Blogging meme

I've just been over to Flighty's blog and discovered that he has rather a good meme on his last post, so I thought I would pinch it for myself. I remember starting my blog but can't for the life of me remember how I found out about blogging, but I do know it has been immense fun and sometimes quite therapeutic. Anyway, here goes:
1. Can you remember without looking what your first post was about?
My first post was back in May 2004, I think and it was about the forthcoming prospect of leaving my job as deputy head of a primary school and 'downgrading' to classroom teacher, which I was looking forward to immensely, hence my blog title of Demob Happy Teacher.
2. Where did you write it?
I wrote it on the laptop that I had at the time.
3. Which was the first blog that you read?
I remember that - it was Gemmak's blog. I left a comment and we've been readers of each other's blogs ever since.
4. Who did /do you tell about your blogs, if anyone?
Some family, friends and work colleagues but I still find that lots of people that I mention the word 'blog' to look at me blankly. 'A what?' they ask.
5. Have your blogs ever caused a scandal?
Not exactly, but the head teacher of the school I was working in at the time took exception to some of my posts on my views of the current state of education and sent me to Coventry. As she didn't share her reasons with me, it was some considerable time before I found out why I was being ignored. (Yes, I know - teachers - men among boys, boys among men. It is relevant to women too!)
6. Tell us something random which happened as a result of blogging.
Our holiday in France this year was the result of a comment left on my blog by Yorkshire Pudding's brother, Robin, who runs the gite that we stayed at. A very happy random event, as we had a great time there.
7. Snog, marry or avoid - pick another blogger for each.
Hmm, well, as Keith will be reading this, maybe I'd better not answer. Seriously though, I have 'met' lots of fellow bloggers through comments and my bloglist and all have been friendly and charming. I have only met one in real life, Yorkshire Pudding but would love to meet more. The only one I would avoid is the character who started leaving rather childish and spiteful comments at one time but who fortunately now seems to have disappeared.
8. What’s your most amusing blog memory?
Not sure really. I have often smiled and laughed out loud at fellow bloggers' posts and comments but I can't think of one particular incident.
Now, anyone who would like to take up this particular baton and run with it is most welcome.

One smoking cigar

There have been many times when I have listened to news items on TV or radio and had difficulty in believing what I was hearing. There have been times when I've sneaked a look at the calendar to ensure that the date was not April 1st, but this evening, I was rooted to the sofa in disbelief as I heard this item about the Welsh Culture Minister, Rhodri Glyn Thomas. This is a man who has made one or two gaffes in past weeks, admittedly and is reputed to be a bit of a character, so he must have done something REALLY serious this time because he is telling everyone he doesn't expect to be still in his job by the end of today.
What he actually did was to light a cigar outside in the designated smoking area at a local pub and then absent-mindedly wander back inside with it still in his hand, although he immediately went back outside when his mistake was pointed out to him.
Naturally such an action must surely rank alongside robbery, violence, fraud, you name it and obviously the dastardly villain should not only lose his job but be hung, drawn and quartered.
You know, just when you think things in our world can't get any more ridiculous, hey presto - they do.

Let the children play

One of the features on TV this morning was a recent report which proclaims - wait for it - that it is a 'Good Idea' to let children play freely; as opposed to carting them around from one structured activity or another for the whole of their spare time. One has to wonder how many man hours, brain cells and milions of pounds were needed in order to come up with this world-shattering conclusion and what planet these 'experts' currently inhabit.
When I were a lass... yes, I know that is more than a few months ago, school holidays stretched before us as an endless source of pleasure and delight. OK, maybe there was the odd time when I complained of being bored, but it didn't happen often; of that I am sure.
Keith and I were talking this morning about the sort of things we used to get up to in our holidays and spare time. I recalled my sister and myself giving impromptu concerts to longsuffering parents and neighbours. (I taught myself to play the piano - badly and basically, it's true, but I enjoyed it.)
As we didn't have a car, the garage provided space for our museum, pride of place in which was taken by the stuffed red squirrel donated by a neighbour and I even used to produce a museum magazine. Heaven knows what I found to put in it, but it used to cover three sides of foolscap paper. (No A4 paper size then.) Then there was the allotment. Now I was never a keen gardener but I used to enjoy collecting minibeasts, especially the yellow striped snails, which then ended up in the museum as live exhibits.
When I was about eight, I had a much disapproved of friend, ( always in trouble) who came round to play in the summer holidays. On the first day, we took the hood off my sister's doll's pram and made a swing of it. The problem arose when we fixed it to the clothes line, which then completely collapsed when we tried to sit in it. The following day, my friend, Veronica went up to the bathroom and somehow dropped a glass jar into the wash basin. I did try to pretend that the resulting crack was really an indelible stain but the game was up when water started leaking the next time someone went to use it. After that, Veronica was banned.
Keith, of course, being a boy, went for bolder pursuits, like walking along the top of a hedge (how?) and making an underground den with his friends, in which they lit a fire and attempted to fry bacon and eggs, narrowly missing asphixiation, I'm sure.
These days, he'd probably be taken into care.

Floc Ferme, Coussa

Previously, when we have gone on holiday to France, we have wandered where the fancy took us and stayed in hotels wherever we decided to stop. Hotels in France can be much cheaper than in Britain, although prices are beginning to increase now and bargains are harder to find. This year, however, we came across this lovely spot just on the outskirts of a village called Coussa in the Ariege region of France, not far from the Pyrenees and only fifty miles from Andorra. It is owned and run by Robin, brother of the infamous Yorkshire Pudding, and his partner, Suzie. Check out the link and you can read all the details for yourself. Keith and I rented the smallest of the gites, which, like the others, boasted wonderful views and was very comfortable. Robin and Suzie were very welcoming and friendly and have obviously put in a lot of effort to ensure that guests have a comfortable stay.
Although we shot off over the Pyrenees into Spain one day, even Keith (who has a round bottom - he can't stay in one place for long) was more than content to spend the rest of the week visiting the local areas. We particularly liked the neighbouring towns of Mirepoix and Pamiers and there are are lots of activities available in the area, such as cycling, horse riding and even hang gliding or just walking and taking in the beautiful scenery and the peace and quiet.
Oh, there is a swimming pool too... but that's another story.

Chez nous

Well, we're back home once again. The wind is gusting and the rain falling as I look through the window. Have we really been away, I ask myself. Out of the fortnight of our holiday, most of it in the south west of France, mark you, we had five proper sunny, hot days. Global warming, obviously! French weather is becoming more like British weather and British weather? Who knows where that's going. It makes you wonder if the French will ever become so preoccupied by the weather that it makes an appearance in most of their conversations as it does here.
Bonjour, Jean.
Ah, bonjour, Michel
Ca va?
Oui, mais je n'aime pas ces nuages noirs dans le ciel la-bas.
(Both shake their heads as they ponder the potential significance of said clouds.)
Il va pleuvoir, ca c'est sur.
(With apologies for lack of appropriate accents)
Ah well, I'm off to Chester for a 'ladies who lunch' session.