Who's got talent?

I'm going to do my grumpy (young) woman bit again now. I watched 'Britain's got Talent' twice in the week and again last night, so I haven't been a regular viewer, but Keith likes it as he thinks of it as a variety show. It's probably how he gets in touch with his youth; no syrup of figs or Milk of Magnesia for him!
Of the acts featured in the finals last night, I was not particularly impressed with Diversity, although they did come across as very pleasant and obviously prepared to give it their all and I thought Stavros and Flatley were, quite frankly, pretty mediocre. In fact, I couldn't believe how enthusiastic the judges were about them.
I really wanted Hollie to be in the final three, especially after the way she got right back up there last night after her stage fright. But mostly, I wanted Susan Boyle to win. She appears to have suffered from bad press during the past week or so, but I learned this morning that she has learning difficulties, which could explain why she might find the sudden outburst of media attention and public scrutiny rather difficult to cope with.
So all in all, I was disappointed with the outcome and the show is never going to come anywhere near 'Strictly...' in the popularity stakes for me, but good luck to the winners and I hope great things will happen for Susan in spite of everything.

Now, can we have 'Primeval' back, please?

It tastes horrible

Dad is having a bit of a problem with a tooth at the moment and as he can't get an appointment at the dentist's until the end of next week, I suggested that he rinse his mouth with diluted TCP in case of infection.
"Well, I have done that a couple of times but it tastes so horrible," he complained.
I reminded him of the times in my very early years when I was regularly dosed with syrup of figs and - worse - Milk of Magnesia, all because I was one of those unfortunate beings who are not 'regular'. (I won't elaborate on this in case you are of a delicate disposition. Suffice it to say, I spent half my early childhood being strongly encouraged to be 'regular'.)
"So, I'm afraid I have no sympathy," I said, grimly.
He laughed.

Self-service? No thanks!

I noticed the other week in Sainsbury's that some self-service tills have made a sneaky appearance, which didn't bother me too much as I had no intention of using them.
"Are those...?"
"They're self-service tills," the assistant rudely interupted me in a bored way which made it sound as if she had been asked the question ten million times before, which possibly she had, but there was no need to be so rude.
The next week I noticed that the 'Baskets only' tills had been axed to make way for them, which I was rather annoyed about as they are very useful if you have only popped in for a few items (extra cake for Keith, for instance) and don't want to be stuck in a lengthy queue behind someone who has bought the whole shop and then some and wants to pay for it with their life-collection of pennies.
So with rather bad grace, I took my basket to an ordinary till and prepared to wait, only to be accosted by a 'customer service assistant' who did her utmost to persuade me to give the new till a try.
"No thanks," I said politely. Her persistence indicated that she wanted a reason for my refusal, so eventually I gave it to her.
"When I come shopping," I said, "I like some degree of service. I already have to go round the store and pick the items I want and then lug them all out to the car, but I don't think it's too much to ask for someone to actually scan the shopping for me and take the money. Oh and it's quite nice when they offer to pack it for me, which happens less and less these days."
She smiled and backed away and went to help the queue building up at the self-service tills which seemed to be having teething problems.

Ghosts?

He's full of surprises, that dog of ours. On our walk today, he barked and tried to lunge at two very well behaved boxers for no apparent reason except that they were there and then, five minutes later, walked past a huge black dog, barking furiously at him as if he didn't exist. But the really puzzling moment came a few minutes later when we were back on the road. He stopped dead, stared intently across the road and began growling. Paddy never growls. If he sees a cat or a squirrel, he whines but never growls at them or even barks. However, this time, try as I might, I could see absolutely no sign of an animal or even person anywhere in sight. You see what I'm saying here? We were alone, completely and utterly alone.
But Paddy kept on growling, rooted to the spot until I began to haul him off down the road. Reluctantly, very reluctantly, he allowed himself to be moved but all the way down the hill, he kept stopping to look behind him as if there was someone or something following us.
In the end, even I began to get twitchy.
It had to be a ghost - but a person or an animal?
Welcome to the Welsh Twilight Zone...... Be afraid, be very afraid.

The wet dog blog

Paddy has had his first bath chez Jennyta today. In fact, for all I know it could be his first bath ever because he certainly didn't seem to have much idea about what was going on. Still, he was very good in the bath. It was when he got out that he went berserk, sliding all round the bathroom floor, fighting with the towel and, of course, shaking himself furiously. Then I opened the bathroom door - yes I had had the foresight to close the bedroom doors before we started - and charged up and down the stairs at the speed of light before being let back into the living room.
Now, he's screwed himself into the smallest ball possible and squashed himself into the corner of the armchair. You can almost hear him thinking,
"Well, I ain't gonna do that again in a hurry!"

It's behind you!!

I just know there's a cat around here somewhere!

It's in the genes

I have just had a few days in Bristol visiting Dad, who is recovering well from his hip replacement and is tearing round the house at the rate of knots - nearly. Elder Daughter came for a couple of days too and it was lovely to catch up with her. We don't get together that often, due to the pace of life and volume of commitments.
"We'll have salmon for dinner," she announced, so I prepared to stick it in the microwave for a couple of minutes, as is my wont.
"No!" she protested, "You can't do that," and she prepared to give me detailed instructions for doing it 'properly.'
She likes gardening too - loves it, in fact and has acquired a wealth of knowledge about what to plant where and how to ensure that it all grows, which is a far cry from my very basic 'stick it in the ground and hope for the best' approach.
All of which left me thinking. She's streets ahead of me in gardening and cooking expertise and, needless to say, this knowledge was certainly not gained at her mother's knee, and neither was the enthusiasm.
Mind you, neither was her interest in Medicine.
However, I like to think that I have passed something on to her - let me see now...
Looks, charm, intelligence ..... need I say more?
Oh, and maybe an understanding of the benefits and satisfaction which come from sheer hard work. She certainly does plenty of that.