Simple pleasures

I am clearly a child of four.

My heart is light today. I’m happy because the tiny jasmine plant Beloved Bear bought me four years ago is now strong and attitudinous ( if that wasn’t a word, it is now) and is covered with white buds, huge and fat as the judderman’s moon. The flowers are perfect stars, the fragrance gorgeous.

This year, I got very few of my beloved Lush products. Instead, people bought me sumptuous grown up classy perfumes, Dolce & Gabbana and Miss Dior. A sophisticated adult lady would do as my mother always advised, and continually wear one subtle fragrance as a kind of feminine signature, a gentle evocation of one’s presence, remembered when one has left the room. Said lady would not act like an excited Smokingboot, who has to break open all the wrapping, ooh and ahh at the fantastic bottles and then try everything on at once. The house smelt like a Croydon hairdresser’s yesterday, and today may be no better. I just can't help myself.

And then there was the game. The game was (waits for the inevitable pointing of the mouth mollusc) fantastic. Ah-hah, too late, I’ve said it! What you do now, oh Bane of Eden, Son of Lucifer, handthing of Lilith? You know it was cool! We had a great time, funny, colourful and dangerous. It takes unique people skills to have a bloodhunt announced on you in two cities. It takes remarkable empathic qualities to have your boat invaded by a were-alligator. It takes a certain panache to have your haven redecorated by a cross between Mr Flay and Riff-Raff. We must be very special.

And so on to today. I feel very loved up, unusual considering the full moon and my premenstrual state. Doubtless my mood will sink with the onset of wurrruk. Time to get moving.