67 Flag Lane

Reading this post by Shooting Parrots sent me off down Memory Lane to Crewe, where my paternal grandparents lived and where Dad grew up. Their house was a three storey, terraced house right by the railway line and was unusual in that the first floor at the back was the ground floor at the front. So going in by the front door led into a hall at the end of which were stone stairs going down to the living room, or  kitchen, as it was called, on the left and the back kitchen on the right. From the living room, you could walk out through the back door into the back garden, with the outside toilet at the bottom, but from the back kitchen, if you stood at the sink and looked up through the grating, you could see the feet of anyone who happened to be walking past. To the right of the sink was another door, this one leading to the coal cellar and in the pavement outside was a manhole, through which the coalman would tip the coal straight into the cellar, which, you must admit, was very convenient.
The back kitchen was dark and gloomy, a room that I was not very fond of and not for anything would I have ventured into the coal cellar but I did enjoy watching the feet going past.
By 1970, this little row of houses had been earmarked for demolition and, when I last went there number 67 was a windowless shell. Health and Safety would no doubt have been very annoyed, but we did go inside to have a last look round and even went up to the top floor to look out over the surrounding streets and the railway line.

 

Change of plan

Today there were two Canada geese visiting the lake and this morning I got my first sight of daffodils in the valley, so maybe, in spite of the rumblings on the weather forecast about approaching snow, we won't be in line for that and spring really is on its way.
Main plan for yesterday was to be a 'lady who lunches' and meet up with Gill and Julie, but probably not at the same restaurant as last time. However, on my way home from our walk, I started feeling the first effects of a migraine so, instead of living it up in Chester, I spent several hours curled up in bed, suffering...
and Paddy curled up in sympathy.

Snoring? Or not

"I didn't disturb you too much last night, did I?" Keith enquired solicitously this morning. He has been suffering from a cold which has meant that the arms of Morpheus have not been all-encompassing for the past few nights.
"No," I said, "but you might want to work on NOT arguing with me when I tell you you are snoring. After all, I am the one who is awake at the time, so I KNOW whether you are snoring or not!"
He did have the grace to look slightly abashed...

Tough flowers

This bowl of pansies sitting in the front garden may look a bit weatherbeaten and past its best but it was given to me by a friend for my birthday back in August last year. Since then, it has been left to fend for itself and so it has. These flowers have survived an exceptionally cold winter, they have spent weeks covered in snow and frost but they still came up smiling.

It just goes to show, my version of 'tough love' gardening (ie stick the stuff out there and let it get on with it) pays off - sometimes, anyway.

What shall we do with a broken lightbulb?

What indeed. If you have been enticed into replacing your old bulbs with the new, low-energy bulbs, otherwise known as 'compact fluorescent lamps', then disposing of broken ones is going to be a problem, as it seems that these bulbs are regarded as far too dangerous to fall into the hands, or even the close vicinity of our garbage disposal operatives.
So, the all-powerful E.U. has decided in its wisdom that all households should henceforth use these lightbulbs which are filled with mercury and which, when they break, emit 'levels of toxic vapour up to 20 times higher than the safe guideline limit for an indoor area.' In fact, current advice is that, should one break in your house, the room should be evacuated immediately and it should be ventilated for 15 minutes. Let's hope it doesn't happen in mid-winter then. Furthermore, when disposing of the broken lightbulb, you are advised to wear protective gloves and seal the remnants in a plastic bag.
OK, so far so good. But then what do you do with it? Apparently, you get in your car and travel to your nearest 'special recycling bank' because councils don't deal with hazardous waste.
Not only that, but old style lightbulbs are disappearing off the shelves of our local stores faster than a cat being chased by Paddy, so it's a case of "You will do as we say, even though this item we are promoting is regarded as 'hazardous'".
Now one of my character flaws is that, as soon as I feel I am being forced to do something, I put all my efforts into doing the opposite, (This caused me a lot of problems during my formative years!) hence yesterday morning saw me scouring the internet and bulk buying a stock of old style lightbulbs for our use in years to come.
At least we will be able to see our hands in front of our faces, which is not always the case with the'compact fluorescent  lamps'. And we won't be having to deal with 'hazardous waste' although it's possible that we will end up languishing in the Tower of London with all the other 'martyrs' who dare to contravene E.U directives.
Bring it on!

3 French Hens

Well no, actually but two geese and a duck sitting on a wall as we went past on our walk this morning, followed by two hens just round the corner in the hedgerow. You never know what might cross your path here in north Wales and, no, it's not always sheep!

It's never easy taking photos with Paddy tugging at his lead in one hand and cameraphone in the other, so this is the best I could do, I'm afraid. Had I been any closer, we might have been having roast goose for dinner tonight.