Demob happy teacher

Multi-tasking

2012-01-27T15:29:00.005Z

It's a habit I got into in my teens, when I regularly did my homework whilst also watching the television, much to the disapproval of my parents, and maybe they were right. Maybe if I hadn't, I would have ended up with three 'A' levels at grade A and gone on to be a brain surgeon - or maybe not, but I have continued with the habit ever since. During the years when I was working full time and had four growing children, plus a dog, two cats and numerous rabbits and other small vertibrates, it seemed the only way to get everything done in the measly twenty four hours a day, seven days a week that I was allocated but, truth to tell, I still find it amazingly difficult to focus on one thing at a time. Even accepting that we women find multi-tasking so much easier than mere men - yes, Yorkshire Pudding, it's true so live with it! - I can see that concentrating on one thing at a time would probably be a better way to go. At least that way, when I asked Keith a question, I would actually listen to the answer and not have to repeat the question five minutes later.
Anyway, this morning, after the usual dog-walking duties, I have been mainly listening to Radio 4, drinking coffee, responding to emails, in between reading blogs, stroking dogs and buying and downloading 'Clever Dog' by Sarah Whitehead for my Kindle via Whispernet.
And the handy thing about a Kindle is that you can be reading it while you are waiting for the kettle to boil and listening to the 1947 film of 'Brighton Rock' by Graham Greene.
Yes, I know - doing everything at once and nothing well...

Teddy

2012-01-26T07:50:00.003Z

Elder Daughter found this little fellow while doing a clear out at her house over the weekend. This was her first teddy, made and given to her by my mum, who at the time, did a lot of soft toy making. He's looking rather worse for wear now but he is over thirty years old and got a lot handling in his early days, hence the loss of an eye and the almost disappearance of his nose. Hopefully, he will once more have pride of place somewhere in her house!

OFSTED cometh

2012-01-23T13:11:00.001Z

Actually OFSTED has already been - to Younger Daughter's place of work, a high school in the Gateshead area. They had been expecting it and, as these days, only a few days notice is given, the staff had been preparing since September. They and the support team from the local authority felt that the school was performing well and indeed, the last inspection had resulted in their being graded as 'good'. but things have changed. Under the new inspection framework, whereas 'satisfactory' used to mean 'good' (Don't ask!), now it means 'unsatisfactory' and as their grade this time round is 'satisfactory', which means it isn't, they can look forward to another inspection in 12 to 18 months. Even if they had got another 'good' it wouldn't be any help to them, as Michael Gove has indicated that schools have to continually improve. How that plays out when they get to an 'outstanding' is a point for discussion.

It seems that the staff of the school overwhelmingly felt that the OFSTED team were inconsistent in their approach and are feeling pretty annoyed at the whole experience to say the least, but I have to feel a strong sense of pride in the way Younger Daughter has picked herself up (her only gripe was that she didn't get any feedback!) and made a list of all the things she and her department need to do before the next visitation.

You see, if that were me, I would be saying something along the lines of "Sod 'em!"

Which could explain why I never got further than deputy head...!

The kid

2012-01-21T09:28:00.000Z

Looks so cute and innocent here, doesn't he? He isn't!

I think Jenny's too busy to write posts at the moment - I've heard her mutter darkly about Jake going back to where he belongs (wherever that is), as she mops up yet another of his 'little accidents' on the dining room floor. What's the problem with him? He's six, for heaven's sake; that's middle aged in dog terms and at that age, he should have perfect control of his bladder - like me.

Mind you, that's not all. He's quite sneaky too. Last week, Jenny caught him nicking one of the TV remote controls and hiding it in his basket and then there was the incident the other day. Keith has an electric massage thingy for his legs, which he had left on the floor under NASA, still plugged in and guess what the canine idiot did? He decided to have a chew on the lead and nearly electrocuted himself!

Guess he won't be doing that again in a hurry!

The aftermath

2012-01-14T12:08:00.003Z

This is how it looks here after the two (separate) walks, Paddy whining at the window while I take Jake out, a hectic charge around the living room, play-fighting with Paddy's orange rope and a lengthy scuffle around Keith's legs.

Peace at last!

I did take them both out together the other day.

I won't be doing that again in a hurry!

Customer service

2012-01-11T13:39:00.001Z

This is a guide for all postal delivery services and in particular, good old Royal Mail and Parcel Force:

When delivering a parcel, ensure that you don't actually make contact with the door knocker or bell and that you manage to post a 'you were out' card before the householder has any chance of spotting your presence. It is even better if you can arrange for this to happen on two consecutive days.
Ensure that information on the card states that the parcel cannot be picked up within the next twenty four hours (no need to say the postman is taking it home to bed with him.)
Even better, state that the householder cannot arrange for re-delivery but must traipse all the way to whichever post office the delivery man has decided to take it to, to pick it up in person.
If you are going to allow the householder to ring up and arrange for re-delivery, ensure that it is impossible to get through on the 0845 number you provide and play an annoying message every few seconds suggesting that arrangements can be made online.
When the householder finally gives up and goes online, as suggested, it is vital that you make sure that the website is 'experiencing problems' and that it is thus impossible to use.
Finally, if you have required the householder to go to collect the parcel, probably at some inconvenience, make sure you have a bright yellow sticker plastered all over it with the logo

CONVENIENT DELIVERY

Oh, and next time you appear at that address, make sure you are wearing your hard hat.

We do not forget!

Hi speed train?

2012-01-10T18:24:00.003Z

"Birmingham to London - 45 minutes!" announced the newsreader proudly on this evening's news.

Wrexham to Mold (by bus) - 45 minutes.

Chez Jennyta to Wrexham (provided you manage to find a bus) 45 minutes.

Main road through mid Wales - practically a country lane.

You get the idea?

Of course, it makes complete sense to chuck so many millions at one, single route just to shave about 20 minutes off the journey time. Oh, and they will be extending that to Manchester and Leeds in due course, when they get round to it.

For the rest of us, back to pony and cart, I guess...

The new boy

2012-01-07T19:51:00.000Z

Jake is back. He's been to visit before, of course, but this time, it looks as if he's here to stay. Not that I was consulted, of course, oh no! It's lucky we get on so well, that's all I can say. Mind you, he doesn't look quite the handsome chappie he did before. His coat has been clipped so short that Jenny decided she's better buy him a coat to wear outside till it grows again and he's put on some weight too - more like a sausage dog than a bichon frise these days. So Jenny's put him on a diet but I don't think he's realised it yet. Mind you, he's not stupid. She tried to slip the worming tablets into our food this morning, but he saw that coming, just like I did and we both managed to eat everything except the tablets. Jenny didn't seem to notice that though and she gave us each a nice piece of rolled up ham a bit later.

Other than that, the daily routine hasn't changed much. I still get taken for my walk on my own and then it's Jake's turn when I get back. Of course, I do the old weeping and wailing routine to make Jenny feel guilty about leaving me behind but it doesn't work, AND I have heard a few comments about how much better behaved Jake is on the lead than me. That MUST be a mistake!

Anyway, as long as the little mutt remembers his place and doesn't forget that I'm the boss around here, I think we should get on OK.

I'll let you know...

And here he is again!

2012-01-02T15:36:00.002Z

Look who Father Christmas brought us this year!

Well, Giles actually, but we're not splitting hairs. And it looks as if he is staying.

(NB If you are of a sensitive disposition, you may prefer to watch this video clip with the sound turned down.)

Is it time to go back to bed yet?

2012-01-01T11:58:00.002Z

No doubt you will have looked at the title of this post and assumed that alcohol was flowing freely last night chez Jennyta and that I am now suffering the inevitable results. In fact, that is not the case. Yes, we enjoyed a couple of glasses of 'rouge' but were in bed by eleven, the reason being that, as in November, the neighbourhood was populated by idiots with nothing better to do with their time and money than waste it on extremely noisy fireworks, starting at 6.30pm and ending at around 2.30am. The inevitable result of this was that Paddy got progressively more disturbed as the night went on and he didn't stop barking until three o'clock this morning, by which time, we were so wound up that it took us a further hour to get to sleep. Well, I say 'us' but Keith was evidently asleep long before me because he was snoring!

So this morning, having finally surfaced at ten o'clock, I dragged myself out on dog-walking duties in the pouring rain and now I'm back at home seeking refuge in a mug of strong coffee and wondering how many hours before I can decently go back to bed.

Now, what would make this day even more brilliant than it already is? Ah yes, Keith watching wall to wall 'Scrapheap Challenge' on TV - which he is already doing! Fantastic!

I am just hoping that the day so far is not in any way a taste of the rest of the year!

Happy New Year, everyone.

The monitor

2011-12-30T14:32:00.000Z

A few months ago, Elder Daughter bought Dad a new, flat screen monitor for his desktop computer as she thought he could do with a better and clearer image. When they got it home, hey presto, it was faulty and had to go back. The shop didn't have another in stock so she got her money back and bought one online instead. Unfortunately, it was delivered to her house in Sheffield instead of Dad's house in Bristol so it has taken until now to get it in the right location and it was down to me to set it up.

So far, so good, except that Dad needs the dimmest setting to suit his eyes.

On this monitor, there were about four choices, one setting for gaming, another for video-viewing etc and then an economy one, which, as it provided the dimmest setting of all, was the one I chose.

Fast forward to last evening, when I reminded Dad that he needed to try it out and make sure it suited him, which he went off to do, coming back fifteen minutes later to say that it was hurting his eyes.

Off I went into the dining room to see what I could do...

Two hours later, I was still fiddling about with it and getting increasingly exasperated. Dad backed rapidly out of the room, wearing his hard hat and left me to it, just after I had expressed a wish to hurl the thing out of the window. Then Keith rang,

"Why didn't you ring me to help?" he asked when I explained my difficulty.

So, there followed a further half hour of me explaining the settings and menus available on the monitor and bemoaning the fact that, for some reason, I couldn't access the brightness and contrast options to change them and Keith flatly contradicting me and telling me that I MUST be able to, maybe I wasn't doing it properly.

Unsurprisingly, we made no progress and I spent the night wondering how to break the news to Kathy that Granddad was not going to be able to use the monitor.

Up at the crack of dawn this morning, I spent a further hour doing battle and then, having run out of options, I decided to restore the default settings and, guess what! I was suddenly able to reset the brightness and contrast, It seems that option is not available if the monitor is on economy setting.

Of course, they didn't bother to mention that in the instructions.

Well, that would make it too easy, wouldn't it?

Decorated dog

2011-12-28T18:37:00.001Z

Paddy's only concession to Christmas...

What's for dessert?

2011-12-24T10:25:00.001Z

We went over to meet up with Kathy and Claire and to see Paul and his brother, Nathan last weekend. Keith generally takes the opportunity on such occasions to ~~fill his face~~ partake of any delicacies available and this time was no exception.

(In case you are wondering, it arrived with three spoons and he did have help demolishing it!)

You know that meat in the fridge?

2011-12-20T20:14:00.002Z

This video of the 'talking dog' was featured on Breakfast TV this morning and Keith greeted me with it when I came down this morning. Of course, the next step was to line Paddy up for a few lessons. After all, if a German Shepherd can do it, so can our little mutt.
Wrong.
"Paddy," I said, as he sat obediently in front of me, "you know that meat in the fridge?"
Paddy shook his head firmly and wandered off to lie on his cushion.
A bit more practice, I think.

Stonehenge and Wales

2011-12-18T21:30:00.003Z

This article on the orgins of some of the stones at Stonehenge reminds me of the sterling research Keith carried out, which he told me about a few years ago.
Remember, you read it here first.

Groan!

2011-12-17T10:41:00.001Z

"Can you make sure you empty the pockets of your jeans properly, please?" I said to Keith this morning. My washing machine is already showing signs of wear and tear and the everlasting offerings of coins and tissues from Keith's pockets don't help.

"I'm fed up with removing all your detritus," I said, to reinforce the point.

His expression was one of outrage.

"I've never had detritus!" he protested. "You can ask the doctor!"

Sut mae'r tywydd y bore ma?

2011-12-16T10:58:00.000Z

Mae'n bwrw eira! Rough translation being, we're getting some of the white stuff and no, I am most definitely not impressed, especially as Keith has been to do a job on Anglesey this morning and is now on his way back. Just to make things difficult, there has been an accident on the A55, which has meant a detour for him and around Mold, unlike here, the snow is settling into compacted slush.

Ah yes, I hear you say, but the councils this year are prepared for this. They have stockpiled extra grit and have been waiting eagerly and alertly for the first signs of wintry weather so that they could rush out and grit the roads...

Dream on!

Bin bags

2011-12-15T12:07:00.001Z

Yesterday was breezy here, which is why, as soon as the binmen had emptied the recycling boxes and bags, I went out to put ours away, only to find that the blue plastic bag for recycling paper and cardboard (but not corrugated cardboard), had mysteriously disappeared, along, it seemed, with those of my neighbours, as there was not a one to be seen anywhere. I am casting no nasturtiums, you understand, but within those few minutes, no-one but the binmen had been in the road. Now why they would want to make off with a load of recycling bags is a mystery to me. Maybe they have acquired a vastly inflated street value or are regarded as collectors items among certain sections of the community.

Anyway, later on I rang the council and explained that I was now sans bin bag. "Well, we don't send them out any more," said the lady on the phone.

"So how do I go about getting an new one?" I enquired.

"Well, you can come to the council offices for one," she said (An extra journey into town - I don't think so.) "or you can ask the binmen for another one next week." (Our binmen have all the charm and social interaction of a black bear with toothache.)

"That would mean I would have no recycling bag for a week," I pointed out.

"Oh, you can use ordinary carrier bags for now," came the reply. (That would be the bags that we don't get in shops any more in Wales unless we pay for them.)

By this time, I was bored with the conversation and brought it speedily to an end, deciding to look out for the binmen this morning on my walk with Paddy.

As luck would have it, I spotted the bin wagon parked in a road nearby and right by it was a white van, seemingly a council van, with a man in a high viz jacket standing by it. I asked him if he had a spare blue bag and explained my conversation with the council lady the day before. He looked slightly mystified but disappeared up the drive of an adjacent house muttering that he was sure he had one somewhere.

"You do work on the bins?" I said when he came back.

"Oh no, I just live here," he said, "but I do collect any green bins and bin bags I see abandoned," and he handed me a much used but serviceable blue bag.

When I had made my apologies and crawled off up the road, I turned into the new housing estate and, hey presto, there was a pristine blue bag which had blown from somewhere onto the grass. As it was nowhere near any of the houses, I decided to liberate it forthwith.

So now, much to Keith's amusement, I have two. At least I shouldn't have to bother the council again.

The Christmas Story

2011-12-14T13:42:00.001Z

The Christmas story as you have never heard it before.

No animals were harmed

2011-12-14T09:32:00.002Z

A couple of weeks ago, I was down in Bristol, visiting Dad and as usual, we went to a nearby garden centre for our lunch. This time, the Christmas displays were up.

You can see Rudolph there, looking forward to his Christmas Eve duties.

These polar bears were moving, but careful inspection revealed that they were not real.

In fact, these were not the polar bears filmed for

David Attenborough's programme and nor were any animals harmed in the production of these scenes.
Well, just in case you were wondering!

Regrets

2011-12-11T12:00:00.001Z

Well, I now have all my Christmas shopping done, presents wrapped, cards written and posted and, before you start muttering about the smugness of the retired, let me tell you, this is the first year ever that I have been so organised and timely.

So, while wrapping Keith's present (and if he is reading this, I would say, "Don't even think about trying to find it or guess what it is!"), I decided to get myself into the festive mood with a few carols on the music centre and then, because many of the words are familiar to me, I began to join in with the singing.

And that was when the suspicion that my singing voice is no longer proved to be well founded.

When I was little, I was thought to have a good singing voice; it was in the genes as my grandmother was a well-known member of local choirs of her time. The problem was that I was a very shy child and would no more have agreed to sing solo than fly to the moon, so I was bribed. I could have piano lessons, which I was interested in, if I agreed to have singing lessons also. Very reluctantly, I agreed, but my sacrifice came to nought as, for some unremembered reason, neither ever happened.

Fast forward to sixth form and our production of Purcell's 'Dido and Aeneas' (Yes, no rubbishy 'High School Musical' in those days!), in which I played my part in the chorus and enjoyed it. For years afterwards, I would regularly entertain myself, and the neighbours on the other side of the bathroom wall, during my ablutions, giving spirited renditions of 'When I am laid in earth' and 'Fear no danger'.

But then I grew up and haven't really sung much for years and the result is the proof of the old adage, "Use it or lose it." The wobble is there, the difficult in holding correct pitch, the thinness of the voice. My grandmother would be ashamed of me and I am a bit ashamed of myself that I didn't do more to cultivate what voice I did have.

Ah well, maybe I'd better start practising in front of the mirror with the hairbrush.

Christmas shopping

2011-12-09T18:24:00.001Z

I came up with a brilliant strategy this week. As I hate fighting my way through supermarkets to do the Christmas food shopping and hate it with a passion, why not do it online, with the added bonus that we have now saved enough nectar points to cover it. One problem, you can't use nectar points at Sainsbury's for online food shopping.

So, on to plan B. I would do the shopping for non perishables in person and use the nectar card, leaving the perishables to be bought online.

This, of course, initiated a discussion with Keith about what should be on the list.

"Quality Street," he said. "No," I said, "too many calories."

"Those boxes of sugary orange and lemon slices," he said, undaunted. "How old are you?" I asked scathingly, "Also too many calories and too much sugar."

"Nuts!" he exclaimed.

"Well, you can have shelled nuts," I said,

"Why not nuts in shells?"

"Because I'm not spending all my time till mid February hoovering up bits of shell which have been catapulted all over the living room," I explained. I thought that was quite reasonable, really.

Keith, however, was disgusted.

"Looks like I shall have to drag my sore feet around Sainsbury's myself to make sure I get what I want," he said.

Result!

Subject: Teaching Maths in Britain

2011-12-01T17:14:00.001Z

This came to me today from a friend. Those of us who were educated in ante-diluvian times will recognise the downward trend and weep. Enough said. Many a true word is spoken in jest!
1. Teaching Maths In 1970
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100..
His cost of production is 4/5 of the price.
What is his profit?
2. Teaching Maths In 1980
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is 80% of the price.
What is his profit?
3. Teaching Maths In 1990
A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80.
How much was his profit?
4. Teaching Maths In 2000 A logger sells a truckload of timber for £100.
His cost of production is £80 and his profit is £20.
Your assignment: Underline the number 20.5. Teaching Maths In 2005
A logger cuts down a beautiful forest because he is selfish and inconsiderate and cares nothing for the habitat of animals or the preservation of our woodlands.
Your assignment: Discuss how the birds and squirrels might feel as the logger cut down their homes just for a measly profit of £20.
6. Teaching Maths In 2009

A logger is arrested for trying to cut down a tree in case it may be offensive to Muslims or other religious groups not consulted in the application for the felling license. He is also fined a £100 as his chainsaw is in breach of Health and Safety legislation as it deemed too dangerous and could cut something. He has used the chainsaw for over 20 years without incident however he does not have the correct certificate of competence and is therefore considered to be a recidivist and habitual criminal. His DNA is sampled and his details circulated throughout all government agencies. He protests and is taken to court and fined another £100 because he is such an easy target.

When he is released he returns to find Gypsies have cut down half his wood to build a camp on his land. He tries to throw them off but is arrested, prosecuted for harassing an ethnic minority, imprisoned and fined a further £100. While he is in jail again the Gypsies cut down the rest of his wood and sell it on the black market for £100 cash. They also have a departure BBQ of squirrel and pheasant and leave behind several tonnes of rubbish and asbestos sheeting.

The forester on release is warned that failure to clear the fly tipped rubbish immediately at his own cost is an offence. He complains and is arrested for environmental pollution, breach of the peace and invoiced £12,000 plus VAT for safe disposal costs by a regulated government contractor.

Your assignment: How many times is the logger going to have to be arrested and fined before he realizes that he is never going to make £20 profit by hard work, give up, sign onto the dole and live off the state for the rest of his life?

7. Teaching Maths In 2010

A logger doesn’t sell a lorry load of timber because he can’t get a loan to buy a new lorry because his bank has spent all his and their money on a derivative of securitized debt related to sub-prime mortgages in Surrey and lost the lot, with only some government money left to pay a few million-pound bonuses to their senior directors and the traders who made the biggest losses.

The logger struggles to pay the £1,200 road tax on his old lorry. However, as it was built in the 1970s it no longer meets the emissions regulations and he is forced to scrap it.

Some Bulgarian loggers buy the lorry from the scrap merchant and put it back on the road. They undercut everyone on price for haulage and send their cash back home, while claiming unemployment for themselves and their relatives. If questioned they speak no English and it is easier to deport them at the governments expense. Following their holiday back home they return to the UK with different names and fresh girls and start again. The logger protests, is accused of being a bigoted racist and as his name is on the side of his old lorry he is forced to pay £1,500 registration fees as a gang master.

The Government borrows more money to pay more to the bankers as bonuses are not cheap. The parliamentarians feel they are missing out and claim the difference on expenses and allowances.
You do the maths.

8. Teaching Maths 2017
أالمسجلتبيعحمولهشاحنةمنالخشبمناجل 100 دولار. صاحبتكلفة الانتاج 80 م الثمن

Not in the genes

2011-11-26T08:05:00.001Z

We were listening, early this morning, to Radio 4's Farming Today, where the focus was on sheepdogs, border collies in particular, some of which are apparently sold for around £2000. Keith pricked his ears up at this.
"Hmm, I wonder if we can train him," he said, indicating our own ~~smart~~, ~~pure bred border collie~~ extremely average mongrel with a bit of border terrier in him.
"Border terriers, even proper ones, are not the same as border collies," I reminded him but, not to be deterred, he began trying to put Paddy through his paces.
"Come by!"
Paddy put his head up to be stroked and wagged his tail as Keith tutted in disgust.
Bearing in mind that I don't generally let him off his lead when we're out anyway because, if he spots a cat, rabbit or squirrel, he would be halfway to Chester before I could say 'Jack Robinson' (or anything else for that matter), and we have cows round here, rather than sheep, I can't really see that there would be many opportunities for him to hone his (obviously non-existent) skills anyway.
"It's just not in his genes," I say.
Of course, now we know someone who does have a sheep - in his back garden!
I'll be round with Paddy tomorrow, YP.

The Boss??

2011-11-25T20:23:00.001Z

"I'm just going out to the van for a while," said Keith, this evening. "While I'm out there, you might want to rustle up a cake."

"Probably not," I said, but I don't think he heard me.

"Can't smell any cake baking," he said when he came back in.

"That would probably be because there is none," I said helpfully.

"But I left my orders for cake baking to begin!" he said.

"And I would take notice of that because...?"

"Because I am the master of the house," said Keith confidently.

"Oh dear," I said, "you have been barking up the wrong tree, haven't you?"

Have you been here too?

2011-11-23T17:23:00.001Z

Another one from T.K.

Places I Have and Have Not Been

I have been in many places, but I've never been in Cahoots.

Apparently, you can't go alone.

You have to be in Cahoots with someone.

I've also never been in Cognito.

I hear no one recognises you there.

I have, however, been in Sane.

They don't have an airport; you have to be driven there. I have made several trips there,
thanks to my friends, family and mostly work.

I would like to go to Conclusions,

but you have to jump, and I'm not too much on physical activity anymore.

I have also been in Doubt.

That is a sad place to go, and I try not to visit there too often.

I've been in Flexible,

but only when it was very important to stand firm.

Sometimes I'm in Capable,

and I go there more often as I'm getting older.

One of my favourite places to be is in Suspense!

It really gets the adrenalin flowing and pumps up the old heart!

At my age I need all the stimuli I can get!

And, sometimes I think I am in Vincible

but life shows me I am not!

I have been in Deepshit many times;

the older I get,the easier it is to get there.

Paddy's shower

2011-11-20T10:35:00.001Z

Jenny seemed to be on one of those 'everything has to be clean' moods yesterday. I noticed that Keith stayed out of the way all day, so perhaps he knew something I didn't but, before I knew it, she had enticed me up to the bathroom and into the bath for a shower! She knows I don't like them, but she makes me have them anyway. Eventually, when she thought I was clean, she let me out and tried to dry me with a towel. Then she dragged me into the bedroom, not to roll on the bed, which would have been a sensible way of getting dry, but to undergo the further humiliation of being blown dry with her hairdryer. I tell you, if I'd seen the straighteners appear, I would really have lost it! She must think I'm a wimpy little poodle or something. Doesn't she know that we terrier types are tough and masculine? We don't go in for all that pretty, perfumed fussing.

Today while we were out for our walk, I could just see the other dogs smirking.
"Ha! Look at him. He's had a bath!"
I tried to trawl through a few muddy puddles but Jenny was just too quick for me and dragged me away. I'm sure she can read my mind!

Your friendly bank

2011-11-18T15:29:00.001Z

There are two branches of our bank here in Wrexham. One is in the town, that's the one where there is always a queue and the irritation of those waiting in it is further compounded by the assistant tootling up and down the queue offering to help you pay in your money, cheques etc yourself. One day I shall be barred from there as I make sure I complain about this lack of attention to what customers really want ( ie, to be served quickly) practically every time I go in there.

The other branch is the one on the industrial estate, which Keith patronises. This is the one where I can definitely never show my face. Why? Because this is the one where they have been baking cakes to sell to customers to raise money for charity. Keith stumbled upon this delightful extra service a few weeks ago and, buying up almost everything that was left, complained mournfully that I never allow him to have such lovely things as cakes.

Each time he goes in, he turns on the charm:

"Where's me cake, then?"

Utterly irrisistible, I'm sure you would agree.

So, unable to ~~stand his moaning~~ resist his pleadings any longer, last night one of the poor, long-suffering employees made him a victorian sponge with his name on.

I don't know whether to laugh or cry!

Chez Charles Perkins Sgt.

2011-11-18T13:10:00.001Z

The middle house in this photo is where my grandmother was born in 1886 and was the home, for a few years, of her parents, Charles Perkins, stationed at the time at Mold Barracks, his wife, Rebecca and their sons. This is Brook Street. Mold, where I went this morning to have a look for myself. Much of the town, of course would now be unrecognisable to them and even the houses round the corner would not have been built at the time they were living there.

By 1907, Charles had retired from the army and the family was settled in Crewe, Cheshire. But that's the next chapter of the story.

Lento

2011-11-17T22:26:00.001Z

Sent to me today by a friend. A bit long, but worth listening to the end.

A Mother's Story: In the genes

2011-11-17T17:13:00.000Z

A Mother's Story: In the genes

Perkins again

2011-11-15T10:44:00.001Z

Further pieces of the jigsaw that is the mystery of Charles Ernest (Frederick) Perkins have been unveiled. After finding evidence of his baptism, under the name of Charles Frederick, I searched again, and again in vain, for the registration of his birth but, although I have searched under every combination of the three names, I have found nothing, which is all the more mysterious as his brothers and sisters were all registered.

During my searching, however, I discovered that his father John, had apparently emigrated to Kansas, USA, followed later by his wife and youngest daughter, Ellen, aka Nellie. I already knew that, in the 1871 census, Frances Perkins and Ellen were living with Frances's son, Frank in Kent, so some time between then and 1880, the two of them decamped to Kansas to join John. By then John and Frances were in their fifties, so it seems a big step for them to take at that stage of their lives.

Some of this information has been further supported by Charles' army papers, which Dad recently found again.

So, some of the mystery is solved but many questions still remain and probably will never be answered.

Why did Charles appear to change his middle name, which is Frederick on his baptism certificate, Ernest on his death certificate and doesn't appear at all on his marriage certificate or in his army papers?

Why does there appear to be no record of his birth?

Why did John and Frances decide to emigrate to America in their fifties?

Why did Charles fall out with most of his family, including, it seems, his parents? I have first hand information from Dad that he did and this seems to be backed up by the entry for 'parents' address' in his army book, where, having crossed out the earlier address at some time, he has replaced it with a box number in USA.

Maybe we need the services of a medium!

Out walking

2011-11-12T10:30:00.001Z

After the miserable weather we had yesterday, when the clouds were hitting the ground and the rain was only a fingertip away, today is bright and sunny, so Paddy and I made the most of it and set off for our walk. Off we went, up this road, along that one and round the corner and we found ourselves here...

The little road we walked up was called Colliery Road, so I guess the clue is in the name.

This is what it looked like inside.

That's what I like about living here, you turn a corner and there you are in somewhere you have never been before.

Five a day

2011-11-07T19:30:00.001Z

The time had come for another 'Big Tidy Up of NASA' which generally happens every few weeks when I can't bear to look at the mess on Keith's computer desk any longer. This time it was resembling an extension of the shed, as usual so I delivered my ultimatum, along the lines of,

"If that stuff isn't moved by you by the end of tomorrow, it will be moved by me, to the bin."

And so it happened. Keith duly tidied up and displayed the results of his labours as soon as I came in.

"Look!" he said, "and I've even got one of my five a day!"

Evening of misery

2011-11-06T11:07:00.000Z

Well, that's what it was for Paddy and, therefore, for us too. I hate this time of year more and more as the years go past. First we have Hallowe'en, with all its commercial exploitation and legalised begging - yes, I know that's a bit strong but that's how I feel! - and then of course, the fireworks, which are not restricted to one evening, which would be bearable, just. No, we have to have rehearsals every evening for about two weeks beforehand and, should you have thought, in your innocence, that the current financial situation would mean that people would choose not to waste their scarce resources in buying a load of explosives, you would have been sadly disappointed. Round here, it was like Beirut on a bad night and some idiot was even setting off bangers at lunch-time.

A convenient desert island not being available, I decided to try the medication route - for Paddy, not us. We just stuck to the wine. So, I bought some tablets for him and he started on them on Friday. Would you believe, it, I could swear they made him even worse! Keith and I sat with him all evening, unable to move, because if we did, he would launch himself at the window every time he heard a firework, and bearing in mind that dogs' hearing is more acute that humans', that was often.

By ten o'clock, we'd had enough and went to bed, as it seemed to be getting quieter, but no, that was when the second round started and carried on till nearly midnight, by which time, I was dangerously close to running out into the road in my dressing gown, finding the idiots responsible and shoving their fireworks in some very painful places.

Over-reacting? Moi?

This morning, the weather is beautiful and Paddy and I have been for a calm, peaceful, chilled-out walk ...

ready for the next lot tonight!

Learning Welsh

2011-11-03T21:31:00.002Z

Classes have been going for a month now, two hours a week and lots of bits of work on it in between. Each time we get to a new bit, I look at it and think, "I am never going to get my tongue round that lot, much less remember it!" but each time, I do.

But now, it's getting a little more complicated. Now we're getting to hear about mutations, about how certain words cause the initial letter of the word following it to change to something else - quite often too!

Nouns, it seems, are even more sneaky - they have genders, just as in French, German, etc, but you can bet your life they won't be the same ones.

Today our tutor, Helen, just mentioned in passing that, for some unknown and unfathomable reason, 'table' is masculine in north Wales but feminine in the south.

Definitely an idiosyncratic language... and I'm really enjoying it.

Dw i wedi ymddeol ond dw i'n gweithio fel cynghores a dw i'n dysgu Cymraeg.

How about that, then?

Charles ? Perkins

2011-10-31T18:42:00.001Z

Those of you who hang on my every word (OK, so no-one then) may recall my fruitless search for the birth certificate of my great grandfather, always known to me and to Dad as Charles Ernest Perkins and of his parents. Well, having discovered someone who is currently researching another member of the family, I have now been informed that, on his birth certificate, he is registered as Charles Frederick, which would explain why I couldn't find it! All the other details are exactly right, so it is definitely the same person.
To add to the confusion, however, his death certificate has him as Charles Ernest and, as his death was registered by his daughter, my grandmother, she too must have known him as Charles Ernest. On his marriage certificate, he is simply Charles. So it seems that he came into the world as Charles Frederick and departed as Charles Ernest.
As for his parents, by dint of many hours of dedicated research, I have discovered that Charles' father, John, may well have been married twice, having three children by his first wife and five, including Charles, by his second. Work continues on that. I have my nose to the ground and my magnifying glass to my eye...

FreeSat again

2011-10-27T19:54:00.001+01:00

Keith is grief-stricken.

This is because we now have FreeSat, which is good because it gives us access to local Welsh news, as I said in a previous post and we can also now watch S4C, which I shall, of course, be watching avidly in a couple more weeks when I am fluent in welsh. (Oh, all-right then, in about twenty years, if you want to be pedantic about it!)

But, these advantages notwithstanding, Keith is still not a happy bunny. I, on the other hand, was utterly delighted when I made the discovery. What am I talking about? We can't get channel 12 on FreeSat!

Channel 12, as any male reader from these shores will know, is the boring one, the one which shows an unbelievably huge quantity of war programmes and then more war programmes. What is it with men? Why are they so obsessed with re-living life in the 1940's? Of course, Keith has other channels to choose from, where he can watch black and white war films, programmes about men running about expending inordinate amounts of energy making weird vehicles from scrap vehicles, programmes about men knocking down chimneys and building traction engines in their back gardens... the list is endless. But channel 12, the 'Yesterday' channel is his favourite.

So, to avoid his drowning in a pool of tears like Alice in Wonderland, we have now agreed that, with a few twists of the wrist, he can access channel 12 via the TV's own freeview, whenever he feels the urge...

which, of course, is far too often to suit my viewing habits!

A Mother's Story: Seeing Paul

2011-10-27T14:50:00.000+01:00

A Mother's Story: Seeing Paul

Why teachers drink

2011-10-23T14:45:00.002+01:00

Second attempt! This was sent to me by someone I went to school with who, like me, is now happily retired. I did try to copy it as all the comments were in the children's original handwriting, but in the end, I had to type it instead. If you think they are all made up, you are not a teacher!

In wartime,children who lived in big cities had to be evaporated because it was safer inthe country.

The total is whenyou add up all the numbers and a remainder is an animal that pulls Santa on hisslay.

Sometimes in thewar they take prisoners and keep them as ostriges until the war is over. Some prisonersend up in consterpation camps

A mosque is a sortof church. The main difference is that its roof is doomed.

I asked my mum whywe said old men at the end of prayers at skool. I don’t know any old men apartfrom grandpa.

On ar activityholiday Dad wanted to ride the hores but mum said they were too ekspensiv.

I would like to bean accountant but you have to know a lot about moths.

The closest town toFrance is Dover. You can get to France on a train or you can go on a fairy.

If it is less than90 degrees it is a cute angel.

….and at the end ofthe show we all sing away in a manager.

In last year’sChristmas concert Linzi played the main prat. I played one of the smaller pratsand I would like to have a bigger prat this year.

Helicopters arecleverer than planes. Not only can they fly through the air they can alsohoover.

Then Joan of Arkmet her end. She was burned as a steak.

Crabs and creatureslike them all belong to a family of crushed Asians.

In geography welearned that countries with sea around them are islands and ones without areincontinents.

If you marry twopeople you are a pigamist, but morons are allowed to do this.

Sir Walter Raleighcircumcised the world with a big clipper.

In Scandanavia, theDanish people come from Denmark, the Norwegians come from Norway and theLapdancers come from Lapland.

Apologies

2011-10-23T14:17:00.000+01:00

For those of you who were puzzled by the non-appearance of half my last post (now deleted), I'm afraid, for some reason, I just couldn't copy and paste or save it so that it would appear on the post, no matter what I tried. If I manage to solve the problem, I'll try again...

FreeSat

2011-10-21T19:06:00.001+01:00

Recently, Keith and I have decided to get rid of our BT Vision, buy a £25 viewing card to use with our Sky box and stick to FreeSat. One reason is because, every day the BT Vison box becomes strangely unresponsive for a couple of hours but the main reason is that we are not able to get Welsh news. When BBC goes to the local station, for us it is deemed to be North West, rather than Wales.( In Chester, meanwhile. since the digital switchover, their main local station became - yes, you've guessed it - Wales!)

So this morning Keith rang BT and said we would like to terminate our contract for BT Vision.

"No problem," said the girl on the other end of the phone, "We can do that for you from October 25th."

According to my diary, 25th is next Tuesday but, with unerring efficiency, Keith had barely put the phone down when, hey presto! all our recorded programmes had disappeared and we no longer had access to 'on demand' or 'replay'.

Let's hope they are equally efficient in adjusting our bill!

Paddy's walk

2011-10-18T08:46:00.003+01:00

Today is one of those days when you just know you are going to have to get out the gloves and scarves very soon and argue with Keith about when to put the heating on. He likes it on sooner rather than later, whilst I benefit from my own personal 'central heating.' Paddy was in one of his 'pulling on the lead' moods, which necessitates frequent stops in an effort to get him to walk at my pace by my side, which, as he should know by now, is what all good, sensible dogs do. When he pulled madly to reach a couple of dogs ahead, he retaliated to being stopped by barking and whining, so all in all, I was quite glad to get home.

Generally, when we get home he gets a small treat. Today, I didn't think he deserved it but I got out his usual dental minty chew stick and he sat there expectantly.

"This is not a treat, Paddy," I explained, "You haven't been good enough today, so this is purely for your dental hygiene."

"Yes, I think he understood that," said Keith.

Radiators

2011-10-15T10:24:00.002+01:00

Today is a truly lovely, classic autumn day, the kind where you look up into the cloudless, blue sky and find it difficult to believe the weather forecasts which speak gloomily of forthcoming rain, wind and plummeting temperatures. Paddy had been taken out for his walk and managed to behave like a sane and sensible dog around three westies and a border collie and the rest of the day...

well, the rest of the day could go well or badly, depending on Keith's diy skills.

For several weeks now, I have amused myself by saying,

"Well, we'll be putting the heating on soon - oh no! We won't because the radiator by the window is still leaking!"

When the hilarity and helpless laughter has died down, I follow this up with,

"The bathroom towels will be lovely and warm when we have our showers this winter - oh no! They won't because the heated towel rail is still waiting to be fitted!"

(You think this is annoying? Yep! But such fun!)

So today, Keith has finally decided that life might be slightly more bearable if he put his mind to the two tasks awaiting him, hence an imminent visit to B&Q and then a degree of nail biting and finger crossing on my part, not due to a lack of faith in Keith's abilities but, well, you never know with diy...

And today's task is...

2011-10-12T10:26:00.001+01:00

Actually, I wouldn't like to say how many hours I have already spent puzzling over this. The marriage certificate for Charles Ernest Perkins and his wife, Frances arrived. However, Sod's Law decreed that the one most important word on the whole document, ie Frances's maiden name, is pretty well undecipherable.

Frances, as you will see from the certificate, was a widow, although, as she was born in 1818, she was only 22 when she married Charles, so Tapscott was her previous married name and her maiden name is shown in the column for father's name. Unfortunately, it looks as though ink was in short supply that day, hence the poor quality of the print out. Either that or that's where I get my bad handwriting from.

I can see the man was a 'yeoman' and that his first name was John and that his surname ended in 'eland' and I think the first letter is a 'G' as it corresponds pretty closely to the 'G' in 'Gardener' which is down as John's occupation at that time.

I have trawled through endless lists of Devon names in an attempt to find something close to what is on this certificate, to no avail and I have not found any trace of Frances's first marriage, although, as it presumably took place before the coverage of the free BMD, it would be harder to trace anyway.

So, there we are, a brick wall. Not important in the grand scheme of things but a mystery I really wanted to solve in the hope that it would shed some light on the next step, which will perhaps be a subject for a future post...

Farewell, Jake

2011-10-10T16:01:00.001+01:00

So Jake has departed, trotted off this morning with his little red spotted handkerchief over his shoulder, without a backward glance. If Paddy is missing their regular afternoon wrestling sessions, he is giving no sign of it and is mooching around very much as normal. I have to say, walking Jake was a much more peaceful experience than walking Paddy. He actually behaved like a normal, sane dog; no barking at other dogs across the field, no trying to lunge at cats, squirrels, rabbits... you get the idea?

On the plus side, no nasty little 'surprises' on the dining room floor first thing in the morning either!

A visitor

2011-10-07T09:58:00.001+01:00

Yes, folks, it's me, Paddy and my pal Jake is visiting for a few days.

On Wednesday night, I slept upstairs on the landing, as usual and Jake slept downstairs in his own bed, as he has before. Sometime during the night, I heard him moving around, so I went down to see what was going on. Would you believe it, he'd only had, not one, but several little 'accidents' around the dining room!

"Oh boy!" I said, "You're on your own with this one, pal!"

And I crept back upstairs back to my own bed. No-one's going to put this one on me!

Finishing things

2011-10-05T09:01:00.001+01:00

Just got this from TK this morning but really, it could have been written by Keith! Chocolates, cheesecake, Pringles - yes definitely some of his favourite things!

Here’s a solution for so many things. I am passing this on to you because most likely, we would welcome a bit more inner peace in our lives!

A doctor on TV this morning said the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started. I looked around my house to see things I'd started and hadn't finished.

I have managed to finish off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of Chardonnay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of wum, a pockage of Prungles, tha mainder of bot Prozic and Valiuminun scriptins, the res of the chesescke an a box a chocletz.

Yu haf no idr how bludy fablus I feel rite now. Plaese sned dhis orn to dem yu fee ar in ned ov iennr pisss.

Out with the grumps

2011-10-02T09:40:00.001+01:00

This morning is grey and overcast and now starting to rain, but Paddy and I were out on our walk before that. I will be charitable and assume that the change in the weather has been responsible for the dourness of most people we met this morning. Out of nine people or pairs of people, almost all walking their dogs, just like me, a mere three returned my 'Good morning.'

Several totally ignored me, one, whom I passed twice, just glared at me, but the last was the best. A young woman came out of a field onto the lane just ahead of me with a large, docile dog, who took no notice of Paddy, nor, surprisingly, Paddy of him. As she glanced at me blankly and then turned to go up the lane, three feet ahead, I said,

"Well, it's not often Paddy doesn't react at all to other dogs."

To which the woman replied....

Nothing, nowt, nada, zilch and continued on her way, leaving me wondering, not for the first time this morning, why I bother.

I'm not a sad, lonely person desperate to get someone, anyone talking to me, but having lived for years on the outskirts of cities, where it was the norm to ignore anyone you passed, I've got to like the way that, round here, it's customary to pass the time of day.It costs nothing and it's good for us.

Today, I must have been out with all the grumps.

The marriage

2011-10-01T10:32:00.001+01:00

So here it is at last, Charles Ernest's marriage certificate and I can see from it that the John Perkins whose family I have been researching lately is indeed the correct one. Trust me, I am on familiar, first name, neighbourly chatting terms with pretty well every John Perkins who has walked this land over the last two hundred years! Next step will be the arrival in about a week of John Perkins' marriage certificate. From the free BMD (births, marriages, deaths) Index, I have narrowed his wife's maiden name down to two possibilities, neither of which put her into 'baronet's daughter' category but, never mind, it's all good fun and quite fascinating.

(I wonder if BBC's 'Heir Hunters' programme would give me a job?

Cymraig

2011-09-29T17:55:00.000+01:00

Today was my first Welsh class, from 8,30 till 10.30am, just nice, as it doesn't break up the day and I feel as if I have done something worthwhile before my first coffee of the day. (We'll gloss over the fact that Keith persuaded me it was in a totally different place to where it actually was, so I was 20 minutes late getting there.)

The other seven people on the course are workers, so it's even more satisfying that I get to go home at the end, whilst they have to rush back to work, but then, they get it paid for and I have to shell out myself, although it is still a good deal. It is an accredited course and you can continue with further levels over six years in total, by which time, I imagine, you could be a worthy candidate for the Eisteddfod.

So, look out for my first post in faultless welsh, folks!

Just don't hold your breath...

Noswaith dda.

(Now I wonder if Paddy will respond any better to commands given in welsh? Yes, OK, ridiculous thought.)

So disappointed!

2011-09-23T09:10:00.002+01:00

Having waiting patiently for three whole weeks for the birth certificate of my great grandfather, Charles Ernest Perkins, I got an email yesterday afternoon telling me that they couldn't find one. So that would be why I didn't get anything in the post yesterday then.! So then I went into total disbelief mode and spent half an hour searching through the Free Index of births in an effort to prove them wrong, which I didn't, of course.
Next step was to order his marriage certificate, which should have the name of his father, who is the person I am really trying to track down.
Charles Ernest married a lady from Portland, called Rebecca Sansom Lowman and I know exactly where and when they married, so tracking down the certificate will not take as long this time. However, if his father really did run off with a baronet's daughter, it is quite likely that they didn't actually marry, so I could be up against a brick wall once again.
Well, it keeps me out of mischief, I guess!

An autumn walk

2011-09-22T12:15:00.000+01:00

Today being sunny and promising to stay that way for a couple of hours, I decided Paddy and I should put our best foot (paws) forward and high-tail it up to Coedpoeth, a round trip of about five miles.

'Up' to Coedpoeth is an accurate description of the walk and walking along the narrow pavement beside the high street once we get there is no picnic with Paddy in tow, but we still enjoyed it, although on the way back, Paddy did turn to me with an expression that said, "We have to walk all the way back? YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS, MAN!"

"Don't worry," I told him, "It's downhill on the way back."

Back home, he is lying there like a coiled spring, ready for action...

Charles Ernest Perkins

2011-09-20T08:41:00.001+01:00

This was my paternal great grandfather, an army man and probably the source of many of Hugh's 'awkward' genes and commitment to an army career. Legend has it in our family, that his father, a humble artisan, stole the heart of the daughter of a baronet, who then ran away with him and was disowned by her family. If she had married someone more acceptable, maybe we would now be living in a big house in London with lots of money, but who knows?

There is a fairly strong chance, however, that this legend is just that, a legend and somewhat lacking in concrete evidence, as during my recent forays into family history, I haven't been able to uncover any reliable clues that this event really happened. So I ordered a copy of C.E. Perkins' birth certificate, three weeks ago fromthe General Register Office and sat back to wait.
On the site, it says that certificates, unless ordered more expensively for quick delivery, will take three weeks to arrive. Being of an ever-optimistic disposition, I hoped they would be having a quiet period and it would arrive early, but no. I can just imagine them sitting there at their desks, checking their watches and calendars and saying, "Two more days to go before we can send that Perkins one, Alf. Don't you go sending it early, lad. We don't want to be setting prcedents!"
So, my confirmation email informed me that the certificate would be dispatched today, which means that I will get it on Thursday at the earliest. Not exactly Amazon, is it? But I am hoping it will be worth the wait and we will find out the names of C.E. Perkins' parents. Watch this space...

Little England??

2011-09-19T20:21:00.001+01:00

I am just watching Little England on ITV1, simply because it's on, I've had a busy and not altogether satisfactory day and haven't got the energy to do anything else, but try as I might, I just can't see the point of emigrating to another country to immerse oneself in British culture, surrounded by many other fellow Brits. If anyone thinks they can, I am waiting to be enlightened!

Brambles!

2011-09-16T20:52:00.000+01:00

Today, I have mainly been battling with brambles in this garden. And I have the scars to prove it!

Banned from Sainsbury's. Didn't like shopping there anyway.

2011-09-15T18:27:00.003+01:00

No, this is not one of my supermarket rants, but another offering from TK!

Yesterday I was at my local Sainsbury's store buying a large bag of Winalot dog food for my loyal pet and was in the checkout queue when a woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

What did she think I had an elephant? So, since I'm retired and have little to do, on impulse I told her that no, I didn't have a dog, I was starting the Winalot Diet again. I added that I probably shouldn’t, because I ended up in hospital last time, but I'd lost 2 stone before I woke up in intensive care with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IVs in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way that it works is to load your pockets with Winalot nuggets and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry. The food is nutritionally complete so it works well and I was going to try it again. (I have to mention here that practically everyone in queue was now enthralled with my story.)

Horrified, she asked me if I ended up in intensive care because the dog food poisoned me I told her no, I stepped off the kerb to sniff an Irish Setter's arse and a car hit me.

I thought the guy behind her was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard. I'm now banned from Sainsbury's.

Better watch what you ask retired people.

They have all the time in the world to think of daft things to say.

Cat meets dog

2011-09-14T13:43:00.000+01:00

On our way back from our walk this morning, we came up from the valley and found, as we usually do in that spot, Ginger Cat, who is almost always to be found under the bushes by the path. Today, Paddy spotted her from a few feet away and began to get excited and pull on the lead. The rest is as follows:

Ginger Cat pretends not to have any inkling that there is a dog on the horizon and stretches luxuriously.
Paddy attempts to lunge forward.
Ginger Cat turns her back and sits on the grass.
Paddy attempts to lunge forward.
We are now drawing level with the cat and I have to drag Paddy over to the side of the path as Ginger Cat certainly ain't gonna move.
Ginger Cat finally recognises Paddy's existence, draws herself up and arches her back. Disapproval is oozing from every pore.
By now, I am using every muscle to drag Paddy past the wretched cat and on our way.
A few yards from home and Paddy is finally distracted, this time by a teenage squirrel taunting him from the top of a fence.
More dragging...

How to wash a cat

2011-09-13T08:53:00.002+01:00

Cat lovers look away now! This little gem comes from Keith, who sad to say, is not a cat lover.

1. Put both lids of the toilet up and add 1/8 cup of pet shampoo to the water in the bowl...
2. Pick up the cat and soothe him while you carry him towards the bathroom.
3. In one smooth movement put the cat in the toilet and close the lid. You may need to stand on the lid.
4. At this point the cat will self agitate and make ample suds. Never mind the noises that come from the toilet, the cat is actually enjoying this
5. Flush the toilet three or four times. This provides a 'Power-Wash' and 'Rinse'.
6. Have someone open the front door of your home. Be sure that there are no people between the bathroom and the front door.
7. Stand well back, behind the toilet as far as you can, and quickly lift the lid.
8. The cat will rocket out of the toilet, streak through the bathroom, and run outside where he will dry himself off.
9. Both the toilet and the cat will be sparkling clean.

--

The end of summer

2011-09-11T10:25:00.001+01:00

Every year, spring comes and I look forward to the long, sunny days of summer and every year, when summer disappoints, I hope for an Indian summer. Then September runs its course and, before we know it, we are into dark nights and short days.

Last week, the weather fell short of our expectations. Let's face it, we didn't expect twenty hours of continuous rain on an early September day! Today, Paddy and I went for our walk up, round and through the valley. There are still lots of leaves of the trees but a fair few on the ground too and autumn colours are on the rise. I wonder, as I always do at this time of year, whatever happened to summer? Actually, it wasn't too bad in this neck of the woods; not as much rain as in other areas and not too hot - I like not too hot. And, I must admit that for me, the best part of autumn is still the knowledge that I am not going back to the classroom job to start a new academic year! I shall continue to rejoice in the fact that Paddy and I can be out on our walk at 9am on a weekday morning and hear the sounds of the school day beginning in the school across the road.

Autumn? Bring it on, Indian summer or not!

Holiday?

2011-09-06T18:13:00.002+01:00

We decided that we could do with a few days away, so, in the true adventuring spirit for which we bought the caravan - as in, to go to lots of different places - off we went to ...

Barmouth. Yes, OK, Barmouth again. Well, it suits us because it's great for cycling and there's lots of beach for Paddy to explore.

On our first day, Thursday, the sun shone and the sky was blue, and so it was on Friday. The beginnings of an Indian summer perhaps?

Obviously the Weather Fairy had overheard my thoughts and on Saturday, she sent the rain; not just a little shower, you understand, oh no, torrential downpours from 6am till 2 o'clock the following morning without a break.

Sunday? Some heavy showers, but at least we got a few dry spells and were able to get out and about. Oh, and the bed broke.

Monday? Gale force winds and heavy showers. Also, Keith's bike developed a fault and, as he uses it to cover the distances that he can't walk, he was more or less confined to barracks. It was too windy for cycling anyway.

So, Monday afternoon, we threw in the towel and admitted defeat, especially as the weather forecast for today was full of doom, gloom, wind and rain of biblical proportions. Yep, we packed up and came home.

Well, if we're going to be not going out, we might as well be doing it in comfort at home.

Next year - it's gonna be France!

Jigsaw

2011-09-06T17:45:00.001+01:00

Courtesy of TK.
Enjoy!

Bet you didn't know this!

2011-09-03T09:05:00.000+01:00

I know I haven't been around much lately, but here's another offering from TK to brighten your day. :)

How the internet began - the real version.

In ancient Israel , it came to pass that a trader by the name of Abraham Com did take unto himself a young wife by the name of Dot.
And Dot Com was a comely woman, broad of shoulder and long of leg. Indeed, she was often called Amazon Dot Com.

And she said unto Abraham, her husband: "Why dost thou travel so far from town to town with thy goods when thou can trade without ever leaving thy tent?"
And Abraham did look at her - as though she were several saddle bags short of a camel load, but simply said: "How, dear?"
And Dot replied: "I will place drums in all the towns and drums in between to send messages saying what you have for sale, and they will reply telling you who hath the best price.
And the sale can be made on the drums and delivery made by Uriah's Pony Stable (UPS)."

Abraham thought long and decided he would let Dot have her way with the drums. And the drums rang out and were an immediate success. Abraham sold all the goods he had at the top price, without ever having to move from his tent.
To prevent neighbouring countries from overhearing what the drums were saying, Dot devised a system that only she and the drummers knew.

It was called Must Send Drum Over Sound (MSDOS), and she also developed a language to transmit ideas and pictures - Hebrew To The People (HTTP)
But this success did arouse envy.. A man named Maccabia did secrete himself inside Abraham's drum and began to siphon off some of Abraham's business. But he was soon discovered, arrested and prosecuted - for insider trading.

And the young men did take to Dot Com's trading as doth the greedy horsefly take to camel dung.
They were called Nomadic Ecclesiastical Rich Dominican Sybarites, or NERDS.

And lo, the land was so feverish with joy at the new riches and the deafening sound of drums that no one noticed that the real riches were going to that enterprising drum dealer, Brother William of Gates, who bought off every drum maker in the land. And indeed did insist on drums to be made that would work only with Brother Gates' drumheads and drumsticks.

And Dot did say: "Oh, Abraham, what we have started is being taken over by others."
And Abraham looked out over thee Bay of Ezekiel , or eBay as it came to be known. He said: "We need a name that reflects what we are."

And Dot replied: "Young Ambitious Hebrew Owner Operators."
"YAHOO," said Abraham. And because it was Dot's idea, they named it YAHOO Dot Com.
Abraham's cousin, Joshua, being the young Gregarious Energetic Educated Kid (GEEK) that he was, soon started using Dot's drums to locate things around the countryside.
It soon became known as God's Own Official Guide to Locating Everything (GOOGLE)
And that is how it all began.

A Mother's Story: Birthday

2011-08-28T10:02:00.000+01:00

A Mother's Story: Birthday

Family trees

2011-08-28T09:55:00.000+01:00

They're fascinating and very addictive, I've discovered as I have recently taken advantage of the two week trial membership of Ancestry.co.uk and have spent almost every waking hour of the last couple of days delving back into the misty realms of my forebears. One branch leads back to the twelfth century - that would be our Norman connection, then, you know, the Grosveneurs, de Veres and de Leighs. Name dropping? Moi?
It is noticeable how firmly rooted Dad's family is in Cheshire and Mum's in Shropshire, with a few forays into Staffordshire and Worcestershire. Families of ten children were not uncommon and a fair few were married more than once - no doubt because the poor wives either died in childbirth or were worn out by producing so many children.
I often watch the advert for Ancestry.co.uk and wish that we really could talk to family members through the ages but, in the meantime, I'll carry on with the investigations and a bit of imagination. At least the dining room table is now covered with sheets of family tree, a change for the better from Keith electronics.

Damn those damsons!

2011-08-26T08:58:00.001+01:00

For the past few weeks, Keith has been shooting off to his 'other' house, where he is busy converting his latest ambulance into his latest van. This is what it looked like when he bought it, but all the green and yellow has now gone and he and Giles have been working hard on the interior.

His first one evolved gradually, as he discovered, through working in it, how he wanted it to be, so this time, he knows in advance what he wants and where. So, where do the damsons come in? Well, in that garden, there is a damson tree, heavy with damsons at this time of year, and as there are no jam makers in the immediate vicinity, a lot of them end up on the ground.

Are you beginning to see where this is going? In a typical male fashion - i.e. if it's not in front of my face, I don't see it - he spent a week coming home after working on the van and shedding flattened damsons across the living room floor from the soles of his shoes with gay abandon.

I think I might have cured him of the habit now though. Screaming like a demented banshee may have done it!

A Mother's Story: Second anniversary

2011-08-19T12:20:00.000+01:00

A Mother's Story: Second anniversary

A Mother's Story: Thank you

2011-08-15T18:06:00.000+01:00

A Mother's Story: Thank you

From TK.

2011-08-12T20:14:00.001+01:00

The first senior moment!!!

And, that's what happened to the dinosaurs.

Like this one from T.K?

Bad news!!

2011-08-11T16:47:00.000+01:00

OH NO!!!
Well, that's visits to Dorset out of the question!

London Riots

2011-08-08T09:05:00.000+01:00

Water cannon is what is needed here, I think.

Large discs

2011-08-06T14:45:00.000+01:00

The optic nerve heads or discs in my eyes are larger than normal. The central part of the nerve head has a depression, referred to as a cup and large optic discs typically have larger cupping because of the absence of

axons in the middle of the disc as the neurons leave the retina in the larger rim tissue of larger discs.

With me so far? Good.

Now, this is significant because this situation can apparently make opticians suspect the presence of glaucoma and then they refer you to the local ophthalmology department for further investigation. In my case, I then attend the hospital every six or twelve months for a couple or three years and am then discharged because I don't have glaucoma.

This has been happening to me for the past twenty years but, as no-one had explained the process to me until my latest appointment on Thursday, I just thought that each time I was referred, it was because the condition had worsened, although never enough for me to be prescribed medication. This time, however, the nice lady doctor did explain what had been happening. If the pressure readings are above a certain level at the optician's, he automatically refers me to hospital and round we go again.

"I might as well keep seeing you," she said, "because if I discharge you, the optician will only refer you back again. So I'll see you every 12 to 18 months and if you get fed up with that, just let us know and I'll discharge you again. But at least, if you keep coming and you do develop glaucoma, we will pick it up very early."

OK, fair enough - I suppose...

A lazy Sunday - not!

2011-07-31T11:53:00.000+01:00

For months and months, I have been ~~nagging~~ trying to persuade Keith that it would be a good idea to take the rest of the shop stock to an auction to get rid of it. A lot of it has been residing in the garden shed, taking up valuable space and I was anxious to get rid of it one way or another.

I think it's a man thing, but if you stick at it long enough, they do eventually do as you want them to and if you can make them think that it was their idea in the first place, so much the better. So, this morning we set off on our bikes to cycle the three miles to the van hire place (Yes, I did say 'cycle' and 'three miles' in the same sentence - good, eh!) and then drove the van home to clear the shed.

It's a good van, one of those with a hydraulic lift, so of course, I made sure I rode up and down on it as many times as possible. Second part of the plan was for Keith to drive the van down to the house where Giles is living to clear the rest of the stock from the garage there and tomorrow, he and Giles will drive it all to the auction.

I've been stood down from further operations. I think Keith and Giles probably want to play on the hydraulic lift by themselves.

What I didn't wear today

2011-07-29T18:28:00.001+01:00

Today, I came across an article about Poppy Dinsey's blog, which is a photographic record of the outfits she wears every day and is called, unsurprisingly, What I wore today. Apparently, she started it as part of a
mission to wear a different outfit every day and make use of all the many clothes in her wardrobe. Due to its huge success, she is now going to transform it into an 'entire social network for fashion fans to rival Facebook'.
So, ever alert to the possibilities of fame and fortune, I thought I might do my own take on the idea and share with my millions of readers out there in the ether what I didn't wear.

Today, readers, I was mainly not wearing this, owing to the sun having disappeared and leaving us with thick, grey, dull cloud.
See, my blog even gives you an update on the weather as an added extra!
You don't think it will catch on, do you? Be honest, I can take it...

Rubbish!

2011-07-27T15:42:00.000+01:00

This past week, we have had quite a few things delivered, which means quite a lot of packaging to dispose of, mainly cardboard. No problem. Here in Wrexham county we have a large, blue bag for paper and ordinary cardboard and the corrugated stuff goes in the green bin; don't ask me why, I don't really care as long as it's all recycled.

As there was rather a lot of cardboard, I hoped that the poor, overworked ~~binmen~~ - sorry, refuse collectors - would not find it too traumatic to collect it this week.

Round one was the emptying of the green bin. Done.

Round two - the emptying of the green box (wine bottles and, er, wine bottles) plus the blue bag. I noticed from the window that the blue bag had been placed on top of the empty box but still retained a suspiciously firm outline, so I hopped outside to investigate. A large, flattened cardboard box was still in there, plus two toilet roll centres, but I'm prepared to overlook those, so I took the bag over to one of the men who was busy sorting and emptying the neighbour's green box.

"Excuse me," I said politely, "you have left this in my bag," holding out the flattened box for his close inspection.

"We don't take cardboard," he said, without looking at me. (Oh shucks, I must have turned into the invisible woman again!)

"Well, it says on this bag that you do," I said, gearing up for battle.

The cardboard box was grabbed out of my hand and stuffed into the section of the vehicle reserved for and stuffed with - yes, you've guessed it - CARDBOARD!!

Lazy!

2011-07-26T13:33:00.000+01:00

Don't think you're lying in bed all day, my lad. Time to get up!

Cycling

2011-07-24T09:41:00.000+01:00

As walking isn't too comfortable at the moment, thanks to the creaky ankle, I thought cycling might be better. After all, Keith has a chronically bad ankle but is able to cycle quite easily. So this morning, early (so that no-one would be around to see any possible falling off), we set off down a local cycle path which I recently discovered.

I am not a newcomer to cycling, although I didn't learn till I was about 16. I did, at one time, cycle to work on a fairly regular basis, along quiet, flat roads, I hasten to add and if it was windy, I chickened out and took the car, but that was about 20 years ago and since then, I have done very little on two wheels. The bike I had then was a very simple, three gear one - yes, it's that long ago, but not quite as long ago as the penny farthing; I would never have coped with that! The bike that Keith bought me a few years ago has lots of gears, which, let's face it, is a bit confusing, but I have slowly begun to realise that trying to go up a hill in 3rd or 4th gear is counter-productive, as I am not exactly Tour de France material.

What I really want is a bike which selects the best gear for me automatically. We have automatic cars, why not automatic bikes? Any enterprising inventors out there?

Electronics

2011-07-21T22:04:00.000+01:00

For the past couple of weeks, Keith has been teaching himself electronics - not all of it, I'm sure, but the bits he's interested in. Unfortunately, this meant taking over the dining room, which is very small, and covering every inch of the table with what I would loosely call 'bits and pieces'.( I believe the scientific term would be -bits and pieces).

But that's not all. In addition, he was building a new, thankfully smaller, computer for NASA, so there were various computer components littered around the living room. Oh, and he has taken the caravan television to pieces too in a, so far unsuccessful, attempt to mend it.

I am fairly patient and long-suffering (Yes, I am, Kathy!) but if there's one thing which really, really gets to me, it's being surrounded by mess. It doesn't matter that, to Keith it's not mess but precious and interesting stuff, I have only to look around and my positive mood reading immediately drops to double negative with more negative on top.

So now, he's moved everything to the study upstairs. It meant that some of my stuff was unceremoniously ejected, but I can live with that on the basis of 'out of sight, out of mind' is far more bearable.

Peace reigns once more ...

Alice in Wonderland

2011-07-18T10:02:00.000+01:00

Some time ago we learned that Paul was going to be taking part in a production put on by a drama group for youngsters in Bingley. The drama group is a branch of Theatretrain and the performance was 'Alice in Wonderland'. Paul had got himself a part as a spider.
As the performance was an evening one, Claire, Keith and I stayed overnight at Kathy's in Sheffield, which was lovely as we don't often get to spend time together. We really enjoyed the performance and, of course, Paul was a star, to us, anyway, but it was a long day. The youngsters had been rehearsing since ten o'clock that morning and the performance didn't finish till nine.
In the usual manner of life in the wild, Paul had had problems with the 'bee', who kept trying to pull his legs off but, as you can see from the photo, all legs remained intact at the end of the day.

Paddy + walk + another dog =

2011-07-15T16:53:00.000+01:00

Well, in today's case, it equals a twisted, very painful ankle. I am determined not to even think of it as a sprain but, it ain't looking good. This sad situation arose because a lovely little Jack Russell, who, unlike Paddy, is trusted to be off his lead in the valley, came bounding up to us and he and Paddy did the usual sniffing nether regions etc that dogs usually do. All well and good, until little Jack decided to hi-tail it back to base. Paddy hadn't quite finished his greetings and made a lunge to follow him, catching me by surprise and causing me to turn my ankle over.

"It'll be fine in a second," I thought, as I hobbled to a nearby bench, but it wasn't. In fact it was painful and I had to hobble back home at greatly reduced speed.

"You should have rung me and I would have come to get you," said Keith, when he arrived home later.

"But you had already gone out by then," I said, visions of an ex-ambulance trundling across a wide expanse of grass, having skilfully negotiated the lake and the ducks.

"Well, I could have come in the Pajero, off-roading," he replied. I think he would have enjoyed that.

Anyway, I have spent the rest of the day trying ice packs, strapping it up, hobbling and generally trying in vain to reduce the golf ball that is now the outer side of my ankle, but what better excuse not to do the housework that I had planned for today?

Every cloud...!

Bogs 'R Us

2011-07-14T09:45:00.000+01:00

For a few weeks now, the downstairs lavatory has been malfunctioning, as in, when you flush it, the water just keeps on coming and the only way to stop the flow has been to lift the cistern lid and then slowly lower it back into place. Don't ask me why it works, it just does.

Whilst not happy with the situation, I lived with it, in the hope that it would one day sort itself out without any action needing to be taken and I think Keith was of the same mind, so we kept a watching brief, but occasionally, my clients need to use this lavatory too and I can hardly dart in after they've emerged to lift the cistern lid, not without awkward explanations, anyway.

So, yesterday, Keith was finally on the case and sorted it, by himself, without having to replace the cistern and he is, naturally, very proud, as he has ~~kept on and on about it~~ not ceased to remind me of his success for the past twenty four hours.

That's that, then. Now onto the other items on the to-do list ...

Wheels!

2011-07-09T11:07:00.000+01:00

Today the weather is lovely, here in Barmouth. Paddy has been for his walk and was trusted to run free on the beach for a while. For the first moment, he couldn't quite believe his luck, but he was good and came back when called.

And then, the time I could put off no longer, a bike ride. Only a little one as I haven't touched my bike for three years. I am not one of the world's naturally co-ordinated biker riders. I hang on to the handlebars like grim death and hope no-one gets in my way, but today, I couldn't really go wrong, cycling along the promenade from the caravan site to Barmouth itself, all level, no hills or even mild slopes; my idea of an ideal cycling route. Also, the weather is lovely, no wind today, a few white, scudding clouds and....sun! We could almost be in France.

And, at the end of the prom, they even had a bench all ready and waiting with my name on. Now that's what I call service.

Another one bites the dust

2011-07-08T15:16:00.001+01:00

Today we Keith decided that we needed to go over to Tywyn to visit Roberts the butcher. We have been there before because Keith is of the opinion that his pies are the best to be had. We even have the phone number of the shop on a sticker on the fridge.
Well, we arrived in Tywyn, got out of the car, to be greeted by a deluge of Old Testament proportions. Knee deep in rain, we were, as we passed the local animal rescue fund-raising shop with its window display of a 1925 de-activated Colt pistol and a de-activated machine gun and I pondered briefly on the refreshing lack of attention to legal requirements of these quaint little Welsh towns.
Sadly, when we got to where we were going, we discovered that the butcher's shop has now morphed into a fishmonger's.

Keith was distraught and had to be helped immediately into the cafe next door to console himself with a coffee and slice of lemon meringue.
"We seem to have the kiss of death effect on businesses round here," he complained.
He could be right. The last time we went to Tywyn was for lunch at the Propergander, only to find that it too had closed.
Meanwhile, the weather was

well.... it was wet.

A winner!

2011-07-07T08:27:00.000+01:00

For the past few years, Keith has done the lottery online and often won £10, which he disregarded as paltry, but which I thought was pretty good really and at least it was £10 better than nothing. However, as we both would have preferred a larger win, just a couple of million would do, I kept encouraging him, as in "You're obviously not doing it properly. Try harder!"

This morning, however, he informed me that we had won £156!

I have to inform you now that our lives will not change and we don't intend to spend it on a 5 bedroomed, detached house in a desirable area, plus a couple of top of the range cars, a yacht and private helicopter. No, we will continue to be ordinary, everyday people continuing to go about our normal, everyday lives.

To avoid disappointment, however, and because a refusal often offends, I would like to state that begging letters will be disregarded.

I know, it's tough, but there you are!

Decorating done

2011-07-02T19:48:00.002+01:00

At the end of two frantic days, the kitchen and dining room are both now pristine in their new, clean decoratedness and I am prostrate in my exhaustion. Every bone in my body is protesting and I feel as though I need a week in bed to recover. Admittedly, I painted the ceilings this time and the walls of the dining room needed two coats, but I'm sure I don't recall being quite so tired after decorating these rooms last time.
Prior to this weekend, I had plans for moving on to the living room as my next 'project'. Visions of a new colour scheme and one wall papered in a dynamic up to date design filled my head. Now, however, as I look around said living room, I am persuaded that:

the ceiling does not need painting at present
nor do the walls
I can live without a feature wall
I can get by with just re-doing the glossing.

Of course, should we win the lottery in the near future, all decorating plans will be back on with a vengeance, the only difference being that I shall be paying someone else to do it!
Oh, and anyone who feels the need to make some remark about 'not being as young as you were' will be beheaded - instantly.

Tarmac but not here

2011-06-30T16:10:00.000+01:00

How about this for a slightly idiosyncratic solution to the problem of a car being parked right where council workmen wanted to tarmac the road? To misquote the Everest windows advert, "Now I bet you didn't think they'd be doing that today, did you?"
As it happens, Keith was called out the following day to open a car parked behind the offending vehicle.
Fame at last!

B&Q Baby Boomer

2011-06-29T14:17:00.000+01:00

Having paid a visit to a friend's new house the other day and seen, with envy and admiration, how much work she has done on it, decoration-wise, I have decided that the time has come to grab the bull by the horns and start decorating again. I have done it before. A few years ago, I decorated the living room, dining room and kitchen and later, the bathroom and conservatory. Being a newcomer to decorating - in my previous life, I was always relegated to stripping wallpaper and clearing up the mess - the results were by no means perfect, but by the time I was on to the conservatory, I think a degree of improvement was evident - if you squinted sideways through one eye at it, anyway.
So today, much to Keith's consternation, I called at B&Q and bought the requisites for doing the dining room and kitchen. I've got it sorted this time. Walls and ceilings will be white; that way it doesn't matter if I go over the edge with the paint. Simples!
I also remembered to register my 'over sixties' 10% off card and used it for the first time.
So now, I'm a member of the B&Q over-sixties club.
A B&Q Baby Boomer! Not sure how I feel about that...

Ten years

2011-06-28T21:38:00.001+01:00

Ten years ago this summer, Mum was ill and getting weaker, the end result of an initial stroke at the age of 70 and a series of TIAs (transient ischaemic attacks or mini strokes) in recent years. I spent a lot of that year driving up and down the motorways most weekends between Liverpool, where I was then living, and Bristol and then I stayed for nearly all of the school summer holiday to help out with her care. By then, she was almost bedridden and eventually was moved downstairs where she could be more 'in the loop' and it was easier to look after her.
So memories of that summer are a mixture - hours doing record keeping and planning for the following term, as I usually did during the summer holidays, interspersed with caring for Mum, doing housework, cooking and shopping. I remember the weather being hot and humid and fans were essential.
The carers, when they began to come, were excellent; kind, caring women who did their job well and treated Mum as a person, rather than a patient. Some of them attended her funeral later in the year.
Kathy and Hugh had holidays which they took to spend time there too and Claire and James came when they could. Inevitably, those weeks were a time of difficult emotions and stress but there are good memories too; Kathy and I decorating the bathroom, the care and sensitivity of Hugh when he lifted Mum in and out of bed, the sense that we were all pulling together and working as a team, and I look back at that summer as probably the last chance I had to spend any lengthy amount of time with Kathy and Hugh. Once your children are adults, they live their own lives, of course, but you value the time spent together all the more for that.
In a couple of weeks, Keith and I will be meeting up with Kathy and Claire to go and see Paul performing in his drama group - and that will be another moment for future memories.

And the weather this weekend...

2011-06-24T17:04:00.000+01:00

When I saw the headline for this article in the Daily Telegraph, well, I got really excited. A weekend heatwave, hot enough to lead to health warnings! And then I read the article. As usual, anything that happens weather-wise in the south east is immediately given prime coverage as if the whole of the UK is going to be affected. Yes, I know we are in the middle of Wimbledon and so the forecasts there are more than usually important, but this happens all year round. I pity the poor Scots. They routinely undergo hail, rain and chest-deep snow and no-one even hears about it.
At the moment, I am in Bristol (south west England). On Sunday, I shall be returning to North Wales, also on the west of Britain, so I shall not be affected by or interested in what the weather is doing over on the east, except to be mildly disappointed that I shall not need my factor 50 sun lotion whilst travelling, to protect me from the fiery rays of the sun.
Oh no, "Elsewhere in the country will be cooler, with unsettled conditions and temperatures in the low 20s in some places." That's what we'll be getting.
On the other hand, it's probably just as well that I shall not be collapsing at the wheel with heat stroke like all those poor people in the 'Sahf East' innit!

T.K. is back!

2011-06-21T09:10:00.000+01:00

I haven't treated you to one of T.K.'s gems lately, so here's one I got from him this morning. You know what they say - there's many a true word spoken in jest!

Julia Gillard, the Prime Minister of Australia, and David Cameron, her British counterpart, are shown a time machine which can see 100 years into the future.
They both decide to test it by asking a question each.
Julia goes first. "What will Australia be like in 100 years time?"
The machine whirrs and beeps and goes into action and gives her a printout.
She reads it out. "The country is in good hands under the new Prime Minister, crime is non-existent, there is no conflict, the economy is healthy. There are no worries."
David thinks "It's not bad, this time machine, I'll have a bit of that." So he asks, "What will Great Britain be like in 100 years time?"
The machine whirrs and beeps and goes into action, and he gets a printout.
But he's just staring at it.
"Come on David," says Julia, "what does it say?"
David replies, "I'm buggered if I know. It's all in Arabic."

Skinny dipping

2011-06-20T13:02:00.001+01:00

At 8.30 yesterday morning on a beach at Rhossilli, 400 people took up the challenge to stay in the (extremely cold) water for at least 10 minutes, to raise money for the Marie Curie Cancer Care and the National Trust.Read all about it here.

And before you ask, no, I was not among their number - far too cold for me.

Daphne, on the other hand, could have been there except that she was busy doing her own Great North Swim. You can read a comprehensive account of that on Silverback's blog, here.
It's a good thing some of us are hardy critters!

A Mother's Story: Father's Day

2011-06-19T15:53:00.000+01:00

A Mother's Story: Father's Day

The week in pictures

2011-06-18T17:50:00.001+01:00

The Daily Telegraph has a regular item, The Week in Pictures, which is well worth a look at even if you are not a Telegraph fan.
This is the one I picked out from this week's gallery:

If you're a fan of pink and of traditional phones, this is just the one for you. Of course, you'd need a pretty large bag to carry it in, but hey, you can't have everything.

And it is pink.... Everyone will want one!

At the doctor's - again

2011-06-16T12:01:00.001+01:00

Yes, again because on Tuesday I had a call from the surgery telling me that my GP would dearly like to talk to me about my cholesterol level! All that worrying I've done over the years about my blood pressure and it's the cholesterol that's sneaked up on me.
On Keith's advice, I went early, arriving at half past eight so that I would be one of the first patients to be seen, which would have been a good strategy had not the rest of the practice decided to do the same. Next time I go, I shall definitely take a shelf full of books with me, or my Kindle, which has a shelf full of books on it anyway. Two hours later (yes TWO HOURS), I got to see my GP. At least she is not jealousy-makingly thin and there was a sense of heartfelt empathy as she agreed with me that losing weight is much harder after the menapause. Anyway, she was quite happy with my blood pressure, althought interestingly, she did comment that it had been very high in 2004. (Anyone who scoffs at the idea that teaching is stressful, please take note...) After taking some family history and asking me about my diet and exercise, it only remained for her to type up my prescription for Simvastatin.
"What about diet?" she asked, "What are your weaknesses?" "Well, nothing really," I started to say.
"Do you eat cheese?" "Well yes, sometimes..."
"What kind?" "Er, Red Leicester usually, but I don't ..."
"HA! You'll have to cut down on that, then!"
While I am anxious to do whatever it takes to avoid strokes and heart attacks, this seems like the first step towards the dreaded senior years and a reminder that the old body does have a finite shelf life, however much I like to think otherwise.
You think I'm being a bit melodramatic here? Of course I am - it's what I do!

Upper end of normal

2011-06-13T11:21:00.001+01:00

This morning was my appointment with the nurse for BP and cholesterol test. She looked vaguely familiar when I went in and then I remembered, in her other life, she is one of the receptionists. I was hoping she was also trained for taking blood, as she sank a painful needle into my arm. I explained about my 'white coat syndrome' which means that my blood pressure tends to rise when it's taken in the surgery or hospital and told her what it had been at home earlier. She nodded politely and then told me that it was now a little lower than that.
"Upper end of normal. I'll pass it on to the doctor," she said.
"I would prefer not to have medication if I can do without it," I said. "Of course, if I could lose a few pounds it would help. They say it's more difficult to lose weight after the menapause - it certainly is!"
She, stick thin, nodded politely.
"I walk about 45 minutes every day with the dog," I continued desperately, "and I eat healthy stuff..."
She nodded politely.
"The results of the cholesterol test should be back on Wednesday," she said.
"Right," I said and got up to leave.
It's just great getting feedback, don't you think?

Twittering...

2011-06-12T09:45:00.001+01:00

Something on TV this morning set Keith off on a grumble about the inanity of social networking sites.
"I just can't see the point," he said. "What possible interest could anyone have in my tweet that I had just had a tomato for breakfast?"
A great deal, I should think. The day he has just a tomato for breakfast without the bacon, eggs and sausage to go with it, will be extremely newsworthy. However, I kept these thoughts to myself.
When Paddy and I got back from our walk, Keith announced (to me, rather than to the world) that he had had his breakfast, including a tomato.
"You'd better set up your Twitter account right now!" I laughed.
For the record, although I have long been a fan of blogging, I can't see any point at all in Twitter and am only on Facebook because it makes it easier to follow the doings of Elder and Younger Daughters (Be warned, girls!) and I am always concerned when I read that Facebook powers-that-be have surreptitiously introduced yet another 'improvement' that chips away a little more at people's privacy.
Still, if Keith does set up a Twitter account (unlikely), it will be interesting to see how many millions of followers around the world will respond to his announcement that he had a tomato for breakfast.

The reckoning!

2011-06-06T16:20:00.002+01:00

This morning I got a phone call from the GP surgery, inviting me to present myself for a blood pressure and cholesterol check. Presumably there are targets to be met "Yes, we have screened x number of our patients over 60. Can we have our funding please?"
The last time I was summoned was when I registered at the practice, nearly eight years ago, when I was still in the throes of classroom stress and my blood pressure was 'high side of normal' but exacerbated by 'white coat syndrome.'
At that time, I was very assiduous in keeping my own regular check but since then, I have fallen by the wayside.
Keith, who pays little heed to weight, exercise or healthy eating, has no problem with his blood pressure. I, on the other hand, exercise daily, keep strictly to healthy eating and try constantly to keep my weight down to what I am happy with, so why am I the one with borderline high BP?
Maybe there's a clue in my reaction to this morning's phone call:

Dig out BP monitor and take blood pressure three times (taking the best of the three as my guide)
Spend an hour online researching acceptable levels of blood pressure and whether I fall within them.
Vow to give up my daily glass of vin rouge - although I had thought that this was good for blood pressure. The jury's out on that one, it seems.
Text Elder Daughter for her opinion on whether I have any cause for concern. Well, it's no good putting her through uni if I am not to derive at least some benefit.

My appointment is for next Monday, so I have a week in which to knock myself into shape. Paddy, dust off your paws, my lad, you're going to be doing a lot of walking!

Strange

2011-06-06T09:43:00.001+01:00

Odd how they make so much fuss about our owners cleaning up after us dogs...

yet horses seem to be able to do as they like!

Dental hygiene

2011-06-04T19:27:00.000+01:00

I had to go to the vet on Thursday - something to do with a 'booster' whatever that is, and a health check. The appointment was early and I think Jenny arranged that specially because, when we got there, there were no cats, no animals of any kind, in fact, and we went straight in to see the vet. She poked and prodded me and said I was a nice dog. I was doing a lot of sniffing around the floor and Jenny said I had probably picked up the scent of cats.
"He likes cats, he just couldn't eat a whole one," she said and the vet said, "Ah yes, he has Border terrier in him," as if that explained everything. I don't know why Jenny assumes I couldn't eat a whole one, she's never given me the chance to try!
Anyway, I bore my injection very stoically (Bet you didn't think I would know a word like that!) and then the vet looked at my teeth and said that they could do with cleaning, so she suggested either Dentastix (yum, yum) or a dog toothbrush or special wipes.
Later, Jenny went shopping and came back with Dentastix and some dental wipes.
You're really going to put your fingers in his mouth?" Keith asked incredulously (See, another big word).
Well, so far, she's given me Dentastix.
The pot of wipes is still sitting on the dining room table...

Cats!

2011-06-01T09:17:00.000+01:00

It was great going out for my walk today. There were TWO cats right out there, just WAITING to be chased, but of course, I was on my lead. When will Jenny realise, I only want to play with them! Off we went up the path. By now, one of the cats had run away, but the other, a raggy old black one, was sauntering up the path right in front of us. Of course, I assumed my stalking position and crept along steadily behind him, and all of a sudden, the stupid creature SAT DOWN in the middle of the path, right in front of me. How cheeky is that?
I thought all my birthdays had come at once.
Unfortunately, Jenny was quicker, dragged me to the side of the path and pulled me past the cat, who was still sitting there, smirking!
I won't forget, Pussy Cat! Oh no, I definitely won't forget.....!