Radio hairdos, sunflower impersonations and why my postman carries Vaseline.

I'm on the radio soon.  28th, to be precise. Radio York, 3.15, for anyone who wants to tune in.  Now, I know about radios - they're those little boxes that sit in the corner and chatter, and have NO PICTURE.  I know this.

So why was my first reaction, on hearing that said radio event was going to take place TO BOOK A HAIRDRESSER'S APPOINTMENT?  I mean, bearing in mind the actual radio studio in question is, at the moment, above a Domino's Pizza Parlour in York, I could stagger in wearing my dressing gown and with my usual 'Coco The Clown' hairstyle and no-one would know or care.  But no.  Still, I suppose I stopped short of booking a manicure or a personal shopper.

But then, I am sitting here writing this in full make up and wearing a cocktail frock.

 This is how I will look.  Although I might need more than my hair done.  And do you think Ann Summers still sell those things in the front?

Now.  In other news.  My guest post on LoveRomancePassion has appeared, giving anyone who, in a momentary oversight, does not yet possess a copy of Please Don't Stop the Music yet another chance to win one, this time by talking about a shopping experience.  In that post I briefly mention the time I got stuck in a dress in New Look (yes, I know, but it was a long time ago, all right?  In those days I had every right to be trying on dresses made four sizes smaller than it says on the label).  I attempted to pull said dress off over my head and became...jammed.  The dress had frilled around my (slightly chubby) face and gave me, allegedly, an acute resemblance to a sunflower in some distress.

I danced around that changing room like a Van Gogh cartoon for ages, until my friend managed to pull it off, whereupon we had to hang it back up and run like crazy, hoping no-one had heard the rending of stitchery.  That experience completed my aversion therapy to shopping, and now, through the wonders of Internet shopping, I am free to become jammed in the clothing of my choice in the comfort of my own home.  Where both the postman and the milkman have become used to being summoned into my front room by myself, stuck in all manner of clothing, and indeed, now carry a vat of Vaseline, rubber gloves and a shoehorn in order to be of more assistance.  We will pass over the incident with the corset swiftly and with no further comment.

 They did well to get me out of this one.  Look, it said Size 12 on the label...  But I've grown my hair since then...

Oh, and in one last note, each page of this blog is now a mere three entries long, not, as it used to be, me rambling on for months at a time.  And I heard that sigh of relief, you at the back!  This is to facilitate those who load it in a mobile format.  Apparently.  Yes, I don't know what it means either, perhaps it's got wheels or something.  I don't know.