In Today’s Scottish Daily Mail: BBC Coverage of the Queen’s Jubilee Called “Disastrous!”

Sunday, the day of self’s arrival in Scotland, was the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee Celebration.  As self stepped out of the arrivals terminal, she was handed a small Union Jack and asked to sign a card for the Queen (“You’re still beautiful!” self wrote.  “Awww, thanks,” said the young man who had asked for her signature.  Self thought that kind of a reception definitely rated four stars!)

In today’s Scottish Daily Mail, which self procured from this super-duper big giant supermarket, bigger even than her local Costco (and filled with the most fabulous summer clothing from maker F & F, none of which fit self — Scottish girls must be tiny!  Absolutely tiny!), self read surprisingly tart coverage of the festivities, most having to do with what a lame job the BBC announcers did.

A column by Jan Moir went:

First thing on screen?  No!  Make it stop!  Once more, viewers were confronted with the chuckling face of ham-brain Matt Baker, one of the doltish television presenters who were so awful yesterday (presumably at coverage of the Queen’s Jubilee)

“The Royals are there in the Royal Box,” cried Matt.  “There is Prince Harry.”  There was a long, long, long pause as the camera panned over some of the most famous faces in the country, including the Prime Minister chewing gum, assorted senior Royals and the Archbishop of Canterbury.  Matt’s interior Rolodex whirred like a mill wheel in a tornado and came up blank.

HaHaHa, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Also Reading

It is rather chilly this afternoon.  Self has stayed indoors, reading.

Here’s something from Lydia Davis’s “The Sock” (What is it about this author?  No matter how dark her material, she always has self in stitches):

My husband is married to a different woman now, shorter than I am, about five feet tall, solidly built, and of course he looks taller than he used to and narrower, and his head looks smaller.  Next to her I feel bony and awkward and she is too short for me to look her in the eye, though I try to stand or sit at the right angle to do that.  I once had a clear idea of the sort of woman he should marry when he married again, but none of his girlfriends was quite what I had in mind and this one least of all.

They came out here last summer for a few weeks to see my son, who is his and mine.  There were some touchy moments, but there were also some good times, though of course even the good times were a little uneasy.  The two of them seemed to expect a lot of accommodation from me, maybe because she was sick —  she was in pain and sulky, with circles under her eyes.

—  from The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (The story originally appeared in Break It Down, her first collection)

Self doesn’t know why she decided to throw the book into her bag at almost the very last moment.  She’s glad she decided to bring it along, though.  Sometimes, last-minute decisions are the best.

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

Walked About a Bit

Walked a little more around the grounds today . . .

Self discovered a wooden bench along a path!

This is the rather fetching foot of Sir Something-or-Other. Anyway, his statue is in the courtyard garden.

What’s on Self’s Mind Today?

What is on self’s mind today?

Food.  The need not to partake of further.

The sizing here in the UK is all wrong.  Self noticed it in Heathrow:  she wandered into several stores and tried on a few things.  The sizes would say 4 or 6.  The dresses were so skimpy they wouldn’t even go over self’s shoulders.  She managed to struggle into one and couldn’t breathe.

“Sorry, I don’t have a size 10,” a saleswoman told her, in a very kind tone.

Every day, lunch is brought up to the residents in a picnic basket, like this one:

Lunch is brought up to the residents’ rooms daily, in a basket like this one.

It consists of a sandwich on rye or whole wheat bread, a thermos of warm soup, and a piece of fruit.

Yesterday night (and this was only after self’s first full day here), self began feeling that her pants were tight.

Today, self hitched a ride to Tesco, the huge supermarket in the next town, Bonnyrigg.  She found a cute little F & F tunic, which cost 16 pounds (about $24.50.  Come to think of it, that does seem a little price-y for a supermarket dress!  The brand was F & F).  Since said dress was just in a section of the supermarket, there didn’t seem to be fitting rooms.  Self asked a lady walking by with a cart, “Is this a medium, you think?”  She looked at the tag.  She replied, “Yes, it’s a medium.”

As soon as self got back to the Castle, she slipped into the bathroom and tried the dress on.  She must confess to feeling some confusion, when she had difficulty pulling it past her shoulders.  When she looked at herself in the mirror, her muffin belly was on full and glorious display.  Horrors!

She took off the dress and looked at the label:  Size 6.

OMG!  Never ever will self eat double servings of dinner, as she did last night.  Nor down a whole thermos of soup, as she did yesterday and today.  And she’ll refuse the strawberries doused in heavy cream, and she’ll never eat another slice of Scottish bread or cheese.  Hmmm, what else?  She’ll start searching for Wallace’s cave, and explore the Pictish caves beneath the castle.  She’ll walk to Bonnyrigg next time, instead of hitching a ride.  Heck, she might even try walking to Edinburgh!  How’s that for a neat weight-loss regimen?

Stay tuned, dear blog readers.  Stay tuned.

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