Who'd a thunk it. A few short months ago, James Alexander-Sinclair said the following in a comment on this very blog you're reading at this precise moment: "Ah-ha. So this is where the dastardly Kate (may the pigeons poop upon her laundry) hangs out."
Got that folks? "Dastardly." (Excuse me while I wring out my handkerchief; the memory still makes me weep.) If you think I made it up, you can check it out yourself. It was in the comments on the very first post in what shortly became known as the Sock Wars. (As for the remark about the laundry, the pigeons, and the poop, well–the less said, the better.)
After all, that's water under the bridge, and times have changed, and perhaps the leopard can change its spots, and–no, I canNOT get another cliche into this sentence. Just last week, in the midst of his otherwise rather irritable post announcing the awards for LAPCPADPOUB day, (his first words were, and I quote, "Bloody Hell,") James referred, (and once more I quote,) to "the divine Kate" Perhaps a bit of context will make this slightly more believable. The full sentence is as follows:
Well, well. I feel quite uplifted. I believe the correct expression amongst you Brits is chuffed.
And now we know how to bring the man to heel: just tell the truth about his terrific book, and he'll eat out of your hand. Try it, and you'll see what I mean. His blog has all the details about how to get the book, including something about bunging him a fiver.
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The photo shows sun shining through a columbine petal in my garden last summer.
Divine Kate-eh? It’ll be Kiss-Me-Kate next – you better watch these dastardly Brit charmers – I know I married one.
Besides what else can one expect to come of such naughty talk as “busy flowering ones socks off” my goodness how you have inflamed each others passions (and mine) with your inuendos.
Now I am off to see what you have written about our dear, wonderful PM you are not challenging him to a duel to are you?
You married one, did you, Shauna? Then I’d say you get what you deserve. (Since James is currently visiting in-laws in N.Y., it appears he too married Trans-Atlantically.) Excuse me for a moment while I get the bad taste of that word out of my mouth.
I’d like to point out that no one who posts pictures of bare-breasted beauties on her blog (even if they are statues), much less freely tosses around the words “free” and “sex” in a post title, has any right to accuse someone else of inflaming passions.
As for your “dear, wonderful, PM–” you can have ‘im.
Now I’m off to see what drivel you’ve written in response to my wise remarks upon the election of that Darwinian error, your PM.
So glad you’ve kissed and made up ;)
I guess I can put my dibber down and my socks away now :)
I am so very cheap – sometimes I amaze even myself. I would be a lousy secret agent.
Yes, VP, it appears that all that’s over. Life has grown quite dull.
James, being a lousy secret agent is, in most walks of life, a recommendation. Don’t knock it. Being cheap on the other hand–hmm. And anyway, I worked damn hard on that review, so my part, at least, wasn’t cheap!
Shauna–it appears I leapt to conclusions in thinking James had chosen a wife from amongst what he informs me are known as “Shermans.” (This is a bit round about, but bear with me: “Sherman” is short for “Sherman tank,” which rhymes with “yank,” short for “yankee.” Go figure.) At any rate, whatever you call them–us–he didn’t marry one; he was visiting some other sort of in-law. So you are alone in your folly. Sorry.
Your lack of cheapness (and, indeed, your divineness) is not in question.
Oh, my. Whatever can I say? I’m o’ercome.
So glad to hear you feel ‘rather chuffed’. What a great blog, may I add. I followed Shauna’s inflamed passion footsteps and found myself right here, in this quality, delightful, witty blog. My compliments!
So coy that you pretend to not know of your own divinity. hhhhmmm… might there actually be some dastardly behind the divine?? hhhmmm… Our fine friend shows some of her beguiling ways in such an outward way. Be careful giving away all of your secrets Kate… hehehehe…
Welcome, Violet, and please ignore everyone else you meet at this site; they’re all bonkers. I’ll be checking out your blog forthwith.
As for you, Shibaguyz–don’t YOU start. I’d invite you to meet me in the alley, but it’d be two against one. Do what you will, however, I’ll never give up my secrets, never. (Umm–what secrets were those? My memory ain’t working so good these days.)
From our blotanical messages:
“Thought I’d try to cool off a bit before replying to your latest, but it doesn’t help: those are fightin’ words. Roll up your sleeves, boys, and meet me in the alley behind my house. THEN we’ll see what kind of gardeners you are! Bring your shovels. –Kate”
In the alley, eh? Do you even have alleys out there in the middle of nowhere?? All the same, you’re on! The gardening gloves are off and it’s all out bare handed digging.
Your true colors will show now Kate. So sweet and innocent until there is sock throwing and the like. Oh, we see how it is. prepare to meet your gardener, Kate. For, as much as we would like to also sit down and have tea sometime, it’s garden wars for now!! No playing dirty (like the pun??)!! We will find out the real skeletons in your closet (where they should be this far passed Halloween)… okay… that’s all of the cliche “fightin’ words” we can come up with now. We’ll get back to you when we can think up some more.
Until then… green tea anyone??