Pandemic Pondering #207

Newspaper is the prompt word for today.

Not just any Newspaper, The Financial Times. The pink, in colour, paper. The two actual Pink Papers, one Lgbtq and one Sport were not the same colour at all. Both are no longer published in print form.

Sometimes I just buy the Financial Times for the joy of its colour combinations. I always loved it in the days of Black and White ( Pink) printing but with the advent of colour the pink just gives everything s little joosh, a brightener, a lift. I am not by nature a pink person but this Financial Times Pink floats a whole flotilla of boats for me.

It is the pink of both my grandmothers’ underwear. One, a sensible woman who wore Directoire Knickers in peach. She would be horrified , if she were alive today and able to Google, to discover that her choice of undergarments were now the underpinnings of a Vintage Fetish.

Many of the images on Google could not grace Ponderings. Some of the wearers had male looking bulges, others cavorted and posed, plump rounded buttocks presented like over ripe peaches with a short shelf life . My other, more lively, Grandma wore the same colour underwear , her knickers also had a French sounding name, French Knickers, and were trimmed with the most amazing lace. She would not have been shocked by anything she discovered on Google and would certainly have embraced Vintage Fetish. In fact she was known for embracing anything.

In a strange twist of Google Image fate, my sensible Grans, sensible knickers have become the things of Vintage Fetish.

The racy Grans fancier pants are just that, Fancy Pants . No images of women or men posing erotically in her peachy knickers.

Peach is the next bone of contention. What colour is the Financial Times or indeed my Grandma’s knickers?

I’m not certain the actual colour can truly be described as Peach but Salmon does not strike the right tone for underwear or sage financial journalism in my opinion . Salmon is the descriptive word the Financial Times chooses to use. It has to be said it is certainly slightly fishier now than it used to be

Luckily for Pandemic ponderings the Pantone Colour Institute and Hex have come up with four descriptive names that are a close fit to Financial Times Pink, and Grandmas knickers.

Bisque

Blanched Almond

Old Lace

Papaya Whip

Whatever the name, this pink is the one I search for, but rarely find in shops. It is not often in vogue, but was quite recently. Almost too popular particularly on Instagram. I have a very striking pair of newly purchased daytime Pyjamas.( Is that not in itself a delicious idea, DAYTIME pyjamas)

A Financial Times Pink Chaise longue would be the perfect place to lounge while reading the FT in my daytime pyjamas.The overall effect might be a little eccentric, but not, I think over the top.

Newspapers to Knickers, a classic pink ponder.

Pandemic Ponderings #87

On Saturdays I buy a real newspaper. The rest of the week I am utterly shameless and read anything and everything newsworthy on the internet. I’m inclined to follow my own natural political, ethical and moral bias on the whole but often read some strange and intriguing things that I don’t always agree with but that make me think a bit harder. Pre Lockdown I read several newspapers on-line content that are published elsewhere in the world. Melbourne’s The Age and Los Angeles Daily Breeze are favourites along with The London Evening Standard. I don’t for a minute consider myself to be well read by doing this I just like reading the local news that sparks interest in other places.

Lockdown has , for some reason stopped that habit , but the Saturday ritual of a print copy of The Guardian has endured. Often by midnight on a Saturday it has not been opened which makes it an even bigger pleasure on Sunday.

Ritual is everything. The paper as purchased has to be stripped down. Supplements taken out of their potato starch bag and annoying loose advertising pamphlets discarded. The starch bag goes into the dog poo disposal pot in the garden . The dog poo disposal pot is in fact a rhubarb forcing jar, which somehow copes with the output of two dogs who only poop in the garden when their owners have not provided a correctly timed walk. This may be too much detail but the poo is picked up with loo paper and popped in the jar alongside the once a week potato starch bag. This cocktail of excrement, tissue and biodegradable packaging is nirvana to a whole host of wee beasties who like to chomp on such stuff.

Saturday night the newspaper, if I have managed to keep my hands off it, is carried upstairs at bedtime ready to be read as soon as I wake up on Sunday. Or overnight if insomnia bites. I prefer a day old paper to Sunday Editions for some reason.

It then accompanies me back downstairs to be read with coffee. Bits of the newspaper hang around all week being read and reread. Most of it is recycled and the cookery section filed . It is rare for us not to use one of the recipes during the week.

The newspaper ritual is undoubtedly irritating for those who share my life or bed on a Saturday or Sunday. Flackering of the newspaper whilst reading it is inevitable . By way of apology I always make cups of tea.

The ritual Saturday paper is a barometer of a weekend. I like to be too busy on a Saturday to read it and to have enough down time on a Sunday to read most of it.

This weekend is shaping up well so far, it’s nearly midnight and not a word has been read from the print edition. Just one or two articles on-line whilst waiting around.

Happy Saturday/Sunday