And now for a little fashion show....

Dear sistars,

The other day , probably when S1 was at her Kim Wilde concert , I was at Prague's Design Week Fashion Show closing ceremony. Where were you S2 ?
It all started with little men in white doing some fancy screen sword fighting, which i enjoyed.
This is them warming up as the crowds came rolling in with their gowns and chique armour, sipping glasses of champagne :

These are the little white men in action :

 

Then it moved on to the winning designers clothes trotting down the cat walk. I liked the gradation from dark to light.

 

 

And now , wait for it ! The suprise element ....

Wait for it .....






Tadaaaaaa!

Ok , that's enough of silliness, now onto the real stuff :
 

Here in the next image  you can witness original czech vintage cotton padded coats , in czech they are called watta ,
which means cotton padded, padded nicely with a crunchy sound effect of waxed water proof style !
 And warm ! How warm !

 

Keep warm and stylish dear sisters ! 

Keep it real ! 

Peace and Love , S3 

Beautiful Bonkers clouds somewhere in Czech Land

Greetings from S3

A review of the audience at a Kim Wilde concert

 Dear sisters

A week ago I went to Kim - eighties pop princess- Wilde’s concert. She is doing a greatest hits tour of Europe. She might come to your town too.

I suppose I thought it would be a fun ironic event to do with my girlfriends. As I walked into the hall I saw a middle-aged lady on stage, who had put on a few pounds. She wore black tight jeans, red lipstick and let her peroxide hair blow softly in the wind blower, just like in this video.

I wondered why we had come. Buying tickets is one thing. Actually having to sit through an evening of irony is another.

But I am glad to say Kim proved me wrong. Thank goodness for British self-depreciative humor. I left with warmer feelings for Ms Wilde than I came in with. Her voice has stood the test of time and nostalgia was conjured within our innards as we sang along to ‘Cambodia’, ‘Don’t leave me hanging on’ and the grand finale; with no hands left by the sides, “Kids of America.” Who oh!

Besides the audience was an eclectic mix, worth viewing.

I will give you a brief summary.

Sitting in the corner on the right two scrawny school kids hunched up, with ear plugs in their ears and heads stuck between their pulled up knees, waiting for it to end, for god’s sake. We imagined their mother going crazy on the dance floor, although we did not identify her.

On the balcony; an extended family, with a tomboy kid standing and singing along to each Kim Wilde song. She knew all the words. We imagined her parents introducing her to Wilde at an early age; a whole family of Kim Wilde fans. It struck us as funny. You may not think so.

There was a friendly looking couple on the balcony of at least seventy, wearing plaid shirts, reading glasses and trouser braces; hair: gray, long and fuzzy, as if they had walked out of a hill-billy country western movie.

They carried binoculars, which they passed to each other in turn. The strange thing was, they kept making notes in a little notebook each time they finished looking through the looking glass. What were they writing? What did they see? When they were not writing, they jigged along to the music.

The front standing rows were dominated by balding heterosexual men passing flowers to the stage. One balding gentleman however sat on the balcony, his beer belly resting softly under his pinstriped shirt. He leaned over the balustrade and did not move, looking angry throughout the show. What had Kim done to him?

Did they have posters of the young Kim on their walls when they were younger themselves, and did they dream of close encounters? Did they still see that girl in the woman on stage, with the blowing peroxide hair?

Maybe Kim Wilde’s niece, the backing singer, who whipped her hips from left to right, showing off her midriff under her leather jacket, helped them to remember. Her youth was obviously a reference to the younger Kim Wilde, projected in images on the overhead screens.

The rest of the audience was made up of the young fit and gay and work colleagues drinking too many beers for a Wednesday night, dancing unsteadily and shouting: “this is so funny, isn’t it?”

The evening made me happy and sad all in one. And that was a good thing.

Love,

S1

Toilet training

Dear sisters,

I spend a lot of time upside down looking at my dog’s bottom. I realize it may look ridiculous, seeing me like that on the strip of muddy grass stuck against our building, but it is important for me to know what comes out, before I can go back in.

As a dog-owner I have learned to be observant. When the dog comes out like a wind-up toy, whizzing from side to side, nose to the ground, success will not be far. On the other hand, I have found, if the dog nestles himself in the middle of the road in a leisurely fashion and starts chewing a stick, it might not happen just yet.

After a successful session, with the nr. 2 included (always a high-pitched, praiseworthy moment), I do not hesitate to pick up the result with my hand dipped in a little plastic bag; it is a swift motion, down, up and around and voila!, it is gone, as if it was never there; inspection of substance as it goes into the bag. Is it green and slimy? Maybe his new diet of raw cow gut with tender heart pieces has not settled well into the bowels yet. We will have to keep watch. 

After three weeks, we have had exactly two days of no accidents in the house. But then, I no longer have qualms about the inside clean-up either; basic household vinegar and speed are of the essence.

I need a little more training as dog-owner, so we go to puppy school on Sunday. The puppy trainer is a remarkable woman with thunder thighs, wellies and a thick chin. She speaks loudly, with affectation. She is quite famous in this part of town. She does not want to be on Facebook, and taking pictures of her is an indecent act in her opinion. She sometimes chases passersby who dare to raise their i-phone in her direction.

A dog is toilet trained if it does everything where it should for three weeks running, the trainer says, so we have a few more weeks to go. At least it is all more structured now. S3, you should have no problems, when you come to dog-sit at the end of the month. 

Here is a comic about the paradox of the dog which was sent us and made us laugh, as we have found it to be accurate.

Love to you all,

S1