Pomp and Ceremony

Every week I enjoy a couple of minutes of looking at the news through wonderful photographs. Sometimes the images are frightening and sometimes I wonder if they are just too perfect not to have been staged, but this week's piccie of the ladies at the Buck House tea party chasing after their hats made me giggle.

You can see the effort everyone has gone to, to look the part. Their hair and shoes and handies and of course the hats. This photo could only have been improved if the woman's skirt had been blown up above her head, exposing her girdle and Marks and Spencers big girl knickers. Now that would have made my arse lose contact with the chair as I choked on my own crying laughter.

I don't mind a bit of pomposity, well I don't mind it for other people. I suppose if I was ever invited to tea and sangas with The Queen, I'd make more of an effort than I do to head off to do combat at Wooolies. And if hats were 'just the thing' then I would no doubt go on out and find a good one. But the idea of all the hairspray and the pantyhose and the heels and conservative frock and a matching handie along with the right coloured lippie and nails, well I might be able to pull it off, but I reckon it's more likely that I would the topic of such a photograph with or without the wind.

I would no doubt sink a heel into the grass - lawn maybe, and the bloody thing would snap off and I would be left hobbling around hanging on to a broken shoe, a handie, a brolly and keeping a good eye out for leaf rustling, in case I had to chase the bloody hat.

How do these women ever tuck into the food?? I reckon it would all have to be put through a blender and distilled into a tetra pac so I could tuck it under my arm and slurp it through a straw.

We are going to a wedding later in the year and Steve is already getting himself satorially suited, but I am ignoring the need to frock up, cos somehow that's probably gonna mean wearing stuff that is uncomfortable and consequently I am likely to become a clumsy liability as I try to keep all this foreign attire in order.

I like watching the pomp, I just don't think I am up for wearing it.