01 March, 2008

Where's Tom when I need him

So much for feminism. I hate it when I fail to do something practical on my own. Like say, put together a flat-packed cold frame. Now I am not very practical. Bit scared by drills. Don't like ladders (hey at 6 feet tall I'm already far enough off the ground). But I can build fires, put up a tent, work a dvd player, read maps, change the fuse in a plug and I would love to be able right now to say that I can put together a flat-packed cold frame. Because I could really use said flat-packed cold frame in the next few days. I have however been defeated by the damn screws which I just can't get in completely. Could be a lousy design. Could be me. I won't know until Tom gets back and has a go himself. Pathetic.

And particularly galling when you have always considered yourself capable, feisty, and so forth, modelling yourself on Katherine Hepburn or Barbara Stanwyck rather than Brigitte Bardot or Marilyn Monroe. There's an excellent article in today's Guardian about screwball comedies and how A L Kennedy hoped that life would turn out like that when she grew up. This was me too. Although it strikes me that these heroines are more likely to own several glasshouses and gardeners, and if coming into contact with a cold frame, would only do so by falling backwards into it in a very slinky evening dress, probably having been pushed by Cary Grant or Gary Cooper or James Stewart. Now those were the days...

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