Mags was the man. She was the queen beeotch who could undercut the bottom line and still make a profit. She was mid-something, slim and tall, her clothes of the sheerest huggingest synthetic … stuff. Hipster beige pants and khaki blouse. She stood with one hand cocked on her hip and the other pressing in the
Continue reading The realtor
A greeting from an expat in not so funky Canaries. Just discovered this via Zinnia Cyclamen and will be back for more.
Hope you don’t get me twice; once is enough. But your system seemed sniffy about first attempt so am trying again. An exile on much less funky island – one of the Canaries – I came across you via Zinnia C and loved what I saw. I’ll be back. Just greetings for now. (We have a Scots realtor who wears leather trousers, a beard and a status-symbol Swedish wife. But I haven’t tried to buy/sell/rent via him. So don’t know how he puts out.)
Grannyp, welcome. I’ve seen you often on other blogs so I feel as if we’re old blogmates.
The “hierarchy of shade” was present to a large degree when I lived in the Middle East but only amongst those of a dark skin. I, as a pasty white ‘furriner’ made to feel like like a tick on a cat, only brought into the Middle East to do the jobs that they couldn’t be bothered to do themselves. Never went house hunting. Too scarey! I feel for you, I really do.
[...] Today’s photo was not originally a comment on the song, more an ironic twist on my previous post about the “hierarchy of shade”. [...]
I would be interested in subscribing to this blogs rss feed but am kinda new to this. Is it possible to get it via email? Ronald in San Francisco