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Candia Comes Clean

~ Candid cultural comments from the Isles of Wonder

Tag Archives: Katherine Jenkins

If The Hat Fits

09 Friday Aug 2013

Posted by Candia in Arts, Celebrities, Humour, Music, Suttonford, Theatre, Writing

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Augustus Snodbury, avocado bathroom suite, Bradford on Avon, Carmen, Drusilla, Katherine Jenkins, Kathleen Ferrier, Monteverdi, Nigel, Panama, papier mache, Shanks, Sully sur Loire, Toreador song, UVA, UVB

Nigel Milford-Haven sighed as he painted the bathroom ceiling of his mother’s

Cornish bungalow.  He supposed that White With a Hint of Asparagus

complemented her Seventies avocado bath ensemble. Probably retro lovers

would die for a suite like that, but he preferred a clean white Shanks.

Sweat was dripping into his eyes as he used the roller, so he had utilised

the battered Panama which Augustus Snodbury had carelessly left behind

at the seemingly interminable Monteverdi concert he had attended the

previous week.

Nigel intended to produce it with a flourish to the ageing schoolmaster on

their return to St Birinus Middle School at the start of term, but now he had

managed to decorate it with a few paint drips and he wasn’t sure whether

turps would remove them, or would turn the whole item of headgear into a

sort of mushy papier mache mould, redolent of some rare rainforest bird’s

nest.

His wretched mother came in from time to time to inspect the progress.  She

gave him a running commentary on how well other members of their family

were doing and subjected him to lengthy panegyrics concerning the academic

success of his nieces and nephews.  He counted the seconds until she would

commence on her eternal theme as to why he did not have a girlfriend.

This focussed his thoughts on Drusilla.  He wondered if she was

experiencing a similar trial, in that she had been burdened with two parents

this summer.  Would Snod still be hanging around, or would he have moved

on? Not in any transcendental fashion, he corrected himself.  For indeed, Mr

Augustus Snodbury had never been concerned by the vagaries of style and

la mode.  Some men would sport a Panama with a degree of loucheness,

affecting the pose of a lounge lizard who finds himself inadvertently thrust

like a mad dog into the midday sun. But Gus merely donned his particular

straw hat as a shade against contracting any of these nasty scabs which

seemed to irritate his pate and which his GP said were caused by too much

exposure to UVB rays- or was it UVA?  In any case, he wasn’t taking the risk.

Nigel climbed down the ladder, anticipating a cup of tea.  As he stepped off the

final rung, he noticed that the post had arrived and stooped to pick up one or

two letters-mostly junk mail.  To his surprise, he recognised the handwriting of

the school secretary, who had re-directed a postcard which had been

addressed to him. His heart leapt when he saw that it was from Drusilla.  It

featured a chateau- Sully-sur-Loire- and in French was printed the phrase:

Jumelee Avec Bradford-on-Avon, which might explain why they were there.

Dear Nigel,

Having a wonderful time and the parents both in good form.  Something to do

with the house wines?!

Unfortunately Daddy- (!)-has had some sort of sunstroke, so wondered if you

could retrieve his favourite hat and bring it back to school?  He was so

absorbed in the lovely music that he left it on his seat at the interval and,

as you know, we had to rush off as we had left something in the oven.

Thank you so much,

Drusilla Fotheringay.

Hmm, analysed Nigel.  No ‘wish you were here’.

Then he took off the hat and panicked.  How could he return it in that state?

I told you to wear my shower cap, Nige.  Oh, who sent you the postcard?

I do hope it is from a girlfriend..and his mother handed him a china mug, while

simultaneously inspecting his day’s oeuvre.

I doubt it, said Nigel ruefully.  How all things do conspire against me.

Nonsense, retorted his mother.  It’s just a matter of making a bit more effort.

That’s what your school reports always used to say, didn’t they? You just

need to get out and about a bit more.  I’ve got us two tickets for that opera

you were banging on about.  You might meet a nice girl like that Katherine

Jenkins there.

Katherine Jenkins - Live 2011 (39).jpg

What-Carmen? Nigel was really surprised.  But I’ve got nothing to wear!

He wasn’t entirely sure that Katherine Jenkins was all that his mother

supposed.  Sometimes the mater was not such a good judge of character

as she thought.  Probably she was getting the singer mixed up with

Kathleen Ferrier. More her era.

As to character analysis, Snod usually nailed a miscreant in one damning

report.

Nigel tried to rein in his wandering thoughts.

You can wear your father’s linen jacket.  It was a bit crumpled when you

brought it down from the attic in that old suitcase I asked you to carry, but I

ironed it and the smell of mothballs is not too bad now that I’ve aired it. You

can throw that old thing out, she said, snatching the flattened mess on his

head and putting it in the kitchen bin.  Dismissing his protestation, as if it

was an irritating boy who had finished a rather late detention, she added:

There’s a practically unused hat of your father’s, identical to that one, in the

black sack.  I was going to give it to the charity shop, but you might as well

have it.

And no one was more surprised than Mrs Milford-Haven when her somewhat

reserved son hugged her and danced her round the ladder, humming the

Toreador song.

 

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Noteworthy Females

24 Monday Jun 2013

Posted by Candia in Arts, Celebrities, Education, Film, History, Humour, Jane Austen, Literature, Social Comment, Suttonford, Tennis, Writing

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Tags

Ada Lovelace, Bank of England, Calendar Girls, Churchill, Currer Acton Bell, deep maths, Deep Throat, Elizabeth Fry, Ellis, Elsie Inglis, George Eliot, Good Queen Bess, Helen Mirren, Jane Austen, Katherine Jenkins, Lady Godiva, Linda Lovelace, Maggie Thatcher, Mark Carney, Mary Slessor, Mervyn King, Saatchi, Wimbledon

Elizabeth Fry by Charles Robert Leslie.jpg

So, The Bank of England is withdrawing the face of Elizabeth Fry, the social

reformer, from our fivers, I remarked to Brassica, as I handed over a

couple of the aforementioned notes to the Costamuchamoulah cafe

assistant, in exchange for two Mochas and a shared chocolate slice.

Yes, but apparently there is a mystery female in reserve, in case

Churchill doesn’t turn out well  in the engraving, Brassie elaborated.

Sir Winston S Churchill.jpg

Oh yes! I joked.

Brassie had a choco-powder moustache, but I wasn’t about to lean over and

erase it from her upper lip; Saatchi has deterred cafe goers everywhere from

making physical contact with their companions in public.

So, apart from the Queen, we are to have no female physiognomies on our

banknotes, I continued.  Except in Scotland. I suppose that still

counts as the UK. The Scots have Mary Slessor, the missionary, and Elsie

Inglis, the suffragette, on their notes.  But I bet they wouldn’t be accepted if

tendered in Costamuchamoulah.

The Scots or their currency?  Brassie quipped.

Possibly both, I replied.  I certainly couldn’t envisage a frugal Mary Slessor, nor

an earnest Inglis dropping by for a cappuccino and a tranche of Polenta cake.

Well, Brassie kept up the conversational momentum. There are some 

names being currently proposed, such as Linda Lovelace.

Ada lovelace.jpg

I think you mean Ada Lovelace, the mathematician, I clarified, rather

pompously. There is a difference between deep maths and Deep Throat. 

Anyway, your suggestion was an American.

Was she? Brassie said vaguely.  She had detected the chocolate smear

and was concentrating on removing it.  I thought Jane Austen had been

mooted too.

CassandraAusten-JaneAusten(c.1810) hires.jpg

Well, she certainly understood currency, I agreed.  And her brother, Henry had

a branch of his bank not too far from Suttonford, didn’t he?  At least, before it

went bust and he joined the church!  As someone who supported the concept

of thrift, maybe Jane would be a good choice.

We ought to canvass Costamuchamoulah customers, said Brassie brightly,

and then we could present a petition containing the most popular female

names to Mark Carney, when he takes up his new job as Bank of England

Governor, at the beginning of July.

Oh, he’ll probably be too busy at Wimbledon, I said.  Mervyn King is always in

the Royal Box, so he’ll probably reserve a seat for him.  Mind you, there’s

probably some Suttonfordians heading for Centre Court in the next week or

so.

Wimbledon.svg

We could ask them to present our findings to him, even if he is off-duty, I

suppose, I granted.

Good idea! concurred Brassie and she was off with her paper napkin and a

pen before the starting gun had been fired. (I think she gets her prematurity

of behaviour from Cosmo, by all accounts.)

The first caffeine addict she approached was too quick to promote Maggie

Thatcher, which was predictable, given the territory, but I could see one or

two others within earshot- not difficult in Costamuchamoulah!- looking flushed,

or maybe enraged by the suggestion.  So, before any iced cupcakes were

hurled by covert Lib Dems, I turned to an intelligent-looking female with a

laptop, in the corner.

Eliot

What about George Eliot? she proffered.

Nah, love, interrupted one of two local workmen who could afford a daily fix

at this elite establishment. (I had previously observed their regularity of

attendance at about 3pm each day-an unsurprising habit, supported by the

prices they charge for basic DIY and maintenance.  Mid afternoon seemed to

be their premature knocking off time.  Not in any way a reference to

Cosmo’s entirely different, connubial activities, I must add.)

Nah!  We were discussing wimmen, weren’t we?  Not blokes!  That Katherine

Jenkins is a bit of all right, i’n’t she?  Whoarr! I wouldn’t mind seeing her on

a fifty quid note-preferably as Lady Godiva.

Katherine Jenkins - Live 2011 (39).jpg

Yes, I suppose you handle a fair few of those denomination, I remarked

caustically. But she is Welsh, isn’t she?  Maybe they will get their own

currency, or perhaps they’ll revert to Anglesey Druidic pennies.

I bet they wouldn’t charge her as much as they do for services rendered to

local households headed up by femmes d’un certain age!

Educated conversation is completely lost on the average Suttonfordian, I find.

No wonder they didn’t recognise the pseudonym of dear old Mary Ann Evans.

I expect that is why I seek an international audience, Dear Reader. So, I

refrained from adding my own Trinity of female talent: Acton, Ellis and Currer

Bell.

I especially like the way that the male has been airbrushed out of the

picture. (Branwell knew that he wouldn’t be appearing on any bill of promise.)

The girl behind the counter suddenly said: What about Good Queen Bess?

Better, admitted Brassie, but there is a new book out by someone called

Steve Berry, which suggests that she was a man in disguise.

Maybe she had a moustache.

Or drank too many Mochas, I teased.

Women sometimes had to dress as men to achieve recognition, said

Brassie thoughtfully.  You know, like Pope Joan.

I know, said the girl, who clearly hadn’t bee lstening.  What about Helen

Mirren?

Well, I faltered.  She was born Mirronoff, but I suppose she is as English as

the present Royals , so maybe she is as good a choice as any.

Yeah!  Get her name down on your list, girls, approved what we might

laughingly term the ‘workmen’.  She looked pretty good in Calendar

Girls and Costa here could supply the strategic cupcakes, couldn’t you,

ladies? Whoarrrr!

I’m sorry, sirs.  We don’t accept these, said the assistant, returning their

Mary Slessor.  She would have in the normal scheme of transactions, but

customers who cheapened their brand by abbreviating its title were

personae non gratae. They had to substitute the note with another from

their rubber-banded wads of paper currency but left, quite cheered by their

ideal candidate for financial commemoration.  They were only aware of one

promotional photo of the aforesaid actress and it was from a fair number

of years ago.  They thought it would do nicely.

Number One: Helen Mirren, wrote Brassie on the napkin.

Calendar Girls.jpg

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Round Robin 2-Strictly Finals

18 Tuesday Dec 2012

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Fashion, Humour, Sport, Suttonford, television

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Argentinian tango, bugle beads, Come Dine with Me, Dancing With the Stars, Fake or Fortune?, Flavia, Katherine Jenkins, Location Location Location, Louis Smith, monocles, Patrick Moore, Pineau, Pippa Middleton, Pizza Express, pleb, pommel horse, Salvatore Ferragamo, Santa Baby, Strictly Come Dancing, Swarovski, Vincent

Marzipan accomplished.  As I said, ‘to be continued’.

 

Well, Victoria, so many of our friends and neighbours have been

minor celebs this year- Tristram on Come Dine With Me; Sonia on

Fake or Fortune; Clammie and Tristram on Location, Location,

Location.  So, we feel very ordinary- almost pleb-like, I was going to

say, but that isn’t PC now.

Brassie’s party is on Saturday and there has been a trail of bugle

beads up the pavement from A La Mode, down to the Norman

bridge.  Everyone is getting glitzed up for the Strictly final.

Tiger and her friend, Sherry, spent some of their Xmas-in-advance

money on a ‘papp’ experience.  This is the latest craze for St Vitus’

girls, apparently.  They organised an agency to roll out a red carpet

for them when they left A La Mode and then a crowd of fake

papparazi flashed away-?- and a rent-a crowd of autograph

hunters besieged them as they were escorted into their stretch limo,

which took them to Pizza Express. (They could only afford the

economy package, not the platinum one.)

The only trouble was that then Pippa Middleton’s security posse

arrived and shunted the girls’ car off the double yellow lines and then

everyone started to snap Pip instead.  Gyles had said the package

was a complete waste of money and the girls just cheekily replied:

Whatever.  So, he is not speaking to Tiger at the moment.  In a way,

it is a blessing.  Tiger said that Pippa actually went into Mini Moghuls,

probably to buy a Swarovski-encrusted mini-onesie for the

forthcoming one- and I don’t mean the baby Jesus.  The ubiquitous

traffic warden was conspicuous by his absence on this occasion.

Have just managed to find a second-hand pommel horse for Rollo on

E-bay.  He adores Louis Smith and so he went and had his hair cut in

that ridiculous way on the last day of term.  Thank goodness it will

have grown a bit before January, or Mr Milford-Haven, his

pastoral mentor, will be having words with him.

Of course, all my family support the Italians- whether it be Flavia or

Vincent.  I have been trying the Argentinian Tango, but it does my

back in.

Cosmo said he would prefer if the programme were to be called

Dancing With the Stars, as its European equivalent.  At the weekend,

he was drooling over Katherine Jenkins singing Santa Baby, which

really upset Brassie.  And to think that it hadn’t been 24 hours since

he was so moved by the death of Patrick Moore. Brassie said that she

felt like returning the crystal-encrusted monocle she had ordered for

him, in memory of his astronomical hero.

I hope Brassie gates the peeing Border, Andy, on Saturday.  I don’t

want to slip on anything wet on the conservatory floor during our

Gangnam number.  It would ruin my new Salvatore Ferragamos!

Well, at least you don’t have to worry about excessive preparation,

do you?  The Charentaise are so laid back about their Bonnes Fetes

that they don’t even bother to remove their plastic, life-size Pere

Noels from their exterior chimneys, from one year to the next.  I

always think that they look like burglars in July or August!

Have a great time and see you in the New Year.

Thanks for the truffles and Pineau!

Gros Bisous!

Carrie & Gyles.

PS What’s French for Keep Dancing!

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All Things Are Possible

27 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by Candia in Celebrities, Humour, News, Politics, Social Comment

≈ Leave a comment

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Alistair Darling, George Osborne, husband, Katherine Jenkins, Shakespeare, spiders, Summer 2012, swimming, The Tempest

Saturday.

Too darn hot.

A new family of spiders has been discovered called Trogloraptor, or Cave Robber.  One of their genus was behind my headboard last night and it definitely had claws.  This is one situation where the husband can make himself useful.

The theme of the summer, i.e. that all things are possible is continued in news items about a limbless Frenchman who is swimming between all the continents and a sixty three year old American woman who is making her 4th attempt to swim between Havana and Florida, without the protection of a shark cage.  Last time she had to call it off as she was stung by jellyfish.   Mind you, the American probably needn’t worry, as thresher sharks have been seen basking off the coast of Wales, so they may be on vacation and might prefer a nice nibble of Katherine Jenkins instead.  Who wouldn’t?

Nasty weather is spreading from Wales towards the Midlands.  Heavy rain is forecast for Scotland.  Plus ca change.

Alistair Darling has been writing open letters to George, or Gideon Osborne in The People, asking him to change direction.  The problem is that no one knows where the Chancellor is.  He is not called The Submarine for nothing.  He will come up when the coast is clear. At the moment he would be well-advised to stay below the radar.  He certainly should resist any desire to adopt a stovepipe hat and jump on to The Tempest bandwagon, quoting:

If I have too austerely punish’d you…

…all thy vexations

Were but my trials of thy love, and thou

Hast strangely stood the test…

…be more abstemious.. 

If he surfaced with that kind of talk I think a thousand Portuguese Men-of-War would sting him to death.  And they would be of his own party.

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012

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My name is Candia. Its initial consonant alliterates with “cow” and there are connotations with the adjective “candid.” I started writing this blog in the summer of 2012 and focused on satire at the start.

Interspersed was ironic news comment, reviews and poetry.

Over the years I have won some international poetry competitions and have published in reputable small presses, as well as reviewing and reading alongside well- established poets. I wrote under my own name then, but Candia has taken me over as an online persona. Having brought out a serious anthology last year called 'Its Own Place' which features poetry of an epiphanal nature, I was able to take part in an Arts and Spirituality series of lectures in Winchester in 2016.

Lately I have been experimenting with boussekusekeika, sestinas, rhyme royale, villanelles and other forms. I am exploring Japanese themes at the moment, my interest having been re-ignited by the recent re-evaluations of Hokusai.

Thank you to all my committed followers whose loyalty has encouraged me to keep writing. It has been exciting to meet some of you in the flesh- in venues as far flung as Melbourne and Sydney!

Copyright Notice

© Candia Dixon Stuart and Candiacomesclean.wordpress.com, 2012-2013. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Candia Dixon Stuart and candiacomesclean.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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