Bring back corsets.

Well, I've tried them on and it looks like another bus journey.

I followed the instructions carefully and rolled them up like you do with  tights before trying to get into them, but I could hardly get them up as far as my knees.

They're back in the packet now.

It was worth a try.

The thrill of the successful hunt.

There's a woman that works in the charity shop I went into yesterday who cannot stop talking. What's her name? It begins with an 'S'.... Sally? Susan? Sarah?

Oh, no. That's right. It's Gill.

Well, whilst she was nattering on and on about the holiday she had just had, I spotted what looked like a very nice navy skirt dangling from the rail behind her head. According to the colour of the little thingy on the hanger, it was my size, too. When I finally managed to manoevre myself round and casually took it down from  the rail whilst still 'listening' and nodding politely, I found it was very similar to the lovely navy woollen one I'd seen in John Lewis's on sale for £148 the last time Sandy took me for a wander round, only the fabric was a lot thinner, being some kind of a linen. It was much the same style, though, a slender pencil line - and even better, it wasn't 'George' or 'Tu' or anything, it was from  Hobbs.  £4.99!  I bought it. Took a gamble on it fitting me:  bit desperate to  get away from Gill.

A small loaf, a few bananas, a quick pop in to the little library, a quarter of iced caramels  and I was done: time to hurry down the road. ( You have twenty five minutes to hurry round before the first bus back,  or two hours to wait before the next one, which is too long; there aren't that many shops. It's only a small town.)

I was really thrilled, but when I  tried it on in front of my bedroom mirror, it wouldn't fasten - and I don't mean a little bit, so that I could have moved the button or even left it undone, I mean a definite gap. Talk about developing a spare tyre! The zip would only go up half way.

There was only one thing for it.  I caught another bus in the afternoon and went to the big town instead of the little one.

'Spanx', they call them. I'd heard they were miraculous.

I was tired, though, when I got home and I had to water the plants and one or two other things, so I put off trying them on till today. I'll have a go this afternoon.

When I got on the bus this morning, the bus driver said 'Boo!" Didn't smile, didn't say anything else, didn't look at me. Just held out a ticket.

I was quite surprised.

Don't know how he knew where I wanted to go.  My ticket was right, though. Didn't realize he had been noticing where I usually got off.

It made me laugh.

Not used to men noticing.

If you have been wondering why my blog is called  'invisible woman', you are either a man or  much younger than me. It can be useful, not being seen. Comes hard to start with, though. I'm still vain.

Spiders in my hair

I came in from the garden today with three enormous, brown spiders tangled in my hair.

My own fault; the worrying smell of woodsmoke had filled my nostrils when I'd stepped out trom the back door this morning and foolishly I'd ignored the myriad dew-glistening webs wreathing the garden and had set off prowling across the damp grass, scanning warily for the source.

I love the smell of woodsmoke, but sparks can fly, especially if it’s a bit windy; living under a thatch, you like any bonfires to be fairly far away. It had appeared that it was; the only trace of smoke had been a faint, grey smudge against the blue sky far away somewhere beyond  the sycamore.  Relieved, I'd dragged open the door to my little greenhouse, unthinkingly batting away the sticky silken threads, cunningly draped from roof to staging to booby-trap the unwary,  as I set about tenderly greeting and watering my biennials.

I think I must have brushed and battered all the spiders out of my hair, (which probably means they have scattered around the kitchen) because when I went to wash it with the bath spray, I didn’t see any soggy bodies in the plughole. I always wash my hair at the bath with the hairspray thingy, because you can see what you’re doing, which you can’t when you are trying to wash it in the shower. Well, I can’t, anyway. I get water and soap in my eyes, then I drop the shampoo bottle and can’t find it – that’s if I have been able to decide which bottle is shampoo and which is conditioner in the first place, since I can’t see them properly and they are both the same size and shape. I hate showers; they are so very wet.  Give me a bath any time. Sadly, though, I’m afraid that my bath days are coming to an end. Getting in is getting harder and harder, never mind getting out. Nowadays I rarely have a bath unless Sandy’s in the house to heave me out if I get stuck.

Sandy is my daughter. Lives in London. Very posh.

In one of those odd mini-catalogue thingies that come with the Sunday paper, I saw a sort of inflatable bath seat that you can let down once you are sitting on it.  Apparently you press a button and it re-inflates somehow when you’re ready to get out. I was very tempted, but eventually decided that it would probably be like the inflatable bath pillow that I bought myself last Christmas which barely lasted the better part of a week. I found it flat as a pancake, and I never got it to blow up again.

Anyway, getting back to  spiders:-  

A gi-normous black one  scuttled out from under the telly  and disappeared under the sofa  whilst  I was watching 'Downton Abbey'  last night, and another  huge   one  was guarding the stairs when I went up to bed. One of the fine, brown jumping kind was waiting for me over the loo. I think I like them least of all; you always feel as if they've landed somewhere down the back of your neck.

Oh, and this morning there was another  great  hairy one crouching menacingly on the wall above my bedhead when I went in to use my hairdryer.

Spiders, inside and out, especially in Autumn.  That’s another problem with living under  a thatch.