"Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the fairest of them all?"
You have to be super-confident, don't you think, to ask such a question of an inanimate object such as a
mirror? A human being would probably let you down gently but there's no kidding a mirror.
We don't have many mirrors in our house. Sorry, did you say you can tell? Hmmmm, thinking about it, you are probably
right. Have I not, after all, just featured in a photograph in the local newspaper looking so downright awful that it's a wonder anybody recognised me. Except that - and here is A Truly Sobering Fact - everyone did. I must actually look like that.
Some people have what I call "smiley faces." Do you know the ones I mean? Even when they have their serious faces on, their lips still turn up slightly at the corners, their eyes still twinkle. They appear to be smiling,
even when they are not. I would dearly love to have a smiley face but, hey, I am stuck with the one I was born with.
My dear Mum used to call a face "a fizzog" - as in: "your fizzog's your fortune." I thought
it was one of her made-up words but apparently it is derived from that most grown-up of words "physiognomy". Don't you just love it when the Daily Blog comes over all educational?
I'm rather glad I am not
a teenage girl any more. It seems the fashion, these days, when posing for a photograph, to have one normal shot taken and then to pull funny faces for the next. My older granddaughters manage to look just as spectacularly beautiful in the grotesque shots.
They all have smiley faces, you see.
There were lots of smiley faces in our living room this afternoon as our Nomination Whist Group gathered for an afternoon of cards and recriminations. Everyone smiled,
for a start, coming in from the cold - though we were all quick to make it clear that "cold and bright" is a hundred times better than "wet and mild." Nobody wanted to sound like a whinger and moaner.
particularly fervent in expressing my wish for a fair weather forecast as I am off for a weekend with the (Not So Very Little) Welsh Boys and their parents on Friday. My Boy sent me a list of "things to bring" - swimming costume and towel, wet weather coat
and walking shoes. That would seem to be covering just about every eventuality. Mr B wants assurances that I won't be cycling while I am there. He just doesn't trust me on two wheels. He isn't all that content with my performance on four wheels especially
as our Once Trusty Chariot is now languishing, lifeless, on our drive. Whose fault can that be, I wonder?
I can tell that you are ruminating over why our afternoon of cards consisted of recriminations. This
is the way of Nomination Whist. Now that we are all gaining in proficiency, we are capable of putting spanners in our opponents' works. "How could you?!" someone will cry as his or her ace is soundly trumped, followed by another's plaintive lament: "That was
supposed to be my trick!"
"I"m not coming again!" someone says. "Me neither," agrees another. Believe me, they will both be back in a fortnight's time...
I didn't do very well this afternoon. The cards were obviously stacked against me and I failed to reach the Magic Hundred (our minimum target per game) in both my matches. Nevertheless, I tried not to show my disappointment, knowing, as I do, what my
miserable fizzog looks like.
Even the mirror on the wall would have to admit that I put a brave face on it.