tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86844260544223599472024-02-18T23:03:18.720-08:00Bette on ToastBette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.comBlogger152125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-4079567388026572022013-11-24T07:33:00.001-08:002013-11-24T07:33:07.275-08:00Hours twenty-fourAftanoon.<div><br><div>How are things on The Internet? Rather a lot has changed here in real life since last I posted. It will take far too long to catch up (Short version - Life: Splendid) so here instead are some snapshots of my glamorous showbiz life.</div><div><br></div><div>I fancied trying my hand at one of those 'a photo every hour' posts, and as yesterday was my birthday AND the finale of a short but very sweet show, I thought it a jolly good opportunity. (Actually, I chose yesterday because I imagined it would be a day full of exciting variety, but you will notice that the majority of photographs were taken in the pub...)</div><div><br></div><div>Right, so. Saturday the 23rd November, 2013.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuea2MNFnrnZFecg0w_MN7hdU1nlrVL2QI8STWKePFBYIZXr1E_J3Oqyb7ZWX02wjx4UwgWuM-NDfyVM6pPrufADoIphMt66yc4ifLFhHSJC0AvLOs9BRPo6NRJYu5XBfASmmmQfVCNeU/s640/blogger-image--736114842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuea2MNFnrnZFecg0w_MN7hdU1nlrVL2QI8STWKePFBYIZXr1E_J3Oqyb7ZWX02wjx4UwgWuM-NDfyVM6pPrufADoIphMt66yc4ifLFhHSJC0AvLOs9BRPo6NRJYu5XBfASmmmQfVCNeU/s640/blogger-image--736114842.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Midnight. Sleepy Hannah posing with Godfrey the owl.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMnAMI0pkBFoqjjOEFTssEuFCVZw36Ua3XVY_r6ghyFn3vPR1wvlmeXO9B5j2ZP5jbf4CQZF1yWP5-nO7_KPRuhqDrUEkxGn9gEWpESyBHyzkjwiYeCgy3l-pdy8KN52ja1DwyMPY_DU/s640/blogger-image-1560996164.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMMnAMI0pkBFoqjjOEFTssEuFCVZw36Ua3XVY_r6ghyFn3vPR1wvlmeXO9B5j2ZP5jbf4CQZF1yWP5-nO7_KPRuhqDrUEkxGn9gEWpESyBHyzkjwiYeCgy3l-pdy8KN52ja1DwyMPY_DU/s640/blogger-image-1560996164.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Eight o'clock. Two excited girls. Happy birthday Elizabeth!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEos1hqeWgG4mzX2fz8Dtqm3koZew9RhIe84rSEFNgsNUtD6dVh0W8Al0Ba8Mj1L-1tX_nig4GFOKODrfAmuymapijJFr_SBFspYilughYfKPuTlOCgwZvSIjy9LxdzIrBWNWJLsR4KDM/s640/blogger-image-2059646694.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEos1hqeWgG4mzX2fz8Dtqm3koZew9RhIe84rSEFNgsNUtD6dVh0W8Al0Ba8Mj1L-1tX_nig4GFOKODrfAmuymapijJFr_SBFspYilughYfKPuTlOCgwZvSIjy9LxdzIrBWNWJLsR4KDM/s640/blogger-image-2059646694.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Nine o'clock. Breakfast time.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qFAlRMwFp3nbknqf9T4fps4-L2t7ryzGCQNfdrlbcxVTjAKktKqUiA6WFFhq7Au7mbdw-WZOTLPte-eRtGt369IRY3pPjwdrqkdtUudbRDObzhBzwVhZAxzMWTW-RfyiPkbwhKoJU0Y/s640/blogger-image--1101555156.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qFAlRMwFp3nbknqf9T4fps4-L2t7ryzGCQNfdrlbcxVTjAKktKqUiA6WFFhq7Au7mbdw-WZOTLPte-eRtGt369IRY3pPjwdrqkdtUudbRDObzhBzwVhZAxzMWTW-RfyiPkbwhKoJU0Y/s640/blogger-image--1101555156.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>(Half past nine. Breakfast pudding!)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnXGvqe6bwBNWfYw1YGwouVaaSLLl7AVrnT9MTumt8wk8rARC-qArKKvDqQsc0Ol3-QPRcO5DGJLHO9eTD3hSa2csguDayhyphenhyphenirNwtlsxhxtAgtmb9yvSJIZbY-_U6fHonVMrkVdbfCH0/s640/blogger-image--107267114.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqnXGvqe6bwBNWfYw1YGwouVaaSLLl7AVrnT9MTumt8wk8rARC-qArKKvDqQsc0Ol3-QPRcO5DGJLHO9eTD3hSa2csguDayhyphenhyphenirNwtlsxhxtAgtmb9yvSJIZbY-_U6fHonVMrkVdbfCH0/s640/blogger-image--107267114.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Ten o'clock. A very pretty present.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixt-ATpzj2lE1hm_CeN_ZOngSOVcLKjt9nSKxwJ1EpCgIGabXbNBqY78k77AK_h9j7fDoSWcoWKwHAMhyphenhyphenfpr76_ss2VjNi7oxIErbpzl0dP2HCcoQC6b-rRG0mUmbT61aZiA9eHmq7ahI/s640/blogger-image-1828090152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixt-ATpzj2lE1hm_CeN_ZOngSOVcLKjt9nSKxwJ1EpCgIGabXbNBqY78k77AK_h9j7fDoSWcoWKwHAMhyphenhyphenfpr76_ss2VjNi7oxIErbpzl0dP2HCcoQC6b-rRG0mUmbT61aZiA9eHmq7ahI/s640/blogger-image-1828090152.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Eleven o'clock. Puzzling over my new anti-ageing skin care regime.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHP1mkYlDa-LV61Eh9knhTz8HEXs8nf-O1svbYgunyq4S6n5SWLohgcBQlIoMCifW0dAAkhJGXySGEvqJ423CTEkNrDH29eo3GgziPctUsjstefRZeCTk0y9cosOtuQ5UYR4QUqsbX20/s640/blogger-image--1929015692.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibHP1mkYlDa-LV61Eh9knhTz8HEXs8nf-O1svbYgunyq4S6n5SWLohgcBQlIoMCifW0dAAkhJGXySGEvqJ423CTEkNrDH29eo3GgziPctUsjstefRZeCTk0y9cosOtuQ5UYR4QUqsbX20/s640/blogger-image--1929015692.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Twelve o'clock. Lovely dining companions.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DC7q96do2EPnflZ__YSWlo4Jg3q0Jdqv52zPhgclhdXkQ5y3wNsoxxnthyYPo-uUVPj_1KkbRI96zcpZ7Q7NLb-J-wc_yqJK83IYWOo92c3CzW3ZxW_XHuJWVymKfC6qGyqzzpDtg8E/s640/blogger-image-1417942847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0DC7q96do2EPnflZ__YSWlo4Jg3q0Jdqv52zPhgclhdXkQ5y3wNsoxxnthyYPo-uUVPj_1KkbRI96zcpZ7Q7NLb-J-wc_yqJK83IYWOo92c3CzW3ZxW_XHuJWVymKfC6qGyqzzpDtg8E/s640/blogger-image-1417942847.jpg"></a></div> </div><div>One o'clock. Too hungry for careful photography.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohacY923oMEJNr5STFmAIJ_yyHk_ritT4vhZvqeOHKqoMpWFegrqJuPc3Zd9iCMpXnh2WyFGRdSX43kP_3KzwPLIFACw_Y_zdOF08QZXLq3wcXcPMnO-2OAK4MhpiM28XBHzuyxlguEU/s640/blogger-image--1643997475.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohacY923oMEJNr5STFmAIJ_yyHk_ritT4vhZvqeOHKqoMpWFegrqJuPc3Zd9iCMpXnh2WyFGRdSX43kP_3KzwPLIFACw_Y_zdOF08QZXLq3wcXcPMnO-2OAK4MhpiM28XBHzuyxlguEU/s640/blogger-image--1643997475.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Two o'clock. So begins the theatrical part of the day.</div><div><br></div><div>At three o'clock I was otherwise engaged, putting my finely honed G&S-face skills to good use, but here is four o'clock - some shambolic selfies immediately after the matinee:</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3kKEGqUOOS14zt8LutIyl74p6ahyphenhyphen2-bQyWB4BjLD2z64Inz1N-i5jf_so4imE0O1VJowZcvepnCpSRrQHBvL-lcLlL7F9rYTvy4gMbu0FDFj5zvI9dq7cNug7DQSqqPL5sM7_cvWAz0/s640/blogger-image--1446348017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA3kKEGqUOOS14zt8LutIyl74p6ahyphenhyphen2-bQyWB4BjLD2z64Inz1N-i5jf_so4imE0O1VJowZcvepnCpSRrQHBvL-lcLlL7F9rYTvy4gMbu0FDFj5zvI9dq7cNug7DQSqqPL5sM7_cvWAz0/s640/blogger-image--1446348017.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippmQ8oiru_uSjvq6IfCO32uqhg_DJSI8JNcu7OBKpFdWWVDhrtWqjN-XcXfHBD1Trp2zijjWxDl6dYAIXiwoDG1sNSPPDzXm2eQN4vV-2lJDcceXPM7pra6dmgFsQDGGcXC2eVypDV-M/s640/blogger-image--653234706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); -webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; "><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEippmQ8oiru_uSjvq6IfCO32uqhg_DJSI8JNcu7OBKpFdWWVDhrtWqjN-XcXfHBD1Trp2zijjWxDl6dYAIXiwoDG1sNSPPDzXm2eQN4vV-2lJDcceXPM7pra6dmgFsQDGGcXC2eVypDV-M/s640/blogger-image--653234706.jpg"></a></div> </div></div><div>Bah. Formatting on iPad-Blogger is megarubbish.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeeDcKLjqUr4tFaWg_EyEdZVxI7fmf1Ne-qLhdebVeddRq09lm6VLbsy394boEU9FBvbGQeh0GZ91Jz-V9Xg1mN_5-bPK5msVdVB7SoSO2QGSw85_GRrwMjamY83PysZbif6M7TOtVtA/s640/blogger-image--923033272.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMeeDcKLjqUr4tFaWg_EyEdZVxI7fmf1Ne-qLhdebVeddRq09lm6VLbsy394boEU9FBvbGQeh0GZ91Jz-V9Xg1mN_5-bPK5msVdVB7SoSO2QGSw85_GRrwMjamY83PysZbif6M7TOtVtA/s640/blogger-image--923033272.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Five o'clock. Scrabble in the pub.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7QYhA2x6r4WquWmCfrNDIfA6dKuy7udICAjxEmXF7yYHYbAnKV3xdm4GohhU9MG9qWSHSj7qrzZCd2UzqH6qlD2o2lk_X8FQ8WJd0rdOKUmY5Meq7QnvnJRScVg0fN8orVIXuNOj03o/s640/blogger-image-644427575.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7QYhA2x6r4WquWmCfrNDIfA6dKuy7udICAjxEmXF7yYHYbAnKV3xdm4GohhU9MG9qWSHSj7qrzZCd2UzqH6qlD2o2lk_X8FQ8WJd0rdOKUmY5Meq7QnvnJRScVg0fN8orVIXuNOj03o/s640/blogger-image-644427575.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Six o'clock. Crochet in the pub.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfG_1lTSjLyaPWImfFBqoIfuWRV_C4N8Em6JoQJ63K_MN6iWQVZaYZbC5MBqLMGU_i3Tpw9xMAxums5AjJ3Hk3xlFZFZcBdBO1vnvbqyZPnQXY5V-dRtUPlqFiSzrbjA6fuiO3P7j-u4/s640/blogger-image-1685417387.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGfG_1lTSjLyaPWImfFBqoIfuWRV_C4N8Em6JoQJ63K_MN6iWQVZaYZbC5MBqLMGU_i3Tpw9xMAxums5AjJ3Hk3xlFZFZcBdBO1vnvbqyZPnQXY5V-dRtUPlqFiSzrbjA6fuiO3P7j-u4/s640/blogger-image-1685417387.jpg"></a></div><br></div>Seven o'clock. Nearly showtime again! Flamin' Norah pictured in toilet selfie.</div><div><br></div><div>(Eight o'clock, similarly indisposed.)</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02V3LQOZkkzcn5jT6M_ITiXgl0EGm0Twyj43-rIea_ApRcsoKZtK9rHbSdV-kSet6B11xRGqDFitBho4JK2p99O2FFju7UXLiHOAXoNNKUnM0HRmyuJ95Z9vG5arzNJ0ZLrCvADEN71E/s640/blogger-image-830921827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj02V3LQOZkkzcn5jT6M_ITiXgl0EGm0Twyj43-rIea_ApRcsoKZtK9rHbSdV-kSet6B11xRGqDFitBho4JK2p99O2FFju7UXLiHOAXoNNKUnM0HRmyuJ95Z9vG5arzNJ0ZLrCvADEN71E/s640/blogger-image-830921827.jpg"></a></div> </div><div>Nine o'clock. Post-show blues already setting in.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHndHIkUvux1YKccCiojhQUi7sI6PA6HwTE7hcSZndv7duzsbeQqLI-GY0rex4hhWvM9E-ol0eBXPu1Gmnfr6M75h9Z_XYScmSF81pZ_-1Tk1vYFEl5EYH_zZbxlzoz0HOdlxNQPoGy8U/s640/blogger-image-1126169366.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHndHIkUvux1YKccCiojhQUi7sI6PA6HwTE7hcSZndv7duzsbeQqLI-GY0rex4hhWvM9E-ol0eBXPu1Gmnfr6M75h9Z_XYScmSF81pZ_-1Tk1vYFEl5EYH_zZbxlzoz0HOdlxNQPoGy8U/s640/blogger-image-1126169366.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Ten o'clock. A little of this magical liquid soon cheers us up.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQOOYfbVxfJkZw8zX2tbrtFadkJtyID3qiamEJPiz_nqAaRhV7SDBVb5jZXeOLenEvtJVwpulwZNSp3rkzCsuzyd9kEnTzuSvdCX8wZcdV1LRs4y2uRr9xhnT1Ad2PYvPXtVLNUgRC6g/s640/blogger-image--1301709937.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQOOYfbVxfJkZw8zX2tbrtFadkJtyID3qiamEJPiz_nqAaRhV7SDBVb5jZXeOLenEvtJVwpulwZNSp3rkzCsuzyd9kEnTzuSvdCX8wZcdV1LRs4y2uRr9xhnT1Ad2PYvPXtVLNUgRC6g/s640/blogger-image--1301709937.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Eleven o'clock. After-show party gossips.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlpyTWN52jU_teaGSvYYT5HRZqEyjXSkpNuwBopPa8vWWjIXcm7idgPOVh1rhJADlw25X0eUZXgg6bJYnGwQv_45lRo4cVUqKLlP7Xe6rjCkuOkwfgYCijGHlNeIdU67mcfKE8g-Nblg/s640/blogger-image--1107036743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLlpyTWN52jU_teaGSvYYT5HRZqEyjXSkpNuwBopPa8vWWjIXcm7idgPOVh1rhJADlw25X0eUZXgg6bJYnGwQv_45lRo4cVUqKLlP7Xe6rjCkuOkwfgYCijGHlNeIdU67mcfKE8g-Nblg/s640/blogger-image--1107036743.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Midnight. Regular mealtimes don't really exist in show week!</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HQ7XSvWI4bTDxDNIizlIHseXFdXFRhbAZT7D6VXiToMvd-Erq1Iw6xjh-bmtNq8M9RD2_y9ohJyMWBmO1LjC_ZJfhZutdIzL2Bz4gxDmtifhTLLBjPHuoV0I_IFThkdWIndW_q1dr4Q/s640/blogger-image--1957697262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HQ7XSvWI4bTDxDNIizlIHseXFdXFRhbAZT7D6VXiToMvd-Erq1Iw6xjh-bmtNq8M9RD2_y9ohJyMWBmO1LjC_ZJfhZutdIzL2Bz4gxDmtifhTLLBjPHuoV0I_IFThkdWIndW_q1dr4Q/s640/blogger-image--1957697262.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div>Bonus photograph. High treason. <i>Really</i> high treason.</div><div><br></div><div>Utterly spiffing day, all in all. Thank you friends, thespians and well-wishers.</div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-52510960132875808832013-07-24T13:59:00.003-07:002013-07-24T13:59:55.485-07:00Gin. Again.<div style="text-align: center;">
Regular readers of these pages will need no introduction to my favourite poison.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhB33HO3X3dOQiy7MbflkRYinXhxEcU2dSw8H9U3fJMVNPyfTaxQ0rfd_oYzlVz0OTP3YP9TVvTckFotJOt2qlV2Ur0WAJDiOgHm4Kk9pD_9sWe6UHUX-3JIwXPFsGq2COkXiju5TvQA/s1600/eplysp.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="438" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVhB33HO3X3dOQiy7MbflkRYinXhxEcU2dSw8H9U3fJMVNPyfTaxQ0rfd_oYzlVz0OTP3YP9TVvTckFotJOt2qlV2Ur0WAJDiOgHm4Kk9pD_9sWe6UHUX-3JIwXPFsGq2COkXiju5TvQA/s640/eplysp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm not much of a gin expert, though. To rectify this, one sweltering Sunday Alice and I went on a mission of gin-education. We attended an event run by The Drinking Classes, called <a href="http://g%20and%20teatime/">G and Teatime</a>.</div>
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We weren't quite sure what to expect, but what we got was this: We were greeted with a glass of an absolutely delicious punch, which had been made, bizarrely but to great effect, with chai tea. Our host explained to us that proper punch has a specific ratio of sweet and sour. (Alice wrote it down, I was too busy drinking)</div>
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What followed was a history lesson about the origins and rise and fall of gin throughout the centuries, which came with some very interesting nuggets of info, such as how the phrase 'Dutch courage' came into being. We were given samples of three different gins to taste (neat!!) That was pretty painful (I love gin, but I like my G&Ts nice and tonic-y), but after the first sip has blown your head open, you can actually drink it much more easily and discern the different flavours. </div>
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We drank tiny gin martinis, designed our own G&Ts (I put apple and mint in mine - delicious!) and ate sandwiches and cakes from the afternoon tea cake stands.</div>
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Afterwards, we wobbled home, not really drunk but feeling very relaxed, sun-drenched and happy, and neither of us went to our rehearsals that night!</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-70932011510282422932013-07-07T05:28:00.000-07:002013-07-07T05:28:17.280-07:00A Few Days of SummerHullo!<br />
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Bit quiet on Bette on Toast, innit? So much so that people have actually been noticing, and enquiring why I haven't been uploading photographs of myself wearing clothes for their enjoyment. One of the chief complainers, as always, has been my curly-haired, strange-accented Goldilocks, Alexa, so when she travelled up from the capital last weekend to visit, I roped her into service as a Boring Outfit Photographer.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUYGG7dFkkysBi8mEHgqQetFqGqFt8-Ue-sSKpqrNi5CA3zy8i6EF6EK-eSmiOJan1rQEmbEemaMDv2M6fhf9cx8jZjUau7UWStlqSUU5TkRDY0kXJqumuHSc5mis8Jz-OCVWwmUVm-0/s1600/July+13+0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpUYGG7dFkkysBi8mEHgqQetFqGqFt8-Ue-sSKpqrNi5CA3zy8i6EF6EK-eSmiOJan1rQEmbEemaMDv2M6fhf9cx8jZjUau7UWStlqSUU5TkRDY0kXJqumuHSc5mis8Jz-OCVWwmUVm-0/s640/July+13+0042.jpg" width="596" /></a></div>
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Our first stop of the weekend was a picnic in the park, followed by a mini alfresco concert by my school choir. Alexa took a lovely picture of me conducting the little mites, looking for all the world like somebody who knows about music, but it shan't be appearing on this blog, because I've done a child protection course, and one of the first things they teach you is don't put photos of the children in your care on The Internet. ;-)</div>
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This red dress is one of those amazingly versatile garments, that also always receives compliments from chums, colleagues and random passers-by. Here is my younger, chubbier self, pictured with Alexa, wearing it at our Graduation Ball.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpl_5RC1Dz7J3foD-e7s9MpB35Aj_GoFqhjAMVNJjNSm8e0h0j8W71eymFvTHlf5OXeYaKP_bmHP7ZI7M5_9NNhwMIEtakcFc67t6JwzqKrZuuCg45kxsYLfqKezZYSsdwhZ2kooEdvMg/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpl_5RC1Dz7J3foD-e7s9MpB35Aj_GoFqhjAMVNJjNSm8e0h0j8W71eymFvTHlf5OXeYaKP_bmHP7ZI7M5_9NNhwMIEtakcFc67t6JwzqKrZuuCg45kxsYLfqKezZYSsdwhZ2kooEdvMg/s1600/untitled.bmp" /></a></div>
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I seem to have started talking about dresses as usual, but I would really prefer for this blog to be more of a diary of my life than a shrine to Boring Outfit Posts. So I will continue telling you about my splendid weekend.</div>
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After the park we built a wardrobe, and then got dressed up for the evening, and took some photos on my steps while waiting for the taxi.</div>
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You will note that the girls both look elegant and lovely, while I look like I'm dressed for pub golf. This is because I <em>was</em> dressed for pub golf, being terribly busy and popular and having to be in two places at once that night.</div>
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So while Alice and Alexa sipped cocktails in Pleased To Meet You, my teacher friends and I drank alcopops and got thrown out of Wetherspoons for having too much fun with a plastic golf set.</div>
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On Sunday we went for our lunch at a hipster Ouseburn cafe. I was a cowgirl that day, and cowgirls like yellow walls.</div>
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After a bit of shopping and some very rushed cake, Alice and I plonked Alexa on a train and went to our respective rehearsals.</div>
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I am curently having a similarly wonderful weekend this week, so maybe there will be another summery diary post coming up soon!</div>
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Cheerio x</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-73296486500465043882013-04-11T03:35:00.002-07:002013-04-11T03:35:29.857-07:00Cross-process<div style="text-align: center;">
Feeling a bit of a ridiculous hipster today, so I have donned my vintage dress and made my pictures all olde-fashionede in colouring.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLqoFwZz_nMucZmCYnqL4E7Oc3xPCV_ma0Fo1XbVrdACs-ZXOTXFeGDdQ6ZvKlR7nnF13AQgIEnEfn95weLE8oxXCgbgV5i2awOADZiRZn3AJC1qfEYSs7-jAJ_VsM-9nuMBh0FXklPU/s1600/Toast+1909247045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglLqoFwZz_nMucZmCYnqL4E7Oc3xPCV_ma0Fo1XbVrdACs-ZXOTXFeGDdQ6ZvKlR7nnF13AQgIEnEfn95weLE8oxXCgbgV5i2awOADZiRZn3AJC1qfEYSs7-jAJ_VsM-9nuMBh0FXklPU/s640/Toast+1909247045.JPG" width="425" /></a></div>
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"Not another new dress?", I hear you cry. It's a doll, aint it?</div>
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It's a well-kept secret, but I don't actually like charity shops all that much. That is, not the clothes. Well, no, I like the clothes, it's the <em>rummaging</em> that I don't get on with; I'm a lazy shopper and like to see the wares all conveniently laid out for me to browse. I'm sure this has led me to miss out on many a bargain.</div>
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Luckily, I am the daughter of the Charity Shop Queen of the North (also the niece of the Charity Shop Queen of the South), so I am often able to quietly peruse the books and homewares while my relatives sift through the rails. My mum wins the prize for finding this frock, which has POCKETS, a pointy collar and a fabric belt.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgS3pPxBf-xpj8PP0P82bNrzKS7h8igVO1pwLu5x7InzaN4H0xeS0266VSlg_hPWiG7ImxjsmKuJ1BsI2JE9NwRhQcQIHfzwkdcrMqj_AyBNZFvLPYNcaeg1pSplkE0KpJjuR0sCGwI/s1600/Toast+1909247050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitwgS3pPxBf-xpj8PP0P82bNrzKS7h8igVO1pwLu5x7InzaN4H0xeS0266VSlg_hPWiG7ImxjsmKuJ1BsI2JE9NwRhQcQIHfzwkdcrMqj_AyBNZFvLPYNcaeg1pSplkE0KpJjuR0sCGwI/s640/Toast+1909247050.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
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My garden-gate posing isn't as effective in this week's Boring Outfit Post as in last. It's all to do with the strategic placement of wheelie bins.</div>
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Coming up soon on Bette on Toast: holiday snaps! </div>
Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-74742426752729880402013-04-04T05:24:00.000-07:002013-04-04T05:28:49.335-07:00Two words. Sput. Nik.<div style="text-align: center;">
Hullo! Would you like to be introduced to my new dress?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkea6fMVK7vmgQX5B1pQ9iXqDqNYzk5vmPLsoFo98M_CzLpCkzStwQrlN4jp5VpulCBe3LId-UnSmlacrXDmixvrmEskZ_Y8kUQ3gsvsMS7Jzn6PqdQGkC-kz4xmrYdVyI12We4a1Q9E/s1600/joydress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKkea6fMVK7vmgQX5B1pQ9iXqDqNYzk5vmPLsoFo98M_CzLpCkzStwQrlN4jp5VpulCBe3LId-UnSmlacrXDmixvrmEskZ_Y8kUQ3gsvsMS7Jzn6PqdQGkC-kz4xmrYdVyI12We4a1Q9E/s400/joydress.jpg" width="235" /></a></div>
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Isn't it awful? It's got a print like a hotel carpet, and it's ORANGE and BLUE. I found it on the very last page of the Joy sale, and it was love at first sight. Here it is on me:</div>
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I probably shouldn't wear it with blue tights, but I'm going to anyway, so there.</div>
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Despite the short hemline and overall polyesteriness of this dress, there is something very 1950s-child about it. The russety colour and the shape of the piping on the chest make me feel I should run around playing cowboys and indians, whilst those sticky-outy Star Trek cap sleeves give it a bit of '50s Atomic style. Cowboys and Spacemen in one.</div>
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So, essentially, I'm Toy Story 2 in a dress.</div>
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Brilliant!</div>
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I removed the hair-bow before I went out. It was too girly, and I'm not a girl, I'm a cowboy!</div>
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AND, my 1950s-childhood cup of joy is overflowing because Cath Kidston has finally made <a href="http://betteontoast.blogspot.co.uk/2011/09/your-position-as-topman-is-highly.html">my cowboy handbag dreams</a> come true!</div>
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Yee-ha!</div>
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(Also, P.S., many thanks to everyone who said nice things to me following my last blahg post. I felt a bit twatty publishing it, but I'm glad I did. You're all nice, and I'm a lucky Bette.)</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-35315808735561880082013-03-28T11:45:00.002-07:002013-03-28T12:00:03.638-07:00I Am No Unhappy MaidSomething is different around these parts.<br />
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Outwardly, not much has changed - life still consists of too many rehearsals, not enough sleep, wintery weather and grouchy colleagues, but I've got a smile on my face.<br />
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I've been a very, very whingey Bette in the past months. I'm surprised I have any friends left at all! I don't know what was wrong with me; I don't know where I went and I don't know why, but somehow, after a bout of January Blues that lasted from the autumn until March, I think I might be better. I think I might be back.<br />
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It's the Easter holidays, you see. It's been a short half-term, but it seems to have done me a power of good. I'm off down to Grandparentville to see the family tomorrow, and, whilst I am looking forward to it, it's been a sort of pleasant surprise every time I remember how close Easter is. At Christmas I was desperate. For all of December, I yearned and pined (I am a G&S alto, we're <em>good </em>at those things!) and counted down the days until I could leave Newcastle far behind me. I was sick, sick, sick of the place and everyone in it. I hated work, and I hated rehearsals. I was sick of the dark, and I was sick of the cold, and I was even sick of my bicycle. I had nothing whatever to mope about, but I moped about everything. Above all I was sick of maudlin, miserable me.<br />
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I've been trying to find the nerve to post this for a couple of weeks now. I know it's a bit attention-seeky, and I hope I'm not the type to air my dirty washing on The Internet, but it seems I am doing so anyway, so here it all is! Writing things down helps me remember 'em, and I don't want to forget.<br />
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I was cycling home one Friday afternoon in January, with no weekend plans and no Friday feeling, and I went straight past my street because I could not bear the thought of going into that cold, dark, messy, empty flat and staring at Facebook until bedtime. I went to a cafe down the road, installed myself with a book and a pot of tea and stayed there until they shut. <br />
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That was a desperate measure, but I started repeating that little adventure quite regularly, as a little Friday treat to myself - not out of desperation but because I realised it was something that made me smile. And I began to notice other things that made me smile, like having flowers in the house, and reading, and my very patient friends, and plinking out tunes on the plonky old school piano. A couple of weeks ago I noticed that I'm smiling rather a lot these days. I thought about December and that Friday evening in the cafe, and couldn't believe I'd ever felt like that. It was quite scary, actually.<br />
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So, I reckon I'm me again. Oh, I'm sure I can still whinge with the best of them, and you can be sure I'll find something to complain about as soon as I post this, but, for now, I've got my smile on.<br />
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Bugger off, self-pity. The sun came out today, school's shut and I'm makin' hot cross buns. Happy Easter, everyone!<br />
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<br />Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-12229055447478679342013-02-25T10:28:00.000-08:002013-02-25T10:28:21.918-08:00AlnmouthTo stave off last week's post-show blues, I went to Alnwick with the mother. We bought lots of fine things from charitable shops, and then went to the seaside at sunset.<br />
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Here I am all snuggly in my parka.</div>
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Dozy and reluctant to leave the comfort of my own pyjamas, I asked Mum what on earth I should wear.</div>
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"Start with sensible walking shoes, and work upwards from there", she replied.</div>
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Don't be <em>ridiculous.</em></div>
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In the end I hoyed clothes at myself at random and was rather pleased with the result.</div>
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This photo's a bit unfortunate, but it shows what I liked about this look - the tiered skirt, thick tights and ankle boots made me feel like a naughty Victorian ruinning around in her bustle!</div>
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Also a bit like Peter Pan...</div>
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Mum proceeded to take some photographs withouit me in them, which I thought was a sorry waste, but other people seem to like Views, so here you go.</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-23597025696564276972013-02-15T04:54:00.002-08:002013-02-15T04:54:57.853-08:00It's leading business, pet.Hello from Theatreland!<br />
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Treading the boards this week, and it's Friday, which means we've just passed the halfway point of <em>The Grand Duke</em>. It's all going more or less well, with only minor disasters so far, although the less that's said about my attempts to be a soprano, the better... Strangely, this year the show-week hysteria, which usually possesses me for at least a fortnight before the show, only kicked in after the curtains closed on the second performance. I was really quite worried and almost considered retiring from the stage, but today I woke up with the show-week jitters and am quite looking forward to showing off tonight. Not quite at the point where, last year, one of my colleagues threatened to lock me in the stationery cupboard if I kept up my hourly "I'm going on-stage in X hours" updates, but a little excited nonetheless.<br />
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Anyway, sometime last week I happened across a post I made this time last year; a day-by-day run-down of a week similar to this one in last February. I'm sharing it here again as a memento. It was my favourite blahg post of 2012, and the week itself was probably my highlight of the year. Every day I did exciting things with wonderful people and my often-sulky face was never without a "Smile for the camera, you say? Oh, go on then!" grin.<br />
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<a href="http://betteontoast.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/this-is-what-half-terms-are-for.html">February 2012</a><br />
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-83387702074413414212013-02-08T12:05:00.002-08:002013-02-08T14:23:47.302-08:00Flouncing around<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Do you know that when I was a little girl I was a proud tomboy?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cfPP8-u8tUUac6GY8klseVHxF5FwCB_Sl4sBr_cQXEtrLyVQTGHefJLbUxlI-VLFU2oS_93WLSmLc3ma_381DIEDIFD-YCkYQY3kBB7qztGtn9qVusiPxNvgUfYJmI6pGbhZyPS7g0Q/s1600/Toast+190924669.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9cfPP8-u8tUUac6GY8klseVHxF5FwCB_Sl4sBr_cQXEtrLyVQTGHefJLbUxlI-VLFU2oS_93WLSmLc3ma_381DIEDIFD-YCkYQY3kBB7qztGtn9qVusiPxNvgUfYJmI6pGbhZyPS7g0Q/s640/Toast+190924669.JPG" width="384" /></a></div>
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Between the ages of 9 and 13 I did not once wear a dress.</div>
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I climbed trees and refused to brush my hair and dreamed of being a Gladiator when I grew up.</div>
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To this day I can't bear to wear pink.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSpF7v8PcJgqYW89wTL1t2Yx7mndptfQlFDox1gkMzAcSglUapzmcSGL0g4MxtAP-RykPYY4l4vcPDW15lwdUAbrnqZ5odJea-rw25Bj0bjnPUT5QMk5hwMlCr50ANFhuED4fOzL5muc/s1600/IMAG0162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuSpF7v8PcJgqYW89wTL1t2Yx7mndptfQlFDox1gkMzAcSglUapzmcSGL0g4MxtAP-RykPYY4l4vcPDW15lwdUAbrnqZ5odJea-rw25Bj0bjnPUT5QMk5hwMlCr50ANFhuED4fOzL5muc/s640/IMAG0162.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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Today, this post is brought to you by my all-consuming love for the feminine frills of my flouncy petticoat.</div>
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Funny, innit?</div>
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(As a post-script, I present a toilet's-eye-view of my beautiful petticoat hanging up to dry over the bath. SO MANY LAYERS!)</div>
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<br />Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-86423982955685018052013-02-01T14:12:00.000-08:002013-02-02T02:49:45.901-08:00January<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-VenSaIvLOBydStelxno4ZuFmwl3-LNjq2f8XB7yx-DTJcuUt14fkBlnWSR6cG5vUuHwnrlFxZMCwVLXBvO5h0PTz30rFaQv1H_Pu86-S-NfoPWM5T7m-s42E5zebTg72mAS2wRZ0_0/s1600/new+year's+eve.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc-VenSaIvLOBydStelxno4ZuFmwl3-LNjq2f8XB7yx-DTJcuUt14fkBlnWSR6cG5vUuHwnrlFxZMCwVLXBvO5h0PTz30rFaQv1H_Pu86-S-NfoPWM5T7m-s42E5zebTg72mAS2wRZ0_0/s640/new+year's+eve.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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I have high hopes for 2013. This new year is going to be a panacea. It's going to bring us a huge gulp of fresh, sweet air. Giggling on the bridge at half-past eleven on the 31st, I expected to feel the change physically. I was confident that our shoulders would lift, our heads would spin and our feet would dance the moment the clock struck twelve.<br />
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Of course, that wasn't the way it happened. For one thing, there was no clock striking at all - people began a countdown on the Quayside, more people began a slightly unsynchronised countdown further up the Quayside, and as we on the bridge, bewildered, joined in at around '6', two off-kilter sets of fireworks exploded from different riverside locations. But it was brilliant.<br />
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With a sense of February Dread looming (I've always found it a completely dismal month, haven't you?), I had begun to find myself losing faith in 2013 already (I found myself typing "I <em>had</em> high hopes" at the beginning of this post!)... But! Thinking about it, that rather lovely New Year's Eve really seems like much longer than a month ago. A hundred tiny adventures ago. This January I may have measured out my life with coffee spoons, but in the past thirty-one days I have:</div>
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* Swum in the sea * Cooked home-made meals * Begun to learn BSL * Cried * Sung * Played netball * Drunk cocktails * Argued * Laughed * Read three good books and two excellent short stories * Hired a locksmith * Had a trip to the cinema * Flirted * Rehearsed * Discovered a new favourite cafe * Walked in fresh midnight snow * Regretted * Been to a party * Been to a restaurant * Fallen off my bike * Kissed * Visited a capital city * Had a hangover * Enjoyed the lighter days! * Hated and loved my job * Been to a fair * Had my hair done * Whinged * Explored a graveyard * Bought shoes with sequins on * Lost at Scrabble * <br />
* Made resolutions *<br />
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Not too dusty. Come on then, February, let's have you.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhIYLxC47rCPO03dixXsYmz-LTqW45qI_91cMYhgtHb2AZswAOxuiQY9ELwAq9jlNF30XSp3CMf0GT6hrHzodFMT6h06KSpVH8ogHpUa1D4DWUeeNIk3cfx6IYv7540x78ktLyXA_QqA/s1600/beach2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRhIYLxC47rCPO03dixXsYmz-LTqW45qI_91cMYhgtHb2AZswAOxuiQY9ELwAq9jlNF30XSp3CMf0GT6hrHzodFMT6h06KSpVH8ogHpUa1D4DWUeeNIk3cfx6IYv7540x78ktLyXA_QqA/s640/beach2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-56703552946960299192013-01-26T11:35:00.002-08:002013-01-26T11:36:14.085-08:00I could never curl my lip to a dazzling diamond clipToday I went to the Grainger Market, to the cobbler (for new soles), to the watch-mender (for a watch battery) and to the haberdasher (for buttons). Alice was delighted by the vintage nature of my shopping trip, and insisted I also go to the Weigh House to weigh myself and to the greengrocer to buy vegetables measured in pounds. (I didn't)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiIdi8bt5iE7KFM9Cp8GNHk7GUDVpGIf-Lwr9EgR_H_djfiidtkStHobI8ew2ZrtIAuluk5fAJE8n3OC7FBfL-vF-Eo1RZ0t558LaIZGnwiERjKmnz8Jc9JHzqNj1skmYeGmSLGZlilg/s1600/grainger-market-weigh-house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZiIdi8bt5iE7KFM9Cp8GNHk7GUDVpGIf-Lwr9EgR_H_djfiidtkStHobI8ew2ZrtIAuluk5fAJE8n3OC7FBfL-vF-Eo1RZ0t558LaIZGnwiERjKmnz8Jc9JHzqNj1skmYeGmSLGZlilg/s400/grainger-market-weigh-house.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Anyway, the point of this story is that my old faithful Past Times watch was pronounced dead, so I came home and began to trawl eBay for a replacement. (I'm ashamed to admit I had been trawling for at least half an hour before I realised the hilariousness of adding items to my 'watch list'...) I found a few possibles (although I have been having terrible luck with online shopping lately!) but time and time again my eye was drawn to particularly lovely antique watches that all had two things in common - they all cost colossal numbers of pounds and they all featured the name of a certain Monsieur Cartier...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRikE5hyphenhyphenxFR_vO11CY8EjF95Nbh6Lwj55WcyXjUNTupNlH8g07shO0j_snMm9rcCYgQYkb-LFZ_JdJ-U0nxmICSg6khJLajO4YYemC2zHaIfjwEcmXu18qP6W2MN5isr6C9mfanwYXzVo/s1600/cartier4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRikE5hyphenhyphenxFR_vO11CY8EjF95Nbh6Lwj55WcyXjUNTupNlH8g07shO0j_snMm9rcCYgQYkb-LFZ_JdJ-U0nxmICSg6khJLajO4YYemC2zHaIfjwEcmXu18qP6W2MN5isr6C9mfanwYXzVo/s400/cartier4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcTsUs1IHdjn2d92eO36LxT1DnFbemXIw4yLPfLqeiK53lqHrzAudwXM_AlA7WpKztzhas_GcZWeu1l82vxKDyr8rf-fB-dkOa5eTNWyblO002zoPYD2_jABnpcrxXVXSqlrVlogt3wU/s1600/cartier1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCcTsUs1IHdjn2d92eO36LxT1DnFbemXIw4yLPfLqeiK53lqHrzAudwXM_AlA7WpKztzhas_GcZWeu1l82vxKDyr8rf-fB-dkOa5eTNWyblO002zoPYD2_jABnpcrxXVXSqlrVlogt3wU/s320/cartier1.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hxkqeMtvxgmdALpHG3Iokv_kWNuUyi92gtL7o4vTkQ8u6SV1VG1O4jWEi8LIPGE1aCZ2fm2LdF0sS5FPbhSH51ZEAaacZV3YlKMoJCH4mXUtjv6RgnE4vN7BHl0PurW-uBkAj6ENOPg/s1600/cartier6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5hxkqeMtvxgmdALpHG3Iokv_kWNuUyi92gtL7o4vTkQ8u6SV1VG1O4jWEi8LIPGE1aCZ2fm2LdF0sS5FPbhSH51ZEAaacZV3YlKMoJCH4mXUtjv6RgnE4vN7BHl0PurW-uBkAj6ENOPg/s320/cartier6.jpg" width="177" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJ-BJXicfTpaS5EZdxxTQE4gg0Q4Rwhvv4oLKXuBwd1lXRJVaHUKh40_Y3GOPtckrss0DSMWG_GQW_gp_i6tz_VAm_v9WwK2RRHY9YZmY9jRSgGcFlgaY5jXL-MR0sSzft-AMP48bR4s/s1600/cartier3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJ-BJXicfTpaS5EZdxxTQE4gg0Q4Rwhvv4oLKXuBwd1lXRJVaHUKh40_Y3GOPtckrss0DSMWG_GQW_gp_i6tz_VAm_v9WwK2RRHY9YZmY9jRSgGcFlgaY5jXL-MR0sSzft-AMP48bR4s/s320/cartier3.jpg" width="210" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWwZS2Y9ofpeWMa6cEGKR5dbsO_D4kfIdVmuoA1NcJIOGd2hMOfzE7qPCq1ro1Vh3r08tMeqJyzsInwwuPK0c0zs4e9dKVKt6ZWCOmg6cnYKqr81w3NqmDWpG_x7tPk4z__ET7qhpnO8/s1600/cartier2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihWwZS2Y9ofpeWMa6cEGKR5dbsO_D4kfIdVmuoA1NcJIOGd2hMOfzE7qPCq1ro1Vh3r08tMeqJyzsInwwuPK0c0zs4e9dKVKt6ZWCOmg6cnYKqr81w3NqmDWpG_x7tPk4z__ET7qhpnO8/s320/cartier2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxKwtFkr1CR63y4Mh3QrvbjfV_V4HrbR8Jh8ABKOIEZjVlcBTz1089fOI67lxL6uDLtCAGamSbO9H_L7F8iNV47aSKE5iSFoeC71Kj-liW3SzrwZQPIZ50gFXlf47cFLj4ZjwFYOfnG_A/s1600/cartier5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxKwtFkr1CR63y4Mh3QrvbjfV_V4HrbR8Jh8ABKOIEZjVlcBTz1089fOI67lxL6uDLtCAGamSbO9H_L7F8iNV47aSKE5iSFoeC71Kj-liW3SzrwZQPIZ50gFXlf47cFLj4ZjwFYOfnG_A/s320/cartier5.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwlXoL0U8P0tDEYh2oo6rwy8FnVRVAgtcd-3rfhj2m71t1s5tmDzwM0k4Ceo9S64HPI0NDYYI-C36mhCGulwj3SND0qATuJ1M_EVSgITnw7xMxF5bwhKhUGpx1qcQxid4fZZzJQWp4bo/s1600/cartier7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXwlXoL0U8P0tDEYh2oo6rwy8FnVRVAgtcd-3rfhj2m71t1s5tmDzwM0k4Ceo9S64HPI0NDYYI-C36mhCGulwj3SND0qATuJ1M_EVSgITnw7xMxF5bwhKhUGpx1qcQxid4fZZzJQWp4bo/s1600/cartier7.jpg" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure what it is about them that appeals to me, but I love them all! I hope you enjoyed the chronograph picspam as much as I did, but now onto more sparkly matters.</div>
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A quick Google search gave me a little info about the Cartier brand, and I learned all about the iconic Cartier panther; originally designed in 1914, it became world-famous when it appeared on a series of jewels made for (who else?) Wallis Simpson.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNeyiANr00pgePkKqtOUx-ZLKsgspCCdUXGlB5Jlj_5MKvorodsWcEz3B_5zJLMloK7XgFzH_FSsKnnCXshjzccFay806sqCB31b9rlEALAP0b770MdZ3qCSM52EdblDnYgeg_O42yr1s/s1600/cartierpanther.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNeyiANr00pgePkKqtOUx-ZLKsgspCCdUXGlB5Jlj_5MKvorodsWcEz3B_5zJLMloK7XgFzH_FSsKnnCXshjzccFay806sqCB31b9rlEALAP0b770MdZ3qCSM52EdblDnYgeg_O42yr1s/s1600/cartierpanther.jpg" /></a></div>
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The onyx-and-diamond creature broke world records when auctioned at Sotheby's in 2010 - at £4,521,250 it fetched the highest price of any bracelet ever!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQO44_BAr2emKq3gz30sgEKkH2XvFogndS-xBPCGakaNl3wDdpz4KFJcB6CTYqq3yWVV8575Web5DUziJXzbxrM5sOD1M3bIP7quSNO_-IwjENqIq2s_NGJJwJeAHJ3OgaUQIG7YQNiXI/s1600/cartier8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQO44_BAr2emKq3gz30sgEKkH2XvFogndS-xBPCGakaNl3wDdpz4KFJcB6CTYqq3yWVV8575Web5DUziJXzbxrM5sOD1M3bIP7quSNO_-IwjENqIq2s_NGJJwJeAHJ3OgaUQIG7YQNiXI/s400/cartier8.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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Even though it reminds me of when my mum was a Cabouchon rep in the 1990s, I like the panther - it's like something <a href="http://www.readeasily.com/oscar-wilde/00195/001950048.php">Mrs Cheveley</a> would wear. Hers was a snake, but panthers are more glamorous. Grrr.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wIFtM9lJMw4ThhDOQdcq3PQVpil_nF1I9Cn1cCXhr0jFG5GrkBQNS7JPWPvbspEO32coVlc5tqM-DistBt7IMzn-yEtADBOYO5ZwnaJ_zEOHtAyGfLXzpQeWOy0cxxeCh5CJTm213SM/s1600/cartier9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4wIFtM9lJMw4ThhDOQdcq3PQVpil_nF1I9Cn1cCXhr0jFG5GrkBQNS7JPWPvbspEO32coVlc5tqM-DistBt7IMzn-yEtADBOYO5ZwnaJ_zEOHtAyGfLXzpQeWOy0cxxeCh5CJTm213SM/s400/cartier9.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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This brooch was also made for the Duchess.</div>
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The panther has been seen in numerous glittering forms since Wallis' time, and last year it turned its paw to the silver screen, appearing as the star of <span style="color: #1122cc;"><span style="color: black;"><em>L'Odyssée de Cartier,</em></span></span> an extravagant short film made to comemmorate the 165th anniversary of Maison Cartier.</div>
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Watch it, it's a little bit amazing!</div>
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Yours covetously,</div>
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Bette</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-61050757535039989022013-01-19T12:24:00.000-08:002013-01-26T11:36:34.751-08:00Mother's RuinEh up.<br />
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In the absence of anything noteworthy appearing on these pages (in the absence of anything noteworthy appearing in my life), here is a photograph that I snapped because I was wearing an idiotic hair ribbon.<br />
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Don't bother with poisoned apples; Snow White likes GIN.<br />
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<a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=jh7ocx" target="_blank"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" border="0" height="640" src="http://i50.tinypic.com/jh7ocx.jpg" width="473" /></a>
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But I have decided instead to turn this toast post into an homage to one of my favourite Christmas presents.<br />
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Photographed hanging out with its pal, Gordon, here is a vintage china decanter label, which was given to my auntie for her 21st birthday, and now resides on a chain around my neck.<br />
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<a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=29e410n" target="_blank"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" border="0" height="640" src="http://i48.tinypic.com/29e410n.jpg" width="480" /></a><br />
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It's Saturday night, why stop at one? Bottoms up!</div>
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<a href="http://tinypic.com/?ref=eplysp" target="_blank"><img alt="Image and video hosting by TinyPic" border="0" height="436" src="http://i47.tinypic.com/eplysp.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Always drink responsibly, kids.</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-49859813430437254662012-11-28T13:01:00.000-08:002012-11-28T13:01:43.222-08:00Tequila SunriseThis afternoon at that time right after lunch when the North wind howls down the school corridors as the doors are opened to re-admit the red-cheeked, squabbling children, my colleague Tara swished past me as I perched on my plastic chair with my ginormous orangey-red llama-wool scarf tucked around my yellow frock and orange tights, and as she swished past, she remarked;<br />
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<em>"Oh Elizabeth! You look like a Tequila Sunrise!"</em><br />
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I thought this was amusing enough to make a Facebook status out of, and when I did so my little sister commented with a plea for a Boring Outfit Post, but I hadn't taken any snaps as it's too blooming dark both before and after work these days.<br />
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However, I did have a (dark and crappy, jazzed up with Picmonkey) photograph of a very similar outfit from one futile attempt to take Boring Outfit Pics last week. So here it be, plus the same dress in its various other seasonal appearences!<br />
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Autumnal brights in gloomy November.</div>
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Very colourful last October, with my equally bright little sibling!</div>
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Posing with some superimposed butterflies in the Spring.</div>
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And finally - jingle those bells, it's Christmas time!</div>
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Hope you enjoyed my mustardy montage (and were not too irritated by my OCD-unfriendly lack of picture-size uniformality!)</div>
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<br />Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-53109861697711530592012-11-01T03:00:00.000-07:002012-11-01T03:38:56.692-07:00Pianos and Petticoats<div style="text-align: center;">
The Mothership asks me what I would like for my soon-to-be birthday.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9DV7D3Pmd2PinhqlIlxnIGAlDOu3DK2dY8CN0dFXOEF5tmCypIdy1l-M_3lMZeXAeoVYFTHNbnNJiZJCLyIJHvbn-SW7VEobTTwuRZyNp68rNMaTN8rIgYGB2ygiBJvMNt3bsb6xDfU/s1600/piano1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA9DV7D3Pmd2PinhqlIlxnIGAlDOu3DK2dY8CN0dFXOEF5tmCypIdy1l-M_3lMZeXAeoVYFTHNbnNJiZJCLyIJHvbn-SW7VEobTTwuRZyNp68rNMaTN8rIgYGB2ygiBJvMNt3bsb6xDfU/s400/piano1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I'm sure she hopes for practical, economical suggestions.</div>
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However...</div>
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Winter boots be damned, all I desire is a plinky-plonky old piano and a super-swishy <a href="http://www.dorisdesigns.co.uk/">Doris Designs petticoat.</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSzI4T1gs3QaTRODjyc7J1CuyjNmXbD47wfO__L3byJc5Mh8bYOE6QrWIQzco8oaUC0BvakpGNLMydwBUPWV08TrAKX2RFtji95TSShqNkhYQiA9n9HTh_XpXYm4g7Q8IqrpE2XpeU3k/s1600/piano6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbSzI4T1gs3QaTRODjyc7J1CuyjNmXbD47wfO__L3byJc5Mh8bYOE6QrWIQzco8oaUC0BvakpGNLMydwBUPWV08TrAKX2RFtji95TSShqNkhYQiA9n9HTh_XpXYm4g7Q8IqrpE2XpeU3k/s400/piano6.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-2uoQ5BbG-7VUMH_Jehdgj_5qTq5gSthweD85m0HdvuZiQtlzu3EH8CqOkvqhTcXpMfW95uILjFYHbNOu_jNrW0p764bTIwQ3NAqDKna_MNiUlfLnMOR0jLjMCyrZLMv_iiBUt6zEOY/s1600/piano+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-2uoQ5BbG-7VUMH_Jehdgj_5qTq5gSthweD85m0HdvuZiQtlzu3EH8CqOkvqhTcXpMfW95uILjFYHbNOu_jNrW0p764bTIwQ3NAqDKna_MNiUlfLnMOR0jLjMCyrZLMv_iiBUt6zEOY/s400/piano+5.jpg" width="298" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-_oSRDNAWFPMZA1IFEkl71YoO3XlLb-KsuS1JyKgiacTX6YOLErYmBUqjwI_D_E63m7QRCWDdp7QmUp31zJpVbdBsKmj073iSX72rhZX8ajcFIqtoHrDlPcasvmcfK4e0ocGaRdelhk/s1600/petticoat6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU-_oSRDNAWFPMZA1IFEkl71YoO3XlLb-KsuS1JyKgiacTX6YOLErYmBUqjwI_D_E63m7QRCWDdp7QmUp31zJpVbdBsKmj073iSX72rhZX8ajcFIqtoHrDlPcasvmcfK4e0ocGaRdelhk/s400/petticoat6.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
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Plink plonk. Swish swish.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Piano pictures from Pinterest, and petticoat pictures from Doris Designs' website)</span></div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-4436916311389548602012-09-27T12:06:00.002-07:002012-09-27T12:07:15.881-07:00Autumn Days<div align="center">
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Brr.</div>
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Since I am very lazy and have not got round to swapping over my summer and winter wardrobes yet, my summer dresses are suddenly finding themselves reinvented as components of very layering-heavy ensembles.</div>
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Here's my picnic blanket dress, in both summer and autumn guises:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc74chqqjIiJnxADWCFz-vY-Q_fJKR_98glzbnBEiKkX7ABOCnLUhoBq-C_wQ3UwlnShhSVbX9inu0MIFWRQhAc67FjfKFhRIh1kgPoWXziDeVxvqmWLC0z8GWgBQ92MpvGD9x2P_LHtg/s1600/July+1322.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc74chqqjIiJnxADWCFz-vY-Q_fJKR_98glzbnBEiKkX7ABOCnLUhoBq-C_wQ3UwlnShhSVbX9inu0MIFWRQhAc67FjfKFhRIh1kgPoWXziDeVxvqmWLC0z8GWgBQ92MpvGD9x2P_LHtg/s400/July+1322.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0BYu9krlcQKrHV4xY4kcEA4uRM6VoQSuO7ZdHqNPXppSutgTSJhUyJQPbryBy0f5tlXQM-79K54TxewMolLA_xxHIM2234MKs8nXZPahjPbbj9aVNwFS9gd0OSiPRDEVsyOS0iKeWvU/s1600/5788792.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0BYu9krlcQKrHV4xY4kcEA4uRM6VoQSuO7ZdHqNPXppSutgTSJhUyJQPbryBy0f5tlXQM-79K54TxewMolLA_xxHIM2234MKs8nXZPahjPbbj9aVNwFS9gd0OSiPRDEVsyOS0iKeWvU/s400/5788792.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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(L) With Office-via-Oxfam shoes and a vintage belt</div>
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(R) With a Primark jumper, New Look belt, black tights and supercool Fred Astaire shoes</div>
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Chilly corridors notwithstanding, here's a sneaky glimpse at what I intend to wear to work tomorrow, in celebration of Roald Dahl day:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutxIEB25PT6rXzvk_6BJCamKFa7ypm_ralZsP9wISuxEkcZZ1W0jEoO6-OR2ZZP3kjnju_4yss8DOqZYrL4_Dj42AYi7kUXnC-5sx-rn1Itr3kCOSrHRg-hC73DZF2H3Czp8Jyrzjok4/s1600/Sophies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhutxIEB25PT6rXzvk_6BJCamKFa7ypm_ralZsP9wISuxEkcZZ1W0jEoO6-OR2ZZP3kjnju_4yss8DOqZYrL4_Dj42AYi7kUXnC-5sx-rn1Itr3kCOSrHRg-hC73DZF2H3Czp8Jyrzjok4/s400/Sophies.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I didn't bother to Google-Image research what the <em>real</em> Sophie-from-The-BFG looked like, but I think I got the general idea. Any excuse to wear my vintage dressing gown!</div>
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Roald Dahl-related fact: Mr Dahl died on my 4th birthday. I always felt faintly responsible...</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-82924650881426120022012-08-31T03:00:00.002-07:002012-08-31T03:00:40.489-07:00Lilac and Red<div align="center">
Sometimes I'm not sure if I'm a genius or an idiot. I wanted a pastel-y, sixties look, but none of my pale pink or powder blue or even silver accessories were doing the trick.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_enZXZ3eAxxkfXh7oKeyAzc1HbYoVpeGknCLC0loikesFxixlbKC7agw2pYKUJpH19ej0KXrOYan-LWb7uQlSNgscT3H2dgyH9154GO0NlAgXZ75WvsK8wKeVRphsNbKcdSDIywoBEDo/s1600/August+16942.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_enZXZ3eAxxkfXh7oKeyAzc1HbYoVpeGknCLC0loikesFxixlbKC7agw2pYKUJpH19ej0KXrOYan-LWb7uQlSNgscT3H2dgyH9154GO0NlAgXZ75WvsK8wKeVRphsNbKcdSDIywoBEDo/s400/August+16942.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
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So I went for red, and ended up looking like the bastard offspring of the Christmas Fairy and the Easter Bunny.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlzDzCrUNmxovJ8OLG6AAfbqnPSZC7sIGhMm2sgUbSnQF0q1Y0wRJqpK7rszfJKY5_lSU1EmcvljHCMC17VOLVBemxfeqTdFSLbw7rRGQRBBaFiCyp2YV8UQ1URcuF7AHrzA6HWCQcN0/s1600/August+16952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPlzDzCrUNmxovJ8OLG6AAfbqnPSZC7sIGhMm2sgUbSnQF0q1Y0wRJqpK7rszfJKY5_lSU1EmcvljHCMC17VOLVBemxfeqTdFSLbw7rRGQRBBaFiCyp2YV8UQ1URcuF7AHrzA6HWCQcN0/s400/August+16952.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyQxsZ0Jsxu-Y8wjLHZtWd6HwpIVbca0sBO0UQI_r6PBYaK4HVSAXAVwVr5Gjw0djp3-nMhQksTiQpn3p5ET0rjXgMKz2jOd9iAov1CicX_vZI3eBRmxoz8vSujnCkn67ItmKSRHgaZo/s1600/August+16972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiyQxsZ0Jsxu-Y8wjLHZtWd6HwpIVbca0sBO0UQI_r6PBYaK4HVSAXAVwVr5Gjw0djp3-nMhQksTiQpn3p5ET0rjXgMKz2jOd9iAov1CicX_vZI3eBRmxoz8vSujnCkn67ItmKSRHgaZo/s400/August+16972.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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And look! Fairy wings!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hmuME7okhxglG4eOfWw5ldOyZZwAnAO0Q_uhc4sGTQt_mcQ_2A1vC_XdDJm7iNbK1E0NsAdkvFMv8dsQWonexk6kZq_xALbNTITuCuPpDxSlgZSObZdZ6ie344iSYlEsAzHvrKNP4aI/s1600/August+16982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1hmuME7okhxglG4eOfWw5ldOyZZwAnAO0Q_uhc4sGTQt_mcQ_2A1vC_XdDJm7iNbK1E0NsAdkvFMv8dsQWonexk6kZq_xALbNTITuCuPpDxSlgZSObZdZ6ie344iSYlEsAzHvrKNP4aI/s400/August+16982.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>
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<em>Dress: Primark<br />Shoes: Topshit, 2008</em></div>
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<em>Belt: was a Christmas present, but I suspect H&M</em></div>
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<em>Hair: Poundland version of Bumpits!*</em></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwRt5wtbJT96JyZHENZuwlF7DmRzmqSW-yEb9TNr6V2NH_GaSbZcOvt4R5TH0a-uooVVMhWrZiNK9zv-V4bGOYvUBvcASYyxyIM3_IaNWtif65Pz20uTtQ88mAHeJ3ne0WPEVOfO8y0A/s1600/523328_10151134526643537_906351555_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFwRt5wtbJT96JyZHENZuwlF7DmRzmqSW-yEb9TNr6V2NH_GaSbZcOvt4R5TH0a-uooVVMhWrZiNK9zv-V4bGOYvUBvcASYyxyIM3_IaNWtif65Pz20uTtQ88mAHeJ3ne0WPEVOfO8y0A/s640/523328_10151134526643537_906351555_n.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidULVkpqvz1QH9xpDXoR-QzzMSgpheojIt48l96h4780EyHjPHUwLa8HCQ2XhCDJXwPH2oJ0ONo3bVklbR7jLib5q-5kobppWbXDW6AyPmJnbd_frRtqScqQY3d64wNp_RhZ_5Zx3cknI/s1600/549734_10151134529228537_1482377520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidULVkpqvz1QH9xpDXoR-QzzMSgpheojIt48l96h4780EyHjPHUwLa8HCQ2XhCDJXwPH2oJ0ONo3bVklbR7jLib5q-5kobppWbXDW6AyPmJnbd_frRtqScqQY3d64wNp_RhZ_5Zx3cknI/s640/549734_10151134529228537_1482377520_n.jpg" width="136" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjHmg9ZCs507Y_sY-J5QXrB1Z8WdrpWkU2jr-Mg9K_pIgbawfUDICoDTWoqfeDwvGhul9vObv8JfHQyMbpfRUmtwzq01iGxwKVeVSu7lg7dV-bu00c6JyUAono0lTf7x6zsADraglmfs/s1600/546638_10151051930907639_805170132_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAjHmg9ZCs507Y_sY-J5QXrB1Z8WdrpWkU2jr-Mg9K_pIgbawfUDICoDTWoqfeDwvGhul9vObv8JfHQyMbpfRUmtwzq01iGxwKVeVSu7lg7dV-bu00c6JyUAono0lTf7x6zsADraglmfs/s640/546638_10151051930907639_805170132_n.jpg" width="136" /></a></div>
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Photobooths. Best idea EVER.</div>
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*'Bumpits' is a dreadful product name. Bum. Pits. Why did they ever think it was a good move?</div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-22351842131149520312012-08-25T14:23:00.001-07:002012-08-25T14:23:57.681-07:00SplashToday is has been boring. Boring and rainy, although that adjective isn't even enough to distinguish it from other days, after the apocalyptic floods we've had this summer.<br /><br />All day I have been reminded of another day, last August, after the excitement of Buxton and Barcelona, when it also rained boringly and indistinctively all day. I had Cousin Penny staying with me, and we went to Seven Stories and later made a cake. The cake fell into a thousand pieces, and the Hummingbird Bakery recipe for icing made enough icing for three thousand cakes, and we ate icing and cake for tea until we both felt sick. The next day I packed Penny off back to Bisbrooke, or Cowes, or whichever home-from-home she was returning to that time and I took the best pieces of cake and the big bottle of Bombay Sapphire I had bought at the airport round to Matt's house to watch Dr Who and G&S dvds, and Kayleigh and I polished off most of the gin and dragged the boys to play on the climbing frame at 2 a.m.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDViI4MJuZvFcMOo_6ATTzaHtq5Ci4VrIqxpmsFsNftWZXV4-L3nk4uoTBDFbXdkYYknspVUnkSznQCyl6yrjcb4V5CSFYxQhqhIjzgheUtFt7xGyzUjHByPlEoLwW_JkIWqovH9MsL0/s1600/390809_10150903755665252_421222335_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDViI4MJuZvFcMOo_6ATTzaHtq5Ci4VrIqxpmsFsNftWZXV4-L3nk4uoTBDFbXdkYYknspVUnkSznQCyl6yrjcb4V5CSFYxQhqhIjzgheUtFt7xGyzUjHByPlEoLwW_JkIWqovH9MsL0/s640/390809_10150903755665252_421222335_n.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Having spent the whole day gawping uselessly at my laptop, this evening I took myself out for a walk in the nice bracing drizzle, along the secret path I discovered last week.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefLX4hEzNDszMwYzYj4gSHZ5XRNIaIAvypFrW7r49NZA6G7Of3o_n2ci0t4Oh7nZELbqaQwPAce3ZGy4SRav25bvjaS4WEEGRNfs8QLLyUogmuMwP5QxzC8YfXu9LMw6iAXOh6A9AfWE/s1600/IMAG0105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgefLX4hEzNDszMwYzYj4gSHZ5XRNIaIAvypFrW7r49NZA6G7Of3o_n2ci0t4Oh7nZELbqaQwPAce3ZGy4SRav25bvjaS4WEEGRNfs8QLLyUogmuMwP5QxzC8YfXu9LMw6iAXOh6A9AfWE/s640/IMAG0105.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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If you're waiting for the point of this blog post, there isn't one. I was just remembering. Maybe there was more to this when I was composing it in my head as I walked in the drizzle, but then I got excited by gravy and it all went out of my head.Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-40821733449320802232012-08-20T08:25:00.003-07:002012-08-20T08:29:06.222-07:00Another suitcase in another hallI can't understand at all why laptops have relective screens. While the sun is shining I can't see a blessed thing on mine. (Actually, maybe that's the point - to encourage internet-addicts out of the house and into the fresh air during daylight hours...) I've had to retreat to the shadowiest corner of the living room (behind the door, for those of you who are familiar with the geography of my flat and want to picture it exactly!) in order to see and edit my Boring Outfit Pictures. Bah.<br />
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Anyway. On another sunny day last week, when I actually DID leave the house instead of squinting at my laptop all day (I seem to have spent the first three weeks of the summer holidays in an absolute whirl, and then the fourth week doing not much more than creating a bum-shaped dent in the sofa), I bought a pretty little vanity case from a vintage shop.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLw3sYGdWj4D95PnHwi2aKX0VgwqOqZvKM-tXV-becpoQEW0BTAdUyjsMZoX-b97vwShDlrjEU2XH5RFWk3VWMGxDFv-sgtCI4D5KPPXj8OmklDxKovruK4s8NT00eFCXDhTMczVX2FXs/s1600/August+168.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLw3sYGdWj4D95PnHwi2aKX0VgwqOqZvKM-tXV-becpoQEW0BTAdUyjsMZoX-b97vwShDlrjEU2XH5RFWk3VWMGxDFv-sgtCI4D5KPPXj8OmklDxKovruK4s8NT00eFCXDhTMczVX2FXs/s640/August+168.png" width="398" /></a></div>
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Too small for anything more than an overnight stay, too big to sit on my <strike>dressing table </strike> dressing bookcase, too angular to fit into my bike basket, and having just missed an opportunity to use it as a backstage-essentials-and-small-bits-of-costume bag, what's a girl to do?</div>
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Well, taking a leaf out of <a href="http://betteontoast.blogspot.co.uk/2012/05/style-stalker-kerry-of-yours-truly-x.html">Kerry's</a> book, I pressed it into service as a handbag. It proved heavy, unwieldy and dreadfully impractical, but it looked wonderful, so I don't care.</div>
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The case and I had a splendid day at Tynemouth market (although I came away empty-handed - I have imposed a severe ban on buying mouldy old Penguin paperback detective novels until I've read the ones I've already got!) followed by a trip to York to see Kayleigh's latest play.<br />
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<br />Impractical, but it gives good hugs.<br />
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Right, now that that's done I'm going to sit outside in the sun with one of my dusty paperbacks, WHICH WON'T HAVE A REFLECTIVE GLARE, DELL!<br />
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Over and out.<br />
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-70941170128295023722012-08-18T07:45:00.001-07:002012-08-18T07:45:29.318-07:00Seventies SulkyfaceI got my fringe trimmed a couple of days ago, and since then there's been something not quite <em>right</em> about it. It's gone a bit '70s pageboy. I think there's too much upside-down-U-shape going on... I've got a sadface fringe! <br />
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Today I went with it, but I think soon I might get the scissors out... Try to become a little more Bettie and a little less Purdey.<br />
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For now though, a dress with a pointy seventies collar and some sulkyfaced Yestercolour-ified photos of Bette in the wrong decade.<br />
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<em>I think this face was 'Am I in shot here?' puzzlement!</em></div>
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Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-79846145174498291742012-08-02T07:09:00.000-07:002012-08-02T07:12:09.616-07:00Welcome to our hearts again...Good morrow, viewers. Here's a Boring Outfit Post regarding an outfit I'm not sure I actually like.<br />
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You cannot tell from this distance, but the trousers have teeny-tiny swans printed all over them! They came my way on Sunday, when the mother and I, arriving in Buxton long before Buxton was awake, managed to visit each of the main street's 8 charity shops before the box office opened at 12. </div>
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As a matter of fact, this entire outfit came courtesy of that fruitful morning. (Damn good charity shops in Buxton. Sorry Laura and Liffy, there'll be no point 'doing' them when we're there next weekend; I've already cleaned 'em out. :op ) White t-shirt excepted. I have no idea where that came from - presumably the Mothership, since I certainly do not fritter away my hard-earned cash on sensible staple garments.</div>
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So yes, something about this isn't quite right... Maybe it's the shoes. Or the fact that the swan trousers are actually two sizes too big for me. Anyway, I happen to know that these bargainous £3.50 trews were full-price in the loathsome Topshop as recently as May, and have been seen all over the legs of the UK's finest fashun bloggers. Really, I ought to sell them for a small fortune on ebay, shouldn't I? But I kind of like having swan trousers...</div>
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Here is the much-more-stylish-than-I <a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/frame?blog=1944388&link=aHR0cDovL3d3dy5naXJsbmV4dGRvb3JmYXNoaW9uLm5ldC8">Charlotte</a> from girlnextdoorfashion wearing her swan trousers with aplomb.</div>
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Anyhoo, since we're talking of Buxton...</div>
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Buxton, <a href="http://www.betteontoast.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/this-is-random-moment-of-vanity.html">as you may remember me telling you last year</a>, is home to the International Gilbert and Sullivan festival, where amateur and professional performing companies from all over the UK (and sometimes beyond!) converge to bring their hard work to an international audience. Last week I was there as an audience member (<em>Merrie England</em> jolly good, three cheers Matlock Gilbert & Sullivan Society) but next weekend I shall return, singing and dancing in <a href="http://www.dauntlesstheatre.co.uk/">Dauntless Theatre's</a> Olympia-themed <em>Iolanthe</em>.</div>
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We start rehearsals tomorrow night (precisely one week before our first performance!) and it's all terribly thrilling. (I wonder if I can cite extreme excitement as a valid excuse for not knowing the music?!?) Last year's mental week of rehearsals was one of the most enjoyable and exhilerating experiences I've had on-the-stage, and while I'm not necessarily looking forward to the twelve-hour days we've got coming up (WHEN am I going to get a square meal??), I can't quite believe it's come round again! YEAH MAN.</div>
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P.S. Those of my readers who have the great good fortune to live in the North East - Friday 10th August, the Priestman Hall in Roker, Sunderland, five measly pounds. Go on go on go on!</div>
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<br /></div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-77708066582532475012012-07-28T14:54:00.000-07:002012-07-28T14:54:03.415-07:00Born to Speak All Mirth and No MatterMy first week of the hols has involved...<br />
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Pub<br />
Ditching pub for pub quiz game at home<br />
A million washing<br />
Starbucks<br />
More pub<br />
<em>Thelma's Gypsy Girls</em><br />
Shakespeare in the park<br />
Tidying cupboards!<br />
TCM marathons<br />
Sunny bicycle rides<br />
Primark<br />
Unsucessful wig-dressing<br />
Togas<br />
Being photographed for the newspaper<br />
More pub<br />
Being painted white<br />
Gardening (!)<br />
Slack-jawed yokels<br />
Spiderman<br />
Trains<br />
Appearing in the newspaper<br />
Sisters and mothers and aunts<br />
Late-night shopping<br />
The dentist<br />Day trips to Liverpool<br />Late-night Olympic opening ceremonies!<br />Craft-making and art galleries<br />(Super simultaneous art-gallery-visiting/book-reading-at-the-same-time skillz)<br />
Tomorrow's plans involve taking in a matinee at the International Gilbert and Sullivan Festival!<br />
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Pratting around with the little sister, as standard.</div>
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This is how I enjoy art galleries.</div>
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TTFN,<br />Bette x</div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-11626804213367757752012-07-21T06:26:00.000-07:002012-07-21T06:26:40.712-07:00I'm Too Lazy To Think Of A Title.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My infant and junior schools didn't make us wear a uniform, so I never had the opportunity to dress in those cute little red, yellow, blue or green gingham summer dresses that you will have seen modelled by small girls all over the UK during the past term. Actually, I would rather have died than be seen dead in a gingham dress in those days. I was a tomboy through and through!</div>
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How things change. Since I may have to actually dress like a grown-up for the next six weeks, yesterday I took advantage of the last day of the school year and paid homage to my six-year-old colleagues in my very own picnic-blanket dress. I hope you enjoy this pair of annoyingly over-processed pictures of it.</div>
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<br /></div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-73517282724887193882012-07-14T04:59:00.000-07:002012-07-14T04:59:01.173-07:00Bette with a fringe on top<div style="text-align: center;">
Good morning viewers! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ZPGMFoSaNsXUZqC8zd717irDuZVTUT4jeahW3pPLHR14SAYrs5y5syjxZWQ880uL8K8xRmLqGCf1mY_ZroA1mFfsJ5eNRwd6VBI9ZNN7eZ6IhloauNDvq22Mw-EFtL_E3N0uN4a5C4/s1600/July+0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0ZPGMFoSaNsXUZqC8zd717irDuZVTUT4jeahW3pPLHR14SAYrs5y5syjxZWQ880uL8K8xRmLqGCf1mY_ZroA1mFfsJ5eNRwd6VBI9ZNN7eZ6IhloauNDvq22Mw-EFtL_E3N0uN4a5C4/s400/July+0012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The summer holidays are nearly upon us (HOW did that happen?!) and the end-of-the-year celebration events have already begun. I type this nursing a slightly fuzzy head after last night's staff party, but these photographs were taken on Thursday, after my fellow LSA chums and I stole out of work early to gossip over coffee and cake.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRB45zcm_OePdDSQBRUYeybQMz5jFk-dgrUaapeikG6DVS53SMLRuIsrL6sP7Q3IzuKnNu0r3K5F4908qrDUV7YfJ9UfMtSPpX8Mljmw6RZySZJOMiGIPTROymyy1BbtajpHoAFsrjX8c/s1600/July+0022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRB45zcm_OePdDSQBRUYeybQMz5jFk-dgrUaapeikG6DVS53SMLRuIsrL6sP7Q3IzuKnNu0r3K5F4908qrDUV7YfJ9UfMtSPpX8Mljmw6RZySZJOMiGIPTROymyy1BbtajpHoAFsrjX8c/s400/July+0022.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(For variation, a slightly different view of my slug-infested wilderness of a garden!)</div>
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For the first time in a fortnight, it WASN'T raining, so I celebrated with a slice of chocolate and amaretto torte almost as big as my head. The girls said I wouldn't be able to finish it, but I bloody well did! (It cost me three quid, there was no way I was leaving any for Miss Manners!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIxy57x8eSIRbMTTQt_OmWuzs95XIVk25jLzhnJqEskSup1aPjWiAa-zECxDoRVEqj5UGu3GYwDciRGamY-Nq1PCMhhTQi9N3cCcvtLm0mzmeWmrcmpyDdWsBSSNPZ-c8nWRnKJZGRIA/s1600/July+0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSIxy57x8eSIRbMTTQt_OmWuzs95XIVk25jLzhnJqEskSup1aPjWiAa-zECxDoRVEqj5UGu3GYwDciRGamY-Nq1PCMhhTQi9N3cCcvtLm0mzmeWmrcmpyDdWsBSSNPZ-c8nWRnKJZGRIA/s400/July+0032.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Then I bicycled into town and got myself a fringe. Do you like? It keeps tickling me!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZ252xMFZV7F46BpO4-NmRffvcsWniKJoOG9vlzWaxWkvRz6WNA111k764wci9C5h4BQWpzjhwJSvQSd_Im3HG8KcvBp5sXWaSaJ1pNRUZyFFw7w0hUMusbK_a4y4hk6Ta8bOiKJ3cNg/s1600/July+0052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZ252xMFZV7F46BpO4-NmRffvcsWniKJoOG9vlzWaxWkvRz6WNA111k764wci9C5h4BQWpzjhwJSvQSd_Im3HG8KcvBp5sXWaSaJ1pNRUZyFFw7w0hUMusbK_a4y4hk6Ta8bOiKJ3cNg/s400/July+0052.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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(Practising reposing for the hols)</div>
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There is nothing very interesting about this combination of clothes, but for some reason I really like the look. Dress-related fact: Princess Eugenie has the same one.<br /><br />What the hell, let's make this a Boring Outfit Post BOGOF. Here's a quick snap of me ready to go out last night.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-sYMBK5hhoXzkIS9satpnMCflBZ1C0tUJC_gJEeqaPKz-T_lj2syamAUyozBSqHX5vdlBjlg4ZIA0-rV1EdO1DFOVrYRBiSbJ23lzna4xdfO7N9KzOLNECyRMZw4nbqoTonQ2qzEcpE/s1600/July+0122.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5-sYMBK5hhoXzkIS9satpnMCflBZ1C0tUJC_gJEeqaPKz-T_lj2syamAUyozBSqHX5vdlBjlg4ZIA0-rV1EdO1DFOVrYRBiSbJ23lzna4xdfO7N9KzOLNECyRMZw4nbqoTonQ2qzEcpE/s640/July+0122.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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Pay no attention to the mess. That's my tights box overflowing as usual!</div>
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<br /></div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-31955563675508063502012-06-25T09:38:00.001-07:002012-06-25T09:38:44.770-07:00"Du disturbest mein Life!"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvvYcyCmTH41qmllevywgd9HnlC8p7W_uorL25FYmzXgmXfYWda7uLuTYOUsa55V0Y-RFb9M_cf1Mel_-P2d_soe4V-9cH-bb_Bqu4khA943BYoI-L3YSZNI8fQDPTldRYxenND0ARFc/s1600/Satursay+5th+May+0262.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvvYcyCmTH41qmllevywgd9HnlC8p7W_uorL25FYmzXgmXfYWda7uLuTYOUsa55V0Y-RFb9M_cf1Mel_-P2d_soe4V-9cH-bb_Bqu4khA943BYoI-L3YSZNI8fQDPTldRYxenND0ARFc/s400/Satursay+5th+May+0262.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OFnnRDWlHAj9-_r4_b7Kr3BCLQnx1rMhUdN0Wv7oCOKYab1HxU6QlbzbdRCP-8QViUkyVugT4gs_FmKK3u6-4Wmw5eXvNIOeeNN3spoA_n5drEzjG5WzI02PkzOuZJIqkspqrZKh1gc/s1600/Satursay+5th+May+0292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9OFnnRDWlHAj9-_r4_b7Kr3BCLQnx1rMhUdN0Wv7oCOKYab1HxU6QlbzbdRCP-8QViUkyVugT4gs_FmKK3u6-4Wmw5eXvNIOeeNN3spoA_n5drEzjG5WzI02PkzOuZJIqkspqrZKh1gc/s400/Satursay+5th+May+0292.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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At the end of her <a href="http://www.whereisharriet.net/2012/06/coffee-as-big-as-my-heart.html">blog post</a> today, the lovely Harriet instructed us all, <em>"If you are seeing your best friends this week make sure you tell them how
awesome they are!" </em>Well, I must confess, I have been missing my own <strike>pain in the backside</strike> best pal of late, so I thought I would give it a go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3oIuu5CiXnDZ7B34Bn5E-zGET2eo7njwW2zz_mhc7mE8t7n8WHEoIIJUMFuLSrRZ9j2eEb_kZeTj4SSPHkaCm3jhIMrqUz0L1jzJAhfMxBnIklwyk71d7PeoxwdH7tlWnX8JhrsamrY/s1600/Hannah's+return+093.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3oIuu5CiXnDZ7B34Bn5E-zGET2eo7njwW2zz_mhc7mE8t7n8WHEoIIJUMFuLSrRZ9j2eEb_kZeTj4SSPHkaCm3jhIMrqUz0L1jzJAhfMxBnIklwyk71d7PeoxwdH7tlWnX8JhrsamrY/s400/Hannah's+return+093.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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But being nice to Simon doesn't come easily to me (don't scoff, readers, if you met him you'd understand.), and I simply can't condone feeding his gigantic ego any further, so instead I'm going to say:<br />
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<em>Du bist ein Tvat. </em></div>
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<em>I miss you disturbing my life. </em></div>
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<em>"Oh, July!" day on the 21st?</em></div>
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<em>Späters!</em></div>
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<em>Frau </em></div>
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<em>x</em></div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8684426054422359947.post-58920093380915345122012-06-15T09:11:00.000-07:002012-06-15T09:14:19.018-07:00Queen for a Day<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<em>"Why Hamlet, dear, you've written us a play..."</em></h3>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQgtaRJXF-iUvOER2Eh8jrtCqlmFq66Lc43eV-qSUqIHzan9g5ZlLiiGm5oSupfQL4YlCGVU_983KuvFMlxFHuxme859xeFhcHWTJuCSv0obQJFwH3l5zMKmBdbantaPZqZUMjgnOXDE/s1600/Queen+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEQgtaRJXF-iUvOER2Eh8jrtCqlmFq66Lc43eV-qSUqIHzan9g5ZlLiiGm5oSupfQL4YlCGVU_983KuvFMlxFHuxme859xeFhcHWTJuCSv0obQJFwH3l5zMKmBdbantaPZqZUMjgnOXDE/s640/Queen+phone.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
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<em>"Nothing lasts forever in the theatre. Whatever it is, it's here, it flares up, burns hot - and then it's gone."</em><br />
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Another production has been and gone. Or rather, has chugged along unassumingly for months, has sputtered and fizzled a bit, has exploded into glory, and has suddenly, unbelievably, ceased to exist.</div>
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<a href="http://betteontoast.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/this-is-random-moment-of-vanity.html">I've said it before, I know,</a> but putting on a show is an emotional bloody rollercoaster. Nowhere else do you experience such completely consuming glee and glumness within such a short space of time. No flippin' wonder we're all tired, cast-mates!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLf2oMXISgRE-Ql-icItpvU71ppRKFI4_oJZNw9vwZP3CS-8j7yWDVMAknT-RfLq0B4I_KDYlfiHjbh3RZI9Oa4jaI5Z4fEYG9lWcSsrlaaHGzW0OJ5ofyhUG2b2C_5a1jzls_RBwG1c/s1600/cast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLf2oMXISgRE-Ql-icItpvU71ppRKFI4_oJZNw9vwZP3CS-8j7yWDVMAknT-RfLq0B4I_KDYlfiHjbh3RZI9Oa4jaI5Z4fEYG9lWcSsrlaaHGzW0OJ5ofyhUG2b2C_5a1jzls_RBwG1c/s640/cast.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Truthfully, the Post-Show Bereavement isn't too strong right now. (There's a lot to be said for a full-time job - I get the after-show blues far less devastatingly now than I did in my student days!) Everyone is a little sad it's over, and Facebook is comfortingly flooded with photos and reminiscences. I think the saddest thing is actually the knowledge that the glumness will quickly fade, because with it goes the excitement, too. I'll always have my memories of this brilliant week, but how much will they mean to me, three weeks, three months, or a year from now? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjmQxEz6SL3bwMNWR2o27pdeV3kJXcqK_IqysCtSkv2B8GpnWDCO4i9yPXCbGN8b4Ebz1ur3z-ks3-R5or09x3VbsszUKGBdQhznzDiGOblKjkbzacy3oCM3657MnIRwr9ITEMvECOBU/s1600/Hamlet+-+students.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjmQxEz6SL3bwMNWR2o27pdeV3kJXcqK_IqysCtSkv2B8GpnWDCO4i9yPXCbGN8b4Ebz1ur3z-ks3-R5or09x3VbsszUKGBdQhznzDiGOblKjkbzacy3oCM3657MnIRwr9ITEMvECOBU/s640/Hamlet+-+students.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In February, you remember, I was in two big-scale shows within two weeks. I had two scores, two librettos, two costumes, two casts, two opening nights and two final ever nights, and two consecutive Sunday mornings brought fresh show-hangovers. It was a double whammy, a rollover, of everything I love and hate about performing, and how many times a week does that crazy, exhilerating, exhausting fortnight cross my mind now, four months later? Hardly ever. Two months from now I shall be home from Buxton and bitterly mourning <em>Iolanthe</em>, while <em>A Tale of Two Hamlets</em> will be a dusty old has-been of a memory. <strong><em>Every</em></strong> show is the best one there ever was; every, every time. Each new one pushes the previous ones further back and knocks off a bit more of their ancient sparkle. Show-business, my friends, is fickle and heartless! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWYJRPbR_kLWUJyOzeV2cxQ15X9YMqcBXv2g3g1hd_XQiFj3N0ZovTbQ00c0z7030dL7AKMR5CsscSZ5YMIwF0ieN4D1D83_8DYgRF5H1auLlOtem3DWhNJ6x1N7iJAJtTCTW59ZU3mE/s1600/Hamlet+-+body+stirs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBWYJRPbR_kLWUJyOzeV2cxQ15X9YMqcBXv2g3g1hd_XQiFj3N0ZovTbQ00c0z7030dL7AKMR5CsscSZ5YMIwF0ieN4D1D83_8DYgRF5H1auLlOtem3DWhNJ6x1N7iJAJtTCTW59ZU3mE/s640/Hamlet+-+body+stirs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the grand scheme of all the shows in my past, and all the shows I hope will be in my future, it was small fry. But while it was here it was a cracker, and worth celebrating. Commemorating, if you like, since we're on a royal theme. The best one there ever was, for now at least. Queen for a Day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQEtRR7RdR7ctDJuIX_iwZ99dOQT2zq_KBcRYlPw3ViXlPU2iXzzQV2UtSVDDW4_ZTwx5d8_Sicype9BfvWNLPBTePEPAG-FCQWtChArWj3HNvDZEnM3VTYTOOZQp4MfgoTDgFt1PF3U/s1600/Hamlet+-+Queenie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQEtRR7RdR7ctDJuIX_iwZ99dOQT2zq_KBcRYlPw3ViXlPU2iXzzQV2UtSVDDW4_ZTwx5d8_Sicype9BfvWNLPBTePEPAG-FCQWtChArWj3HNvDZEnM3VTYTOOZQp4MfgoTDgFt1PF3U/s640/Hamlet+-+Queenie.jpg" width="521" /></a></div>
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Hmm. Introspective eloquence an unexpected side-effect of post-show blues? This lengthy blog post has been maudlin and self-indulgent, but I quite like it! Makes a change from the wittering you get when I talk about dresses and lipstick, at any rate!</div>
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Dress rehearsal photographs <em>of A Tale of Two Hamlets </em>taken by my candy-floss-haired chum Liffy Wood.</div>Bette on Toasthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16644525034107632726noreply@blogger.com3