Dear Sophisticated Ladies
I write to you a little under par; I have succumbed to bronchitis unfortunately. I have always been a martyr to my chest; a physical weakness both externally and internally. Support has too frequently been required and until recently on a scale not available on the high street.
I am confident that I am not alone in having my childhood scarred by an adult size bust that appeared over night! I remember my first bra, a birthday present as I recall, embellished with a blue butterfly and purchased from Littlewoods. Nasty sharp nylon edges that cut into my childish frame but an absolute necessity to start supporting early to avoid catastrophic collapse in later life – about now I guess!
I was familiar with the Girl Guide Commissioner and her impressive bosom on a scale that would challenge an accomplish bridge builder. We all knew we didn’t want to end up looking like that although there was something comforting snuggling into ones Grandmothers. The curious conflict between the bosom as a nurturing/comforting concept rubbing against the highly erotised Ann Summers version. Confusing n’est pas?
Such was the enthusiasm with which my frontage expanded I had to be taken to the Shambles – the Chesterfield equivalent of Las Ramblas in Barcelona or the streets around York Minster. Amongst the tiny shops, that still exist, was the Bra Lady. An emporium of lingerie; all beautiful and terribly tasteful. The Proprietor always had a tape measure slung around her neck and believe me she knew how to use it!
And so my larger lady career began and it was a couple of decades before one could buy suitable bras on the high street. The prices are still eye watering now so heaven knows what they were back then. Couple that with the special shoes I wore to compensation for fallen arches, flat feet to you and I, and I was one expensive child!
As I got older I became plagued with annual chest infections, with the odd spate of pleurisy and bronchitis thrown in. I asked the (young) doctor this week what a chest infection meant after he has listened to my chest declaring it clear. How could it be clear when I had a cough like Muttly and did a nice line in heavy breathing! Apparently a chest infection is a catch all term for all chest complaints.
Now I hadn’t thought the visit to the doctors through when getting dressed in the morning. I was just pleased to get an appointment and prepared for the rest of the day. It was cold so I dressed accordingly; with layers and more layers. Including a body suit with poppers between the legs – great for holding tights up I find.
So when the doctor wanted to listen to my chest I had to distract him with a random question allowing time to unpop myself. My manual dexterity isn’t great so the additional time wasn’t too unusual. I briefly toyed with providing him with an explanation but quickly decided against it. Something’s don’t need to be said.
What is it about doctor’s, ones that in another situation you might pause a moment with, that you might be a little more interested having a longer conversation than the consultation allows for? Hmm one of life’s unanswered questions.
Of course after the prescription, for five days of generic antibiotics, had been printed I could hardly fasten myself back up discreetly could I. So back in the car I perform the operation in the driver’s seat. Fortunately I was wearing a skirt but I still looked like I was ferreting between my legs for something lost a long time ago!
This week the lady who comes to help me with the house was full of a show she had been to the night before. A psychic who apparently is very popular as she is good. I had chapter and verse on the evening. I just listened as I confess to being sceptic where such matters are concerned. I wouldn’t knock other people who do find something in it – it’s just not for me.
During the conversation and when she was upstairs I kept hearing an electronic voice. She has an iPhone with numerous applications downloaded on it so I assumed it was a text message alert. When I asked she told me it was something that searched for psychic activity, when it finds something a word appears relating to the strength/nature of the information!
I went to the launch of Cardiff’s bid for WOMEX this week and saw a whole load of people I have been meaning to contact which was awfully convenient. So many birds were killed metaphorically of course – most of all Catrin Finch, the fabulous contemporary Welsh harpist, has agreed to be our guest at a Victorious Endeavours Salon – hopefully in May.
The launch event was graced with three Ministers from the Cabinet including the First Minister along with the Leader of Cardiff County Council. The barrage of grey serge will surely impress the judges but I rather think the passionate contribution of Catrin Finch and her band along with Calon, the young Welsh folk band might swing it for Wales.
The female members of Calon wore silver shiny sheath like dresses which they both did justice to. One played the accordion and at one point put it down and came to the front of the stage. She is an accomplish clog dancer. The person I was standing with and I both crossed our fingers hoping the dress had sufficient support for the leaps she was performing. One never wishes unplanned revelations on a fellow female traveller; society can be horribly cruel and scarring at such a young age can have long lasting consequences!
On account of my physical frailty, five days of antibiotics haven’t touched my affliction needless to say; the missive this week is a little shorter. Please forgive me ladies. I still have a few places available for the Salon on 28 February should you find a window in your diary ~ I would love to see you and wax lyrical on literary matters.
In sophistication and a little breathless