Blue is the colour...

What is it about men?  You spend hours getting ready, wearing good supportive drawers, neat makeup, a pretty dress and a pair of wedges and not a comment is made.  Sun comes out, and I don a four year old bikini, with heavily padded top to aid non existent bosom, and baggy pants which do nothing to hold back the ravages of time and gravity, allowing my stomach and derriere complete free rein, and all of a sudden, I am the most beautiful thing the husband has ever seen and he can't keep his hands to himself.  

Don't worry ladies, I didn't let the side down - apparently a flip-flop has several more uses than I'd originally thought. So for three glorious hours, I lay in the sun like a heavily oiled Blue Whale, knowing (and it's a fact) that a sun tan makes you look thinner.  It would have helped if I'd turned over and done my back, but that's the thing with the British Summer. You never know how long it's going to last, so I never waste time doing the bits that I can't see. From the back my legs probably look like a generous slab of Cornish Blue, whereas from the front, they look like a pair of highly varnished table legs.  

Talking of bliss, there were no kids at home for most of the day yesterday, so the husband and I decided to do something which we rarely do (not that, remember the flip-flop) and we got completely pickled on some cider he'd brought home a couple of days ago.  This cider was one I'd not seen before, and was called Red Dog, which was quite fitting after yesterday's sun bathing marathon.  I'm just glad that both sets of neighbours were out for the afternoon. I'm sure that if they'd been in, then there would have been a knock at the front door with a polite request to 'keep the noise down to a dull roar'.

So today is Father's Day - I was very prepared this year, which makes a change, and presents and cards are wrapped and written for my dad and the husband.  Later on today my dad, his partner Miss C, and Miss R and Mr B (her rather lovely new chap) are heading over here for a barbecue.  

The husband, like most men, is very possessive over his gas barbecue.  It doesn't seem to matter how many times I tell him that it bears no resemblance whatsoever to a caveman cooking a hairy mammoth steak over a fire, he won't be told, and he refuses to let anyone have control of his tongs and basting brush.

As we all know ladies, barbecuing falls into the Blue Job category.  This list includes two other jobs. Lawnmowing and the taking out of bins each Tuesday.

Don't get me started on what's on the Pink Job list.  It would be easier to tell you what's not on it.

Barbecuing, lawns and bins,that's what...