My average monthly expense sheet is so often filled with entries like ‘Tea and Hula Hoops – £2.00‘, rather than (for example) the infinitely more grand ‘La Perla raw silk peignoir, £350′ (although the days when I could fit even one finger into anything from the aforementioned were gone by the time I turned nine) that I occasionally suspect that I may be not quite keeping to my side of the glamour bargain supposedly beloved of ladies of reasonable means. I have always thus been tempted to save myself the trouble and dump the small-change, finicky bits in the blue recycling bag along with the junk mail and empty tissue boxes, being as I am often unsure of quite when an engaging thriftiness becomes downright tightarse. Now I remember why I don’t. Yay!

Naturally I have celebrated by purchasing many new items, and am planning some more photographs in earnest – the bright weather will not last forever and the lovely natural light has always been my favourite key ingredient. The sunshine has still not let up in weeks, it seems and I have often been out and about enjoying the warmth and fresh air from beneath a carefully applied coating of coconut-scented Hawaiian Tropic Factor 50 – following the unholy pink colour and murderously stinging shoulders I acquired just strolling around Edinburgh on that first really hot weekend a couple of months ago, I have no intention of being caught out again and all excursions out of doors are being carefully prepared for (at home I am far more lackadaisical, being happy to stick to Factor 15 and just keep away from the windows).

This afternoon I am heading off on a leisurely Big(ish) Shop in preparation for what is beginning to look like a surprisingly busy week interspersed with more decorating and the World Cup final tomorrow night. Inspired by both the football and my Borough Market tapas last week I will be hoping to later create some Spanish-style delights myself (incidentally for a foolproof recipe that would make Popeye weep see here – I speak as a staunch and unrepentant carnivore) and am looking forward to wallowing hedonistically in an oily, garlicky, lemon scented and paprika-spiked utopia for much of the remainder of the day weekend.

I may also grudgingly buy some Edam, just in case.

Unfortunately it also means that the racks of lovely tiered, smocked, and cheerily floral printed dresses available as far as the eye could see were completely unsuitable, all being at least four inches too long and in trying just dragged about the floor in my wake. Admittedly my friendly seamstress up the road would have had no trouble altering the length but the momentum was lost, and crestfallen, I shuffled sadly into the final port of call (my teenage favourite Miss Selfridge), whereupon I unexpectedly walked straight into a sale rack containing a lone size 12 maxi from their Petite range in beautiful soft rose-printed cotton, which fit perfectly and only cost forty five quid. Once established that I was definitely awake and the clothing gods had smiled on me, I celebrated immediately over the road in the Marks and Spencer food hall, home of the celestial Iced & Spiced Soft Bun and where my favourite microwaveable dim sum are currently three packs for a fiver; having now returned home to eat sweet-chilli-dipped prawn dumplings in my pyjamas and watch football on television, in the unlikely event that a branch of the Hummingbird Bakery is about to open next door to my apartment (or better still, in it) it would probably have been the perfect Sunday. Or at least, as anyone who has also been watching the football will know, it was.

On to travel news, and I have been busy making arrangements for my next few visitings; I will be landing in Glasgow on the first of August for a couple of days of exploring indoors and out, and have arranged my next London dates shortly after on the eighteenth. Since I will be persona non grata at my usual digs in Pimlico until the temperature drops a bit, I will be staying – fear not – in a spanking-new (and anyone wanting to test this theory is welcome to do so) and decidedly swanky-looking 4 star hotel close to Waterloo and judging by the maps almost overlooking the London Eye, although as anyone who has ever stayed in a city centre hotel knows, the premium attribute known as ‘View’ has far less to do with the building’s location than it has to do with the positioning of the windows and I cannot be the only person to have excitedly dashed to open the curtains of a nicely appointed place only to be face to face with a brick wall, the rubbish bins or most memorably, the DLR.

To this week – I will be in Scarborough for prebooked incalls each day except Tuesday, and whilst there are visitors dotted evenly throughout, I am not envisaging an activity-filled week and will be out and about enjoying the weather now that the number of World Cup games per day is down to a more sensible level. Therefore as ever, short notice appointments will be even less available than usual (if such a thing were possible) and please do not be surprised to find that I am answering the telephone from a location other than my living room, or that it is being switched off strictly at 8pm. The quantity of ‘NR’ (non reader) numbers in my mobile is currently increasing at a hellish pace, and whilst I appreciate that the people who would fall into that category are the least likely to be reading this, it is becoming a real pain and since one of the greatest benefits of the wonderful world of self-employment is deciding one’s own hours, I am saving them the trouble.

Next stop – the beach!

It would appear that the balance has been very much tipped in favour of the deserving with some unmissable play by teams whose players (unlike the England side) arrived on the pitch looking as though they had met one another before the game, and I have especially enjoyed watching North Korea hold their own admirably against Brazil until the final moments, Argentina and Germany in their opening fixtures whereas up next is Ghana v Australia this afternoon. I have explained this to two callers already today, neither of whom were seemingly aware that the World Cup is a football tournament. You would think the name would give it away.

Inbetween the during-the-day television watching (a rare enough treat to be thrilling in itself), I have taken advantage of the lovely weather with an impromptu trip to the beach and also got many of those irritatingly small ‘household’ jobs completed which are so insignificant individually as to be easily put off, but build up when you are not looking – a stack of superfluous paper has been shredded and eco-responsibly put out in the blue bag, the duvets have been to the laundrette and returned sparkling white, fluffy and smelling like summer clouds plus all of the clothing needing repair beyond my skills is currently ensconced at the menders in town for collection on Monday. In technical news, the crooks at BT have been unceremoniously dumped (the last straw being their declared intent to charge me slightly under three pounds a month for not making any telephone calls from my landline, which I do not use) and in complete contrast, the lovely folk at Southern Electric noted that I had overpaid my bill and kindly returned a couple of hundred pounds to my bank account without being asked, as well as adjusting my monthly contributions to reduce the likelihood of a repeat. Life is indeed a sea of contrasts, and never more so than when trying to organise the provision of household utilities.

I have also managed to fit in some carefully arranged meetings, and particularly enjoyed a change of scene for an extended assignation in York at a charming hotel by the river;  an unexpected addition being dinner at the Blue Bicycle which turned out to be an extremely happy accident, having fabulous food, warm and welcoming decor and as I found out on my return home, a story all of its own – it turns out that the building was a well reputed brothel at the turn of the century, and the name refers to the bicycle its mistress would leave outside to signify that her premises was open for business. I am already planning my return visit, and am hoping for a look around the cellar where my Victorian contemporaries would have greeted their gentlemen callers, as well as some more of the ham hock terrine and possibly an extra order of braised ox cheek to go home with – all in all, the experience was a delight, and set the scene well for a couple of days of comforting inertia on the settee, with the occasional mini dilemma providing variety and interest (like the forgotten and slightly misshapen part-bar of desirably soft and warm milk chocolate unexpectedly discovered in a dressing gown pocket last night after tooth-brushing time).

To this week and very little to report apart from my Wednesday pit-stop in Manchester is fully booked bar a final late-afternoon/early evening appointment – I will be away until Thursday evening and Tuesday is also filling up quickly. I am in the very early stages of scouting accommodation and travel arrangements for Glasgow and very excitingly, a trip to Jersey, although those who remember the shenanigans in Aberdeen may know that this is another place where we ladies are decidedly unwelcome, and the practice I have already had in stealth and subterfuge will once again been called upon if the visit is to be uneventful in the good sense of the word. Bristol is also looking to be a resounding success, and I am likely to be fully booked before I set off, although there are always cancellations and enquiries are still very welcome, and I am looking forward to pastures new once again!

Whistle’s gone. Until next time…

I, however, am rarely afraid to express a view although this time it was to no avail, and after a desperate plea eventually obtained a small desk fan for aiming at the bed in an attempt to take the edge off. Unfortunately, the stultifying and oppressive heat rendered the conditions similar to sleeping beneath a pile of fat, panting Labradors after a lively game of ball, and I had to settle for the odd restless hour at a time until, typically, Wednesday rolled around and my final night cooled off a touch. My return in August will now be played out at a nearby but alternative venue; rest assured that everybody’s comfort will be top priority, mine included.

Minor irritants aside, I have been happy to welcome both regular visitors as well as a few new friends, and have enjoyed lots of treats including wonderful Vietnamese food, the hotel’s delightful health club (the irony of sitting in the sauna after my swim prior to spending the night in its counterpart was not lost on me) as well as trips out to the pictures (as ever, but the Curzon Mayfair – bottom right pic – was particularly fabulous), inadvertently running into a film premiere (‘The Killers’ – top left picture – no, me neither) and a visit to the Tate Modern on the special boat, an  activity that on its own had me beside myself with childish excitement having not been on any sort of boat for a considerable amount of time. The last would probably have been in the Maldives some two years ago now, although the Thames and the Indian Ocean do not share many similarities other than basic chemical composition, and even then there is probably some room for debate. I can highly and unreservedly recommend the current Exposed exhibition at the TM, which filled three hours of my afternoon pondering the topic of ‘voyeurism, surveillance and the camera’ and contains many moving, some shocking and all fascinating images, many surreptitiously taken and spanning from the earliest days of photography to the present. Some, I might add, were even a bit rude (although considerably less so than bits of the Pop Life exhibition earlier in the year which I loved, despite it leaving me with a low-grade migraine, backache and a short-lived but no less irresistable desire to shag Jeff Koons).

My usual luck on the art side was to run out on Thursday when upon arriving an hour later than intended for the Summer Exhibition Buyer’s Preview at the Royal Academy (an event some will know that I look forward to every year, and have always aimlessly wondered how many other Working Ladies get invited to given that I never fail to spot a couple), I found to my bitter disappointment that each of three pieces I was interested in buying was spoken for by the time I fought my way to the sales desk, and I left somewhat forlornly until I realised that by making no purchase I was technically over £2000 better off, and immediately made haste to the Oxford Circus Topshop. The story does not end there, on returning home I sent a hopeful and speculative email to the creator behind my favourite of the three (a textile artist and hobby entomologist; very much my kind of lady) enquiring about a possible commission, and lo and behold, another ‘Moth Balls‘ is available and will provisionally be mine once it finishes it’s stint at another exhibition running concurrently. Thank God I couldn’t find anything I wanted in Topshop.

Anyway, back to the week in hand. As some of you will know I intend watching a great deal of football in the ensuing days and as a result will not be taking any short notice appointments – the four people who have already tried today (including the gentleman who rang asking for an incall at ‘twelve or one-ish’ at er, quarter past twelve) have been courteously turned away and invited to try another time after reading the website. The Adultwork phone, predictably, is gainfully occupied with receiving abusive text messages from a particularly cowardly and ignorant individual who thought I was the bees knees until I politely requested that he follow my profile instructions for making contact and use the on-site form, whereupon dummies were spat and as ever, my superlative screening system for the site known variously as Adultwank, the Other Site, and Timewaster’s Paradise came into its own.

Availability wise; I am provisionally available on Friday, and possibly for a short while on Wednesday afternoon – that’s it. This does not include evenings, when I do not normally work but I can offer a few limited appointments over the next few weeks given that large portions of my usual entertaining-time are occupied with the World Cup. Bandwagon-jumping is not my thing, and I will not be donning a cheap, tight white T-shirt with a red cross on it and pretending to understand what’s happening on the pitch whilst talking all the way through it and blocking other people’s view in the pub – my 50″ television and well stocked fridge will be more than ample and I am looking forward to the tournament very much.

As ever, email for bookings, blah blah, no same day, blah blah, you know the rest by now. Have a great week everybody – I’m pretty sure that I will. Oh, and hope you like the new photos! More to follow soon…