A Mother's Story: IPCC report made public
Grumpy?
OK, so I am probably going to make myself really unpopular now and do wonders for the Society of Misanthropes but, here goes...
I DO NOT LIKE Hallowe'en. I hate the idea of children going house to house, in the dark, in imitation of what is done across the pond and what is, in effect, begging. If they want to celebrate the modern equivalent of a pagan festival, that's fine, although I do wonder how many of them are aware of anything beyond the blatant commercialism which is the main focus these days. But I would prefer that they do their celebrating at home rather than having a constant stream of knocks on the door all evening and the splatters of flour and eggs when the door remains unanswered. To be fair, although this used to happen when I lived on Merseyside, here merrymakers are generally admirably restrained and polite.
Ah well, a few more hours and it will be over for another year.
Next up is November 5th and trying to keep Paddy calm during all the noisy fireworks.
So call me a misery, if you wish. Bring it on! The shoulders are broad!
I DO NOT LIKE Hallowe'en. I hate the idea of children going house to house, in the dark, in imitation of what is done across the pond and what is, in effect, begging. If they want to celebrate the modern equivalent of a pagan festival, that's fine, although I do wonder how many of them are aware of anything beyond the blatant commercialism which is the main focus these days. But I would prefer that they do their celebrating at home rather than having a constant stream of knocks on the door all evening and the splatters of flour and eggs when the door remains unanswered. To be fair, although this used to happen when I lived on Merseyside, here merrymakers are generally admirably restrained and polite.
Ah well, a few more hours and it will be over for another year.
Next up is November 5th and trying to keep Paddy calm during all the noisy fireworks.
So call me a misery, if you wish. Bring it on! The shoulders are broad!
Walking up the avenue
Imagine, if you will, that life is like a long, winding avenue leading up to a stately home. Now picture the scene last Sunday chez Jennyta, Kathy sitting on the sofa telling me about a Shefield artist who is fast gaining in popularity, Pete McKee. She tells me of someone she knows who bought the first in a series of limited edition paintings for £1000, and it is now worth £16,000. My ears prick up, but, although there are still limited edition paintings to be had, I imagine that they would take longer to increase in value.
"A good investment," Kathy says, "but, yes, you would have to hang on to them for ten or twenty years to get a good return."
And suddenly it hit me. I looked up and saw that the stately home was somewhat nearer than I had thought...
"A good investment," Kathy says, "but, yes, you would have to hang on to them for ten or twenty years to get a good return."
And suddenly it hit me. I looked up and saw that the stately home was somewhat nearer than I had thought...
Tesco's problems
For those of you who are not fans of Tesco supermarkets, have a little look at this. It's one up on those stories you hear about projects being delayed because of colonies of newts or natterjack toads and so much more entertaining!
Autumn walks
Lulu and Amy Winehouse
Out for my walk with Paddy this morning, it was that time of the morning when pupils are wending their unwilling way to school and, in front of me was a girl of about fourteen, thumbs busily occupied on the ever-present mobile. Presently another girl joined her and the two of them turned and walked up the lane past us. I was struck by a blast from the past. Each girl had backcombed hair and black eyeliner, a cross between Lulu and Amy Winehouse, and they reminded me of when I was twelve or thirteen.
At our school, the girls' toilet block comprised of two sections, one of which had been commandeered by a group of fourteen or fifteen year olds as their bolthole, where they spent hours carefully applying make-up so that it would not be noticed by teachers and backcombing their bleached hair to unbelievable heights. At that time, we were the first year to experience the joys of wearing a velour hat, instead of the beret worn by all the older girls and this group were expert at pinning the beret to the back of the head so that it was invisible from the front, hidden by all the backcombed hair.
Being cheeky second years (Year 8 in new money), we made it our mission in life to enter their territory and annoy them as much as possible, which we did and insults were duly traded, but over a period of time, we got to know these girls and struck up an odd sort of friendship, especially as this was in the days when older pupils definitely had nothing to do with younger one. These were girls who were probably on the borderline between Grammar and Secondary Modern candidates, so not particularly academic, but when we got to know them, they weren't at all as aggressive as they first appeared.
Probably my first lesson in the advisability of not judging people by appearances.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Plaster board and dust
So, we're still no further forward on the British Gas smart meter front and I've given up making non-existent appointments with them...
-
So, we're still no further forward on the British Gas smart meter front and I've given up making non-existent appointments with them... -
This is the beach at Burbo Bank, Crosby, home of Antony Gormley's cast iron statues, collectively known as 'Another Place'. We... -
Well, we came to an amicable arrangement, quite unplanned as it happened, because Keith got to navigate the car through people's back y...