Spots and philosophy

I've never been a great one for skincare. Marian Keyes reckons that there are two types of women; those who love shoes, and those of love cosmetics. Well, sorry Marian, but I fall into a third category; those who don't give a monkeys.

Obviously, this means that I look absolutely gorgeous at all times.

However, I am going to have to start taking a bit more care of my appearance, and a huge spot on the corner of my mouth has brought this home to me.

For my own part, I still don't care much - spot, schmot say I. But, if I were standing up at the local crematorium today, looking like I've done ten rounds with Ricky Hatton, saying "we are now here to celebrate the life of....." would I be portraying quite the image that the family are looking for?

Superdrug, here I come.


When I had my feedback from the first training session, it was recommended that I read up a bit on the philosophical side of Humanism. Being a good girl, I got myself onto Amazon and ordered a load of books.

I am usually a happy reader. I normally try to read at least two books per month, alternating between fiction and non-fiction. Not this month! This is slow old stuff to read. I realise that philosophy is meant to be read slowly and digested, but bugger me, when you get to the bottom of the page, and realise that you need to start at the top again, because you drifted off into "what shall I cook for dinner tonight", then these books are not going to be finished quickly.

My original plan was to read through them all in one hit, but I think that when I've finished the current tome, I'm going to have to go for something with a pink cover, and a title like "love's a bastard, but not in the end" to clear the brain.

My first gatecrash

I went to the first funeral with my mentor yesterday.

It was a good service - I was very impressed with my mentor's range of quotes and sayings. She's posh anyway, but has clearly benefited from a classical education.

The service went well, I had one moment when I thought I might get a bit choked up (my biggest fear with all of this), but that was watching a brief exchange between a man who'd just delivered a eulogy, and his wife - as an officiant, I would be preparing for the next part, and not notice this.

On a personal level, I felt incredibly self-conscious. As I was all in black, I hoped that I would be mistaken for an employee of the Funeral Director, but it was uncomfortable, feeling that I had no right to be there.

It was a civilised service - there was some weeping, but everyone there seemed to be respecting the dignity of the service.

As for me? I've got a lot of research to do. Google, here I come.