secrets-and-subterfuge

Solar by Ian McEwan

2011-01-11T13:26:00.001Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I may be in love.

Mallory Towers by Enid Blyton

2010-03-06T18:42:00.005Z

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

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

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

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

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

Life is looking good :-)

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

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

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

Happy Birthday to me

2010-03-03T08:50:00.003Z

Happy Birthday to 007.5 :-) :-)

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

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

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

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

Redemption

2010-03-01T16:24:00.002Z

I know my readership.

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

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

Sage advice, indeed.

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

2010-03-01T15:14:00.004Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The End of the Party by Andrew Rawnsley

2010-02-23T09:23:00.004Z

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

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

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

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

Philip Pullman's Dark Materials

2010-02-20T17:15:00.006Z

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

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

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

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

Book Review: Like oo7.5 and Leonard, Will and Lyra are condemned to live in separate worlds as neither can survive in the others. Sigh, a true love story.

There the parallels end: Unlike 007.5's blog, Philip Pullman's novels are read by millions without him resorting to writing "sex at oxbridge" repeatedly in the vain hope of attracting unsuspecting, and unwilling, readership (sorry everyone who was lured here under false pretences - you can leave now if you like). There are other differences too - like Pullman's work is carefully crafted, worked upon painstakingly and is the product of a great imagination. Ho hum.

Back in the real world

2010-02-19T20:37:00.006Z

H called across the kitchen to me last night, for he had made it home surprisingly early from his Uber-job in the City: "Standing up or sitting down?"

I looked over from the sink, elbow deep in suds - we may be rich, My Beloveds, but you so can't get staff in London and the lady that does doesn't do the dirty chores.

H began casually taking off his jacket and unbuttoning his cuffs. Well, it's not like I expect a trumpet fanfare and a chorus of angels, but something more than that in the way of foreplay might be in order even after 17 years of marriage..

Still, beggars can't be choosers and I snapped out of my reverie.

"Sorry? What was that darling?" I managed to ejaculate (in the Biggles sense of the word, naturally).

It's been a long time but, hey, when I think about it, I am a bit of a standing up kind of woman if that's on the menu. H had my full attention.

"You know: the bloodpressure monitor - should I be taking my blood pressure standing up or sitting down?" he elaborated as he put the grey belt around his wrist and pressed the "on" button.

Ah.

I'm not sure whether I was disappointed or relieved. I was, after all, in the midst of the washing up.

H has had an incipient headache recently [Ed: I thought that was supposed to be what women generally suffer from]. It's not due to high BP you, my lovelies, will be relieved to learn.

More Sex

2010-02-19T15:17:00.006Z

If an ingenue who hasn't even graduated and doesn't know how to put links in her blog (Ha! Or pictures. It took me only a year or 2 to suss that) can get articles in National newspapers after only 3 posts, then I have something to learn! Hmmmm, she is a mere slip of a girl, unversed in the hardships and fun of real life post Oxbridge......

The lesson to be learnt, Oh My Beloveds, is more sex. Lovely Readers, My Sweetest Ones, can you cope?

I cannot promise to mention Hand-jobs as often as the "highly intelligent" Oxbridge student [Ed: isn't that why they have the admissions process and not a lottery?] except to note that she just might be wrong to imagine that men might as well do it themselves as they know how to do it better (...have you ever tried to tickle yourself?) or anal sex (that's my last mention) but I can spice things up a bit. After all, what is the point of having one's very own imaginary secret lover if I can't have lots of great imaginary sex?

Today, I imagine making snow angels in the wilds of Oxfordshire, and then running hand in hand through the drifts back to our lovely cottage (second home, naturally - we were both at Oxbridge and so are now filthy rich on sinners', oops I mean bankers' wages, and even if we weren't we would have a second home on the never never to impress our old college friends). Once in the warm, we find the fire already lit (that's what the "woman that does" does), and Leonard pulls me gently onto the thick sheepskin rug, snug in front of the radiant heat of the flaming log (infra-red mainly - wavelength about 700nm to 0.5mm, used a lot in my main job......hmmmm.....digression: I got to play with one of the first IR cameras back in my active days - brilliant! So unexpected. Good as long as it didn't rain). Oh, where was I?

Oh yes, on the fireside rug with Leonard. Into my ear, he whispers [Ed: for goodness sake, 007.5, where else would he whisper into and why? Ah, he might not have his glasses, I see], me some data, a metric or two - cycling miles, average speeds that kind of thing, love matrices and demonstrates 6 ways to undo a bra strap (he's clever too, remember) until I beg him to undress me at once (I can't reach the zip at the back, what with my arthritis).

We are disturbed only intermittently by texts from the children wondering where the chicken is (in the fridge), and are their Jack Wills tracksuit trousers washed yet (look in the laundry cupboard) but once my chilblains recover sufficiently and Len's orthopaedic bandages have been carefully removed, we are off! Yes, it's true that sex improves with age - it's so much better than when we were young.

In the throes of ecstasy, we discuss door curtains and sofa covers (for we are, when all is said and done, middle aged), the possibility of a side extension and all those missed opportunites for sex at college.

We might break for a nice cup of tea and a biscuit, and Question Time on BBC i-player, but are soon once more running around the cottage in Myla lingerie (we can afford it now we are no longer students), swinging from some low beams ("oooh, careful of your back, Sweetheart"), playing eighties hits on our squeezebox (we're still rich, remember, - Ed: and old) and ending up on the feather sofa, warm at last.

Oh, five times since you ask [Ed: I presume she's talking about the cups of tea].

I am not claiming this is all true. Bits of it might be though...... or not. The IR wavelength is quite accurate only I wish I knew how to type in standard form on blogger [Ed: snort, not THAT clever then].

To think instead I might have spent today driving the Teenspies around South London to friends and parties.

Now if I can only figure out how to add a sitemeter I could see if my cunning plan has worked...

A guide for husbands and lovers, on returning home from the office

2010-02-18T15:22:00.004Z

DANGEROUS	SAFER	SAFEST	ULTRA SAFE
DANGEROUS What's for dinner?	DODGY Can I help you with dinner?	SAFER Where would you like to go for dinner?	SAFEST Here, have some wine.
Are you wearing that?	Blue has always suited you!	WOW! Look at you!	Here, have some wine
What are you so worked up about?	Could we be overreacting?	I got a bonus today and paid it straight to your account .	Here, have some wine.
Should you be eating that?	You know, there are a lot of apples left.	Can I get you a piece of chocolate with that?	Here, have some wine.
What did you DO all day?	I hope you didn't over-do it today.	I've always loved you in that dress!	Here, have some wine.

2010-02-18T09:37:00.002Z

When Minispy was a child, she spake as a child, [aside: Babyspy's first ever full phrase, spoken at the tender age of about 14 months, was "Stop singing, Mummy" She repeated this quite a lot. Hmmm...every time I sang actually.] : but when Minispy became a Teenspy, she put away childish things.

Doll's houses are childish things, so she decided to sell her doll's house contents. She made a large poster for the window.

"Everything £5 - bed £5, armchairs £5, piano £5, wardrobes £5. Please knock"

She put the sign in the window. As we live on a London street, we have a lot of mixed foot traffic.

Yesterday, I went out on a secret mission, giving my usual warning not to answer the door to strangers.

When I came home, everything was different, altered. Emptier.

"Teenspy, where is the sofa?" I quizzed.

"Teenspy, where is the piano?" I panicked.

"Teenspy, what have you done with the 52" plasma TV?" I whispered as it gradually dawned on me.

The first person to knock on the door had bought the doll's house furniture. Teenspy left the poster up unthinkingly. The second person to knock on the door was determined and unstoppable. At 13, it's difficult to say no to an adult who has misunderstood. He had spat on his own hands, and everything, shaking with Teenspy as a seal of the deal.

Sigh, I so wish I were making this up.

Ho hum, I always fancied the minimalist life.

To A Butterfly by William Wordsworth

2010-02-16T14:25:00.005Z

Wow! My secret lover has become real. Or has he?

My mother used to dream of having her very own Leonard. Now I have mine :-)

Names are defining. Butterflies and Daisies, for instance.

Take my own, Amy Lyons.

Nothing is as it seems.

Whatever you do, don't tell the Controller for he will regard it as a security breach.

[Ed: this post should be called imaginary friends although I am not quite sure if invented friends with invented blogs are not even sadder].

TO A BUTTERFLY

Written in the orchard, Town-end, Grasmere.

I'VE watched you now a full half-hour;
Self-poised upon that yellow flower
And, little Butterfly! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.
How motionless!—not frozen seas
More motionless! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!

This plot of orchard-ground is ours; 10
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.
William Wordsworth, 1802

Dust if you must

2010-02-16T09:20:00.003Z

The H gave me another simply lovely Valentine's present - some dusting slippers. What's not to like? H is so very thoughtful.

I admit I am finding the glass shelving in the drawing room a little tricky but luckily not too bad as my flexibility has improved immensely with the yoga classes. In any case, I didn't like most of those ornaments anyway.

[Ed: The house, I can confirm, is without doubt at the stage where it is most definitely a home (ref: last line below)]

Review

Dust if you must, but wouldn't it be better
To paint a picture, or write a letter,
Bake a cake, or plant a seed;
Ponder the difference between want and need?

Dust if you must, but there's not much time,
With lovers to kiss, and mountains to climb;
Blogs to write, and books to read;
Friends to cherish, and life to lead.

Dust if you must, but the world's out there
With the sun in your eyes, and the wind in your hair;
A flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
This day will not come around again.

Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
Old age will come and it's not kind.
And when you go (and go you must)
You, yourself, will make more dust.

Remember, a house becomes a home when you can write
"I love you" on the furniture.....

007.5 says: ooooh, I couldn't possibly allow wind in my hair, not with the price of a shampoo and set in London. Give me dusting every time [Ed: that'll be why 007.5 has so little time to post on this blog].

Affluenza by Oliver James

2010-02-06T14:21:00.005Z

I may have had a security breach!!!!

Phew, no, not a national Emergency spy security breach but my H may be reading this blog, so let me state now that I am almost certainly not a spy - part-time or otherwise - (H, look away now: psssst, Lovely Readers, I am really) and to note what a wonderful man he is. [Ed, don't worry, Readers, 007.5 will resume normal service soon]. Not least, he is always buying me amazing gifts.

For instance, he bought me a pendant necklace last birthday. The great thing about wearing the fourth largest emerald in the world (lozenge cut) is that everyone assumes it is paste, so I am not showing off or being ostentatious. My H says that only we know :-) How thoughtful.

Why, the lovely man even did the same with the top-of-the-range Aston Martin he bought me at Christmas!!! He cunningly (and expensively) disguised it as a second hand family estate. We know better though :-) H says that I can tell by the roar (hmmm...those not in on our secret might be tempted to describe it a a rattle) of the engine. Sigh, who else would do that for me? How perfectly dreamy. Before you get all cynical, I know for sure it's an expensive Aston Martin because that very same day, my darling H withdrew a large six figure sum from our account. :-)

I am indeed a lucky woman.

Tom Brown's Schooldays by Thomas Hughes

2010-02-05T08:21:00.002Z

What with Teenspy's place at boarding school nearly in the bag, I am doing some final dancing around with the administrators. They want the significant cash endowment up front, but I want confirmation of her place in writing before I put the cheque in the post. It might not be as much as they were expecting but, hey, beggars can't be choosers. If everyone gave a fiver then they would have SEVERAL THOUSAND POUNDS!!!! Imagine that.

King Lear, I am a spy with secret codenames and artifices. No, it's not really Wellington, it's Eton College. I had to tell a little teensy, weensy fib about Teenspy but she looks great with a short haircut so there's no real harm done.

We are visiting on Tuesday next :-) I shall take the Rolls, my best fur coat and tip the headmaster handsomely.

Thomas Edison and the Lightbulb By Scott R Welvaert.

2010-02-01T09:41:00.003Z

I have a little known, simply enormous property empire. [Ed: snort - a single ex-council rental property].

In one [Ed: snort] of my houses, there resides a very nice chap who has a doctorate from Cambridge University in computing and electronics. He is technical director of his own highly successful IT company.

He emailed me today for instructions on how to change the light bulb in the kitchen. Don't worry, Dearhearts, I talked him through it and sent him a link.

Ha! It's not so simple being a housewife. We are under-rated, and therefore not lonely.

I have decided to turn this blog into a science blog. Sorry. ILTV won't mind :-)

2010-01-29T10:21:00.004Z

Minispy is turning into a real Londoner. On Wednesday she went to see Les Mis (I dunno, some french play) with school. I had given her permission to make her way home on public transport. She, no fool, hailed a rickshaw and was cycled home in style, a petite figure, blonde hair flowing in the wind, waving gaily at her astonished school friends. She takes after me in some ways. [Ed: Wildly eccentric, you mean?]

Meanwhile Teenspy is keen to cease being a Londoner. I have therefore sent this missive to Wellington College:

Dear Sirs (even though this mail will probably be passed to a woman in admin, it doesn't seem that there is a more appropriate greeting),

My daughter has decided on a whim that she would like to attend your great and revered institution for the sixth form. It may have something to do with wanting to get away from her housewife mother, making boarding seem suddenly like an attractive option. I don't do early mornings (note to self: never apologise and never explain - dammit, I just explained) , so she failed to make it to the entrance examination last month but I bet you can squeeze in another child or two. Please let me know. The Chairman of the Governors, Teenspy's godfather, has told me that he would be delighted to see her gracing the corridors and dreaming about spires.

Whilst you are about it, please would you send me details of your current fundraising initiatives? I am looking to make a significant, enduring endowment to the correct educational establishment.

Lord Fotherington- Farquar-Smith remarked to me only the other day how much he would like to have a niece to visit in Berkshire.

Yours faithfully,

007.5

God Save the Queen.

The policeman and the leprechaun

2010-01-28T18:14:00.003Z

It's not every day you see a policeman in a helmet arresting a brightly dressed, bare legged, tiny yet full grown leprechaun. If I figure out how to download from my phone (this mainly involves finding the right lead), I will put up a picture of what I saw this morning outside the National Gallery.

UPDATE

I am SO transferring to the technical division :-) I found and enabled bluetooth on my laptop and on my phone and made them talk to one another - they are now friends :-)

SO you, oh Most Beloveds, can now see some of my VERY OWN photos. What could be better than that???

2010-01-28T08:27:00.005Z

It's tough being a housewife. I am out for six nights in a row this week.

Where are you going, 007.5? I hear you clamour, My Beloveds. Having a secret double life, I can't tell you too precisely, but I have been cleared to reveal that:

Monday was a family outing [Ed: family psychotherapy is hardly an outing...]

Tuesday was yoga with the Minispies. I pretend to be the worst in the class - it's my runner's physique, you understand.

Wednesday was a secret mission. Ha, there are no flies on me! I constructed a great alibi. I was meeting an Afghan undercover agent, but told everyone that I was meeting a secret Russian spy. How impenetrable cover is that? It's tough being faceblind when you have to meet agents but I just talk to random people in the nominated bar until one answers correctly. I am not quite sure what the first 5 men thought of my opening line:

"I was at weightwatchers last night and there was some good news. Vera came round last night and had lost 7 pounds! Of course, the foot amputation helped."

[Who knew that Auntie_Vi's Twitter stream is in fact top secret dissemination of spy drop lines. Still next time someone comes up to you and says:

Just remembered... when Esme was channelling Ron, she said I should be wary of the numbers 6 and 2, and anything beginning with B

then the correct answer is:

I have a feeling Bea from the Post Office is 62. We went to Spearmint Rhino in a stretched disabled-access bus for her 60th.

and your contact will confirm with:

She was so accurate- said she knew there was a big decision coming up for me- how could she have known I'm thinking of moving the microwave?

I suspect Ed of letting out state secrets!!

So, onto Thursday. I am getting culture into my life (other than Twitter) and having failed to get tickets to see Mr Blair at his show today [Ed: the Iraq Inquiry is not exactly a show, 007.5 and you had your turn last week], I am off to see some art or other.

Then it's book club night with my girlie friends, dinner tomorrow night where someone is determined to persuade me that sex is boring (I suspect he will fail - he obviously didn't get to hear Madison Violet - aside: ARE they a couple, and exactly how do you embed a video in a post?), then out for dinner on Saturday with identical triplets.....excellent, nobody will expect me to be able to tell them apart :-)

During the day, I sleep. I seem to have forgotten to cancel the daily dogwalker I had when I was at work, so I don't need to leave the house.........

Moral Biology by Guy Kahane

2010-01-22T15:03:00.004Z

Did I complete my tax return? Put it this way, my Dear Readers, I have cleaned all the grout between the marble slabs in our kitchen diner, I have seen all my secret lovers more than twice and I have run twice round the full coast of the UK. [Ed: that's a "no" then].

What is more, I have nearly finished my research on how to drink for free in London. Forget all the old chestnuts like attending shareholders' meetings, and fizz at art galleries. Instead, try buying a piece of expensive jewellery at Hirsch on the Burlington Arcade and you can watch the switching on of the Christmas lights, with a grandstand view and a glass of bubbly , all for free [Ed: um, not quite free when you take into account the necklace.......]

But best of all, and it beats me why the young don't all do it, if you are under 26, you can become a Faraday member of the Royal Institution of Great Britain for £13, and go to lectures all year, with FREE wine afterwards. Eschew the student bar, my Dear Young Readers (sadly, I suspect there are none so this post is a pearl before swine - not that I am in any way intimating that you, my Lovely and Esteemed Readership are pigs), you can have an education and ethanol night after night after night for less than the price of a round of drinks.

Anyway, I pay a little more but still get the wine. So last night, to qualify for the alcohol and other pleasures, I paid the price of sitting through a lecture. There was something about trolleys:

- if you are on a railway bridge and see a runaway train heading for 5 innocent rail workers with certain death the only possible outcome, but you can flick a points switch and instead only a single worker will be killed. Do you do it?

- you are on the same railway bridge and see the same train hurtling towards those unlucky rail workers with certain death etc and your only way to prevent the death of those five is to push a fat man off the bridge into the path of the train (you are too trim to do the trick yourself). Do you push the fat man off the bridge or not?

If you use the emotional part of your brain (you softies, you), you will feel it is wrong to chuck the fat guy into the path of the train despite this saving 5 lives. If you use the rational part of your brain, you will push him off and then claim that he selflessly jumped. Pray there is no CCTV.

There are two lessons to be drawn from this:

- a) don't get fat, and

-b) if you DO get fat (and I should know, I have put on several stone since my braces came off and I have been able to eat again), don't hang around railway bridges.

I am giving up train spotting some time in the next 6 months. At about 15 stone. The wine is quite calorific. I need to find free canapes next and reckon I have found my starter-for-ten: my old college is fund-raising and are looking for people to eat free canapes at a reception soon [Ed: I suspect they are actually looking for potential sponsors]. Its a pretty smart address so I am expecting top notch canapes.

Review: Guy is a very clever fellow. Here are his posts. I expect the startle part of your brains to light up when you read them ;-) I can't understand a word.....

Hermit Books

2010-01-20T08:43:00.004Z

I am going into social isolation. I am talking to no one today. I am not blogging.

It's that time of year again. My tax return can be delayed no longer.

Why don't I pay someone else to do it? Hmmmm.....that's tough when you are a spy and so much of your stuff is TOP SECRET.

Oh, obviously I have some housework stuff first: I have walked the dog, served and cleared breakfast, done a school run, let a man in to measure the floors and am now taking the four animals for their vaccinations. Apart from that, I am really, really, really doing my tax return. Oh, unless I find a Secret Lover to meet which just might divert me.

Review - well, more of a link

Life of Brian by Monty Python

2010-01-19T08:41:00.012Z

On Sunday night, Lovely Reader, we went round to dinner with my friend the Divorce Lawyer - gorgeous man that he is - and his wife, Miss High Flying in the City.

When we got in, I was pleased to see that we are not the only family not to have completely cleared away our Christmas decorations: on display was a playmobil advent calendar.

These are brilliant, my Dearhearts, buy them for all your godchildren, but I never knew they did a religious version! Who would have thought that there was time for religion at Christmas!!!

We, in the atheist household, have the "Santa feeds the animals", and "the unicorn in the magic forest". Dammit, I love them and we have a full collection. Um, no, they are not for the Minispies, they are ALL MINE!!! If the girls are good, they are allowed to help me open the windows but not to touch the display.

But DL's beautiful tiny 8 year old daughter with her long, curly red Titian hair, has a nativity scene, complete with Mary, Joseph, baby in manger and 3 kings.

"Oh, Arabella" (yes, our friends children all have fancy names), "your figures have fallen over!" I

exclaimed. My natural instinct as an obsessive housewife is to start picking the figures up and replacing them into a twee family scene.

"No" she replied sweetly "They are all dead." She gave me what can only be described as a beatific smile

I was silenced by this revelation, so she continued.

"The Romans got them."

Ah, but they didn't (no fool I, I listened once at school and heard something about it - God bless C of E schools). Baby Jesus escaped Herod's clutches. That's how come he went on to, you know, save mankind. What? No, My Dearests, now is not the time to mention the paradox presented by Haiti and the concept of an omnipotent, benevolent God.

"That isn't Jesus" intoned Arabella as she fixed mewith her big, innocent eyes.

"It's Brian."

Review

Sigh, most parents take good care of their firstborn sons. You wouldn't necessarily, for instance, send them up onto dangerous roofs. Brian's parents were a little more careless.

Um, DL laughed at me :-( He reckoned I was the only person of my age NEVER to have watched Life of Brian. Strangely, Mrs Hedge Fund Manager made the same observation to me 4 years ago and I have had the DVD on my TV shelf since then - forced upon me by Mrs HFM. I will watch it soon. After all, what are sabbaticals for? [Ed: well, you could toddle along to the Court of Appeal today to hear the arguments in the case about the BA lady wearing her cross on a chain.....] . Ignore Ed, I have dishes to wash and a Minispy to pick up after netball. You can tell he's a man.

Heavy Date by WH Auden

2010-01-13T18:41:00.001Z

Have you ever tried making love in a room that is messy????? This is perhaps why secret lovers frequent hotels (oh, that and not bumping into a spouse ;-) ), and explains how weekends away are more charged than weekends at home.

"Oh, that's lovely darling,the way you are stroking me intimately and loosening my clothes, and, gosh, how handsome you are looking, and I can tell you are pleased to see me...... but just let me do my buttons up again for a moment so I can pick up that half drunk Evian bottle, and whilst I am there I'll sweep up those pencil sharpenings and pop the Wii remote back on it's cradle. Oh, and look, there is an old piece of balloon from Christmas that really should go in the bin. I'll be straight back."

It's a housewife thing, my Beloveds.

Ah! Perhaps that's why the stairs are an attractive option for they are rarely messy.

Teenspy was watching a film the other night where there was some passion taking place on the staircase.

"How ridiculous" she remarked "Noone would ever do that when there is a bedroom, would they?"

Cough, splutter.

Sigh, she has never been a bored and slightly obsessive housewife.

Review: hmmmm......I see the influence my occupation has upon my human vision ;-) My lawyer husband no doubt views me as part of a contract.

W. H. Auden

Sharp and silent in the
Clear October lighting
Of a Sunday morning
The great city lies;
And I at a window
Looking over water
At the world of Business
With a lover's eyes.

All mankind, I fancy,
When anticipating
Anything exciting
Like a rendezvous,
Occupy the time in
Purely random thinking,
For when love is waiting
Logic will not do.

Much as he would like to
Concentrate completely
On the precious Object,
Love has not the power;
Goethe put it neatly:
No one cares to watch the
Loveliest sunset after
Quarter of an hour.

Malinowski, Rivers,
Benedict and others
Show how common culture
Shapes the separate lives;
Matrilineal races
Kill their mothers' brothers
In their dreams and turn their
Sisters into wives.

Who when looking over
Faces in the subway,
Each with its uniqueness,
Would not, did he dare,
Ask what forms exactly
Suited to their weakness
Love and desperation
Taken to govern there:

Would not like to know what
Influence occupation
Has on human vision
Of the human fate;
Do all clerks for instance
Pigeon-hole creation,
Brokers see the Ding-an-
-sich as Real Estate?

When a politician
Dreams about his sweetheart,
Does he multiply her
Face into a crowd,
Are her fond respones,
All-or-none reactions,
Does he try to buy her,
Is the kissing loud?

Strange are love's mutations:
Thus, the early poem
Of the flesh sub rosa
Has been known to grow
Now and then into the
Amor intellectu-
-alis of Spinoza;
How we do not know.

Slowly we are learning,
We at least know this much,
That we have to unlearn
Much that we were taught,
And are growing chary
Of emphatic dogmas;
Love like Matter is much
Odder than we thought.

Love requires an Object,
But this varies so much,
Almost, I imagine,
Anything will do.
When I was a child, I
Loved a pumping-engine,
Thought it every bit as
Beautiful as you.

Love has no position,
Love's way of living,
One kind of relation
Possible between
Any things or persons
Given one condition,
The one sine qua non
Being mutual need.

Through it we discover
An essential secret
Called by some Salvation
And by some Success;
Crying for the moon is
Naughtiness and envy,
We can only love what-
-ever we possess.

I believed for years that
Love was the conjunction
Of two oppositions;
That was all untrue;
Every young man fears that
He is not worth loving;
Bless you, darling, I have
Found myself in you.

When two lovers meet, then
There's an end of writing
Thought and Analytics:
Lovers, like the dead,
In their loves are equal;
Sophomores and peasants,
Poets and their critics
Are the same in bed.

October 1939

How To Get Rich Quick

2010-01-11T14:05:00.006Z

I have a brilliant idea how to make a million pounds. Sigh, I know I don't need it but it's always nice to have diamonds in reserve. Here are photos of Lily Cole and Minispy. Tell me who is prettier? Oh, Minispy is first.

Minispy went on some photoshoot for a friends' birthday and yet again was advised to cotct Storm, Lily Cole's agency. Perhaps she should do just that after her GCSE's finish in July. Hmmm... perhaps I want her to do it before May so that I can "look after" (he, he) her cash before she hits 16. Why on earth would she want to be a doctor when she could be a supermodel?

The Death of Bunny Munroe by Nick Cave

2010-01-11T08:45:00.002Z

The Minispies are back to school (phew), the H is safely bundled off to work (client lunch and dinner) and the job has been mothballed until September so I AM FREE!!!

Choices, choices!

What shall I do first? Bathe in asses' milk? Count my gold? Entertain my Secret Lover?

Ho hum, there has been a run on the asses milk in Tesco's, what with the cold weather and anyway I don't want to wash off my Caribbean tan (jealous anyone? Not if you are a plumber or a dustman you are not, as you were there too...I have become chav), I have forgotten the combination to the gold vault, and any SL worth his salt would be at work so I guess it might have to be a blog post :-)

Review: Very funny, very tragic. A one themed career down to hell and damnation, with a complete lack of meta- self awareness for the sex obsessed Bunny, providing the answer to the question "what's not to like" posed in relation to ononism, the answer being a cum encrusted sock kept in the car footwell in case of urges. A cautionary tale for grown-ups....... Bunny Munroe, interestingly (Ed: Gawd, she's getting intellectual now), echoes and expands on Pym's father, Rick, in a Perfect Spy - John Le Carre. So read the Bunny first and then see how the son fares in The Perfect Spy. Well worth a read when you are feeling morally superior, and even more so but only when you are feeling brave if your life is less than pure.