Groan!

"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?

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

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

The Christmas story as you have never heard it before.

No animals were harmed

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

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.