Dolls

I finished a long term restoration on a chaise-lounge which we keep in the bedroom.



It normally sits at the bottom of our bed, and is used to sit on when putting on socks etc.  It's quite an old piece, which had a split cane base and sides, but the base disintegrated some years months ago, and I finally finished the entire job last weekend, and restored it to its original position.

Everything was fine, until my beloved began to put things on it. 

Stuffed animals; tigers, cats, dogs (poodles) and 3 versions of that crab from Little Mermaid, called seemingly Sebastian. 

Hello Sebastian, you pseudo-paedophilic crustacean

I never understood why women have to stuff every surface with kitsch and doodads.

Blokes don't need such fripperies, but ladies, regardless of how much dust the bloody things seem to attract, seem to like their dolls.

And it's the dolls that are giving me the heebie-jeebies.

There are two quite large dolls with porcelain heads that my beloved has propped up on the end of the chaise-lounge.  They are quite big dolls, their heads just visible over the bed end.  You can just see the eyes.

STOP LOOKING AT ME

AND THE EYES FOLLOW ME.

If I'm reading a book, I can feel the eyes burning through the text.

If I'm listening to some music or an audio book, I cannot concentrate, because they're listening as well.

If I even consider making mad, passionate love to my beloved, I have to stop as I feel the eyes burning into my arse (or worse)

And the eyes move. 

They follow me around the room.  I have to leave the room to get changed in the corridor.  It's just too embarrassing.

Speaking of dolls, and just to get my mind away from their essential creepiness, I remember from my teenage years, the advent of the baby-doll nightdress.

COAAAGGHH

I especially remember a girl at my school, who on our formal dance, on our last day at school, wore a baby-doll nightdress/dress trimmed with some sort of white fur.  Her name was Patty (Laura) Ashley, and every boy (and quite a few girls) lusted greatly after her.

It's the only type of doll I even remotely like.

And speaking of Patty, my beloved has just finished making about 2 kg of Chicken Liver Paté; made with Cream, Brandy, Crabbie's Green Ginger Wine, Red wine, Onion, Garlic and of course Chicken Livers.  The only Paté she makes better, is Smoked Mackerel Paté, and as we can't get Smoked Mackerel here in NZ, I'll probably never taste it again.  It's a shame, it was absolutely superb, with just a trace of Bay Leaf, Onion and Horseradish and quite a lot of Cream and Pepper. Absolutely magnificent on hot (well) buttered toast, and a glass of a reasonable Bordeaux, which takes me through a particularly tortuous memory path to Patum Peperium (The Gentleman's Relish).

A curious mixture of Anchovies, Butter and Spices which is absolutely f*cking tremendous on hot (well)  buttered toast.  You can occasionally get this stuff from Kirkaldy and Staines in Wellington (and many, many delicatessens in the UK)  Don't be afraid, it doesn't really taste of Anchovies.  It just tastes tremendously savoury.