Posted by: purplediva | March 14, 2014

Flippin ‘ell

It’s very rare that I receive something that makes me squeal with delight, especially when it comes in the form of a text photo, because lets face it, these days, when you see a picture message appear, you simply don’t know what could be staring you in the face when it downloads. Oh yes, i’ve had rather too many of ‘those’…unsolicited I might add! However, this particular picture was in the form of flippers. Yep, flippers…

Flippin 'ell!

Flippin ‘ell!

Those rubber kind that you wear when snorkelling, except these particular ones were sporting a 5 inch stiletto heel. The ULTIMATE flippers! How on earth you were expected to snorkel is beyond me, but I’m guessing that you’d make a rather lovely looking mermaid, and of course i’m sure that the fish would be extremely appreciative of such beauty gracing their depths. The waddle to get to the boat would be amusing to say the least. I think Naomi Campbells’ infamous Vivienne Westwood fall in 1993 would pale into insignificance should she or any other super model don the super flipper of doom.

Naomi Campbell fall fail...

Naomi Campbell fall fail…

I for one would certainly like to watch someone try…suitable matched with a snug fitting ‘fishtail’ dress of course, for added effect. Sadistic…moi?

They have a rather apt name of; High Tide, with no doubt a high price to match…If of course they were actually available to be purchased.

Designed by artist/designer Paul Schietekat for an exhibition in 2006 and ideal for the fashionista that wouldn’t be seen dead in a pair of oh so boring (but comfortable and practical) flip flops. In case you are interested I’ve done the research for you, they are available in orange, black, red and a rather luscious aqua blue. Alas no purple. Damn…that’s me scuppered then.

Wot no...purple?!! Pah....

Wot no…purple?!! Pah….

Perhaps someone will have to contact the manufacturer and tell them that there is a diva in Denbighshire on the loose looking for just the item to match her purple fetish and of course wetsuit. Watersports might just be my new new fetish. I have just the thing on the order…😉


Rather fetching dontcha think?

Posted by: purplediva | October 10, 2012

Hair today…gone tomorrow

Wow, this may come as a surprising admission to you from me…I AM NOT PERFECT!

I have hair.  In places that apparently I am not supposed to…oh gawd, so shoot me now.  Today, I have been offended very deeply by someone so close to me that it’s cut me to the quick, although it’s not the first time I have been publicly offended by this revelation by a male of the species in this quite brutal way.  Indeed someone did once dare say to me (after I had stupidly uttered the phrase “I actually have to wax my moustache now”) “why didn’t you do your beard” to which I threw him the kind of look that could have soured milk but I’m sad to say didn’t actually have the required taser stun gun effect I’d been hoping for as his lips continued to move when I replied “I don’t have a bloody beard”…”oh yes you do” kind of spurted venomously from his lips, and had me turning on the spot in a miss piggy kind of fashion but without the swish of  long hair as I hastily exited from the vile character and ventured to look for a mirror and bright sunlight.

I was more than mortified to discover by the bloody magic that is the f’ing magnifying mirror (that came free a few months ago with mascara that I’d craved) that I did indeed have a little bit of a beard.  Well…wisps.  It’s the bloody Manopause OK!!  I’m ‘that’ age now so it comes with the territory.  But that little comment now has me glued to that magnifying mirror for far more minutes than I need to be every damn morning, searching for elusive shoots of hairs and the follicles about to burst through so that I can catch the buggers before eruption onto my podgy, hairy and less than perfect little face.

Shaving my love for you.....

Shaving all my love for you…..

From today that mirror (in fact any bloody mirror) WILL make me paranoid.

My beautiful male friend has today succeeded in making me feel like a lardy English blob.

I’ve been here in Tunisia for a couple of weeks now and prior to arrival was well groomed and almost preened to perfection.  Not bad for a fifty year old, AND I do it all myself (economy and necessity).  I’ve managed to keep up the good work whilst here, and had just bought some cold waxing strips locally so that I could tackle the Yeti that I’m turning into.  I thought I’d start with the face, as it’s a place I’m au fait with and have ‘been’ before with this stuff.

I casually told the beautiful ‘M’ that I was going to attempt this and that maybe he’d like to be hands on in the process? He said “are you going to do all of that hair too”

“err…what hair?”

“the hair down your face”

“I don’t have hair ‘down’ my face!!” I replied now looking quite horrified that I’d not ever noticed I was indeed turning into Yeti woman….

“yes you do…” he gestured to the fine, downy hair which for the past 50 years has graced my rapidly disappearing cheek bones.  No man has ever disliked the way I look because I have very fine, almost invisible hair on my face…its natural…WOMAN!!

Not content with offending me in both comment and manner in which it was delivered, he then followed it up with “all women here get rid of that hair.  Oh and the hair on their arms”

I was about to go and put on a little mascara and lip gloss.  It’s all I actually wear daily on my face when I’m away, but I couldn’t bear to look at my face in the mirror at all…ANY mirror.  Then I realised that I had a tiny little one in my handbag.  I could just see my eye and that’s all.  Perfect.  No chance of Yeti woman or Ewok staring back at me today…. Tomorrows another day.

My plan has always been to start a new life here. Life begins at 50 and all that.

Maybe ‘here’ isn’t for me after all then……

I am not perfect.

Yeti Woman

Yeti or Ewok?

Posted by: purplediva | June 15, 2012

Snow White……


Snow White

Snow White…..

Why, why WHY???  ‘Clean and Dry Intimate Wash’ sounds innocuous enough doesn’t it?  Well, you know me…I like to bring you, edgy, risqué, bizarre, off beat items that I think you should know about.  Well…here’s one that’s going to buck the trend.  I DON’T think you need to know about this.  But it’s not going to stop me from telling you, purely for the ‘euugghh’  and ‘why in Gods name would you want to’ factor!

Many of you might have heard of a little known pastime practiced by some women and as far as I’m aware, not by men (BUT as I’m writing this, I’m thinking, possibly there is a sector to whom this may be appealing….).  Recently highlighted in the chick flick film, Bridesmaids, you could hear a lot of wincing and the tangible signs of pinched faces and even more, clenched bottoms, at the line “ Yes…AND I get my ass bleached too” ….Yes ladies (and men)…ANAL bleaching.

No I haven’t had that done, nor have I EVER harboured any remote desire to…oh my mind just boggles as to why you’d want to? BUT…Clean and Dry Intimate Wash takes this one step further….VAGINAL bleaching!

Clean & Dry Intimate Wash

WHY WHY WHY??? I can’t write this is large enough, bold enough letter to express my angst at my discovery!

I understand that the product has apparently been formulated for the Asian market who find that a less than peachy looking vag rather distasteful.  And if that’s not bad enough, they’ve even decided to highlight the issue and make women feel even more inferior by bringing out a commercial where the poor wife doesn’t warrant a morning look from her handsome husband, until she’s washed herself ‘down there’.  Hey presto…quick shower and suddenly she’s his princess and not poor cinders…

Video commercial link…..HERE!

Surely this will also play into the hands of the hierarchal issue of skin colour within Asian communities, where darker skinned people are ‘encouraged’ to stay out of the sun and to purchase skin whitening products

What’s wrong with your vagina being ‘vagina’ coloured…whatever colour that may be for YOU?

Of course there is the argument ‘what’s wrong with skin lightening…it’s no different to anyone wanting to tan their skin’?  Well no…I guess in essence that It’s not, however, skin tanning is a natural occurrence by the melanin in your skin whereas skin lightening has to be undertaken by using chemicals on your skin sometimes with hideously disastrous effects.

Advertising executives have for a long time used the explanation that they are light reflective, and this one Indian article strangly argues that fair features are ‘easier to see’…hmmm

 So apparently it’s to make your vagina reflect more light…oh I get it now.  Or rather I don’t?  Until they make a formula with a glow in the dark, fluorescent additive, (so that someone may one day find mine it finally closes shop completely) mine will be staying as pure and virginal as snow white.

Don’t give a shit!

Posted by: purplediva | April 13, 2012

Brick etiquette?….

me me F'ing...ME

me me f'ing MEEE.....

I apologise in advance for my colourful tourettes type outbursts that you will find smattered amongst this blog. Blame Bill*.

To coin a phrase; ‘I am spitting feathers’ but today, not only the feathers but the eggs too. Adding insult to the proverbial injury it’s Friday the fecking 13th and I didn’t actually move my lardy arse from my bed until after 12 noon for fear that some superstitious fateful event would befall me. I wish now that I’d kept it there until 12 noon on the 14th and maybe just maybe wouldn’t have been alerted to the diatribe that I now place under said heading, ‘fateful event’.

The words ‘Samantha Brick’ have been hissed from the lips of at least 65% of the women in the UK alone I’d guess (and I think I’m probably being generous in my estimation). Oh how I loathe giving this woman any of my time, but she’s REALLY got under my skin and offended me to the core with her lasted delusional, insensitive and disrespectful endeavour at journalism. She’s no Jan Moir. Her latest attempt to deflect and defend her, ‘I am beautiful and all other women hate me’ campaign, is to credit her wonderful father, Patrick Brick, for bringing up such an arrogant daughter! Yay…go girly! The full article from The Daily Mail can be read here…yes, click HERE! (sometimes I’m actually really quite clever, oh you doubting Thomas’)

When I’m stressed I eat. When I’m stressed by anger, I eat lots. Whilst reading the article by Ms Brick my recent healthy eating regime, that the oh so fabulous lady would be proud of, slipped somewhat and made me more ashamed with every luxurious and

Food for a Goddess

Food for a Goddess?

piggish mouthful that I stuffed greedily into the void of my open gob as my chin fell further open…aghast at her contentious comments. I ate two-thirds of an M & S clotted cream rice pudding, and I hadn’t even got past page one! (I printed the article). Still, it is food for a goddess, and every woman is a goddess, albeit I’m still in training…at least in some departments!

Ms Beautiful Brick is fortunate enough to have the loving support of both a husband (Pascal) and father (Patrick) Ms Dowdy Diva has neither. I am already doomed to failure. Oh and of course I already have a hatred of Ms Brick for her ‘I’m beautiful’ comments of last week. Actually, NO I DON’T. I think it’s quite appropriate for a woman to be confident and empowered enough to stand up and say, ‘I’m happy with the way I look’. What was poor Samantha’s downfall was her arrogance in suggesting that people’s ideal of beauty was her own! I AM beautiful. In my own way, not to everyone and certainly not today. Catch me tomorrow and I might be…but honestly, not at 8am in the morning before my face has had time to ‘settle’ and I haven’t done the necessary lady bits. By 10.30am there’s a chance I MAY have a public face. A chance… But many would pass me by. I’m beautiful by definition of my grandson & my daughters. Who else matters?

Just a thought…I’m surprised that with all the media furore surrounding this story, that not one of the gentlemen that have partaken in the many acts of random kindness/flirtation referred to in the original article, that led Samantha to her conclusion of being overtly beautiful and an object of desire and hate in equal measure, has yet to come forward? How strange……

I’m ready to sink my teeth into something meaty, and would prefer it were a mars bar, direct from the bottom shelf of my fridge. Alas, there hasn’t been any there for weeks (or squishy colins – marks & spencer colin the caterpillar worm sweets that I love and will kill for), so jump in and take issue with several points raised in her latest offending piece of writing (13/4/12):

By her own admission, ever since she came into this world, her father showered her with love and affection, he was the person she instinctively turned to, and although her darling husband Pascal was behind her, it was her father who knew what to say, to make her feel better and always has. He reassured her that the people ‘lambasting’ (she states it was mostly female critics) her were very sad people with very shallow lives. WOW…what a guy! There are a few other choice comments made by loving Patrick, whom I’m have no doubt, having raised five children is a wonderful father, but can’t help be concerned by the thought process of a man who sends a birthday card to one of those five daughters, addressed to ‘my No.1 girl’! If I were one of said siblings, (and I’m the youngest of 8) I can tell you there would be a lynching! Adding insult to the card fiasco, daughter no.1 who asks us early on in the same article ‘Was I the most deluded woman in the world?’ further adds fuel to fan the flames by saying he was probably referring to the fact I was his eldest daughter and I interpreted it as meaning I was No.1 in his life. Jeez girl…no shit! Self centred and deluded from an early age?

When Ms Brick looks in the mirror, she sees a twinkly eyed temptress who grins confidently – standing tall, proud with masses of va va voom. Oh YESSS! Magic mirror tell me today, have all my friends had fun at play….Oh where can ‘I’ get a mirror

Do I look taller in this?

Does this make me look taller?

like that? BUT, She is, in her defence, 10 years younger, 27 stones lighter and about 6 ft taller than I’ll ever be. Occasionally (if I wear my infamous giraffe dress) I catch a glimpse and I think ‘yeah, not bad’ and then the tablets wear off, or I wake up. Oh and of course, she has a loving husband AND father… I am a failure….

The jelly and blancmange had been stuffed, the chairs packed away, and the dozen or so party guests had long departed. I sat on a little wooden chair with a glass of ice-cold milk and a plain chocolate digestive biscuit. It was almost 9pm. A treat for me. The evening of 9th

The Firm...

The 'Firm' (I was a twinkle still!)

October 1972. The day after my 11th birthday and I’d had a bit of a ‘do’ to celebrate at aunt Edna’s house. Edna & Bert were kindly surrogate parents who didn’t have children of their own. My parents were very entrepreneurial, down to earth and hardworking, a legacy that has been bred into all of us without exception. All of my siblings (the closest of which is 8 years older than I) had an Aunt ‘up the road’ that were the unpaid childminders of the day. It was the done thing then. Edna broke the heartbreaking news to me that my father had died that day from a cerebral haemorrhage, aged 56. My mother subsequently, after several failed suicide attempts, had a complete mental breakdown and was taken into a psychiatric hospital for several of my teenage years.

Ms Brick, aided by a US based psychologist Dr Nielsen believes that It is fathers who have the greater influence in shaping their daughters future and that fathers teach women how to successfully communicate with men, speak up for themselves and how to love themselves. If a little girl gets Dads approval, even if she isn’t perfect or beautiful, she’ll go through life believing she’s fine as she is. Dr Nielsen has apparently studied this special bond for 24 years. Well Dr Nielsen & Ms Brick…I have been ALONE for 39 years, and I believe that give me the right to take PERSONAL offence at your generalisation.

I make no apology Ms Brick, for being envious of the relationship that you have with your father on many levels, but does that make me, or any other female (or male) with an absent father, a failure? unequipped to communicate, have self esteem & be confident & empowered? NO…on the contrary…it actually made me more determined to be successful. (At any point, any male friends that know me, please feel free to comment!)

My rage is almost palpable by now, and if my nails weren’t already eaten down to the quick (I know it’s unattractive and I don’t usually do it…It’s HER fault), I’d chew them more at this further stated revelation, girls who grow up without their fathers have sex younger, are more likely to fall pregnant as teenagers and are at higher risk of anorexia. I’m surprised that didn’t include ‘were Jeremy Kyle watching smokers, who research has shown, drinks blue WKD on a Friday evening and reads Heat magazine’ I already tweeted my outrage sometime after I’d had my first couple of vodka shots of the day to loosen up (joke…it was morphine really) and already had a journalist comment ‘As one who manages to live happily and didn’t become a teen mum despite her parents divorce, I’m right behind you!’

I’m sure that statement will fill with joy the hearts of struggling single mothers everywhere. Oh yes. I’ve walked in THOSE shoes too, and am very proud of the achievements of my two very beautiful daughters who also didn’t become sexaholic, anorexic ‘teen’ mums. Some people are capable of inspiring in-spite of adversity.

You have offended many sectors of society with your comments Samantha Brick, but you offend me personally simply as one human being to another. I’m reminded every day that I don’t have a father and very sadly no longer a mother either. I do however, have experience of something more valuable because I don’t have those…compassion for another. I also know the unselfish love of being a mother first and foremost. In MY eyes, that makes me even more of a woman.

Before you commit your words to print. THINK.

PS.Could someone please let me know where to get one of those mirrors?

Something in my eye....

Something in my eye.....

*Bill… As a child we had a mynah bird called Bill that would randomly swear at daily visitors. It did so because it had picked them up from the fluid use of the words that rolled from my father’s tongue in his colourful daily speech. Mother would hide with embarrassment and Dad would laugh raucously! I blame Bill for my sometimes colourful tourettes type outbursts, but I’m far cleaner…so far!

Posted by: purplediva | April 13, 2012

Once upon a time…

A little patience....

A little patience....

‘Once upon a time’… that’s how it’s supposed to begin isn’t it? a book I mean. It’s how they always began as a child. Only I’m not a child, nor am I writing for children but I’ve been ‘writing’ this damn book for almost two years now.  For many of you wonderful people who read my sporadic ramblings (I most heartily apologise) you’ll know that I’ve been attempting what has become something of a Guinness Book of Records type feat for me.  It seems that at every opportunity, some bastard has been out to scupper my plans…but NO…you won’t keep me down, and I will not be silenced. In the best Mastermind tradition “I’ve started, so I’ll finish”

I can’t seem to find the right opening line, but I have the ending!  So, I thought I’d give you a sneaky peek at the last page. (It’s fine…It won’t spoil anything!)

In the meantime, feel free to give me any ideas of what you’d like to see me write about? Anything that you particularly enjoy about my blogs that you’d like more (or less) of? Oh, and if you have an ideal opening line suggestion…send it for my perusal…you never know!


diva |ˈdēvə|


  • an admired, glamorous, or distinguished woman : the former director of the association is still a downtown diva.
  • a haughty, spoiled woman : she’s such a diva that she won’t enter a restaurant until they change the pictures on the walls to her liking.
  • a female singer who has enjoyed great popular success : a chance to create a full-blown pop diva.
  • a famous female opera singer : your average opera isn’t over till the diva trills her high notes.

ORIGIN late 19th cent.: via Italian from Latin, literally ‘goddess.’

Positive Attitude

Today, as I settle into the first half of my 50th year and reflect on my past and the challenges faced to shed the cloak of invisibility, defy gravity and the sagging, attitudes of society, where we subconsciously put the happiness of others first, often to our own detriment, I am propelled forward to dive into the second layer of the box of chocolates of life. I’m ready to take a bite out of each and every succulent flavour, in the full knowledge that some will be hard to swallow with more challenges to face, mountains to climb, attitudes to change and tears to come. But I relish the diversity and variety as a mature woman who has a renewed spirit of optimism, an inner confidence and a sparkle in my eyes.

And especially look forward to the forbidden ones with a whole new outlook, sassiness and of course… sexiness……

 pouting child

Letter to me age 12 From ‘Me’ age 49 and a bit:

Dear Louise,  (Diva, Purple Diva, Daisy May, Rachel, Felicity, The Chocolate Queen, Toots, Mummy, whoever you are glorious girl)

You don’t know it yet, but through your life you will be known by all of those names by the many different people who may grow to love you. No matter what they call you, always be yourself. YOU are unique.  Don’t let anyone tell you anything else.

You really can’t, please all the people all of time, so don’t continually try to (especially your mother).  Some people will like you, some won’t. Sometimes you’ll ‘fit’ and sometimes you don’t.  Move on, but keep smiling.

Your mother lied to you when she said you weren’t a nice person.  She was cruel with her words and never meant them to cut so deep.  Forgiveness is a wonderful thing, don’t ever lose that ability, it will stay with you long after you may lose other attributes through life’s lessons learned.

Your heart will be broken and you will cry more tears than you thought possible.  It’s life lovely girl, it’s not ‘you’ (oh and don’t fall for the line by the guy who say’s “I could listen to you talk all night” Aged 33, you’re in for a BIG shock….he doesn’t want to listen!)

Trust your intuition.  You have great intuition about everything.  Just believe in yourself, but wear a watch. You’re really crap at timekeeping. Time waits for no man, or woman. Not even you.

You have a beautiful heart and a beautiful smile. Use them to your advantage.  God gave you them for a reason.

Do EVERYTHING exciting you ever get the chance to do, before some bastard or your body tells you that you can’t do it. It’s better to regret something you’ve done, than something you’ve not done.  No regrets, just lessons learned.

Try not to be so impetuous. Maturity will teach you patience and temperance…The hare & the tortoise.  Whilst talking of animals, stay away from penguins.  Always.

Listen. To your elders, your relatives and people you love. Small incidentals will become large blanks and those details will long be gone should those people suddenly no longer be around to fill in the voids. We have two ears and one mouth so that we listen twice as much as we speak.  Wise words. Listen to your heart. And your conscience.

Don’t be fooled. The grass really isn’t greener on the other side of the field.  It’s just another shade of green, with a ray of sunshine momentarily highlighting it.

Don’t wear ‘nice comfortable shoes’ your feet and legs will suffer anyway.  Go for the FM boots and 5 inch heeled Louboutins.  Comfortable shoes won’t make you memorable nor will you be able to ‘wiggle’.

Always check yourself from the back before leaving the house or a public toilet, you’re bum will always look big no matter what. When you’re 28 you’ll thank me.

Lower your voice a little, and slow you speech slightly.  Just trust me.

With much love and affection, a much wiser


p.s  Don’t EVER diet. It will seriously fuck up your body.  Oh, and don’t swear.  It’s not Ladylike and you really are a Lady,  albeit in waiting.

‘Time Tested Beauty Tips’

For attractive lips, speak words of kindness.

For lovely eyes, seek out the good in people.

For a slim figure, share your food with the hungry.

For beautiful hair, let a child run his or her fingers through it once a day.

For poise, walk with the knowledge you’ll never walk alone.

 People, even more than things, have to be restored, renewed, revived, reclaimed, and redeemed;

Never throw out anybody.

Remember, If you ever need a helping hand, you’ll find one at the end of your arm.

As you grow older, you will discover that you have two hands, one for helping yourself, the other for helping others.

 The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman must be seen from in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.

 The beauty of a woman is not in a facial mole, but true beauty in a woman is reflected in her soul. It is the caring that she lovingly gives, the passion that she shows, and the beauty of a woman with passing years only grows!

 Sam Levenson

(Contrary to what has been written many times, Audrey Hepburn did not write this wonderful poem, Sam Levenson did.  Apparently written for his grandchild, but coincidentally happened to be one of Audrey’s favorite poems.)

Posted by: purplediva | March 8, 2012

La Dolce Vita….

La Diva cooks with passion.

Cooking with Passion...

Living alone as I do, the anticipation of ANYTHING being delivered to me, fills me with excitement.  The postman is always greeted with eagerness and a smile, especially when stood there with something requiring a signature.  Usually a sign that someone has taken the time to think of me.  (Or some bastard is asking for money and is making sure I receive the demand)

Being the twitter aficionado that I like to think I am (@thepurplediva) It started quite naively and cheekily with a flirty little tweet; ‘how would you like to send me some of your wares for me to get my lips around in exchange for a review?’ To be perfectly honest, I didn’t actually expect to get a response, least of all a favorable one…and certainly not offering me goodies!  And for me the bonus was, all the way from wonderful Italy from this delightful fledgling company; italialicious.

After a few ‘tweets’ between the divine Giorgio and myself, whom I had decided in my mind was so damn gorgeous that he had to be totally fictitious and was put there purely for my racing imagination (which was now galloping on overdrive dreaming of Italy, stallions, Ferraris…sunblush tomatoes, pesto, pasta and absolutely anything red and dripping in oil) he had decided to send me a ‘gift box’ suitably wicked for me….wicked with chocolate.  Oh be still my beating heart……

Now all I had to do was to use my feminine, womanly charms to persuade him/them to hand deliver by a hunk in trunks.  Although to be perfectly honest, at this moment in time I’m not too fussed as to what his attire is.  He could be dressed head to toe in a penguin outfit (and yes I mean a full penguin and not a euphemism for a tuxedo) and I’d welcome him at my door!  Especially brandishing a box of beautifully presented Italian goodies.  After all, presentation is EVERYTHING isn’t it…..???

Anticipation mounted as I eagerly awaited the arrival; after all, this was going to be a huge first for me on two counts.  The first time that I was having something delivered in a plain brown box that didn’t actually come with accompanying obligatory batteries.  Somewhat novel in itself…

I wasn’t sure whether I’d heard the doorbell ring above the noise of the rush of water, so hastily wrapped my dripping wet, podgy little body into a towel, typically having just stepped out of the shower at lunchtime.  As always…timing is EVERYTHING.  And if you know me, timing is really NOT my forte, so this once again comes as no surprise….

I’d remained ever hopeful that the consignment was still going to be hand delivered by a swarthy, handsome, latino italian hunk. Raoul Bova esq was running through my head….Italian Hunk

Opening the door, my anticipation and excitement soon dissolved as there was no Italian hunk in short trunks as my imagination had led me to believe, but a rather stocky and sheepish looking UPS delivery man, ready to make a very rapid exit…especially when he saw me stood there looking less than 007 Bond  girl like sexy in my towel, more like 008 – one half of the bingo ‘two fat ladies!.

This large drab brown box was oh so thrilling.  Like a little child opening a present sent from a long lost Aunt (No, not from darkest Peru…don’t lets get carried away).  I had no idea of the contents, and I hadn’t ordered it!  My little face beamed (this is a rare occurrence…and yes there WAS a full moon that week too)  But once inside the uninspiring exterior, the most beautiful green and red, unmistakably Italian box, lit up my face even more. Box of seduction

It was absolutely exquisite.  The quality and attention to detail unsurpassable.  Even down to the thank you note and the miniature butterfly peg holding it in place.  I don’t know how Giorgio ‘knew’ but he had ME and my likes down to a tee.

Delicacy for the mind

Delicacy for the mind

And then to the contents…

My ‘Dessert Box’ contained;

  • Hazelnut & dark chocolate cream
  • Dark chocolate hazelnut balls
  • Chocolate & Pear Biscotti

The hazelnut balls I had intended to keep for ‘others’…as a nice little accompaniment to a rather neat little luscious espresso.  However, you know what thought did.  My fat little fingers found themselves diving into the sweet little box every time I opened the cupboard, and with each mouthful I devoured, moaned and groaned my way through sucking & munching as if Meg Ryan acting out the scene from ‘When Harry met Sally’ (and no, not her Silence of the Lamb rendition on Parkinson)  So yes, they met with a 5* approval from me, and sadly no-one else can concur as no one got their little mitts on them.  Mine mine mine…ALL MINE

Delight for the senses

Chocolate & Pear Biscotti do NOT dunk in tea. Why I thought they would I have no idea, however, not to be outwitted, I came up with a very cunning plan for both of the other little beauties, and oh my God….I’m in HEAVEN.


Top Tip from the kitchen of La Diva (read it and weep Nigella & Delia….)

Warm the biscotti in an oven for about 5 minutes (gas mark 4) (my oven is stroppy & temperamental like me so you really are only warming not toasting…CHECK)

Mix 2 large dollops (this is a diva measurement) of the hazelnut/chocolate fondant  with 1 large dollop of mascarpone.

Sandwich between the biscotti and sprinkle with a cappuccino shaker/cocoa mix & serve with fresh raspberries.

Relax on sofa with feet up, glass of chilled dessert wine of choice – Marsala or Vin Santo of course (or espresso if it’s only 10am!)

Scoff quickly before anyone sees & lick all spoons and implements so that washing up is kept to a minimum.

HUGE thank you to italialicious for providing me with the most amount of pleasure I’ve had in weeks.  I’m pretty damn hard to please (as Waitrose found out this week!) and really do say what I feel.   I do have one gripe about the product;  lack of delivery ‘hunk’ but I’m sure I’ll work around that given time!

ITALIALICIOUS  Think – Click – Enjoy

Top quality Italian food and wines delivered in luxury handcrafted boxes.

Select a box, choose the products, customize it with your message and ship it wherever you want in the World.  All within 72 hours from the moment your order is placed.

Starting from just 29 Euros (paypal accepted too) and with special offers regularly being promoted, they’re a fabulous alternative to a bouquet of flowers that are dead within days, AND shows you’ve thought outside the box buying something IN a box!

Go on….you KNOW you’re dying to try my recipe😉

Treat yourself to a taste of Italy

Posted by: purplediva | March 8, 2012

Puff the magic……

Tough times

Puff and as if by magic…I’m back!

Oh yes I know “we’ve heard it all before” but I really am back from the abyss.  Well not so much the abyss but the self-imposed confines of my four walls.  For those of you that know me very well, I don’t have to explain, and for those of you that don’t…sorry, but you’ll have to take my word for it that it’s really best for your own well-being that I really DON’T explain!  (And even if I did, you’d honestly think I was making it all up anyway!)

One day…maybe one day

So, I’m back, and beyond fabulous now.

Absolutely Fabulous...

Finally had my fat bottom kicked from many angles and I’ve seen the light and error of my ways.  I’m a lazy cow.  Hence, I’m putting pen to paper, rather fingers to keyboard and getting on with it, sooner than my favourite pastime (that I’m quite prolific at now) Procrastination.

Indulgent Procrastination

Normal service has now been resumed…(oh don’t be so doubting!)


Posted by: purplediva | August 3, 2011


come fly with me......

I never envisaged it would start like this.  My year of being brave……

The text was very short, only a few words; ‘it was a pleasure’ Oh really?.  It wasn’t feeling so pleasurable to me at this moment.  It felt wrong, very wrong, but was equally so very right.  How contradictory.  Story of my life.  So far.

‘R’ my ex had dropped me off at the airport, and I had thanked him by text.  Too painful to pick up the phone and actually speak.  I’d been acutely aware that I was leaving as ‘Mrs’ but would be returning as persona non grata……’Ms’   The ‘R’ had left my life not only in title.

So here I am now sitting in row 4, seat c, an aisle seat, due to my propensity to need a toilet with increased frequency when I’m either on a flight or fearful that one may not actually be in the vicinity!  I’m on a flight to ‘Shagalluf’ or Megamuff as I’ve heard it not so affectionately called, fairly recently.  My rationale in taking this flight to a place I’ve only ever properly been to once before (and have to say was rather unceremoniously thrown out of a bar, at aged 35 and for the most serious crime of laughing…. oh yes, that too is a crime in the oh so politically correct Magalluf) is that I am on the run…..

On the run from the dreaded ‘D’ word.  D I V O R C E

Finally after only a few short months, and at the insistence of  ‘R’, the absolute has become final and surprisingly for me under the past circumstances, simply cannot bear to be ‘home’ for the finale.  So have cowardly made my escape for a few days of sunshine. Magalluf simply can’t wait the arrival of La Diva……

Okay, AKA Mrs Grumpy from Ampthill as I’m sure to become known over the next few years.

Having been to this quite lovely hotel only a couple of weeks previously, I knew what experience I was letting myself in for, and was quite happy to contemplate going alone for a few days.  Yes, I know I said I’d only been once before, but I did say once properly.  By that I meant for a period exceeding 72 hours in which there was some semblance of normality.   This is about how long I endured the flamboyant and erratic charms of Truly Unruly and Hairy Fairy in Magalluf 12 days previously.  73 hours would have pushed my endurance training to the limit….indeed, the musical interlude and dulcet tones of Max Bygraves blaring out on the journey home from the airport in the car, was almost welcome relief.  Well, until the happy pair joined in.  I am neither a pink toothbrush…nor blue toothbrush.  Thank God my toothbrush just buzz’s!

There are always ‘incidents’ whilst with the happy twosome, and in those 3 days they were going to pack as many in as possible.  It started even before we arrived at the airport for our imminent departure.

The pair of them had decided to have spray tans.  Now I must tell you that they have a combined age of circa 135, and they’re feisty, game, birds.  However, I wasn’t quite prepared for the sight that was presented to me.  The ‘dark tan’ option was chosen.  Suffice to say that on arrival at check in, with me in the middle, we could’ve passed as an Oreo cookie.  And that was whilst they were fully clothed!  On arrival at the hotel and subsequently undressed, I discovered that THIS time they had at least remembered to lift up their breasts whilst being sprayed……………

On the subject of the hotel, well, Truly had booked and paid for this little jaunt as a ‘treat’ for us. For this I’m very grateful to her, for her wonderful gesture.   A taxi had been booked from the airport to the hotel, only to find out it wasn’t actually a taxi at all, but a shuttle bus with 17,000 other holidaymakers to Megamuff for the weekend.  Along with ‘Rodders 2011’ stag party, in fluorescent yellow specially designed T shirts.  Del Boy was nowhere to be seen.  Probably at home counting his money from sale of said T shirts.   An executive decision is taken to take a ‘proper’ taxi, at extortionate cost of €34, because at this rate we’ll arrive at the hotel at 11am the following morning and miss both dinner and possibly breakfast…

The taxi took us on a beautiful journey, very scenic.  We didn’t require scenic, we wanted quick and cheap to Cala Vinas.  It cost €50 not the original €34! Bastard.   We troop down into hotel, rather peeved at being shafted, but took it on the chin.  Truly checks in, only to be told by surly Spanish receptionist that they don’t have a booking for us!  See steam appear from ears of Truly….. “but we need dinner, surely we’re not late for dinner?” she enquired rather forcefully.  “But madam, we have no reservation for you.  Can I see your ticket?”  Fumbling in her copious handbag, and mumbling incoherently under her breath, whilst Hairy and I are doubled over with laughter at the impending predicament, that’s actually not funny in reality, Truly finds what she’s after and hands surly Spanish woman the paper. ….

“Sorry madam, but you’re in the wrong hotel”

“What the f*@&k , are you sure?”

“Yes madam,  This is the Sentido Cala Vinas.  You need the Barceló Cala Vinas….it’s the other side of the bay”


We all looked at each other and then Hairy and I laughed raucously as we watched Truly’s voluptuous curves wiggle their way back out of the hotel in disgust!

We’re now in need of yet another taxi to take us to the other side of the bay!  And this was just the start of 72 hours of mayhem, room changes,  Truly mooning her ample arse to the whole audience assembled around the pool, and an incident at the airport on our return that’ll have the Spanish postal service bemused for many years……

And so, after the 3 witches of Eastwick episode, this private little jaunt, ALONE, was very much-needed.  Recuperating from several ailments, the last of which was a very painful and humiliating public display of shingles (developing nicely whilst on holiday with Truly & Hairy).  Not the nice conventional shingles, but an incredibly painful and awkward version….on my face.  Grotesquely affecting my right eye, cheek, scalp, ear and neck. I nicknamed myself Quasimodo for the duration.  I had the looks, and most certainly had the hump.  I was housebound for 10 days.  I’d read tales of permanent paralysis to the affected side of the face, and of course, with my previous medical history and now, paranoia and hypochondria, it was of course going to affect me in the most terrible way possible.  It didn’t.  Lesson no.1 – Do NOT GOOGLE ailments! (I’d have liked to upload a picture at this point, but you’d never revisit if I did….)

Prior to departure, I’d written on my hotel request that I was disabled, and as such required a room relatively close to amenities, and away from the ‘animation’ stage.  Having frequented this particular establishment only a couple of weeks before, I kind of knew where I’d like to have been….or should I say where I wouldn’t want to have been.  I thought I had all bases covered.  Oh how wrong can you be!

Room one.  Couldn’t possibly have been any further away from ‘amenities’ (restaurant/pool/bar) if they’d tried.  I think it might have actually had another postcode, and was almost certainly in the hotel next door.  I took a little look into the room, especially after it had taken me 15 minutes to walk there, and a little voice in my head was saying err…..NO.  Only this voice wasn’t so little, but loud and sarcastic, in a kind of “computer says no” kind of voice.  My computer was saying no, with a ctrl, alt & dlt!.  I now had to attempt the 15 minute walk of death back to face the wrath of the ice maidens at reception.


What is it with Spanish women?  Why do they have this superior look about them when dealing with anyone English.  Or maybe it’s just that I don’t understand any of the other languages that they’re also being condescending in?    Anyway…..

Arrived back at huge, impersonal reception desk and the look on Benita’s face, with the rising of one of her eyebrows said enough, before her lips moved ‘oh dear god, grumpy woman is back…lets’ make her day’.   I attempted to smile sweetly when she said “Is there problem?” I replied, “I’m sorry to say but yes.  Unfortunately it’s just too far for me to walk several times a day and you had actually been notified of my problem”  “oh signora, we have no notice of this”.   So I produced a perfect copy of my booking receipt on that wondrous invention, the iPhone, oh those fabulous people at Apple, I LOVE you!   Signora Benita doesn’t hold the same opinion though, I doubt.

I’m duly allocated a second room after much remonstrating from ‘Benita’ that the hotel is full and allocated.  Oh, this room “has a view” and it’s only slightly obscured by a wall, she excitedly tells me……. The first room had a ‘view’.  Directly over the children’s play area.  Okay, so it’s a view and it’s certainly not going to be busy in the evenings, but it’s not the kind of view I was expecting as a single, soon to be divorced, disabled female, holidaying alone for the first time.

Arriving at this second room I notice that the curtains are drawn.  It’s almost 5pm but I think its safe to draw them back.  I’m hardly going to be blinded by the dazzling beauty of the scenery (I’ve been here before!)  But I really wasn’t quite ready for what I saw.  Nothing.  Well nothing other than a sheer rock face!  I kid you not, a sheer rock face  within touching distance of my hand.  You couldn’t even tell what time of day it was as there was barely any daylight visibly coming into the room. Benita’s words were ringing around my head ‘slightly obscured by a wall’ !!!

Room with a ‘view’…..

If there was a competition for ‘the’ worst hotel view, I’m sure that barring a view over the bins of some seedy place in Bangkok, or overlooking a known alley of drug dealers in Vancouver,  this was really going to take some beating!  I decided to stay for the night, but I was a force to be reckoned with, and I reckoned that by morning my force was going to be about a force 9 gale.

Gale swept to reception (well limped quite pathetically, and in considerable pain) later that same evening, fuelled by morphine, diazepam and anger.  Any two of those are a dangerous combination, but the three are pretty lethal.  I ‘politely’ told them to move me in the morning or I’d unleash the hounds.  Whatever I said  had them quaking in their little booties, and in the morning had 2 Senors to attend to my whims and move me to my third and FINAL room….oh yesssssssssss.  With a rather lovely view of the beach, a little stream, and away from the bloody animation stage that raved till early hours of the morning, at last it look liked I might be able to enjoy my few days.  Oh I’m going to be that cantankerous old woman that wears purple……

I kidded myself that I’d eat healthily whilst on this little break.  The ‘new’ me.  So far I have already stashed 4 packets of Haribo squidgy sweets, a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, and a bottle of Prosecco, and I’m only on day two.  Oh, and I forgot the Cadburys buttons that I got for half price on the flight on the way out .Yes they were the giant ones…in a giant pack too. I’m feeling ashamed as I write this.  Well, I simply had to didn’t I.  You just never know when you get that ‘munchie’ feeling for Chocolate in the early hours of the morning.  Bloody morphine keeps me awake.

It’s a very beautiful morning and I’m sat on the beach overlooking the beautiful bay of Cala Vinas, two of the most beautiful and perfect little tanned bodies, appear. Women by the way….selling their wares, fashion, not their bodies!.

perfect bum & budgie smuggler!

I’m sure they did a roaring trade, but can’t help thinking that they’d probably have sold a lot more if they’d had some fat bird like me limping around with a stick, showing what these articles look like on REAL women.  One of the ‘Leather Ladies’ succumbed to their charms and spent a hefty €35 on a little dress that was little more than €15 in town….tut tut….

The Leather Ladies were a group of 4 very sweet, mature and very affluent ladies, who didn’t give a damn.  I think they holidayed in Verbier in winter, St Moritz in Summer, had weekends in Monaco and wintered in the Caribbean.  Their skin had seen a LOT of sun and not a lot of UVA protection.  There is no amount of moisturiser that their very deep purses could have bought that could have rescued the damage.  But they were happy in oblivion….and wrinkly leather clad bodies……

I should not have been so harsh about the prices Ms perfect bum was charging….  the strap on my swimming costume ‘pinged’ off as I was getting up to get a better view of a man in bright blue budgie smugglers (well, they’re entertainment!). Either it was a shoddy buy from a shop where I thought I’d had a bargain, or my bosoms are getting larger.  Probably more to do with the amount of warm pastries that I ate at breakfast today.

Tomorrow is actually ‘D’ Day (25th May 2011).  The day of the dreaded finality. I’m planning to sit on my balcony when I have the email come through, and toast to life, and the future.  In reality I’ll be in pieces.  A funny twist of fate….be careful what you wish for……

My quest  had been to go in search of something. In a finding myself kind of way.  We’re not talking ‘Eat, Pray, Love here, my style is more Eat, Shop, Sleep!  I, however,  had neither the time, inclination nor money.  If I had, I’d have been off around the World in a heartbeat.  Although going it alone and having a gammy leg has proven to be more of a hindrance than I thought it would be.  Just the simple things…..

That evening I dared to venture alone into the abyss that is Magalluf.  I’d gone on the pretence of buying a bottle of Champagne with which to celebrate in ‘style’ on my balcony.  Alone.  In reality I’d gone to get away from all the loved up couples, and families with screaming kids at dinner.  I was the only one alone and all eyes looked at me….the freak who dared to venture out alone after hours of darkness.  Maybe I should consider getting a couple of my teeth sharpened?

I thought I’d covered most eventualities when I packed my suitcase.  In fact I almost applauded how for the first time in the history of my travels, I’d managed to pack almost a weeks worth of clothing into the allowance of a doll, with a postage stamp sized carry on suitcase.  This is okay if you’re a size 8 but when you have a fat arse, EVERYTHING is twice the size.

After a €5 taxi ride into the town, It became crystal clear that I was missing a vital item of clothing.  A pink sequin cowboy hat.  I’ve never owned one, never want to, and never intend to. But I looked like an alien had landed in the centre of Magalluf without one  (no I didn’t find one, steal one, or even try one on….just in case you were wondering!)  It seemed that almost every woman that is out  after the hour of 8pm has a hat of some sort donned onto her head, and a glass with an array of straws, umbrellas and plastic animals sticking out of them.  God knows what concoction has actually gone into the drink itself.  I dared to ask about one rather vile chocolate looking potion, and after being told the fourth ingredient, found myself zoning out and feeling quite sick at the mere thought.  The victim was already in happy oblivion and I wondered how her liver was bearing up to the onslaught of the innocent looking liquid?  Mind you, by the morning, my guess is that not too much of it would still actually be in her system, given her slurred speech and inability to stand still.  It wouldn’t have been quite so noticeable had there been music, but at 4.00am MrMusak had long gone to beddy byes….even here in Magalluf.  Yes, 4.00 am……That bottle of champagne took some hunting down….😉

Today is ‘D’ Day.  Tis tough and even though I’m in a beautiful location, the sun is shining, and I have a future.  I can’t help the tears. I never wanted this.  I never wanted a divorce and I feel crushed by it.  I don’t drink the champagne. I don’t feel like ‘celebrating’.

I think they’ve rumbled that someone has been eating all of the pastries at breakfast.  I’m not sure what they’ve put on them but if I don’t have a bad stomach later, I’m going to be VERY surprised.  The little light sprinkling of icing sugar appears like some kitchen hand has a grudge and has possibly decided to sprinkle washing powder over everything.  No kidding.  Everything you eat has this most peculiar taste.  A kind of cross between sherbet and washing powder.  My dib dabs never tasted like this!  I had to opt for a ‘proper’ breakfast.  Eggs and bacon.  Only the bacon was actually fried ham, so I was grumpy again.  I wonder if someone will nominate me for grumpy woman of the year?

Ms Grumpy…

On my return, I’d intended in hopping on the train from the airport, but ‘R’ had very kindly offered to collect me. Strange considering our new relationship status.  I wasn’t sure how I’d feel around him.  It was all very pleasant and amicable, ‘adult’. Reality really sunk in and hit me over the head with a hammer when I asked how he’d felt on ‘D’ day.   His emotionless reply left me cold and deeply saddened, after 13 years………”I felt nothing, it was just another day”

Onwards and upwards with knowledge, understanding and a smile…….

(And then there is Crete……..oh yes!)

Posted by: purplediva | August 2, 2011


It’s never too late. Never too late to start over, never too late to be happy………

Jane Fonda

Prancing around naked, and giving an obligatory little jiggle as I passed the mirror whilst taking my necklace off, I’d had no concept or sign as to what was about to happen as I heard the creak of the landing floorboards buckling, signalling footsteps approaching. Ordinarily I’d pass it off as ‘him’ our friendly uninvited mysterious houseguest, whom I affectionately nicknamed George (but not for any reason other than I like it) who had a penchant for late night visits across the landing, or inhabiting the small upstairs office, (the dimensions of this office made it more of a cupboard, but in Estate Agent speech, it was an office!) much to the distress of my daughters when they were living at home.

But these were real footsteps. Thunderous angry footsteps. The footsteps of someone who meant business…….

The door flung open and startled me in its ferocity. He stood there, face red with rage and his normally full lips, now somewhat visibly thinner with pent-up anger. “How long have you been having sex?” he bellowed at me “I beg your pardon?” was my retort, closely followed by “I have no idea what you’re talking about” and at that point, I genuinely didn’t.

My alleged crime was to have been caught ‘en flagrant’ on the sofa….OUR sofa, in OUR house, with another man. Yes, I hold my hands up in shame at this revelation. I am responsible and I was in what could be described as a romantic clinch with another man. But, what I wasn’t doing was ‘having sex’. It was little more than the inappropriate, indiscreet fumblings of two fully clothed teenagers (who should have known better). But my guilt and ultimate fate was indeed truly sealed as ‘we’ had been rumbled.

The benefit of hindsight is a wonderful thing, so it’s said, and without any shadow of a doubt was incredibly improper and wrong to have done such deeds at all, let alone whilst he was asleep in the same house.

I/we were set up, but I didn’t yet know it nor comprehend the enormity of the situation….or the impending avalanche that would ensue from a childish snowball……

However, my fate was duly sealed and so begin my 50th year, alone. From anonymity to being brave.


Posted by: purplediva | July 27, 2011


Domestically Disabled

It’s 3:00 am I’m naked and I’m plotting.  This is not usually a good sign.  The ‘3:00am’ part of the information is the most worrying, because I constantly plot, and am often naked (aided usually by alcohol somewhere) but rarely carry out my missions.  The fact that it’s had me awake at such a god-awful hour is reason enough to be anxious.

It’s the bloody morphine again.  A necessary evil due to immense pain in my legs and now my arms.  A pain enhanced, especially after a ‘eureka’ moment at about 6pm last night.  I decided that I didn’t like the orientation of my bed, and that it would be far better, turned 90 degrees so that I was facing one of my windows.  Of course, the simplest thing would have been to use one of the 3 or 4 tape measures that I have to check that my large brass bed would indeed move into said new position before actually attempting the manoeuvre on my own, unaided.   I decided against a tape measure, because of course, the precision sight of my own eye/brain was going to be far more accurate than the markings on some mere metal measuring device.

After over an hour of painstakingly moving literally everything from my bedroom, with the exception of the bed frame and ceiling rose, I was, excitedly, ready to move my bed into its new place.

I spun it round on the floor, and it was, just too tight to go all the way around.  I then had the bright idea to stand it up on end.  I attempted this too.  The balls of the headboard almost landed in my loft at one point, when the momentum of the weight proved too much for little ol me, oh and I was in danger of breaking my nails….perish the thought!  Feeling frustrated that the bloody thing wouldn’t fit that way either, I put the frame back down, sat on it and looked at both the black marks now gracing my ceiling, and my options, which by now are rather slim….to nil!

Not to be outwitted, my first original manoeuvre I felt had a little more ‘give’ so thought I should try it again.  This time I decided in my wisdom, to lift the bed just over the skirting board.  This may give it the necessary extra room needed.   Upon hearing a loud crack, (one of the legs disappearing through my wall!)


I realised that my precision eye/brain coordination may actually not be as precise as it has been in the past, and that possibly, my ‘eureka’ moment, wasn’t as great as I thought it was, as I was now pondering replacing everything back into their original positions.

I called the long-suffering ‘R’….yes, my ex.  If anyone knew how to do it, he would.  He didn’t.  His advice was priceless “Maybe you should’ve used a tape measure?”  Oh how I larfed!


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