RIP La Liz

I know it's not a skill much prized these days, but there was a time I could name all of Elizabeth Taylor's husbands - from Nicky "Conrad" Hilton to Larry Fortensky, not forgetting Richard Burton twice (!). As a child, I was an oddity, obsessed with Old Hollywood, and no-one represented the glitz, the glamour; the ups, the downs; the sex, drama, and myriad hospitalisations like La Liz.

So even though I'm older, wiser (debatable) and hopefully less myopic - and certainly more jaded thanks to other movie goddesses who shall remain nameless - it is with tender nostalgia that I just learnt of her death.

(ps. All is forgiven re: the debacle of 1959, seeing as Debbie has outlived both you and EF.)

RIP xx

Today

Today I rose with a million women,

and booked it with the Jezebelles,

all in all, a thoroughly enjoyable, enriching day,

reinforcing the twin powers of thinking and doing

("Wonder Twin powers -- ACTIVATE!")

and the possibilities inherent in every London day,

should I seek it out, venturing beyond the endless ennui of Come Dine With Me ,

and its bloodless ilk.

Joy:

It's out there.

Seek it out. Revel in it. Be inspired. Write.

Be To. Or Be To Not.

(The former is infinitely preferable)