Guardian Girl

Last night’s rabbit stew was bunny free because I couldn’t find the Sainsbury’s lagomorph fridge. I used a couple of bags of mixed game, waited a torturously long time for it to simmer fragrantly atop the stove (luckily, throwing verbal spears at Junior Apprentice distracted me from a whole hour of boiling time and enabled me to feel I’d earned my dinner), and then very much enjoyed eating the result. There isn’t a photo because there would be nothing with which to compare it, and besides it looked a lot like raw sewage.

Am mooching through this week’s fashion with a knitted brow and a distastefully There’s Something About Mary-ish quiff. I’m not much good at hairstyling – I have always been one of those whose hair just grows there. Every now and then I might scowl at it in the mirror or cut a fringe in with the kitchen scissors. I occasionally dye it, but only ever as the centrepiece of a thrilling social event. Dyeing your hair alone is boring as hell. I have been to hairdressers before – hell I’ve even found one I really like and who doesn’t try to make me look like Atomic Kitten, but even so the awkwardness about tips and deciding whether to conversate with the hairdresser’s face or the hairdresser’s reflection makes the whole thing seem generally not worth it.

But yeh, the outfits.

In the crowd

Off the lead

Think I still need to do a bit of work on my pouting, which is continuing to come across a bit… let’s say… umm… I can’t quite think of the right word for it, but it makes me think of zoo admission fees somehow.

For This column will change your life, I have signed up to iftt but have yet to work out how I can really use it in a useful way (also I keep not bothering to confirm my password. That’s the Blitz spirit for you). The idea of texting yourself an umbrella reminder depending when rain is forecast is very exciting – until you remember that you couldn’t give a crap if your quiff gets rained on and that you think umbrellas are, broadly speaking, for idiots who seem to be under the impression that a few drops of rain will disfigure them forever. Get OVER it. It is WATER. You stand in it every day to get clean, then you run around screeching because a drop of it touches your forehead out of context. Stupid humans except me, as usual.

For the Measure, I have moved one small step forwards by throwing away a pair of holey thigh-high socks I like to wear around the flat.

I cannot find Prada’s crocodile earrings on the internet.

I will have a fake bonfire night tonight, complete with honeycomb, since I was poorly and house-bound on Saturday night when everyone else was doing it. I have to quickly say, though, that I don’t approve of the phrase “sweet-cum-canape”. Sounds like something you get handed off a silver platter at Elton’s white tie and tiara ball.

Conclusions:

• Juniper over – now on to grilling aubergines over the hob while boyfriend hits smoke alarm with baseball bat (not exaggerating)
• Can you still buy indoor fireworks? Where? May as well let the smoke alarm have all its whippings in one go