Colour of the day: Pillar box red to match my lipstick - it's that femme fatale thing again.
Suffering from a vile hangover as I cooked an amazing dinner last night and decided to toast its victory with several glasses of hooch. Oh my head. I attempted pheasant with pomegranate pilaf which involved stuffing two pheasants with beef and basmati rice with many a spice then coating them in molasses and pomegranate juice and many a more spice then roasting them til totally scrumptious and much better than the picture.
Somehow the end of the evening's conversation turned towards the future - a subject I steer clear of if I can as the prospect of living with a retired Mr Smith on a golf course in Surrey or Kent is my idea of hell on earth. I thought world exploration would be fun - see where we land and settle there: Borneo, Madagascar, The Amazon, Fiji or Mexico, not Sevenoaks.
I had my eyebrows threaded yesterday which has made them red and angry. Although, I wasn't exactly Denis Healey, the furry caterpillars were in need of taming and probably by teatime will have stopped hurting or, in my worst nightmare, grown back. Oh how one has to suffer to look even reasonably presentable. I can't think why I bother but I seem to be growing vainer with age. Are smart eyebrows vanity or necessity? Mr Smith never notices though he does notice Fiona Bruce's eyebrows and she looks like a bloody vulcan. She is Mr Smith's dream girl; I had to scribble all over a picture of her in the Telegraph a few days ago - well just her face (and her stupid rear of the year). We don't watch Antiques Roadshow any more due to the drooling by Mr Smith with little moans of "Oh Fifi". We watch the news channel where there's no danger of her stupid mug appearing on the screen. Sorry, Fifi, it's nothing personal but you're a monster cow bitch woman and you ain't going to get my man. Anyway, I bet your pheasant pilaff would be rubbish.
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