Excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable....

Imagine this scenario.  Hunky guy is invited back to gorgeous woman's flat after hot date.

Gorgeous Woman: Help yourself to a drink, and do excuse me while I slip into something more comfortable...

Hunky Guy: But of course!  Opens brandy bottle, smiling, thoughts of black silk and lace running through his mind.

Two minutes later, enter stage left: 
Gorgeous Woman: That's better!  Flops onto sofa.  You can pour me one of those, t0o.

Hunky Guy's mouth drops open.  Gorgeous woman wears not the black lingerie of his fantasies, but a faded AC/DC 1998 tour t-shirt with toothpaste stains down the front, and a pair of man's pyjama trousers with a hole in the knee.

~~~ 

I'm talking about Leezurewear. 

Yes, yes, I know it's spelt leisurewear.  It's just how my sister and I (and, thus, many of our friends) spell it, because we pronounce it in the American way, ie 'lee-surewear' rather than 'leh-surewear'.  Works best if you say it with an American accent, too (at least until you're comfortable with it....).  It's probably not even a real word; should it be two words?  I'll leave my proofreading sister to decide, and no doubt tell me in the comments!

I have not been guilty of the ruining a hot date scenario, but must say that one of the joys of working from home, or just not going out to work, period, is being able to wear leezurewear more often.  In fact, most of the time. 

Socially acceptable leezurewear

I have a selection of leezure trousers.  At the moment I am wearing my rather (un)fetching miscellaneous animal print ones that are too big in the arse and too long.  Until I actually got properly dressed today (at around lunch time) I was wearing them with a pink and white striped vest that I'd worn in bed the night before.  I also own some striking half-mast black velvet trews (£3.99 from Store 21 in Jarrow), and another pair of two-summers-ago blue and white flowery ones, with holes in.  These items will not necessarily be worn with anything matches them.  Because they are leezurewear, and this you wear only for comfort, not for style.  Comfort is all.

Leezurewear: see that casual fit, the ease with which the wearer stands, hand placed comfortably in pocket?

When I worked in an office, the first thing I did when I got home was to get into my old faithfuls, waiting for me upstairs.  The office in which I worked was not one of those that required me to wear anything too smart, but I still had to look respectable.  I went to work dressed in flattering trousers and some sort of smart top, a conscious choice based on aesthetics, unlike the clothes I put on when I got home, which would be ill-fitting, ill matched, and with coffee stains down the front within an hour or so of putting them on (whether I'd drunk coffee or not, it seemed).  

There are different grades of leezurewear.  My sister and I have a name for the one in between at-home-only disgusting garments, and work clothes:  this is socially acceptable leezurewear.  It might be smart leggings and a huge but presentable t-shirt.  Or a natty hat, as worn by actor Josh Holloway, below.  In SAL, you can go shopping, receive visitors, even go to the pub if there is not likely to be anyone in there who you want to impress.   

Actor Josh Holloway models socially acceptable leezurewear

True leezurewear, though, is so unfetching that you can only wear it at home and in the company of friends.  The garments that have become as much part of you as your skin, that you can only wear in front of very close friends, and definitely not in front of someone you might want to have sex with in the future, unless they already love you very much (and even then it might be best not to).  

I'm talking the truly appalling trousers with the holes in the crotch, the once bright yellow band t-shirt that you found you know not where, sporting curious stains that will never quite come out.  
 
My best ever leezure item was a velour jumper bought from a charity shop in Cromer for £1.99.  On a cost-per-wear basis, I probably got 3287 wears per penny out of my black velour jumper.  I had it for around 8 years.  By the time Julia told me I really ought to throw it away (I needed telling), it was so worn out you could actually see through the front of it.

It was a sad day indeed.  Julia used to have a garment we called her David Lee Roth trousers (I can't remember why); they lived with her for about 20 years.  I think at one time they had patches on the back and crotch, and the knees were more hole than trouser.  I don't think she ever got over losing them; not even the size 18-20 jogging bottoms she bought from Cromer Indoor Market (she is a size 10-12) could replace them.

Years ago, on MySpace, I had a photo album on my profile entitled 'My friends in their leezurewear'.  My online and real life chums used to send me pictures of themselves in their favourite items, fully annotated to point out particularly alluring features like baggy knees and embarrassing holes.  It was a good album!  I wish I still had all the pictures; I could have shown you the black velour jumper in all its grisly glory.  

What are your most beloved (and possibly disgusting) items?  The best leezurewear is often appropriated rather than bought.  Back in the early 1990s Julia had a fab t-shirt that an ex-boyfriend of her flatmate had left behind.  It was one of those that was good quality originally, probably why it was such a pleasure to wear.  I then nicked it off her and wore it for many years; I loved it.  It disappeared along with another boyfriend.  I wonder if it's been passed on to anyone else?  There was nothing particularly noticeable about it, it was just great leezurewear.

Me wearing the t-shirt owned by many, in 1996, sporting it in the socially acceptable way, ie, tucked in to still comfortable denim shorts.  It was subsequently stolen by the soon to become ex who took this picture.  Perhaps he only wanted me for the t-shirt in the first place.

.... and now we come to the downside of wearing comfortable clothes because you are at home all the time.  After a while, it becomes really hard to wear anything else.  I do put reasonable clothes on, and make-up and earrings, just to nip to the shops, because if I didn't I would end up looking like a bag lady all the time instead of just 80% of it.  But even then, my respectable clothes are things with stretchy waistbands, no heels, nothing that might be any effort to wear.  This is partly because being at home all the time, sitting down at a laptop, means that wearing shorts like the ones in the picture above is now but a faded, distant memory.  Yes, another downside: when you don't have to make yourself look good for work every day you don't notice when your clothes are getting, shall we say, a little more snug, until you have to actually go somewhere looking proper smart.  That's when you look in the mirror and gasp "where the hell did all that come from???" 

Never mind, though.  You only have to endure looking smart for a few hours, with that held in stomach, being careful not to slosh red wine down your top, etc, and then you can come home, tear all those once-every-six-months clothes off and .... get back into your leezurewear...

...just like actor Josh Holloway... now there's a man who looks like he knows how to stay comfortable....!!

 

 

 

After 4 years the dust doesn't get any thicker......

When I moved to Norfolk with my ex-husband, in 2000, we had people to stay with us practically every weekend for the first year - family members, and the friends we'd left behind.  After a while, I noticed one very handy result of this: it made me keep the house clean and tidy.

Actually, my husband did ALL the hoovering ... ha!

Now, 14 years later, living in a different town with a different husband, I am Ms Antisocial, with the result that (yippee!) we hardly ever get people coming round to interrupt us from mooching round the house in horrendous leezurewear and leaving the washing up until the morning.

No-one will know if I couldn't be bothered to clean the kitchen floor, if the pile of ironing hasn't been put away yet, if the coffee table is covered with ... let me just take a look ... three arty dishes containing miscellaneous stuff, several pairs of glasses outside their cases, one open book, four closed ones, my iPad, handcream, and several pieces of equipment for keeping my hair out of my eyes.  

What's your attitude towards all this?  I don't think that housework has so much to do with the time available to do it in, as how important it is to us.  I don't like living in a pigsty, so when a room gets to a certain standard of messiness I clear it up.  I don't mind stuff all over the place, as long as there are some clear surfaces and it's not dirty.  But I'll probably look at the top of the chest of drawers in the bedroom and think "hmm, must tidy that up" for about 5 days before I actually do it.

But I'm a WRIT-OR!  I am far too creative to bog myself down with this mundanity!  That was a joke, by the way.  I used to have a friend whose house was much dirtier than mine - I stayed there for six months once, and used to find all sorts of horrors in the vegetable rack.  She loved me staying there because she'd come home from keeping a class of thirty in control all afternoon, to find polished tables and clean ashtrays - well, I was working in a bar at the time, it was force of habit!   She had this fridge magnet that said 'Dumb women have immaculate homes', which I found slightly moronic, as it implied that in order to have a tidy house you had to be a bit thick, or that all ditzy birds were houseproud - perhaps it was just worded badly! Although the 'I'm too creative' thing was a joke, I must say that writing always comes before hoovering.  On the rare occasions we have people round, or to stay, I tend to think, oh good, at least it means I have to clean the house.  My husband is the type of person who would happily keep not-clearing-up until the floors were covered with stuff and he actually had to climb over things, but I get to a point when I think, no, this is pissing me off!

My mother kept an immaculate house.  And, oh fridge magnet writer, she wasn't dumb at all - she was an 'A' level French teacher, completed the Telegraph cryptic every day, and taught herself Italian in her seventies.  She once described my house as 'charmingly Bohemian', which was her way of saying I lived in a pigsty - by her standards, I suppose I did (do)!  I think that possibly I still feel guilty about not doing enough housework, though I'm getting there when it comes to shrugging it off, but those memories of her going ape-shit at me for not tidying my bedroom remain!  Mum was much too bright to spend all her time on the upkeep of an inanimate object, but I think that was partly a generational thing.  She did give me a very good piece of advice, once, and it's one upon which I even remember to act, now and then: the key to having a tidy house is never leaving the room empty handed.  There's always something in the room that should be in another, isn't there?  The newspaper that needs chucking out, the coffee mug on the shelf under my writing desk, the pile of underwear on the sofa that needs to find its way into the dressing table drawers.....

When it's all done, I love it.  So why don't I keep it that way?  It's because if I have half an hour before dinner, I won't think, ooh, just time to clean the bathroom - I'll go on Twitter or answer an email or .... start writing a blog post about why I can't much be bothered with housework.......

On trolley rage.... and more....

My 'Morrissons Rage' takes several forms, and is experienced on a weekly basis, so I thought I'd get it all out of my system here, now, and be done with it.  


(For readers outside the UK, Morrissons is a supermarket)

Firstly, why do they keep hiding stuff???  Not being able to find the vegetarian gravy granules doesn't mean that I will go "Ooh look, they've put butterscotch sauce where the vegetarian gravy granules used to be, and it looks yummy! I'll buy some of that, too, before I spend ten minutes trying to find an assistant to tell me where they've hidden the gravy granules!"   No, it means that if it happens ONCE MORE, I shall do my impression of Michael Douglas in McDonalds in 'Falling Down', when they refuse to sell him a McBreakfast Whatever, two minutes after they officially stop serving breakfast.

I can't, however, repeat my much repeated moan about 'up-selling' ("and would you like any stamps or top ups?  A family sized tub of lard?  A DVD that you'd pay a tenner NOT to watch, for just a fiver?"), because Mozzers doesn't seem to be too bad with this at the moment (unlike Greggs, who offered me a vast amount of doughnuts for a quid when I went in to buy 2 stotties this morning).  So I shall concentrate my grumpiness on the OUTSIDE, instead.

People outside supermarkets:  Generally speaking, if you see someone walking towards you, pushing something large, cumbersome and heavy, it kinda makes sense to move out of their way, instead of standing there with a gormless expression on your face and waiting for THEM to move out of YOUR way, doesn't it? 

......I'm guessing they're relatives of the people who allow their kids to run amok inside the shop..... and the ones who stop for a chat mid-aisle, their trolleys forming a barrier....

Oh yes, inside the shop again - and it's about SELF-SERVICE CHECKOUTS.  I don't know supermarket management hasn't cottoned on: queue of 15 people at the one till that's in operation.  5 self-service checkouts, only 3 of which are occupied.  Du-uh.  I know some people like them, but more don't.  Unless the people around where I live are particularly lazy, of course.  

And don't get me started on the taxi drivers on the way home, who don't grasp from your polite yet two syllable only answers that you don't feel like chatting.  As Humphrey Bogart said to the taxi driver in 'Dark Passage': "I'm paying you for the ride.  If you want a friend, get a dog" (or similar!).

Every time I come back from the weekly shop I vow to shop online from now on. Every week when my husband sees me writing my shopping list and getting my 'bags for life' out, he says "I thought you were going to do it online from now on?".

I suppose I've only myself to blame, really....

Welcome to ICAA - Ice Cream Addicts Anonymous!!!

I've had it for breakfast, I've craved it in the middle of the afternoon, I've stood in the supermarket and thought, just don't buy it.  If it's not in the house, I can't eat it.  I'm okay if I don't take that first scoop. But I know beating this monkey on my back takes just one day at a time - and I am proud to announce that yesterday I DIDN'T HAVE ANY ICE CREAM!

I can now admit it at last - Hi, I'm Terry, and I'm an ice cream addict! 

Just because Bradley Cooper does it, it's not okay!  Thank goodness for ICAA ~ if you're an addict too, or think you might be, just take a look at the twelve step recovery plan, borrowed from Alcoholics Anoymous but made relevant to ice cream fiends everywhere.....

ICAA - The Twelve Steps

(We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable) 

We admitted we were powerless over ice cream - that our lives had become unmanageable when faced with a tub of Carte D'or salted caramel.

(We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity)

We came to believe that a Power greater than our fridge freezer could restore us to a size 12.


(We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him) 

We made a decision to turn our sweet tooth and helpless desire for Eton Mess at 3 in the morning over to the care of our loved ones, who agreed to padlock the freezer during night time hours.


(We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves) 

We made a searching and fearless moral inventory of how much we'd spent on Haagen Dazs in the last twelve months.


(We admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs) 

We admitted to our best pal, to ourselves and to another human being (or the cat) the exact nature of our gluttony.


(We were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character) 

We were entirely ready to have our loved ones remove all half eaten tubs of Rum and Raisin.


(We humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings)

We humbly asked them to remove the Weightwatchers Toffee Caramel Sundaes, too.


(We made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.)

We made a list of all persons whose share of Raspberry Ripple we had eaten, and became willing to make amends to them all.


(We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others)

We made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would encourage them to be total ice cream monsters, too.


(We continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it)

We continued to take personal inventory and when we were caught buying a White Chocolate Magnum, promptly admitted it.

(We sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out)

We sought through prayer and willpower to improve our conscious contact with the fruit section in the supermarket as we understood it, praying only for knowledge of its nutritional value for us and the power to make tempting fruit salads.


(Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs)

Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps (cross fingers), we tried to carry this message to other Cornetto worshippers and to practice these principles at night time when we're having a film binge.

Do what I did - if you think it's becoming a problem, beyond your control, seek help with ICAA - or, a year from now, this could be you!!

~~~

Good luck - don't end up like Britney...

or Ozzy....

Eleven signs that you're not just GETTING old - you've GOT THERE!

• At last, you understand why your aged parents like watching Miss Marple and Dad's Army...

• You go to do something like put the washing on, and discover you actually put it on about five minutes ago, though you have absolutely no recollection of doing so.

• You fancy a cup of tea and a toasted teacake when you come back from shopping.

• You think back fondly to the times of no internet and mobile phones, and tell people that it was much better, then.

• Instead of leaping forward with a bright smile and your best pose, you now avoid cameras.  And mirrors.

• You try on the sexy high heels you haven't worn for some years, and wonder why on earth you ever put yourself through it.

• Since you last went to a wedding, you've been to at least five funerals.

• A younger friend shows you the new 'retro' style she can do on her new camera - and it makes her photos look just like all those ones in your photo album, of you when you were her age...

(and you actually have photo albums, too...)

• You are unaffected by pop culture, fashion and social trends as you've seen it all before, and know it's all just cyclical, anyway.

• All the actors you fancy are at least 45...
• 

• You've smiled and nodded to at least half of these, and have your own to add, too!

Black Tulip nail polish, white highlighter on the brow bone - and Charlie perfume....

This week it's nostalgia time again - the cosmetics of our youth :)

What was the first item of make-up you ever bought?  Like most little girls I started off trying on my mother's lipstick (Coty, in a gold case) when I was a child, but the first item of make-up I actually owned was a sparkly brown eyeshadow - Miners, I think - from Boots, in 1970 or 71.  My next was a similar one, in violet.  How lovely I must have looked....  

I used to get those Biba lipsticks, in the black cases, too - oh my my poor little fresh 16 year old face with awful dark make-up - you won't be told at that age, though, will you?  It probably looked all right at the time, but over the years I find I wear less and less.

Me in 1977, aged 18

I hoped to be able to provide loads of pictures of the make-up products of yesteryear, but, alas, there were not many to be found.  However, if you are a similar age to me you may enjoy some of these cosmetic memories.

Remember when Rimmel nail polishes looked like this?  I had one called Black Tulip (really dark plum sort of colour) and a horrible see-through pink....  The ones in the top right hand picture were the posher frosty ones I could never afford.

I remember, with my friends Ruth and Pam, sitting on the steps of The Odeon cinema, Northampton, on a Saturday afternoon in 1973, painting our nails sparkly blue and green from the Miners 'irridescent' range (and who the hell has school friends called Ruth and Pam these days?).

We used to believe all this stuff about what would make us beautiful, too. Advice like adding an egg to our shampoo, or using egg whites as face-packs ...  and did lemon juice really make your hair go lighter?  The one that I find the most amusing, looking back, was the shampoo Protein 21, which was supposed to mend split ends, complete with a TV advert showing them kind of glueing themselves back together, and a picture of actress Jane Seymour saying that she used it - sure she did. ;) 

Another product was something I couldn't find a picture for, though it appears to still be for sale, albeit with less outrageous claims: Helancyl

It was quite expensive; the kit came with this mitt thing (the one I bought, in 1979, was a lot more clumsy looking than the one in the picture above); this you filled with this magic Helancyl potion, which was released through holes in the mitt.  In the bath or shower you massaged your fat bits with it, and it was supposed to break down the fat cells.  Even at the time, I thought, nah, that can't be right...

I loved skin care products, as did my sister; I remember her telling me once that she had her priorities right because she had £1.50 left in the world and spent it on a bottle of Vichy skin toning lotion.  I'm so glad that my mother always instilled into us the importance of moisturising - it really does pay off. As one who drank and smoked for far too many years, I am sure my skin would be a lot worse if I hadn't slapped on the Astral/Cream E45/Nivea every night when I was younger.  Okay, you might have to wait 20 years to see the rewards, but please, if you're a 25 year old soap and water girl, start now! 

Do you remember Anne French cleansing milk, Inecto beer shampoo, Cream Silk and Breck conditioner, Ponds Cold cream - what were your teenage beauty products?

Well, if it was good enough for a Charlie's Angel...

Nothing takes you right back to years gone by like a smell, does it?  My first perfume experience was a range of colognes made by Rimmel in the 1960s; I remember there being lily of the valley and muguet, but I couldn't find any pictures of them.  I have to thank Alex Johnson, @oxfordnovelist on Twitter, for reminding me of my next attempt at smelling like a glamorous grown up lady - Aqua Manda by Goya, which I believe is being re-launched...

Just the sight of the bottle reminds me of one night, around that time, when I got a sachet of fake tan free in a magazine.  I was about 15.  I put it all over my face before going out to some disco, and thought, hmm, I don't look any different, so I slapped the whole lot on.  I didn't know that it took several hours to show....  I looked at my face in the mirror at about 9.30 that evening, and, I kid you not, it was as orange as the orange on the Aqua Manda bottle!  Thank goodness it was dark!

In 1975, of course, there was Charlie.....  to my great disappointment, when they re-launched it a few years ago it didn't smell the same :(

When I was 17 I wore Yardley's Je Suis...

.....moving on to Fidji by Guy Laroche when I was about 19, then Giorgio in the 1980s. 

Do you remember Tramp by Lentheric, Azuree by Estee Lauder, Gingham - and Babe??!!

The perfume that just screams the late 1970s was this one:  Vu by Ted Lapidus - just look at the packaging.  It comes straight out of the film 'The Stud', doesn't it? You can just see it being squirted on by Fontaine Khaled (aka Joan Collins), and the girls in Legs & Co, can't you?

Many smells later, I've finally settled on Guerlain's L'heure Bleue ~ itself one that's been around for years; it was first made in 1912.

Going back to the "they must think we were born yesterday" school of marketing, does anyone remember Ayds, those bits of fudge you were supposed to eat to stop yourself being hungry - which were swiftly withdrawn from the market in the early 1980s - wonder why? ;D  

I hope you've enjoyed this little bit of nostalgia, and I'd just like to leave you with this - how many of these chocolate bars do you remember?