While the cat's away

You know you are watching too much telly when you have ad breaks in your dreams.  Britains watch on average six hours a day.  Does this include people who have the tv on constantly as background noise?  Anyway, I am probably nearing the ghastly six wasted hours but then some of them were willing the Beautiful Federer on to win his match, only just.  Without me he may have lost like Nadal did yesterday whilst I was trying to find the new seaside place on Coast.  Amazingly, by some weird co-incidence I did.  It just happened to be Kent and, what do you know, there it was right between Winchelsea and Dover.  Oooh look we're on the telly.  But my new res is to watch less goggle box.

I am being super healthy with Mr Smith away.  I have been swimming, drinking green tea instead of wine (for breakfast) and I am eating sensible food like salad and pineapple and the best part of a carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream ... Phish Food if you are interested.  That was a reward for doing almost everything on my HTL (Herculean Task List) inc. cleaning the silver.  My priority now is to actually finish two paintings.  I may be late tonight, don't wait up.  Oh they're all away - how convenient.

We have a mouse in the house and he is SO sweet with a little brown face and a white front and gorgeous huge ears and adorable little beady eyes.  I set a trap and watched him carefully extract the cheese and run away before it got him - so clever.  I shall call him Oscar and hope he's gay as I so don't want his wife and kids moving in.

Itchy and scratchy

I have been cleaning. Firstly I bathed the dog and gave him a rather bad haircut. Then I tackled my bedroom and bathroom which look splendiferous and smell .... a bit strange. I think it's the alien smell of clean. Now to tackle the rest of the house. I am now quite pleased Mr Smith is buying such a small place in Kent. It is only just worth buying a hoover like people who have a teeny weeny bit of grass outside their home and have a mower.

Oh how I hate Wandsworth parking permit department. I am off there again today, this time with the Schedule of Motor Insurance rather than the Certificate of Motor Insurance that I had to beg from Aviva on bended knee and threat of tears. Then they sent the wrong thing. How idiotic is that. It isn't even for my car which is a good little car with all the right paperwork; it is for those customers of ours, the kids.

I have the most awful bites on my ankles. They are driving me insane. Extra flea powder for everyone.

Rent a Rabble

Much as I suspected I am not a computer whizz. I simply cannot make the scanner work despite shouting at it loudly. It behaves like a lazy teenager and stares back at me in a snotty way with a belligerent look on its face and a message I don't understand. So I will have to wait for someone on its wavelength to reappear and sort it out for me. They are all away ... but it is so heavenly without them I will forego complicated computing techniques until they reappear. The Apprentice son is in France and the Best Boy is filming in north London. Just to top this off Mr Smith is going away today to jouer a golf avec his mates in Normandy for four days. Oh jolly japes, just me and the dog and a hoover. I am also planning much painting. I have to finish some daubs. Rebecca's exhib was wonderful; her paintings are so good. The gallery owner wasn't very nice. He is an aggressive Rottweiler of a man who kept taking everyone's wines glasses away and moaning loudly how the whole thing looked like a wine bar. He confiscated my umbrella which I thought was rather rude as I had carefully placed it behind a table but coudn't find it at the end of the evening. I would like to buy one of Rebecca's paintings but I just wouldn't like to give my money to such an unpleasant gallery owner. Several Artbox mates turned up. Mr Batey Pants was going to be in a right strop before the evening was over; he was already rationing the wine before the influx of freeloading artists. We left to go to dinner at The Pig's Ear, a lovely gastro pub in Chelsea, before he exploded.

Parking priorities

Rebecca Campbell

My agent in the Caribbean (gosh that sounds grand), Gallery Annie, has asked me to paint a third postcard in the series for the Hermitage hotel. As I was having a horrid time struggling with a garden painting that just woudn't go right, I decided to tackle that instead. It turned out fine. Phew, because I was starting to lose faith in my abilities as an artist. Now to battle with the scanner and check on my abilities as a computer whizz.

Due to work and sheer laziness on my part I haven't really sorted out my vegetable garden this year. There are 4 tiny broad bean plants amongst a vast number of weeds, a few runners but nothing else bothered to grow despite careful planting in May. Where are those peas and those carrots? I seem to be death to most things green. Mr Smith prefers buying them in Waitrose anyway.

Task of the day: Sort out the parking permits for all our cars. Wandsworth have made this ridiculously complicated. Mr Smith somehow managed his (I suspect he got one of our sons to perform on line techno gym for him) so he is rather gloaty whist I have to go to the town hall in person and beat my fists whilst wailing trying to prove that my car is my car and I live where I live and I am not a fraudster with a secret desire to park outside my house. Then I have to do this for the boys' stinky old Daewoo. Wish me luck.

Off to lovely Rebecca's exhibition of fabulous paintings this evening. Then Mr Smith is taking me out for dinner. About time too.

Tetchy Etchy

Mr Smith is a very obedient sort of chap and I have told him to put in an offer for the pokey little seaside flat in Kent. Even though I said this in a very small voice, I know he will be onto it in a trice thus allowing no time for someone else to rush in and get it first.  Mmmm.  Oh well, time to start watching all those tv makeover shows to see what not to do.  Having sold all the furniture with my flat I will have fun shopping for new stuff .... in small sizes.

Today I am painting but I am finding it rather tricky.  Somehow the paint and brushes are ganging up against me, I can't remember what any of the plants look like and the whole thing is making me feel cross.  Maybe I will start a new one and come back to that one at a later date.  I do this often.  Mr Smith is off golfing in France this weekend so I am planning a mega paintathon whilst he is away.  I am actually quite excited.

No lazing on a Sunday afternoon

Mandi, our Big Ben girl, was on tv yesterday morning promoting the BTArtboxes. She did a grand job with the gorgeous Ben Shine sitting on the big red telephone box sofa. I met up with her and fellow artists in Covent Garden and we went on a Box Hunt. This was the most lovely way to spend a sunny Sunday afternoon mooching around the capital taking photos of ourselves and admiring our handiwork (or rather their handiwork).

  Mr Smith and I are undecided on what to do about buying a nasty little pokey seaside property. Part of me just wants to give in and let him just buy the damned thing but then I am worried I will find something much nicer next week. The bottom line is it is just too small along with the worry that I hate it.

No cat swinging for us

Well I have to tell you not to believe everything you see in estate agents' particulars. There was a picture of a balcony overlooking the sea with a bit of outdoor furniture perched upon it. In reality you had to open a heavy sash window, haul yourself over the edge onto a teeny bit of windowsill that was surrounded with spiked pigeon defences. How the heck they got furniture out there for the photo is beyond me. We didn't go for that one. We have now resigned ourselves to a one bedroomed flat as that is really all we need. My major complaint about all the places we saw was the inadequate size of the sitting room. If you are eating in there as well as sitting you would be very short of Elba room indeed. Then Mr Smith mentioned having someone to stay. Where? I saw an understair cupboard but I imagine he would be filing his golf clubs there. I agree with him that a fairly posh ground floor flat with a seaside view for under a hundred grand is pretty amazing value and perhaps we should just rush into it blindly without much thought. We usually make most of our incredibly important decisions such as having children or getting a dog in this way. I am just a bit unenthusiastic. Mr Smith is stupidly excited.

The search is on

Mr Smith is dragging me off to the Kent coast once more dear friends in order to find his new residence. Well, that is OUR new seaside retreat. He never quite entered into the spirit of West Sussex with the property there always being very much mine with him being the guest. I am expecting great hoovering on his part though the property will be small so there shouldn't be much. I put my foot down at a bungalow; just not moi. I am looking for something right on the sea. Today should be rewarding although I have squirrelled away my money into an interest account with terrible punishments should you try to get it out. I am so looking forward to him finding out. At the Dorchester do the other night I inadvertently bought a tv in the auction. Well, I think it's a tv. I haven't the faintest idea. I either have an amazing bargain on a surround sound home cinema saving about a grand or I have a smelly little music centre. God knows. I don't know how to find out. Oh well, I will pay and smile and all will be well. It seems a bit odd as I remember it not reaching the reserve price. Obviously little things like that don't matter and you still get lumbered with a load of electronic gear you don't want. I had better buy a house to put it in.

Arty party

The party was like no other party. Then there was an after party in a club. It was amazing and the hangover contest next day was hilarious. Gosh we were unwell the next morning texting each other on a grand comparison of just how near to death we were. Most of us were in bed, all were horizontal. Oh it was fun. We now have a plan for the next party on Sunday in the form of a box crawl around some of the Artboxes. We have all become good friends and don't want to lose our solidarity. Later in the week we are all meeting at Rebecca's exhibition. Rent-a-rabble will soon lower the tone. She will be trying to sell her beautiful paintings at a posh gallery in Chelsea and there will be all these artists just there for the booze. Oh well, it makes her look wondrously popular. Check out wwww.rebeccacampbell.co.uk. Fabulous funny paintings.

What shall I do now?

I was busy feeling all end of projecty when the phone calls all started. Can you come and fix things, come to a party, come to another party, come to the aid of the party? Well, I could but I would so rather not. So I won't. It's compulsory day of rest today with hairdressers tomorrow followed by my grand entrance at the Dorchester in the evening. I am going as a tomato in a lovely red dress with that big button on my head. I am considering putting my hair up and looking like a fat princess. Football. How I hate it, on tv every bloody evening with Mr Smith glued to it. There is only ever a goal when he leaves the room. Poor Designer Susan got flooded down in W Sussex. So glad we sold the seaside place.

They think it's all over

My fledgling Artboxes are all leaving tonight. God Speed. I love you all.  I will see you all again when you return for your wash and brush ups, though I have a feeling you will all need serious repairs with not enough time.  Oh well, I will be on stand by with a paint brush and a cup of tea. 

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/culturepicturegalleries/9332418/BT-Artbox-Red-telephone-boxes-with-a-twist.html

Nearing the end

Gosh, I thought I was tired a couple of days ago .... I am now in bed for the morning trying to relax but actually all I can think about is a particularly awful telephone box that will not take the varnish and has gone all streaky and mottled. Basically I have ruined it. Nobody seems to mind too much except me. It was awful when it arrived and it is now more awful. On the other hand I have managed some really good restoration jobs so all is not lost i.e. my job. Mr Smith is chortling away because since selling my seaside flat it has done nothing but torrentially storm and all the roads to the south coast and between Bognor to Portsmouth are flooded. I actually feel sorry for the new owners ... Not he. Today we prepare for tomorrow's party. Then we wave goodbye to all our boxes as they go on the streets - a bit like me if I don't get some money!

Lunatically tired

Mrs Zombie brains here. I am like the walking dead and, more scarily, the driving dead. I have requested a day off as my batteries have run out. The answer was No. Oh well, I suppose things are a bit stressed at the mo. I went to Justin Smith's hat sale and bought a giant button on a hairband. I absolutely love it even though it does look like I am wearing a plastic plate. I imagine people plonking cocktail sausages and vol au vents on my head. He is a brill hat maker; check out www.jsmithesquire.com.

All that glisters

Work is completely bonkers. The head honcho came in and had a look at the telephone boxes and asked me to get varnishing. I will need some help. I will need some varnish. Oh all things shiny. Now we are panicking about putting these beautiful works of art on the streets of London to be destroyed. Each one needs a keeper who guards and sleeps beside it. I am not volunteering! Ooooh goody two lovely things in the diary today. I am going to a hat sale and then Mad Carina is coming to tea. I wonder if I have time to make cupcakes? The Apprentice son got himself packed and ready for France, got his passport and ticket then found he'd got the wrong day. He is actually going today. Au Revoir. I will miss you. So will the dog.

Fifty shades of filth

I have just finished reading Fifty Shades of Grey. Whoah! All I can say is Mr Smith most certainly is not allowed to even glimpse so much as the front cover. I have given it to a friend.

A Grand Day for Mrs Smith

Yesterday Mr Smith invited me to lunch. How very nice of him, thinks I. But then I know him and he must be up to something. Oh yes, it's completion day when I get all my money from the sale of my flat. He must want some. We had a lovely lunch then dashed across Piccadilly in the pouring rain to an exhibition of delightful paintings by Gary Bunt. These made up for the very boring Royal Academy Summer show that I loitered around which just makes you wonder what it's all about really. I was, on the whole, mightily unimpressed but inspired to paint more of mine as they are heaps better than most of that load of tat.

I ended my grand day out with a drinks do at the top of BT Tower, some of us once knew it as the Post Office Tower. It revolved and made us feel a bit seasick but wow That View! Amazing. The only taller building I could see was the Shard which was very glinty in the evening sunlight. I now have a monumental hangover down to my toenails and I do so wish they'd stop the spinning. I put it down to the altitude. I really don't feel very well at all today. I am not due at work until 3pm ... Thank goodness.

Come on, come on

Oh my goodness, work is an absolute hive of activity. Dozens of busy workers are constructing telephone boxes around me, their queen. I just love this. It is just as it should be. Shall I get a whip?

Hi ho, it's bank holiday

No rest for the wicked and today I am going to be cruel to the point of merciless. I don't actually care if you want to stay late because your time management is so poor you decided to start your project less than a week to the deadline; I am going home at 5 and that is that. I do love my job but it is getting stressy and stress makes me feel quite unwell. I would prefer to be gardening today. I will point Mr Smith and a trowel at the weedy bits.

International day of coleslaw

I asked Mr Smith to buy an industrial sized pack of plastic coleslaw when he was at the supermarket as my effort for our Jubilee Street Party is to provide coleslaw. He thought that wasn't playing the game so he bought a cabbage and some carrots. I thought this was just a matter of shredding it all up, adding a bit of S&P along with the scrapings of all our old mayonnaise jars. Well, it wasn't like that at all. The carrots shredded very nicely but a little too finely and the cabbage woudn't shred at all. The kitchen and the dog are covered in little bits of carrot and cabbage. The mayo has somehow stuck all the shredded carrots into one big lump and the cabbage won't mix in very well and Mr Smith's opinion is "It's not a bit like the stuff from Waitrose."

Jubilee stains

Today Mrs Smith went to the river to watch the Jubilee boat parade sporting a bit of a hangover brought on by trying to figure out Twitter last night and having to drink lots of wine to kwell the awfulness of the whole thing; I can't make it work.  Mr Smith, who does not tweet and never will, stayed at home and made a pie.  Anyway, I arrived at Putney boat house to see the dragon boats and gondolas round up and take off which was absolutely splendid.  It got a bit cold on the river so Mr Smith came to collect me at the half way point, took me home and fed me warm tomato soup that I spilled on my brand new white trousers.  On a good note this prompted me to deal with my overflowing laundry basket and put on a whites load praying for miracles from the washing powder.  Oh heck I forgot to put any in.  I will have to split open one of those liquid tab thingies and aim it into the top bit like it tells you not to do on the instructions.   And then I will make Mr Smith's pie that he didn't make because he was so busy collecting me ... or something.  Then I will make coleslaw.

Accidental happenings

There are really annoying infuriating things in life such as itchy scratchy things, tunes that get stuck on your brain, buzzy things, next door's kids/mower, jingles, awful mobile phone ringtones inc crazy frog, most ads .... then there is the man at work who is SO demanding that no answer however comprehensive is ever good enough. It's ok because we also have a woman suffering from the same syndrome. I have brilliantly paired them off. Tonight I waved them a fond farewell as they drove off into the sunset together. Admittedly he was only giving her a lift to the station but should their car accidentally be smashed into a billion pieces by a runaway south eastern locomotive with brake failure on the way I would give praise and thanks to the God of relief from all things annoying.

Have a happy Jubilee. I know I will.

Painting the town red ... and white & blue

I had a very interesting afternoon, when I wasn't stuck in a monumental traffic jam, visiting the art supplies stores of London.  They all know me.  Well, that is they all know of BTArtbox and were delighted to meet the technician... so would I if I were them.  I assured them all in turn I would be sending artists to them for supplies.  What they don't know is they will be far too lazy to go.  One tries.  I then paid the congestion charge and whizzed back through the City.  Why on earth I tried to avoid it I don't know.  Me and many a smelly over-emissioning white van were completely chocker over Tower Bridge. However, I have to say London does look well bunted in readiness for the Jubilee.  School children seem to be having a great time dressing up as queens .... so to speak.... Quite jolly.