It’s one of life’s small joys that Knitty is often available for a chat early in the day. We can easily talk nonsense and family for the entire forty five minute journey to the university. Me in my car through the dashboard speaker which I still think is super modern, space age, fabulous magic, she in her bed or out walking her dog.
Knitty has a complicated family history, a mine of anecdotal shenanigans that we find endlessly entertaining.
This mornings top tale involved a family member who was so offended by the lack of an immediate response to a WhatsApp message that she felt the need to send a torrent of abuse to the tardy Knitty.
Who did Knitty think she is? No oil painting and not young any more for starters.
The truth of it aside, we are knocking on and therefore less gorgeous, we both thought it was very funny.
What oil painting is she not? A Picasso with her nose on the side? The Mona Lisa? The Hay Wain?
It put me in mind of those click bait internet articles about celebrities who’ve let themselves go. Usually, in truth these are a series of images of said celebs that have been taken twenty, thirty or forty years apart. Yes they do look significantly more shit, or, you could just say older.
The modern crime of ageing.
It’s no wonder that running out of the one face cream that doesn’t make me break out in spots was given emergency status chez Tart last weekend.
Its ok, you can all breath a sigh of relief, it was on sale and I have a plentiful supply now.
Phew.
fat tart 