Dahling

Sophie is my Dahling my Dahling my Dahling ……

The delicious Ms.Dahl.

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One is so besotted that one even bought her sweet little cook books and watched her cookery series that was slammed by the critics.
Who cares darlings? Not I

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Why all of a sudden is one harping on about some girl crush who hasn’t done anything note worthy of late?
Yes I have posted about S.D before.
After buying her culinary offering.

This morning one nearly had a jolly good scolding, the 1st cup of tea is always the most wonderful and usually it is plonked by Mr.Lee on top of a mountain of bedtime reading. The pile is getting so large that it is quite perilous to perch anything quite that hot on top of what could quite easily tumble. One has always been abysmal at Jenga!

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Back to Sophie.

After flinging sodden magazines one found
” The Man With The Dancing Eyes”

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Her 1st stab at writing, a sweet little novella. Barely longer than a poem and can be inhaled in less time than it takes for ones nails to dry.

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Think The Owl and the Pussycat for grown up girls. Filled with romance and longing in nice shoes,with sweet peas and sea horses for good measure.

All fluff and nonsense and usually kept in the guest room. There’s nothing worse than getting half way through a book as a guest after being gripped and not knowing how it ended before its time to leave.

Apparently our English rose owes the bloom in her peaches and cream complexion to Dr. Hauschka day cream.

Yes darlings, I AM that gullible

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” I want to live in Italy, have an Aga, four babies and a goat”

You can keep the goat

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