I spend about forty hours a week with people aged eighty plus. The topics of conversation range from bung hips, that silly Charlie Sheen, gammy knees to how bizarre Ellen DeGeneres’s dancing is.
But the quirky diversity of our conversations has frizzled out the past few weeks. We've become focused (perhaps fixated) on the upcoming Royal Wedding.
I was never much of a royal watcher. In fact I didn’t realise how many publications are dedicated to just that – watching Royals. But I’ve been swept up in the hysteria. We sigh and moan over the possible colour pallet of the wedding day, debate whether the couple will kiss on the balcony, reminiscent about William’s once luscious head of hair and ponder if any corgies will be present.
The ladies cross their knitting needles and click their tongues in exasperation, that the event is still two weeks away.
Then I found 'Knit Your own Royal Wedding', the knitting group could easily whip up a wedding in a week. Then once all the hoopla is over we can still get the Queen to dance Ellen style
I am partial to collecting pieces of fine china. Mismatching cups and saucers with tarnished gold rims and dusty old lady floral prints, from The Salvos.
I don’t own any porcelain with a Sex Pistols attitude. Plates which are slightly mouthy, but disarmingly charming. Saucers which flash a bit of leg and demand seconds. Perfect partners for an afternoon tea.
[Sambo]
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