size cucumber.
Drive on the left. May cause confusion for visitors outside Ireland and the UK. I’ve written to the minister for Transport on the matter, requesting the installation of traffic lanes and possibly even traffic lights in all Supermarket aisles.
If you reach for your favourite aromatic duck only to find another hand has grabbed it simultaneously, position your trolley to give a sharp prod to the ankles of your opponent. Again, this requires focus. Skilfully quide your trolley back down the adjacent aisle while your opponent is hopping on one foot. This manoeuvre works well for anyone who gets your goat up, young ladies wearing pyjamas, pretentious shoppers who loudly ask for Lobster Gazpacho at the deli counter.
If you are in a hurry it’s perfectly acceptable to skip the queue. Simply distract the person at the top of the queue by pointing outside shouting “Is that George Clooney”. At this point you swoop in with your trolley towards the cash desk, unloading your items on the conveyer belt before anyone can object. If anyone does complain, slap them across the face with your fresh haddock. It will usually stun for long enough to allow you to proceed unhampered.
Optician: That comes to Eur 638.75
Mmm!! Which to choose. Blindness or spectacles
My blog is almost three months old. It began as a technical challenge, playing about with WordPress, trying different themes, mucking about with plugins, most enjoyable. Now that I’ve acquainted myself with the wondrous mysteries of the Twitter machine I’m addicted.
Glasses add an aura of mystery, sophistication, serenity.. in manner of Grace Kelly.
Will need special goggles if I ever get a sudden urge to take up diving, skiing, bunji jumping, female boxing, surfing or even just frolicking in the sea. However, the alternative view could be to my advantage – ‘sorry, can’t go frolicking in the sea today – havn’t got the right glasses’.
NiftyFiftyShades 