Monthly Archives: September 2013

Some find snails to be such a pain in the wotsy this time of year. Thank los heavens for a completely concrete backyard.

As you know, the funking up of the Signor Seriousimo Spectacular is an ongoing quest, and possibly one without pay-off or end. Pleased to report we’ve made some progress on the shirt-tails front for weekends: they are no longer tucked in. Yay! Met Ball here we come.

Spied this for him. Might be just the catalyst for change he needs, and should go some way toward hiding the high-riding trews on Saturdays and Sundays when the shirt tails disappear into the waistband. As you well know, La refuses to be seen in the company of Harry Highpants.

That said, this is a famous menswear designer whose name I’ve forgotten. Think you’ll agree he conveys an impression of style and success. And he’s an out-and-proud Harry Highdacks. So maybe Seriousimo’s onto something and La needs to do what’s known in the wife trade as Lay Off.

Thought I looked pretty fancy in my latest J Crew sparklepiece not long back, and evidently so did il locale barista.

When this heart-starter arrived, the Male Junior Cost Centre — gutted — shot me a look and asked plaintively, “Doesn’t he know you’re married?” Oh, if only the two — my improved appearance in said sparklepiece and this crema love-heart — were connected.

Stepped through a wrinkle in the space-time continuum recently and ended up here…

…to buy one of these:

Shocked? Me too.

Got diverted by the “Norms”.

And the “baby Jesuses”.

Might need to start praying to them soon for forgiveness. Los neighbours will not be happy about my leaf-blower. Maybe concrete backyards aren’t all they’re cracked up to be and a large crimson snail would make all la difference.

Ciao x

As old Robert Frost would say, “I took the road less travelled by / And that has made all the difference.”

Well, actually, La took the dog poo-strewn bush path to grab the JCCs from school and the only difference it made that sunny afternoon was to the health of the soles of los trainers.

There’s a srs bottleneck of blog posts building up in the Triv psyche. (As an ex once commented, “Your mind is one scary neighbourhood — you shouldn’t be allowed to roam it alone.” Didn’t work out so well for him.) So there’s nowt to do but get on with it, in a highly randomised order.

Bought the little male JCC these “boths” (his term for in-and-out-of-water fashion trews). He’s inherited La love of a retro poolside motel digi print. This is how he showed his appreciation.

Think he’s twerking? Am embarrassed I had to resort to the deity YouTube to find out what that was. How could that portly throwback Clive Palmer know what twerking was when La Triv didn’t? Anyhow, turned out I knew what it was, just didn’t know that was what it was called. So there.

Headed out with Seriousimo one Saturday night, because…

Hell yeah! And lucky Princess got one.

Seriousimo still has not succeeded in untucking his shirts or introducing his trousers to his natural waistline on weekends. It was OK when we were sitting down at 4Fourteen, but I walked a bit ahead of him on the way there lest anyone should think La was hitting the town with Harry Highpants.

We scoffed some amazing dessert with dulce de leche and white chocolate ice cream and some biscuity toffee sheets. OMG. Michelle Bridges would have king hit me with one of her toned guns.

Saw a fillum (as La Nona Joan would have said). It was no blockbuster.

However, the colour of the theatre was apt, as la fillum was “Red Obsession“. It was great. Featured an interview with a Chinese tycoon who’s supposed to have one of the most amazing private wine collections in the world, valued at $60m. And he’s amassed his fortune by manufacturing s*x toys. The footage of bored factory workers clutching great handfuls of freshly-minted mauve vibrators was not to be forgotten in a hurry.

And speaking of s*x toys, spotted this on the walk home from the cinema. Thankfully Harry H was some distance behind me so I could secretly photograph it without creating unrealistic expectations that he might one day find it hiding beneath the Marital Bed of Deceit.

Giddy up!