Everyday I write the book

Elvis Costello is a great musician,

though I do find it weird he is married to Dianna Krall

or she to him.

But that's not what I want to blog about today.

Most mornings as I brush my toothypegs

a thought of what to blog about comes into my head.

Now a sensible person may take time to write it down

or be organised enough to have a pad of paper
on hand to collect these random thoughts

(though a paper and damp bathrooms don't mix)

but alas that's not how I roll.

But sometimes I remember these thoughts.

Mostly they are tip like posts, short and sweet

(not my thing at all)

Last week I had a manicure.

This is a totally foreign experience for me

in more ways than one.

Firstly, I kind of had one because I was in a city.

Leestown, where I live, has 1200 peeps and even then

I live on the wrong side of the no longer existent tracks.
That's literally speaking not as in I'm poor, white trash.
Though some may differ based on my musical choices.

We have a few shops and most are agriculturally related.

Feedstores don't sell nail polish

and the chemist only sells a limited range.

The second reason was the two manicurists

where really lovely chatty Chinese girls

(to be fair one 'girl' could have been 50,
her skin was beautiful so who knows?).

We have no chatty Chinese people.
We do have Chinese people,
 but they are super busy cooking fish and chips
in a noisey as chippie shop.
But we do have chatty Iranians, Indians and English people in Leestown.

The girls were fun to chatter away to.

They laughed at my insanely tough nails

and told me my nails were cute,

to be fair they made them cute
as they cut them quite short.

Who the heck can type with long nails?

Have you seen that scary woman who hasn't
cut her nails for 20 years?

That's weird.

Anyway many of you will know this but

it doesn't matter how dry you think you bright pink

(so not me but what the hell)

nail polish is, it probably isn't dry enough.

And don't think that being organised works.

I was sitting there drying my nails when Gazza

txted to say he was waiting for me

to go to the Rural Business Network meeting.

I txted back to say I was getting my nails done,

he didn't believe me, which is a logical conclusion.

I kept trying to leave the salon but the manicurists

are stronger than they look and held my hands so I couldn't leave.

When I fianlly had their permission to leave,
I ran past Gaz to my hotel,

one thumb nail was smeared by the time I got to the lifts.

Raced to my room,

it's really hard to use your room key card and not touch anything.

Stripped off, threw on my bra,

twisted and turned to get the darn thing done up

and there in lies my lesson of today.

Changing bras and fresh manicures do not mix.

One munted thumb nail I can handle,

two not so much.

You have been warned.

Although you probably already knew this

*sigh*