About Me

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London, Panama
Old enough to know better, young enough not to care. Over-educated (didn't understand most of it), under-travelled (Bournemouth a few times), no SOH and even less imagination. First husband. Various smaller people. Various animals including, it would seem, a parrot. Borderline autistic, sorry, artistic. Internet OCD. I may be slightly deluded but I like it that way :-) e-mail: rare.bird.of.paradise@gmail.com

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Solar by Ian McEwan

007.5 has been having a sabbatical but now she is back in sparkling form (well, ish - don't look too closely for she is a dedicated sower of unconscious disorder, for whom the retrieval of her own dropped towel of the closing of a drawer or a cupboard door or disposal of a wrapper or banana peel would seem as purposeful an act as spring cleaning).

At the moment, I am preparing for an arduous mission in the middle of April whilst still running at least one secret agent (apologies to numbers 2 and 3, but you Dear Reader, if my Secret agent, are definitely number 1).

Part of this preparation involves training with the team. The Controller in particular.

007.5 is past her first flush of youth (Ed yeup, those flushes you have now are everything to do with age, but NOTHING to do with youth), and so is her Controller.

Older men are better companions. They are seasoned lovers. They know the world. They know themselves. They know their wines ("a Bordeaux should absolutely be thin - don't embarrass yourself by returning it to Majestic").

On the other hand, they have dodgy calves and a tendency (Ed: cough, kettles, pots and black) to relax and over indulge at the weekend so there is a slow build up to supreme fitness.

Unlike younger men, they hold their emotions in balance. They are warmer, kinder, more tolerant, less boastful (not one has told me that he came top in the Cambridge maths aptitude test when applying for a place to read English), less violent.

I may be in love.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Mallory Towers by Enid Blyton

All in all it was a good visit to Teenspy's posh new boarding school to be. The senior master turns out to be the long term ex-lover of H's sister. Twenty years back, he stayed with us as a student and wandered around our flat noisily drunk in his boxers. His niece was then named "Teenspy" after, um, Teenspy. In homage. He promised that the school would "make room" for Teenspy. Life is so easy, it's almost as if there is a god :-) :-)

We also met Teenspy's future husband. What first attracted us to this millionaire 17 year old as a suitable match for Teenspy, you ask?

Okay, he writes computer games, but gold diggers can't be choosers, and Teenspy has a soft spot for geeks. What's not to like? I too have a soft spot for geeks.

This particular geek has an agreement with the school whereby he runs his business from 6-8pm every day. He is not intending to go to University which is just as well as he will need to support Teenspy through years of medical school for she will be an expensive trophy girlfriend. What? We could pay for University? Oh no, we are cutting Teenspy off the day she hits 18.

Meanwhile, not only have I twice been called a "young lady" this week, but the college porter let me through without a pass because, quoth he, "you are good looking" :-)

Life is looking good :-)

Spying? I have been reading Minispy's diary. Well, d'oh, of course I have, I am a spy by name and spy by nature. I quote:

"Have you ever noticed how a mother is like a servant? She chauffeurs you to your friends, cooks your meals and washes your clothes."

I so need to get more help in the house.....

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Happy Birthday to me

Happy Birthday to 007.5 :-) :-)

Another year older, another year faster - gunning at 46 minute for my 10k on Sunday [Ed: snort, you have been slipping through that tear in the space time continuum again, 007.5]

My housekeeping tip of the year, for this is a housekeeping blog, is fab! Tie pink ribbon (large, expensive) decorously across the doors of all your bathrooms apart from the master en suite, the main family bathroom and the guest bathroom, and halve your cleaning! :-) :-) I got this hint from a good friend of mine.

I am expecting Leonard to be across soon, if he has finished having lunch with young women.

Marital advice: When your H remembers to give you a card on the morning of your birthday, the correct response is not "This (large and sentimental) isn't like your usual cards (funny and a bit rude)" Pause. "Did you get your secretary to buy it?"

Monday, March 1, 2010


I know my readership.

The pic's a bit small (I am a technical genius with a lazy streak) so here's the most crucial part:

Should your husband suggest congress then agree humbly all the while being mindful that a man's satisfaction is more important than a woman's. When he reaches his moment of fulfilment a small moan from you is encouraging to him and quite sufficient to indicate any enjoyment you may have had.

Sage advice, indeed.

Pension Planning by Everett T. Allen (yes, really)

My best banker friend has been awarded his mega large bonus. Bless him, he works so hard and deserves every million. Last Friday, for instance. he wasn't home til gone 11pm (!!!!), and only smelled slightly of whisky and cigars.

But people just can't be reasonable!!! Oh no, they get all hoity toity and mutter about taxpayers' money. Yes, the fly in the ointment is that the braying masses (green with envy and forgetting that he is a master of the universe) won't let him keep it.

I know at this point, my fairest, loving Readers, you like me, will be aghast and full of sincere condolences. How will he make the final payment on his yacht?, you rightly ask, shocked. What about Arabella's trip round the world before Oxford Brookes? And her 18th at the Dorchester? But I am happy to report that I can set your little minds at rest.

Mrs BBF tells me that the real point of a large bonus near retirement is to bump up the final salary scheme pension, which is to be 60% of the average of the last 3 years' earnings before retirement. Oooh, I am no good with numbers but I seem to have focused on this: roughly it means that if BBF accepts and then gives away to charity his $3 million bonus then this increases his pension by $600,000 a year (yes, every year) until he dies. Sigh, he'll miss the immediate cash, of course, but things could be worse and he is being so VERY generous :-)

Oh, btw, I have set him up a little off shore charitable fund with trustees who happen to include, oooh, let me see now.....Mrs BBF! What a charitably minded woman she is. She is expecting a $3 million donation any day now, which she will be able to distribute amongst the small class of beneficiaries - the children of bankers without bonuses. It s a small world.

[Ed: hmmm...007.5 could be onto something. I have examined the notes to the last available set of HSBC accounts and see that 5 of the 7 directors are on defined benefits pensions c.f. most mortals who are on money purchase schemes, if they are lucky.

It's lucky the financial journalists aren't abreast of this kind of ploy.]

I wonder if mentioning the word "pensions" , with no photo, will decrease my blog traffic as much as the phrase "sex at oxbridge" increased it? Or will you both keep reading?

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

The End of the Party by Andrew Rawnsley

What's not to like about a bit of passion? Cyber dog hasn't got to the top by being a Patsy. Isn't some lapel grabbing and the devouring of the weak and insignificant simply part of the package of a strong leader? We all look up to someone who knows his mind and is not in control of his temper.

Who wants somebody considered, alert and calm in charge? Not I. I, for one, would be deeply suspicious of someone who got through very few keyboards during his tenure. I am so impressed by a good thrower of tantrums and office objects at the expense of considered decision making and teamwork.

I have diarised beating of the Teenspies for later tonight. That'll improve my poll ratings :-)

PS I managed to sneak this footage out of Number 10 (Sarah helped me).

Saturday, February 20, 2010

Philip Pullman's Dark Materials

This afternoon, the H thought that I was in the kitchen completing my tax return. He was in the study working - slash - surfing the internet aimlessly looking at property porn.

Little did he know that I had squeezed out of the kitchen window (yes, yes, I am going to watch my weight next week), slipped through a tear in the space-time continuum [Ed: that's all the dust for you] and was at number 56A sipping champagne. Even though not a single occupant of Number 56A went to Oxbridge, they are rich, for Mr 56A is a banker. He lost his job, then got a new one :-) and now has a bonus to splurge. I knocked on the door at just the right moment - well the peacocks announced my presence anyway in peacock like fashion. I am subliminally drawn by the sound of champagne corks popping.

Sigh, it's great having a secret double life. My Daemon doesn't approve at all. I will leave it to you Lovely Readers to speculate as to the nature of my Daemon - and to tell me yours.

Oh, my cunning "sex at Oxbridge" plan (hey, did you see what I did there? I mentioned "sex at oxbridge" - twice now- so that this post will turn up on google searches and I can scrape off someone else's success without having to write something original of my own. I am soooooooo clever) is working. Every time I look at my profile, the number of views has gone up [Ed: yes, precisely by one, 007.5. I wonder why....hmmmmm?]

Book Review: Like oo7.5 and Leonard, Will and Lyra are condemned to live in separate worlds as neither can survive in the others. Sigh, a true love story.
There the parallels end: Unlike 007.5's blog, Philip Pullman's novels are read by millions without him resorting to writing "sex at oxbridge" repeatedly in the vain hope of attracting unsuspecting, and unwilling, readership (sorry everyone who was lured here under false pretences - you can leave now if you like). There are other differences too - like Pullman's work is carefully crafted, worked upon painstakingly and is the product of a great imagination. Ho hum.