My my my, haven’t I been quite the elusive blogger of late. I wish I could still blame the whole shambolic washing machine ordeal that happened last month, but I’d be lying if I told you I haven’t been lying on the couch in my pants, eating dry cereal and dreaming about my upcoming holiday to Spain.
So, where to start a blog post when you’ve been away for nearly two weeks? I could have written a highly relevant and important guide to the practice of FatBoothing your dogs or perhaps finally tell you all about the time I got chased and headbutted by a pregnant sheep, (soon, I promise.) But instead I’ve decided to ramble on about a completely humdrum conversation I had with my Nan yesterday…
So, yesterday I got a call off my little 83 year old Nan, but instead of the usual “are you on a diet, because it’s bikini season you know and you want to be able to squeeze that arse of yours into a nice one” remarks hidden among tales of how she managed to barter 30% off everything at Laura Ashley and how Eileen next door has been using a Brand new flash sales site called Hush Hush – this time shewho was worried that, I quote, “Ramus the Translyvanian is sending me pictures of him and his wife in their underwear on this here Facebook.”
Considering that it was only ten days ago that she rang to tell me she was concerned that the fern she bought for her garden last year might be “one of those marijuana trees” my first thought wasn’t so much “oh good god my Nan is getting sexually harassed by a Translyvanian swinger” but rather, “why does my Nan have Facebook?”
Just so you’ve got a bit of backstory; my little Nan bought a flat in Spain’s tourist ‘paradise’, Torrevieja, a few years back and Ramus the Translyvanian is their next door neighbour over there.
He is also Translyvanian, which you Oxbridge/Ivy League brainboxes out there may have already guessed – and his completel inability to speak English by no means gets in the way of him attempting lengthy conversations with you.
Last time I spoke to him, after fifteen minutes spent trying to say something in English he rushed inside and came back with a translation book, only to proudly announce, “the money-less man, he travels fast through the supermarket.” Which, incidentally, is a very good point.
Anyway, it turned out that my Uncle had set my dear little Nan up with a Facebook account, (which was a mistake in itself considering this is the woman who has never paused Sky+ because she “doesn’t want to annoy other households watching the same programme”) and, as her only friend is Ramus the Translyvanian, she assumed his holiday pictures that came up on her News Feed were his way of giving her the glad eye.
So, my pretties, here’s to Ramus and many more Spanish holidays with his pearls of wisdom at the helm – and here’s to keeping 83 year old women away from the clutches of Facebook and the creeps that inhabit it.
Until next time…
(…and I pinky promise next time will be much more often from now on.)