"That" dress

Oh, well, I don't want it now that that Beckham woman's been wearing it. I don't care if it has been dry cleaned. Besides, she'll have stretched it right out of shape.

Here, Hilary, you try it...

London Fashion Week (reprise)

Quick, she's coming. Trip that Estonian up and grab the frock before Posh Spice gets her thieving hands on it...

Damn. Too late. JJ, you'll just have to make me another one. I need to have something new to go to the Christmas do at Slater's in, don't I? My navy blue Country Casuals skirt's getting a bit last season...

Ooh, I wish I was in East Anglia...

Look! Horses! Evie! They've got horses in East Anglia! Horses!!!

Abode

I'm trying to open up this attachment, only it keeps saying I need to install some Abode Flash thing. Abode? What's that supposed to mean? And I thought only cameras were meant to have a flash, not laptops. I just can't deal with this kind of thing. Not now and not with my stomach playing up like it is. I can barely stand up, let alone install some bloody Abode thing. All this modern technology and awful weather, I tell you, it just makes you want to go to Fuerteventura. I'll need a holiday after your father's been skiiing, what with this dog to look after all by myself. It's all I can do to keep him off the furniture, and then it'll be a week of getting up and down like a yoyo to let him out. So I'll definitely need a holiday by February. Did I say Fuerteventura? No, well, I meant North Wales...

A packet of cream crackers at the back of the fitted cupboard

Norovirus

Well, everybody in Stoke's got Norovirus now, including me, so that's bloody typical. There's vomiting left, right and centre. I thought it was that bag of liquorice I'd eaten, but it's definitely Norovirus, because everyone else has got it. I can't even get out to Dagfields, but then I can barely even get dressed, so they'll just have to do without me. And it's a pain, because I need to sell on these three clocks that I got at auction, because they just keep bonging off every hour, day and night. I tell you, I'll need a holiday after this. I would go skiing, only I can't ski anymore, so I'd just have to potter about on the nursery slopes. Plus, you just feel too conspicuous in a ski resort if you're short and fat. And then if you go with these budget airlines, they don't have any decent food and you end up right next to the toilets if you're not careful with queuing men's groins on eye level with you non-stop for two hours. I mean, I don't want to be confronted with an inundation of groins while I'm flying, do you?

Beswick rams

I'm shattered. I couldn't sleep last night with trying to think of places to go on holiday. I had to get up at 3 o'clock in the morning just to stop wracking my brains going through places I could go and in the end I just decided I don't want to go to any of them. That's the problem. I just don't know what I want. I was nearly in tears the other day in Marks and Spencers, because I'm constantly having to buy food so your father can have his dinner on the table by 6 o'clock on the dot, and I just couldn't find anything to buy. I thought, I could just run away and leave, but then, it's too near to Christmas and I've just got too much on. I've got this gym membership, for instance. I've got to go there at least once every 2 months otherwise it's a waste of the membership. And then there's Evie to look after. I had to have her from 7.30 the other evening because her mother had to go on a bloody horse.

Anyway, will you go on Ebay, because I've decided I really like Beswick rams. There was this one with nice curly horns which I bid on for £16 and then in the last two seconds, somebody beat me to it. Makes you sick. I don't know how I manage to keep going, I really don't.

Gravy bone?

Swine flu. You get no sympathy...

Skype

I was talking to this dealer from Altrincham the other day, who was really into cranberry ware marmelade dishes from the late 1840s and so I said to him, 'Ooh, I've got one of those. It's a bit on the chipped side, but nothing you wouldn't get away with on Flog It. I got it for £35 at Peter Wilson's, so I couldn't possibly let it go for anything less than £37. Shall we say 36?' And so he says to me, 'I haven't any cash on me at the moment. Can I skype you later instead?' Well, I was just flabbergasted. I thought, well, you've got a wife. What's wrong with her? Why can't you skype her? And I certainly wouldn't dream of being skyped by you, cranberry ware marmelade dish or no cranberry ware marmelade dish. Not at my age and not with this pelvis, I'll tell you that for nothing. The things people come out with. But then, that's Altrincham for you. More money than sense up there and too many hours in the day, that's their problem. They might be used to spending their time skyping from here to kingdom come, but I've got 4,000 individual dried flowers to price up and Evie to look after all weekend. I said to her, 'How about we go to the Monkey Park at Trentham?' She just said, 'The simian equivalent of the gulag? No thanks. Solzhenitsin might have appreciated the irony, but I'd much rather spend the afternoon with this apricot-flavoured Muller Lucky Star and Ant and Dec, if it's all the same to you.' There's no pleasing them, is there?

Youtube

Now that I'm on youtube, can you find out if there are any videos of Wade jugs in the shape of parakeets for me. I don't know how to find things on youtube yet. I've not got the time for internet searching, you know that. I've got all these people coming to view the house and the minute I get it tidy again for the next visit, it's all messed up with the dog's feet and Paul's clothes all over the place. You don't know what it's like. And now there's a new bathroom, I suppose that will be destroyed before we manage to sell the place. And your father's always on the balcony smoking his cigars. Why don't you go over to Belgium to get him some more? It's nearer for you, isn't it? If he doesn't have them, he just gets bored and then there'll be another bloody motorbike in the garage.

Lot: 1108 - A Beswick cat, a Royal Doulton puppy in basket and a Wade Humpty Dumpty

Are you looking at the Willingham Auctions website? What do you mean, you're still at school? It's six thirty! That's ridiculous. What have you got to do a departmental handbook for anyway? If it was me, I'd just tell everyone what to do and that would be it. There's no point writing things down. If people are anything like me, they're far too busy to read.
Anyway, just go onto the Willingham auctions website, will you, and find Lot 1108. It's a Beswick cat, a Royal Doulton puppy in a basket and a Wade Humpty Dumpty. Now, it's very rare to get all three of those together in one lot. I think it's happened once before at an auction in Harrogate or somewhere like that, because I saw it on Flog It. And in the end they went for £38 for the whole lot. Well, I can get more than that for the kitten alone and there's a collector from Kidderminster I know who's always up here and she'll kill for Wade Humpty Dumpties, so I should be able to get £50 off her for that. And I'll probably just give the puppy in a basket to Michael, because he likes that kind of thing, I've decided.
So anyway, will you go to Willingham and put a bid on for me, because there's no way I can get down to Cambridge at the moment, what with my knee. I've been crying non-stop as it is with these hot flushes and the doctor won't put me back on oestrogen unless I stop smoking. So I might not be around for much longer at this rate. You can get me Lot 1108 and bring it up to Stoke at half-term, can't you, if it might be the last time you ever see me...

Ooh, I like that jacket with the orange ruffly bits. I'll have that.

He'll never notice if I just take this one... He's got hundreds of haute couture fashions lying around as it is...

Escaping from the Paparazzi

I wish these photojournalists would stop bloody well pestering me. I'm worn out enough as it is without constant hounding by the press... Oh, well, there's Madonna in that taxi. Flag her down! She'll give me a lift. She understands what it's like...

London Fashion Week

What a weekend! I'm totally shattered now after all that fashion. It's made me that style-conscious, I've felt compelled to change my font to something a bit more with-it, and it's taken me all evening just to work out how to do that.
And it was all over as quick as a flash, this fashion show of Julian's. They go at a hell of pace, those models, strutting along like giraffes on hot coals. I could barely take it all in. But I do like this dress. Might have to take a few inches off my arms and lose 5 stone before I can get into it, but I can see it causing a stir the next time I go out to the cafe at Bridgemere Garden World. I said to Evie, '"What did you make of it all?" She just said, "I thought the classical lines offset the eye-opening colour juxtapositions rather effectively. The melding of texturally antithetic fabrics with a bravely uncomplicated sense of 50s Parisian chic was particularly refreshing. Can I have a strawberry Yop now?" She is funny, what she comes out with.
But I tell you, my blood pressure just can't cope with all of this excitement. I must have walked ten miles yesterday getting over to Portobello market, my feet killing me the whole way, and then it turns out to be jam-packed, with parts of it what I would call very arabic. And somebody was trying to sell the Whistling Boy for £120! I tell you, I'll be filling up the Honda and bringing stuff down here from Stoke before long, if you can make that kind of profit. Only they don't have any balconies where you can sit and smoke a fag in London, that's the only problem.

London

Right, are you listening? Can you go on the internet and find out if there are any restaurants in London? We've got Julian's fashion show http://www.julianjsmith.co.uk/ to go to tomorrow and there's going to be about 15 of us, and if they're not going to let me have a cigarette by the catwalk, then we're going to need to get to a restaurant quickly so I can smoke on the pavement outside. And it will have been hours since I'll have last eaten, so my thyroid will be going mental. And I've been put on these tablets for my hot flushes because I'm just burning up, but your father says they don't work, so I might just have to have access to water and air conditioning. And besides, I'm going to need a decent lunch after two hours forced to sit there watching a load of Latvians parading up and down in fuchsia catsuits. It's enough stress having to put up with London as it is. It's a lot busier than Cheshire, I'm telling you now. It's ridiculous.

Where are you supposed to smoke these days?

I've given up trying to find somewhere to go on holiday, because they just don't let you smoke anywhere. I mean, Turkey's not an option, obviously, and now that it's banned in Lanzarote, there's just nowhere left, is there? It's stressing me up enough even thinking about this fashion show of Julian's next weekend. Last time we went to a fashion show, they told me and your father off for smoking outside on the pavement. I'll just have to get some patches, I suppose.
So we're not going on holiday in October, just day trips. We've never been to the Cotswolds, so I suppose we'll just have to go there to smoke. And at least I'll be able to pick up a Wade cottage or two, and maybe a Moorcroft cufflink dish. They've got them coming out of their ears in the Cotswolds.
Only, I'll have to make sure Paul's available to look after the dog, because he's getting old. The other night, he'd been eating some pasta or a curry or something and ended up vomiting by the back door. Bloody typical. I shouldn't be wiping up dog vomit every five minutes, not with my leg. And I haven't slept properly in weeks, either. I've got this new bathroom in the bungalow to get organised and that will just create more chaos. I just wish they'd give me some oestrogen...

Cult status

I can't cope with this cult status. There's even some Australian woodcraft experts from Brisbane following me now. I'm not in the right frame of mind to be a celebrity, not with my pelvis torturing me night and day. And I've got Evie starting school this week to worry about on top of it all. She had her first day yesterday. 'What did you do at school today?' I asked her. She just shrugged and said, 'I spent a highly satisfactory hour producing a pastoral composition of grazing cattle in mixed media and was subsequently absorbed in a fascinating absurdist novella detailing the epic struggle of a menagerie of animals to disinter an unfeasibly gargantuan turnip. What did you do, Grandmother?' 'Ooh,' I said, 'I'm just totally worn out. I've had to assemble this Matchbox car set to check that it's complete and then I've priced up those pressed glass ashtrays. Wait till you're my age. Then you'll know what hard work is...'

Aviatiana and aeroplanalia

Sacrum

Paul! Paul! Get off that Bucking Bronco! What do you think you're doing getting on that thing at your age? Do you want a crushed sacrum or something? Because that's what you'll get. Don't think I'll come over and clean up after you if you're laid up on codeine for a fortnight.
Who's forced you to go on that Bucking Bronco, anyway? I bet it was Leo. You're too easily led astray, that's your problem. I've given up trying to look after the lounge carpet in that bungalow, what with you lot partying on it all round the clock. I suppose you've got half the scrapyard there most of the time. Well, I'm telling you now, there'll be hell to pay if any sump oil ends up on that settee. I only had it reupholstered 8 years ago.
Feel that! My pulse has gone up to 120 now. That's you getting me all anxious, going on that Bucking Bronco. I'll need a cigarette now. And I was supposed to be giving up as well. Typical.

What do I want with pot pourri?

I'm running out of space for things now. It's beyond a joke. I've got to try and shift this near-life-sized statuette of a whistling agricultural boy and a bag of outsized pot pourri. I mean, what do I want with pot pourri? The gypsies might buy it, I suppose, and your grandma might have been tempted, but I'm trying to appeal to a different kind of clientele. And I still can't shift the erotic Italian picture of the naked man, not even for £30...
See if you can get hold of another one of those budgie jugs for me, will you? They must have hundreds of them down in the South-East; they're classier down there.
Stop driving so fast! Are you trying to give me angina?

Croatia? What do you want to go there for?

The majesty of the landscape? You can get all of that if you rent a static caravan in Abersoch. I wouldn't be able to communicate with anyone in Croatia, besides. When I go to Lanzarote, I can say Gracias, but you can't expect me to learn the Croatian word for Gracias, not at my age. I've just been virtually bed-ridden for two weeks with this virus and I've only been able to get out to Dagfields 8 times, so I'll be run off my feet until October now, I suppose, so I haven't the time to even think about holidays. I've got to shift these bloody teapots. Why won't anyone buy this rabbit-shaped one? I just don't understand it. Wouldn't you want that on your breakfast table every morning? I would.

On my last legs...

Will you check what these Matchbox stunt cars are worth on Ebay, because I may not be here in a couple of days. I reckon it's turned into bronchitis and I'm just burning up all the time. I feel that bad, I had to go out and spend £350 on clothes yesterday, just to try and make myself feel better.
But everyone's dying at the moment. You get to my age and it just starts happening all around you. You're lucky. You don't have to think about death at your age. But your father keeps spending money like it's water, so I'm going to have to talk to you about this bond I've got. And the unit at Dagfields should be easy to clear out when I'm gone, because I've managed to shift a lot of stock the past couple of weeks. I've got this Bullnose Morris Cowley and I'm sure I can get at least £50 for it, because I've seen a similar one go for that price just last week, only that was in a box, you see, so it could be worth less, I just don't know. You could look that up for me.
So anyway, I've got to start thinking about what hymns I want when I’m buried. I know what I don't want. All Things Bright and Beautiful. I mean, what's all that about? Animals. What's that got to do with death? The problem is, I'm more of a pop person than a hymn person, so to be perfectly honest, I'd sooner have You Never Walk Alone, I Want to Break Free by Queen and just anything by Elvis, really. Oh, and Memory by Barbra Streisand. I like that. The problem is, I'm just too exhausted to write anything down, so I'll just forget all this and then I'll be back to square one. I haven’t even read an antique book today, which is bad news.

Decisions

Thank God they've all gone! I just can't cope when everyone descends on Stoke for the weekend. It wouldn't be so bad if you're father would help out, but he just goes out on his motorbike and I'm left to decide who has to sleep where. It's just exhausting having to make all these decisions. I've got Sean asking me whether I want fried eggs or scrambled eggs one minute and then I've got to work out what clothes to put on the next. How are you supposed to cope with all of this stress? I mean, I can't decide what kind of eggs I want, can I? Not with all these hot flushes and what with trying to keep the bungalow clean and free of vomit. It wouldn't be so bad if that physio on my hair had worked last month, but it's been three weeks now and it's still limp and got no body... I think I'm just going to cry and be done with it.

Skiing in Obergurgl

I don't know how you expect me to be able to work this modern technology. I can barely keep my eyes open today, and it's only the chronic pain in my hips that's preventing me from slipping into a coma. You'd better not expect me to get on that chair lift this afternoon, I'm telling you now. And you'd better not vomit all over that chalet tonight. I know what you young people are like.

Why's everything all sideways?

I tell you, this is riduculous. I've had more hot flushes today than a Japanese toilet.

Telegraph Crossword

I'm stuck on this one:

He started badly, becoming exhausted (9)

I've had another virus and Evie all day, so I'm just too shattered to work it out for myself...

Wade Whimsies

Ooh, Wade Whimsies! I love Wade Whimsies! What's the lot number? Lot 1307. Right, can go to Willingham Auctions and put a bid in for me? How much? Oh, anything between £35 and £36 should be fine. Don't go to £37 though, because I'll need to make my profit. I should get £2 each for them, so that's £40. £4 clear profit, you see, if you can get them for £36. That's 10%. And I'll go halves on the profit, so that's £2 for you. £2, and all you have to do is go to Willingham Auctions, buy them, individually pack them in bubble wrap and drive them up to Stoke... Well, I'll give you £3, then... That's all I can afford at the moment because I can't get anywhere near the bank with these hot flushes I keep having... Evie! Stop listening to that Tchaikovsky and eat your Monster Munch!

Car Boot Sale

I've got a car boot sale on tomorrow with Carol, only it looks like rain and I'll have to get up at 7, so it'll just kill me. I mean, I shouldn't have to do all this work when I've just had the entire bungalow double-glazed. It's taken me two weeks to get it back to some kind of order, but it's still not as nice as it was when I was living there. It's just not got that sparkly finish any more now that it's just men living there. Men don't dust like women do, let alone wipe over the window sills.

And I was out from 12 till 7 on Wednesday at Trentham Gardens talking, so Thursday I couldn't get up virtually, I was that exhausted, but I had to struggle on at Dagfields all day. I tell you, I can't do 4 days a month anymore. It's just killing me. And now I've been given this picture of a semi-naked man with something written in Italian on the bottom of it to try and sell. It's what I'd call very gay, but maybe somebody will give me £20 for it.

You should come up here and help me sell some of these plates on Ebay. You know I don't know how to do it. No, I can't email you a picture because I don't know how to email either. And I can't do these attachments. What are they all about? How do you attach something to an email? I mean, how does it fit? I could work it out if i had an hour or two, I imagine, but I'm just too busy. So just come up to Stoke and help me with this ebaying. You can sleep on the double blow-up thing, because Kirsty hasn't got any beds yet. It'll be fine.

Swine Flu

I don't think I'll be around much longer, what with all this Swine Flu going round. I've had eleven viruses already this year, so I'm bound to get this one and that will be it. So can you put bid on this Lustre Ware jug for me on Ebay, because I don't want to risk touching a keyboard. I'll go up to £12 but if it goes higher than that, you'll need to ring me up so I can tell you what to do. And don't tell me you'll be at work or in Croatia or somewhere, because you're never that busy and anyone can take a few hours off to monitor the bidding progress of a Lustre Ware jug on Ebay. It's not like you've got anything more important to do, is it?

Michael Jackson

Oh, I haven't got time to worry about Michael Jackson. I'm in enough pain as it is. And I've got to bid on these Beswick Guernsey cows tomorrow. You don't understand how stressful it is trying to bid on things in auctions. I usually get palpitations. If Michael Jackson had to go and put bids in at the General Household and Victoriana sale every five minutes, he wouldn't have made it to 40, let alone 50. Get me a cup of tea, before I pass out.

Cat figurine

What? The Lacy Scott Auction catalogue has just gone live? Well, will you look on it for me and see if they've got a Winstanley glazed pottery cat in seated pose? I can't go online myself, because I've had Carol round all afternoon and I'm just too shattered from talking. Now, if it's a tabby or a black and white one, then it's not worth very much, because the Winstanley factory made millions of them. But if it's a Siamese cat, then it's worth at least £60, only it's got to have blue eyes and be in the seated pose. They do them in 'curled up asleep', 'stretching langorously' or 'batting playfully at an imaginary bird', but those models are not so valuable, because they're just a little bit too common really. And if they've got greenish eyes, it means that they're just cheap seconds and I've had my fingers burnt with a few of those in my time, I can tell you. So... if they've got a blue eyed Siamese Winstanley glazed pottery cat in seated pose, can you put in an email bid for £15 and see what happens? Then on the day, you can telephone bid it up to 40 if necessary, but anything more than that, just walk away. I've got to make my profit. Basil! Stop following me around. I'll have a nervous breakdown in a minute!

Lacy Scott Auctions

Right, now I'm going to Lacy Scott's on Saturday to bid on some things, so will you go on their website and find out what lots they've got on and let me know? I can't go online myself, because I've got Evie all evening and your father's gone out on his bike to Belgium and won't be back till 11 at the earliest, so I've had to get the dinner sorted and now I'm just shattered and I haven't managed to even stop and have a cigarette for an hour. Now, you see this picture of a teapot in the shape of a thatched cottage? I've got one of those on my unit and I want to know if it was made in Normacot around 1938 by Johnson's, because if it was, it'll be worth at least £40. And if they've got one of those, can you see if they've got the matching sugar bowl in the shape of a garden shed and the milk jug in the shape of an outside toilet, because if I can get the full set, then we're talking upwards of £100, easily, possibly more if I can get the Korean buyers interested. So will you do that for me? Hang on a minute. Evie! Stop watching Newsnight and get to bed!

Wild Beasts

Wild Beasts

Wild Beasts? Is that one of these groups that you like? What are they going on about? It's just 'hooting and howling, hooting and howling'. What's that supposed to mean? It's just nonsense! Turn it down! My nerves are shattered enough as it is. Why do you always have to have your music on in the car? I want Dolly Parton. If you can't find Dolly Parton, then Randy Crawford will do, but I'm not having any more of these Wild Beasts, I'm telling you now.

Fashion

http://www.julianjsmith.co.uk/

Julian! You'd better not have chopped up my vintage 60s polka dot mini dress to make that gimp suit! I'll bloody well strangle you if you have. That could be worth £30 on Ebay!

And I was wondering where my Laura Ashley gold brocade vase coasters had gone, you cheeky sod....

Double Glazing

I tell you, if I ever have to have anyone in to do double glazing again, I think I'd just rather shoot myself. The mess is just horrendous. And the thing is, these men just don't understand about carpets. No matter how many times you try to put down protective sheeting, they still manage to kick it aside and put boot prints everywhere. I must have been hoovering for an hour now and my lumbar region just can't take that kind of impact. And I tell you another thing, there's not to be any more parties in this house. The last time there was a party, the whole place was virtually destroyed. Why do people need to be so rough with the furniture, that's what I want to know. And you'd better tell Christopher he's not to come up here and start breaking things either. I've only just had this hallway wallpapered. Why haven't you wiped down these kitchen surfaces?

I was out at Dagfields yesterday with Evie and we were looking at an Edwardian tortoiseshell shaving set, and you'll never guess what she said. She said, "Nanny Pat, do you not find that this whole place just seems to be an absurdist microcosm of modern society? Does the futility of it all not overwhelm you? All these people engaged in a capitalist merry-go-round of exchange and barter, but to what ultimate end? I'm beginning to think that perhaps Sartre was right after all..."
She is funny. I just said to her, "Look, Evie, I've not got time to worry about capitalism now. This Moorcroft cheese dish needs wiping over and pricing up. Then why don't we get you a Mini Milk? Carol! Carol! If you're going over, will you get Evie a Mini Milk and I'll have a Mivvi? Take the money out of the cash I got for that Welsh elm console table. I can't possibly go myself. My symphisis pubis has pretty much disintegrated after Vaughn made me walk round that golf course in Dolgellau."

Hallstand

Ooh, the new Willingham auctions catalogue is out!

http://www.willinghamauctions.com/

I can't possibly go, because of my knees, but will you go and see how much the Arts and Crafts oak hallstand goes for? I'm just interested, you see. And if you can look on Ebay for me and see if there are any other Arts and Crafts oak hallstands on there, let me know what they go for, because your Auntie Rita had one of those and she let it go to a gypsy from Rocester for £2.50 and a bag of horse manure in 1987. It's enough to make you weep!

Feet

I tell you, I thought my feet were going to drop off yesterday, I had to walk so far. Seriously, I was walking like a woman of 90. I had to stop and go into John Lewis to buy some with less of a heel on them.  Must have walked at least a mile around Liverpool city centre with Evie. It reminded me of the Sixties when me and Florence used to go to the Crystal in platforms and share a Cherry B, which would last us all night. I've never been in such agony.

I'm never going on holiday again. You don't know what it's like having to drive 2 hours to North Wales. I'm just too old to do that kind of thing. It's alright for you younger people, you don't have disintegrating pelvises like me. And your father just wants to sit there smoking cigars all the time and then goes to play golf, so I'm all on my own. And you can't get decent antiques in North Wales any more. All these Koreans have come over and bought them all. You're lucky if you can lay your hands on a slightly incomplete Macedonian pressed glass cruet set...

YouTube - Cassetteboy vs The Bloody Apprentice

Ooh, Alan Sugar. I quite like him. He would never be horrible to his wife. He would take her to Tenerife at least 4 times a year. Have you let the dog out?

Contemplating death

Right, we're off to Tal y Bont now, so listen. If we get killed, you'll need to know where to find the will and all the insurance paperwork. It's in the filing cabinet, in a folder labelled 'Death'. OK? And I don't want all of the antiques to just go to auction, because they'll just end up going for nothing if you do that. Do you want this mule chest, or should I leave it to Julian? And what about these Portmeirion honey pots? You might need a few spare honey pots one day, when I'm gone. And don't let Kirsty put hot mugs down on this mahogany davenport, d'you hear me?

Parking permit

Have you got my parking permit? Well, I want it back. Don't you go driving off with that parking permit, because I've already lost two already and you have to pay to get a replacement. It's a nightmare! Why they can't think of a better system, I don't know. It's enough to drive you up the wall. And I've got to take the dog to the kennels and get ready to leave for Tal y Bont by 3 o'clock and it's 10 o'clock now. Just get me a cup of tea and then I'll be able to focus...

Car boot sale

I was meant to be doing a car boot sale today, only it's too hot, so I couldn't possibly. It was too wet last week and now it's too hot. You can never get the right bloody weather to do a car boot sale. I've got a garage full of stuff that needs selling. Do you want these CDs? You never listen to them, you must have hundreds. I can get 50p each for these, you know. And what about these books? It doesn't matter if they're in German. There must be somebody at the Trentham Gardens car boot sale who'll want a copy of 'Also Sprach Zarathustra'. Who's it by? Nietzsche? Have a look on Ebay and see what Nietzsche books go for. I bet you I can get at least a pound for it... Vaughn! This dog's driving me up the wall! Will you put him outside? When will that turkey joint be done?

Kidneys in agony

Basil! I mean, Evie! I mean, Michael! I mean, Vaughn! Ooh, I can't even remember anyone's name today, I'm that ill. I shouldn't have gone to Dagfields yesterday, but they can't cope without me. And it was a long day, I tell you. I nearly crashed into the roundabout on the way back, I was that shattered.
I should be at the Peter Wilson auction rooms today, bidding on an assorted box of Edwardian kitchenalia, but I've caught another virus. I was up all night with a temperature and now my kidneys are murder. I should go to the GP, but I can't be bothered. They'll only tell me to stop smoking, as if that's got anything to do with my kidneys. And besides, I think it's genetic whether smoking kills you or not. I'm just not the type to die of smoking, I can tell.

Korean crisis

Aren't they terrible, these MPs and their expenses? If they were claiming for Moorcroft vases, I could understand it, but some of the common things they buy, it just goes to show they're a lower class of MP these days. I keep thinking I should become an MP, but my back's too bad and I just can't shake off this virus. And if I was an MP, I'd make sure I'd find out what these Koreans are doing, because they keep turning up at Dagfields, buying up all the porcelain and shipping it back to Korea. I said to some of them the other day that turned up, 'Where are you taking all of these Carltonware sandwich sets?' but they just pretended they didn't understand me. What do Koreans want with Carltonware sandwich sets, that's what I want to know...

Bank Holiday at Dagfields

Oh my God, Vaughn, I can't take this heat any more. It's been like a furnace all day at Dagfields. This is all because I never had a proper menopause. I keep saying to the doctor, 'For God's sake, keep me on the HRT, otherwise I'll just burn up, let alone what havoc it would play with my hips.' And as usual, there were only three of us on at Dagfields, because anyone with any sense refuses to work the Bank Holiday. But they were all pleased that I was there, because I managed to stop one of the customers from dying. She just came up to see if anyone would make her an offer for this portrait of the Queen Mother, and I could tell instantly that she wasn't well, because she was all out of breath and her skin was blue and clammy. So I said to her, 'Now, look. You're having a pulmonary oedema. You need to get to hospital. I'll give you £35 for the picture.' Which I thought was a good offer, but she still managed to get me down to 30 whilst the paramedics were stretchering her out. I said to the paramedics, 'Don't bother with the defibrilator. It's a pulmonary oedema, I'm telling you now. She just needs some diamorphine and a good slap on the back. I know about these things; my husband's a GP. I've got this lovely Suzie Cooper polka dot milk jug, by the way. I'd let it go for £15 if it's the kind of thing you paramedics are into...'
So now I've got this portrait of the Queen Mother. Don't let on, but I think it might be an early Lucian Freud. I'll ask Evie when she's back from playgroup...

Hard day at Dagfields

Vaughn! Vaughn! Help me in with this Arts and Crafts washstand. I've ruined my coccyx with too much standing. I must have walked ten miles at Dagfields. The other women don't understand. They said to me today, they said, 'Pat, can you go and open cabinet 47?' and I just thought, 'What did your last slave die of? You didn't live with an alcoholic for 20 years. Open cabinet 47 yourself.' And of course, I have to traipse right over to the other end of the building to open up bloody cabinet 47, and you know that the woman who's asked for it to be opened is never going to buy anything, cos she's just one of these timewasters who's come on a coach trip from Liverpool. So she says she's interested in this Japanese lacquered chopstick etui, and I just thought, what do you want with a Japanese lacquered chopstick etui? You look like more of a Breton faience kitchenware type of person to me. But anyway, it turns out she was a label-swapper. She stuck the label off one of those mugs in the shape of a chunk of Dairy Milk onto a Waterford rose bowl while I wasn't looking and got away with it at the check out. Must have done us out of £60 easily. Sickens you, doesn't it? Ooh, get me a Lambert and Butler for my nerves...

I shouldn't be expected to blog at my age. You don't know what it's like. I'm in agony with my pelvis. My symphysis pubis has completely had it. I can barely move, I tell you. Even sitting still is a torture. And it's Paul's birthday this week. I hope I'm not going to be expected to make a cake. If they think I'm going to make a cake, they've got another thing coming. I'd have to get margarine in. When am I going to find the time to get margarine? 

Peter Wilson Auctions

It's alright for you. You haven't been at the Peter Wilson Auction Rooms all day. I had to get there by 11.30, because I needed to get the Fegg Hayes Budgie Jug put into the Seventiesalia and Kitschiana sale before the deadline at 12 noon.  And I took Evie, cos she's into the antiques and she's so intelligent. I said to her before we went, 'How much do you think the Budgie Jug will go for?' and you know what she said? She said, 'Since beauty is, by its very nature, unquantifiable, then surely, if one thinks on a purely objective level, all art is intrinsically worthless.' Then she just finished off her Petit Filous and carried on watching her CBeebies. Ooh, she does make me laugh. The things she comes out with...

Look, you don't know what it's like, I'm telling you now. They only had 3 of us on today at Dagfields and there must have been 40 customers, easily. I wouldn't mind, but it's the reaching up to get things off the top shelves that I just can't do any more. And my tennis elbow's flaring up. I said to the doctor, I said, just give me another jab, because it's murder. Only, apparently, I've got the nerves of a ninety-year-old woman. My mother never had any trouble with her nerves, but that was probably all the butter she ate and she was a Taurus, so they're stronger, aren't they? Bullish, you see. I don't take after her. You do, but I don't. Detty takes after my mother. And Sinead. And Peter. And Kirsty. And Leo. And you do, a bit. Anyway, I've got a gammon in for dinner, so I'd better get that sorted out. Vaughn! Vaughn!! Will you put the gammon in? I can't, I'm on the internet...

Now, I've got this lovely piece of Fegg Hayes...

Will you try to find out for me what this Budgie Jug might be worth? It was made in Fegg Hayes, possibly as early as 1974, only I can't read the mark on the bottom, what with my eyes. Can you see what that says? It looks like 'Dave' to me, and if it's made by Dave, that means it's worth more than any of the other ones, because Dave once met Clarice Cliff at a finger buffet in Uttoxeter in 1958 and they discussed the use of turquoise pigments, it says in my Miller Antiques Guide. So this could be from Dave's Turquoise period, in which case, it's probably worth £75. I only paid £68 for it at auction, and I could see that this other woman really wanted it, but she normally only likes Gaudy Welsh, so I knew I'd beat her in the end. See if there's anything like it on Ebay, go on. No, I can't possibly go on Ebay now. My feet are killing me...

How do I get off this bloody thing?

Vaughn!  Vaughn! It won't let me stop blogging! Every time I click on that little red X, is says 'Do you want to log off?' Then there's three buttons that say Yes, No and Cancel. Three choices! I can't deal with three choices. I'm stressed out enough as it is. I've had Evie all day and now three choices. I've a good mind to just press Cancel and get rid of it all for ever, all of this internet. I mean, it's just so complicated. I've had sciatica since February. How are you supposed to focus on the internet with sciatica?

Even more shattered

Now, look, I want you to look on Ebay for me and find out how much this Crested Ware figurine of a peregrine falcon attacking a hedgehog is worth. Then I want you to put it on and sell it, but don't let it go for less than £2 because I bought it for £1.50, so I've got to make my profit. I can't look for it myself because I've lost the password and I'm too stressed out to phone up for a new one. They just put you through to someone in Glasgow or Bangladesh or somewhere like that and I just can't understand what they're saying. This man the other day just kept saying, 'Go to password settings, Go to password settings,' but what's that supposed to mean? I mean, I'm looking at the screen and it doesn't say 'password settings' anywhere. There's a picture of an exercise bike, but that's all I can see. And then he goes on about drop down menus. What do I want with drop down menus? I want to know what my password is, only he won't tell me that unless I can tell him what the fourth letter of my password is, only I could have sworn that my password was 'rheumatism', but that doesn't work and neither does 'shattered', so god knows what it is. I tell you, I've had enough of this internet. It's killing me, it really is. I can't possibly blog today. No, you do it for me. Let me just sit down for a bit. Is the kettle on?

Welcome to the wonderful World of Pat

I'm shattered. I can't possibly blog now. You don't know what it's like, having five viruses in one year. I told the doctor, I said, I'll just kill myself if I get another one. And the dog wants letting in and out about 50 times a day. I tell you it's murder. And I'm doing a full Bank Holiday shift at Dagfields. There's only going to be three of us on and I'll be up and down like a yoyo opening fetching things from the glass cabinets. I'm telling you now, you don't know what it's like... Ooh, make me a cup of tea, will you? I can't move...