Just call me q

A woman contemplating life, incognito

I Love Ballet…

Feb
15

cartoon picture ballet shoes

I love to watch ballet. The grace, the poise, the elegance of the dancers; it’s so mesmerizing. But anything that involves me moving, well… then you can count me out. Yes, because movement means being noticed; movement means all eyes on you; movement means  every part of your physique being scrutinized, assessed and critiqued and I absolutely hate the thought of that. Make me the centre of attention and I freeze; I become conscious of every molecule in my body.

Are they too red? (My cheek molecules.) Are they in the right place? (My hair molecules.) Are they strong enough to hold in quite a large amount of liquid? (My bladder molecules.) It’s exhausting, I tell you. Simply exhausting.

embarrassing molecules cartoon picture

And as for getting me up on the stage? Never. Me in a tutu with a spotlight trained on me? You must be joking. Looking all serene and floaty in front of hundreds of people? Not in a million years, my friend. Oh, and then on top of all that you expect me to move? I’m sorry, but it’s just not gonna happen. No, I’m serious; my molecules simply wouldn’t allow it; they’d go rigid. In fact, you could probably tuck me under your arm after the last act and carry me off horizontally  ‘cos my body would be that stiff.

cartoon picture carrying someone horizontally under arm

But like I just said, that’s not going to happen. So I can book tickets to see Swan lake or The Nutcracker or some other suitably seasonal performance safe in the knowledge that I will be in a seat… and not moving. But just in case they decide to haul someone up from the audience (yes, alright, it’s not Panto but you never know) I think I’ll book the back row. I’d feel a heck of a lot safer.

cartoon picture of a stage

I Can’t Help My Face…

Nov
23

 

I can’t help my face in both senses of the words.

I can’t help my face as in there are no creams or lotions or potions (and I’ve tried loads, believe you me) that make me look younger.

 

Cartoon picture of my wrinkly face

 

And I can’t help my face as in “I can’t help it. I’m sorry”.

 

I'm sorry picture

 

I’m not that young anymore but…

Oct
05

 

Sometimes I’m glad that I’m not that young anymore.

(I can say that because no-one knows this is me.)

Because with age comes freedom; the freedom to:

bake cakes and eat them;

buy a caravan, sell the caravan;

 

Perle vintage caravan retro kitsch caravanning justcallmeq Q queline

Oh. Perle, I miss you so much but you had to go. You were so small and so cramped and if we wanted to go to the toilet in the middle of the night we had to trek to the wash facilities…

 

keep hens and make cute things;

 

cute handmade craft sewing gingerbread man justcallmeq Q queline

… and I’m only 3cm high!

 

wear pink and love my lawn flamingos:

 

Don Featherstone iconic pink plastic lawn flamingo retro kitsch justcallmeq Q queline

I love you Don Featherstone, by the way…

 

go crazy for kitsch, bake more cakes or, if I’m short of time (and the hens haven’t laid any eggs) go out and eat other people’s cakes and – perhaps,  best of all – with age comes the freedom to

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

lie about how old I am!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Well, like I’ve said in my ‘Categories’ – you know, that bit on the right hand side of my blog – I shall never reveal my age unless I am forced to and even then I’ll lie. It’s just something I do…)

 

It’s not easy having the lower limbs of a root vegetable…

Aug
17

 

Imagine a torso sitting ‘atop two parsnips…

Well, that’s me.

thick thighs big botty root vegetable legs thigh cellulite justcallmeq Q queline

 

I have the most incredibly spindly ankles but – as you work your way up my legs – they widen out continuously until – BOOM!!! (thick thighs) – they’ve more than quadrupled in size. In fact,  if I were mathematical (which I’m not), I’d have to say that you’d be looking at a ratio of at least 6:1. (No, really.)

And it’s annoying because people who don’t know me tend to think that, because of my cocktail stick-like ankles* (and because I hide my botty so well), I’m skinny all over… but I’m not!

flamingo justcallmeq Q queline

 

They don’t realize that, underneath my (carefully selected) clothing, hide

THESE:

 

thick thighs root vegetable legs justcallmeq Q queline

 

Actually, I’ve jazzed them up a little bit too much. Underneath my (carefully selected) clothing hide

THESE:

 

thick thighs root vegetable legs justcallmeq Q queline

 

Actually, I confess, I haven’t jazzed them up at all. If you look very closely at the piccy above you will see that – instead of my pins – I have, in fact, substituted a couple of real parsnips. (No, look closely… I have.)

And, sadly, as a result of being the unfortunate owner of a pair of pastinaca sativas (as they say in latin), I find that following fashion is nigh on impossible.

Patterned tights, for example, are out: the distortion of the stretched fabric once past the knees? (Say no more.)

Leggings, jeggings or any other type of lower-body clothing with lycra in it are out too. The ‘give’ in the material is… what can I say? – truly unforgiving.

And as for flares, well, because it’s practically impossible to predict when their endless yards of material are going to billow and wrap themselves around the most bizarrely disproportionate and, quite frankly, freakiest-looking part of my body (thus accentuating the problem), I can never truly relax in them.

So, yes, ummm… forgive me if I say it again – won’t you? – but… it’s not easy having the lower limbs of root vegetable. 

 

*Sorry, I couldn’t find a cocktail stick so I had to use a plastic flamingo pick instead. I would absolutely   love to have legs shaped like a plastic flamingo stick… but without the bird at the top, obvs.

 

 

My first post! Wooh-hooooo…

Jul
16

 

cake blogging queline justcallmeq Q

 

Ah, that’s it. The hard part’s over. Now that I have my very own space on the worldwide web – where I can anonymously jot down any little thoughts that pop into my head – I can relax. Yes, because no-one knows this is me; no-one knows that I’m here, and no-one is going to come up to me tomorrow morning and say:

1) do you really think about cellulite 15-20 times a day?

2) does your mum mind that you get all your self-help and ‘weirdy’ books delivered to her house and that the postman thinks she’s nuts?

and

3) why do you keep ’emergency’ biscuits in the tumble dryer and, more importantly, WHAT EXACTLY CONSTITUTES AN EMERGENCY?

 

justcallmeq Q queline

 

 

Ahh, this is great, this is. I can say what I like…

Oh, alright then, I will!

“I have a huge bottom.” (Boy, that feels good.)

 

big botty justcallmeq Q queline

 

“My feet are flat and I have ginormously big big toes.” (Wait a mo, will you, while I punch the air with my fist?) Done.

“I have rubbish hair, my eyes don’t work, my thighs undulate and I have a cake addiction so severe that I could probably do with a stint in rehab.”

YEAH! This is just so liberating. I don’t know why I didn’t start a blog years ago. Oh, well. Never mind. I’ve started now and that’s what counts.

Goodnight brave anonymous me. Xx