Easy Sundays

 

Hope you’re having a jolly old Sunday morning! My Sunday morning’s in England are far better than the ones I used to have in LA. Yeah, they looked better because I was in good lighting, due to the blistering sun. πŸ™‚ Oh…and there was usually a gathering of hot Hollywood boys, gays and girls surrounding me. Yet one fine Sunday morning in the good old City of Angels. my friends and I had all gone out, yet managed to get separated and mainly because I was out with a group of guy friends. When chicks hang out with chicks, there’s sort of this girl code that you all must try and stick together and refrain from leaving anyone behind, in case the big, bad, drunken wolf gets you and tries to sleep with you after a shower of ‘ruffies.’ Β Boys…just do their own thing. They all chase girls and once they’ve been given the ‘green light,’ seem to disperse into a dark disco corner…never to return. (I find it funny that it’s the ‘green light’ that gents need, yet it’s the ‘red light’ that is associated with horny, Thailand or Amsterdam.)

Anyway, we had all gone out and ended up in different places. ALL in hotels funnily enough, all in our ‘Young Hollywood’ 20’s, all fit and all super hungover. SUPER DOOPER HUNGOVER! It was around 8 am and we all apparently wanted to leave our temporary destinations. (IN LA YOU LEAVE EARLY.) We all had a mutual, older, acting agent friend who sort of mentored us through life and well…drank with us. πŸ™‚ He was gay, honest, maybe a bit alone, but open minded and adored us like we where his young dysfunctional children. He was ‘Pacy’ from Dawson Creek’s agent. (Sorry Josh. πŸ™‚ )

8.15am, LA time had dawned upon my Blackberry, I’d had enough, pulled myself together and with a ‘scroll-click’ summoned the acting agent to pick up his phone. HE DID. I knew he would. He was always really reliable when it came to me…mainly because I was a glamour puss and well gays love a glamour puss. All I said, in a rough, croaky, drag queeny, morning voice was ‘COME GET ME NOW. LORD KNOWS WHO THESE PEOPLE ARE. I’M AT THE STANDARD.’ I hung up and weirdly he called me straight back. He was outside the hotel already because he had JUST picked up ALL THE OTHERS, all from alternate destinations along Sunset (which is the Blvd in case you didn’t know) and as I ‘scurry-tottered-sunglassed’ my way out the elevator, through the poshy lobby and out onto the sunny, Sunday morning LA blvd, into a rather packed car.

He just looked at me with a smile and said, ‘You were my fourth call this morning and each and every one of you simple grunted COME GET ME FUCKING NOW, down the cell phone.’ We all ended up going straight to The Abbey in West Hollywood for afternoon cocktails. I had freshened up anyhow, so why not chill on a cabana with a Malibu and pineapple.

Sunday morning’s aren’t like that anymore…THANK GOD. I mean I love Hollywood and I love being part of the furniture…yet that morning I felt like shit. The story sounds so plain, but if i had ‘feelovision’ πŸ™‚ and if I could just plonk you into that car, you’d understand my pain. I felt like SHITE.

This morning was chilled. I woke up an adult. Still deliciously fun and glorious, but Β grown up with responsibilities and everything. πŸ™‚ I slept well and cuddled up in bed, in the name of ‘lay in,’ with my two yummy bits of loin fruit…aptly called ‘Da Babies.’ I love Sunday morning snuggle-fests because it’s just us, love, a new day, calm and pyjamas.

Yesterday I took the ‘winkles’ shopping in Doncaster, (the town that birthed me) and simple because it’s a bit of a family ritual and well we all love a bit of Christmas time, don’t we? It was mayhem! πŸ™‚ Two children and Christmas shoppers is hilarious when on your period. Do it! Take rum! Make it a proper knees up.

Firstly they were filming the Frenchgate Centre promo advert and I had to stop Ruby from racing into each shot, in her new red wellies that she obtained simply because she stated that we all loved Junior more than her. Lol. She even managed to score herself a Bond girl, fur head wramer, a bunny scarf, a penguin and a Xylophone. LMAO! She certainly is the fruit of my crazy loins. I thoroughly enjoy her style, ‘No-one loves me’ followed by just going up to a stall, placing all the things you adore actually ON YOUR BODY and simply saying, ‘Thanks for all this.’ πŸ™‚

Β 

To be honest, by the time it was evening, well it felt like 9pm, but it was a very dark, Christmas street light, cobbled lane 5.13pm. My Mum, Dad and brother had actually joined us and had taking the reins when it came to Junior, simply so that I only had one responsibility to champion with kitten love. (Just so you know, i’m currently being covered in moon stickers and also feeding Junior his baby bottle as I type.)

But anyway, dark, Xmas light, lit street, cobbled and there we were Ruby and I walking back to the car, in the peace of the evening, hand in hand, wrapped up warm, singing, talking and with hearts filled with love. She talked about everything she could and kissed my hand every moment she remembered. It was th emost moving moment ever and to just she her at 2, in her little fur head warmer, coat and red wellies, with a smile, telling me that she ‘looked like a grow up now’ made my heart melt. In fact it reminded me of the time when it was just Ruby and I. Just Ruby and I taking on the world and rubbing it in glitter with a wink and a baby giggle. We walked in the drizzle, yet it was like no-one else was around. We didn’t even feel the rain. We were being guided by the night stars, each other and the kept safe by the world. Nothing else mattered and it was AMAZING. I’ll always remember that moment, that 15 minute walk. It meant everything to me. I almost cried. She was adorable and when she’s 22, i’ll always look at her and see her as that 2 year old in her little red wellies, talking to me about life.

Then all the early partiers showed up and ruined it all. The pubs blasted pop songs from the 80’s and weird 44 year old’s in side ponytails brought to you by false hair appeared out of nowhere. They did try and do ‘glamour puss’ and I admire them for it. Yet there’s something wrong about dressing too young for your age. πŸ™‚ Embrace being older and doing it the way you are, with a little kick of glamour. You don’t need to run around like you’re 19 years old, hoping ya bits don’t fall out of place and that some young boy will fancy you.

Can’t remember what else I was gonna say now? Must not have been important.

I’m excited about my new beauty line.

Happy Sunday,

Carvery today.

C x

 

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