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.

The Problems of Blumberjacking (and another competition)

It may not have escaped your notice (in fact it had better not, otherwise I am coming round to your house and shouting through your letterbox), that I am presently a Blumberjack.

Like it?  I'm rather proud of it as a word myself.  My reasoning went this way... if someone who does a lot of stuff with logs is a lumberjack, then someone who does a lot with blogs...you see where I'm going with this?  So.  I find myself in the midst of a rather nice blog tour, inserting myself into other people's writings with aplomb (which isn't, as I recently found out, a fruit bomb.  I was disappointed, since I sort of specialise in detonating apples and bananas at people) and otherwise rambling about my book (Please Don't Stop the Music, available for pre-order, and published by Choc Lit Publishing on 01 February)

So far I have been hosted at The Nut Press, where the squirrels were most welcoming, and a lucky person won a copy of the book (see above for details), and presently I am sitting purring amid the blog at Strictly Writing, where I am informing those kind enough to drop by about my lack of television watching habits.

There's also another chance to win a copy of THE BOOK over there, running at THIS VERY MOMENT, by telling us there about your favourite Rock Star.  Now, as I pointed out, this is an anomaly, since stars most self evidently are balls of gas undergoing nuclear fusion in order to throw out heat and light.  A star made of rock would be...well, not really much of a star, more of a..well, a rock.

A star.  Self evidently, not rock.

Anyway, you'll have to pop over there yourselves to see if I made any sensible contribution to the conversation.  And, as of next Saturday I shall be at LoveRomancePassion.  What I shall say there is, as yet, undecided.  Which is where my blumberjacking problem comes in.  When visiting someone else's blog, and let us just assume here that said blog is a tidy, organised place with clean carpets and a nice sofa - and no squirrels - then is it allowed for visiting blumberjack to come in and take over the place?  Dropping crisps and bits of cake all over the floor, trampling the literary version of mud through the entire wordage and leaving the seat up on the metaphorical toilet?

I like to think I am well behaved under these circumstances.  But then I also like to think that I am tall, thin and have the sex appeal of Karen Gillan (without, of course, the unfortunate accent).  So, my question of the moment is - how much do I try to fit in with these Other Blogs?  Here, naturally, I am free to run around without my trousers on and a paper clip up my nose shouting 'What Ho, here come the badgers!' and nobody minds, because this is MY blog.  Mine, do you hear me!  MINE!!!!

I'm sorry.  Apparently I have to go for a little lie down.

But think of me....

I Resolve to be promiscuous. Read on, there's a competition...

I don't make New Year's Resolutions.

Now, partly this is because, by the time I've sobered up and raised my head from the pillow, unglued my eyes and managed to get at least mostly vertical, it is already February and people are asking me what I'm doing for Valentine's Day so it's far too late.  And partly it's because I wouldn't know where to start.

Most people have just one core imperfection - you know, they need to do something with their hair, or to give more to charity or to clean the bath more than once a year.  This makes Resoluting easy.  Unfortunately, short of a major rebuild or a team of SWAT cleaners, there's not much to be done about my housekeeping.  Ditto my cooking.  One year I made a resolution to cook one home-made meal a day, to eschew the frozen section of Tesco's (do I mean eschew?  Isn't that a sneeze?  Oh well, carry on and hope they don't notice) and lovingly hand-craft pies, stews and fricassees for my family's gustatory delight.

Yeah.  Won't be doing that again.  People came by just to LAUGH and POINT.  Can you imagine?  Never mind, I got my own back.  One flapjack and most of them will never dance the tarantella again..
.

And the rest of them daren't get down...

So anyway.  The nearest I have come this year to Resolution, is to promise that I shall be promiscuous.  Now, for all those of you currently clutching your sides and phoning me up to tell me that a resolution is supposed to make you change your life, and not to enable you to have even more fun than you currently do, please let me finish my sentence.

I resolve to be promiscuous with my book marketing.  To leave no blog unvisited, no 'comments' section un..err..commented - and all in the interests of getting Please Don't Stop the Music in those reader charts.

Just to refresh your memories.

And, to whet your considerable appetites (I saw you at the Boxing Day table, good grief, it was like some kind of automated device), I am blogging at http://nutpress.co.uk/ where, for the next few days, by the simple expedient of telling us your Darkest Secret, you may be in with a chance of winning a copy of the book!

So what are you waiting for?  Get on over there and tell us all about that time you were sick over a minor member of Parliament!  Oh, no, sorry, that was me.

Go!  Fly, you fools!

And I shall sit here and think about how I may improve my life.  Yeah, right, you all know I'm going to be finishing up the Bailey's Truffles, don't you?