adore amy

shakin’ all over…

Well, as predicted, the cold has arrived, and with a vengeance. Having woken up with that infuriating, slowed-down, head-full-of-concrete feeling, plus stiff joints, a sore neck and the red, watery eyes of a prizewinning bloodhound I am officially poorly until at least tomorrow, when the cocktail of (just in case) over the counter delights I purchased yesterday and intend to imbibe today have had a fighting chance to do it some serious damage. Since I was tentatively expecting the self-imposed quarantine, I yesterday took affirmative action and staggered through Tesco gathering a few days’ worth of comforting comestibles although I was in no condition to enjoy my usual two hour god-look-at-all-the-different-food weekly shopping trip, and the task reduced me to an dizzy, exhausted heap albeit one with an extremely well stocked fridge. The unexpected availability of Compton’s Gravy Salt (which I had previously thought to be discontinued), and special offers on many of my enduring favourites including pineapples, hummus and the things we are no longer permitted to call crab sticks lifted my spirits somewhat and the resplendent sight that is a full kitchen is sure to do likewise, hopefully taking at least some of the sting off being confined to base underneath a growing heap of manky tissues, empty Lemsip packets and discarded cherry stones for at least the next couple of days.

In the meantime (and to cheer myself up following a disappointing but necessary cancellation with a charming-sounding caller) I managed yesterday to plaster on a trowel load of makeup, fire up my trusty Nikon and take a few spanking-new (fat chance) images to update my Gallery – these will be resized, checked for stray bits of used tissue and uploaded hopefully by the end of the week, and I will be sticking to the story that my deathly pallor and tumbleweed hair is actually very now, and a result of carefully constructed styling rather than the effects of what is uncomfortably feeling very like it may be the first dose of the flu I have had in fifteen years. Artifice in advertising photographs is a little of a double edged sword, and I am well aware that such quantities of cosmetic help (including coloured contact lenses, serious backcombing and even a clip-in fringe, detail fans) are something of a matter for debate, but bearing in mind I do not have A/Photoshop (or similar),  B/any kind of professional lighting/equipment, and adding mitigating factor C/that without the help I looked a little like an extra from Night of the Living Dead, right down to practically being in black and white, I do believe that the help is warranted. Anyway, most of my pictures are very natural and it was fun, so ner.

Obviously I have also had a fair bit of time to spend with faithful Juliette – my little Sony Vaio, whose gleaming white surfaces and friendly rounded corners are easily balanced atop a sofa-bound knee and who provides information, communication and entertainment at home and on my travels. This last weekend, however, she has brought news of my website, namely that its text appears to be trying to setting its own industry advertising standard by turning up in various slightly-altered forms on the pages of, to date, FOUR other ladies in locations ranging from Leeds to Bangalore. Four varyingly terse emails (including in all cases proof by way of cut and pasted links, relevant WHOIS and hosting details because naturally I have nothing better to do) have been sent, the kindest to a couple of newer ladies with whom I can sympathise, at least. I do remember having to sit down and write my website some two and a half years ago, and it was difficult enough for someone who was not even new to the job, just the internet – but I managed. There is no reason why others cannot do likewise and both ladies were quick to apologise; I am pleased to say that swift rewrites have been implemented. I am still waiting to hear from the latter two, and suffice to say if I do not, their site hosts will shortly be hearing from me.

I abhor plagiarism, and do not believe there can ever be an excuse which justifies passing someone else’s work off as your own. All involved have been given until Friday to remove the stolen content – for ladies reading (or anyone else with a website), the tool is Copyscape and I would strongly recommend regular checks – this week I have also found my copyrighted photograph and Adultwork phone number on a tacky, amateurish directory site and am trying in vain to get it removed, which unfortunately has meant dealing with the bottom feeders who run it, and whose MO of sending abusive emails in response to requests to desist (and not just to me) has not been particularly conducive to excellent public relations, since I have been sure to make them common knowledge. I can only assume that Ali Baba must be on holiday.

At least the apartment is warm and comfortable, and companywise, my loyal and ever-cheerful fishes (who are fortunately not susceptible to colds) are keeping me amused until such a time arrives as I feel up to tackling my box set of The Wire, which I managed get at a very reasonable price on eBay a couple of months back and which I have still not had chance to open yet. In all seriousness, I am unlikely to be available for any appointments before certainly Wednesday, and more than likely Thursday – updates will be posted regularly and since I will be holed up here like a fugitive for the foreseeable, I will keep them regular.

Back to bed for me, and not in the fun sense. Bugger.

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