La diva danese

I'm a diva. I have strops. That's what IDV says, and while I'd love to say that I'm all peaches and cream, I'm really not. Just yesterday I had one of my strops at work.

Actually, I'm usually nice to my colleagues, but she is quite new at our team, and she keeps asking just me. I wasn't exclusively assigned to train her and I am fairly behind in my own work. She asks the same questions over and over like she isn't getting what we teach her. So, yesterday it became too much.



Miss Joanie would be proud. Actually, I wasn't mad at her, I just got frustrated both because she'd been asking the same question so much that I started doubting my answer and because I was stressed of having to take over someone elses work while she is on holiday (in California, just to rub it in I suppose). She first got a bit red in the cheeks, then she got a little bit tense before going to the loo. When she came back her mascara was a bit smudged (that's what you get for not using waterproofed I suppose). Of course I ended up emailing her (she's two desks over, and I wasn't going to walk all the way over there in my Choos) saying I was sorry. I'm such a softie.

I'm not alone in my diva incarnation though













We all have our good qualities. We appreciate good quality products, designer labels and expect to be treated like the glamorous stars we are. Living in our own world of





and who doesn't love a good catfight to work off that Beluga caviar and those sufflés



or throwing people out of hotel rooms.



To be honest though, it's a lot of work being a diva, and I've had a lot of thoughts about my blog and it's future. Should I just let it die? Or should I try to bring it back to life. As a diva, I'm allowed to change my mind, but for now bitches...

Very fruity

I grew up in a house with a nice garden by a lake. When I say by a lake, it's mean in that real estate agent kind of way. Because the lake was 3 rows of houses down, and past a fairly busy road. Yet we had a nice view of the lake as the house was on a (very) small hill. I didn't really appreciate the view back then, as I was either in my room colouring, playing Civilization (or Giana Sisters or Oil Imperium) or perhaps sitting outside on the balcony steps playing with our dog.

My parents did all they could, but I did find the entire collection of Abba on vinyl that they had hidden away along with Cliff Richard. Cliff wasn't really my thing though (except for that one Christmas song..)



We didn't just have fruity things in the house. Our garden was filled with black currant, redcurrant, strawberries, raspberries, apples, pears and gooseberries.



There were also melons, although they weren't for eating.



We haven't scaled down on the fruit since, as you can well imagine. I like fruit, I eat way too little of it, and I believe it's way too expensive. That is, if you want fresh fruit. You know, proper fresh fruit. The kind that looks great and doesn't taste waxy and artificial.

So today, as I was all out of ice cream and it was too hot to go anywhere or do anything, I pondered if I should go for ice cream. It was quite the debate in my head really. Yet, I ended up getting dressed properly, and ventured out into the sweltering heat. Sun baking us all, and it was quite a journey. The shop was nice and cool, and of course they'd been practically sold out on ice cream. I also managed to look in the fruit section if they had anything worth buying.

The raspberries looked great, so I stood there inspecting every pack of them. Obviously. As I did so, a woman and her daughter (I can only assume (I know, some stupid American phrase, something about a donkey)) came up to me looking at mangos. The daughter stood there staring, rather rudely I daresay, at me and then turns to her mother asking why I was inspecting the raspberries. Of course, I could have just answered myself, but the mother told her rather flat out "so the gentleman can get the packet with the least worms and rotting berries". Right. She was correct of course, but it almost put me off buying them if it wasn't because the packet I was holding hadn't looked so perfect.

When I got home I checked the packet again and the raspberries were perfect. They also tasted like every bit of summery goodness that I remember. Still, you don't get much eh? Why must the good fruits and berries cost so much?



Now, how about a raspberry margarita?