Remember Me?

Fans of Sophie Kinsella's books will doubtless have come across Remember Me? - the story of Lexi who loses three years of her life to amnesia and struggles to come to terms with the fact that she's no longer the frumpy young woman with crooked teeth that she remembers, but has become a drop-dead gorgeous fitness fanatic, married to a hunky multi-millionaire.

I hasten to say that a similar transformation has not befallen your humble bloggist! Well not quite. But last week I ordered a pair of new boobs from Doreen Fashions, choosing size 7 (40C) at that's what I felt sure my old boobs were. But when these new ones arrived they were noticeably larger.

Should I send them back? Mmmm... perhaps just try them first, then plead insanity later and ask the lovely Betty at Doreen's for an exchange. Yes, no harm in that.

My old boobs sat on my chest in a reasonably convincing manner. These, however, seem to take root there and even wrap around a bit beneath my arms. They're also very soft. I sought a second opinion from my adoring wife; she said that lots of women end up with bigger boobs than they expected, so I should just put up and shut up! Yes darling.

So now, like Lexi, I'm coming to terms with my new body shape, and rather enjoying the experience. To add to the transformation, I'm losing weight (quite successfully) so I guess that as my tummy shrinks my boobs might look even larger.

Or maybe I'll just become a cuddly granny. That will do very nicely, thank you.

Florence comes to Cornwall

Last time I described a country walk here, Tattooed Mummy commented that she liked walking in a skirt. I wasn't so sure, but on Monday decided to give it a go - so here I am in a skirt, tights, wooley socks and walking boots. The height of fashion!

Being something of a skirt enthusiast (to put it mildly) I soon settled down to enjoy myself, though I did feel a bit like Florence in the Magic Roundabout. However, the few people we met on our 4 mile circuit from Lerryn to St Winnow didn't look unduly surprised and i felt much more Angiefied than on my last walk, when I wore trousers.

Now I realize that what I really need is a pair of pink spotty wellie boots. Hope they do them in size 8.

No man is an iland

At the end of last year a very dear friend of mine died. We'd known each other for decades. In his chosen pastime he was very well known and his wish was that I would preside at his funeral (which rather gives the game away as to what one of my jobs might be).

I've just finished writing an obituary that will get published somewhere or other. I wanted to sign it 'Angie Davis', but that would mean nothing. All that I have done for him over the past few weeks has happened because of my male identity. He only knew the male 'me' and it's fair to say that if Angie had been more to the fore all those years ago, we would probably never have met. And where now there is a rich feeling of thankfulness for the years we enjoyed, there would be nothing.

We can change our identity; we can change our gender. One day I hope to do at least one of those. But we can't change our history and for that, just now, I'm rather glad.

Four Christmases later

A couple of my friends in Bloggerland have been kind enough to send messages, asking if I'm still on this planet. Fret not, dear friends. This girl is still around to plague you - a little battle-worn, but definitely still here!

We've celebrated Christmas four times in the past month, which is surely above and beyond the call of duty. Firstly, and unsurprisingly, we held it on December 25th, then again on December 30th when my brother dropped in, loaded with presents. January 1st saw the third celebration; this one just with Aunt Sarah, my wife S, and me in Angie mode. Very, very special, of course - a beautifully hand-crafted bracelet and matching earrings from S, and two gorgeous scarves and some perfume from Auntie. It's hard to describe just how lovely presents like that feel, but I'm sure many of you will understand.

Finally, last Monday saw us up with our son, daughter-in-law and baby grandson, sitting down to Christmas lunch with turkey and all the trimmings. The only thing missing, by this time, was a tree under which to put the presents.

Between all those Christmases work has been chaotically busy, so much so that the New Year outing with Auntie in Falmouth soon became a distant memory. Today, however, there was no work and S declared it "a good day to take Angie for a walk". Sadly, though, it was not to be. I'd been zapped last Friday with my latest bout of laser treatment. It's left my top lip and chin a bit blistered and no amount of carefully-applied makeup would hide it satisfactorily. So we did our walk at "Mr & Mrs". Next time, maybe.

Now here I am, happily blogging again. Not much is planned between now and Springtime, but I'll do my best to share with you a few more excerpts from my slow perambulation towards womanhood.

Real snow at last

Just couldn't resist going out and playing in it!

Pay, but don't stay

I love looking at those collections of silly signs on Google, but it's not often that I find one for myself. I spotted this beauty in a car park in Newquay. Is anyone able to explain it, other that to say that the Council have lost their marbles?

The white stuff is here!

At last we have some snow - well over half an inch of it. Wow!

While the rest of the country has been battling arctic temperatures and feet of snow, our fields have remained green until today and our roads boringly passable. It all comes of living so near the warm Cornish coast - and most of the time you won't find me complaining about that.

I know that snow isn't good news for everyone, but I love playing in it and building snowmen. There wasn't quite enough for that today, but they're promising more for Monday, so I'm already drawing up plans for a dainty snowwoman on the front lawn.