I ♥ Joan Jett and the Blackhearts

Could there be a more iconic female to kickstart your Monday (or, in my case, to bring it to a close?) No, I don’t think so. Here’s Joanie with the amazing I love Rock N Roll. 

I nearly plumped for the Chesney Hawkes’ “epic” I am the One and Only after hearing it on the radio this morning. However, Chezza will have to wait. Joan just kicked him out of the queue for Much Love. Anyway, when Chesney sings ‘I am the one and only, nobody I’d rather be’, I’m sorry, Chesney, but you obviously hadn’t met Joan Jett otherwise you’d rather be her. Who wouldn’t? She might be 55 (yes really!) but Joan could still kick the proverbial arse.

Anyway, you’ll have to excuse my tardiness. I’ve been back in Manchester all weekend visiting family and I’m always a little dizzy after a flight. I was a complete space cadet on Friday until I had a Turkish Delight. You don’t get Turkish Delight chocolate in France apart from in niche English stores, so it’s a rare, rare treat for me. In fact, it was the first chocolate bar I saw. I didn’t get any further than that. I did manage a couple of Toffee Crisps later in the weekend.

I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t enjoy it very much indeed.

Second thing on the agenda (well, third after eating Fry’s Turkish Delight and marvelling at the shiny new cars on British roads) was getting a new camera – a belated 40th Birthday present. I picked up my first DSLR – a baby Canon 1100D – not up there with the big bad boys (and all my male geek friends who like things to be much more powerful) but it will a) use all my lenses from my SLR b) use all my filters from my SLR and c) take good pictures. Yay! Much Love for that!

After strange chocolate and cameras, it was lunch, then a trip to my mum’s new allotment, then a trip to see my Nana. Nanas rock, especially if they are like my Nana. She isn’t going to ever be the Shreddies’ knitting nana type (though she knits up a storm) because she still gets her toenails painted and skypes people. She doesn’t think that is anything amazing, but I do. I’ve been ‘off-grid’ for three years and now my sister’s TV is totally incomprehensible to me. We atrophy easily.

Of course, there is little not to love when I go back to England for a visit. Chinese food a-go-go. I didn’t even get as far as having curry, simply because I was enjoying having Chinese food so much. In between Chinese food and family visits, my sister and I did what we do best: be silly and go shopping. We found several onesies to be in love with (though not Asda onesies, which look like prison onesies) and I marvelled at the size of British bras. French bras are obviously made for women who have no need for a bra. English bras are made for women who need all kinds of scaffolding. Why I love English bras so much is that they don’t assume that just because you are bigger than an A cup that you don’t want some kind of padding to avoid inadvertent nipple displays. French bras beyond a B cup lend themselves to nothing more than being relegated to life underneath very thick fabrics, or jumpers, or coats. Thus you can get good t-shirt bras that can’t be used as an impromptu weather detector. Boobs are one thing. I trust people not to stare at boobs. Huge nipples are another. I defy even partially blind people to avoid eye contact with an erect nipple.

Heaven only knows what kind of web traffic this post is going to bring me. Oh well.

So… new clothes, new camera, tummy full of Gaviscon (I obviously eat a lot of very simple food out here… something I hadn’t even thought about!) and then dogs to come home to followed by a full-on fire.

Mondays do not get better than that.

Just wish I’d sneaked a Turkish Delight onto the plane…