Alison's Diary

May 11 2008

MONDAY

Ab Fab star Joanna Lumley looks amazing for her age and claims all she uses is Astral cream. It's only about £3 a pot and I would like to say I have been using it for ages but I got hooked on cream that we were told would stave off the ravages of time. I am living proof it doesn't work. Anyway, Dave has been complaining his face feels like a crinkle-cut chip so I buy him a tub of Astral.

Introducing the concept of spreading cream on his face is hilarious - he could win a gurning championship as I daub a tiny amount on his chops. He looks entirely unconvinced and says he is glad he isn't a woman. Not as glad as I am.

TUESDAY

Leap out of bed, have a shower and am cleaning my teeth when I notice to my surprise that the tub of Astral cream is on the side of the sink, top off. Dave must be converted after all, I think as I plunge my fingers into the pot. Well, it must be good if it makes him change the habit of a lifetime overnight. I liberally spread it all over my face, thinking it has a lovely texture, then slather it on my neck and decolletage. The only issue I have with it is that it is quite perfumed. As I inhale, I spot the Astral tub again. It is still on the shelf, top on, not beside the sink. Yes, I mistook the blue plastic tub of Astral for another blue plastic tub that looks very similar. It seems I've just clarted Brylcreem all over myself.

Despite the mistake, it feels great!

WEDNESDAY

We live in a flat with communal gardens and recently there have been a lot of break-ins, so the garden committee have decided to get the locks changed. Today is the day to take your old key back and get a new one. As I sit bleary eyed with my cup of tea gazing out over yet another wet spring day I notice two guys - one in an Arthur Daly jacket, the other head to toe in black - looking a bit furtive as they wander round the gardens footering about with the gate. An hour later I am in there with the dogs and the lock has gone completely. Aha! I phone the lady who organises such things and tell her I saw a couple of skulkers. "Was one of them wearing an Arthur Daly jacket," she asked? "Yes," I said. "That is the locksmith," she revealed.

Ah, a case of neighbourhood overwatch. Over-active imagination alert from yours truly.

THURSDAY

I was supposed to be doing the Edinburgh 10k race last Sunday but three of us fell before the starting line. Catherine pulled her ligament and was told not to run and Anne suffered a nasty knock and was also banned. I had not moved from my couch for weeks before the race and in all honesty would have been in danger of being hospitalised if I had tried running.

So today training for the next one starts in earnest. We meet for a coffee to discuss our tactics. The temptation of a muffin becomes too much when faced with them warm from the oven at the counter. Faces full and caffeine-fuelled, we decide to organise a night out for charity instead of running as we will follow it through and have a good laugh in the process. We retreat, pleased with our decision.

FRIDAY

I love good weather but am now worried that the winter flab must be revealed and the baggy delights I live in must be exchanged for something a little less thick. Why is it that every year I desperately try on my squished linen trousers cursing my lack of self-control. One person not worrying about that is my pal and fellow columnist Elaine C. Smith, right, who is currently touring with Little Voice. She is diminishing as the weeks go by.

Apparently the lovely red leggings and 80s tops she wears on stage, all originally two sizes too small for her, are now feeling a bit baggy. It seems hoofing around with her co-star Andy Gray and being straddled over the back of a couch, sometimes twice a day (lucky her), has fantastic weight-loss advantages. Now, where did I put those red velvet leggings?

SATURDAY

Eating on the run as usual, so wander into a newsagent and grab a salad from their fridge. As I am about to pay for it the lady says, "Ooh its sell-by date was yesterday, that should have been taken off the shelf." I said:"Och, it doesn't matter. I'll risk it, it looks nice."

"Sorry, I really can't sell it to you," she insists. I plead with her, starving. "No," she said. "But I can give it to you."

Can you imagine a better thing happening to an Aberdonian? I thank her profusely and run off to eat it. New scam for anyone looking for a snack.