Thomas the Tank Engine?

Here's some good news, a new, faster train service from Holyhead to Cardiff, noteworthy because the journey length will be four hours 17 minutes, which is nine whole minutes shorter than Y Gerallt Gymro service which runs in the morning.
Four hours, 17 minutes? I hesitate to say one could almost walk quicker, as this would add fuel to Keith's conviction that I am prone to exaggeration but, really, one could almost WALK quicker.
Still, at least we should be grateful that it is actually going to stop in Wrexham, which is not always the case with these services. But as there is only a single line section of track between Chester and Wrexham (Well, at one time, the welsh were not allowed inside Chester's walls after sundown, you know), the Holyhead to Birmingham service will now go via Crewe instead of Wrexham, which won't please Wrexham people wanting to go to Birmingham.
So, is this a cunning ploy to keep the welsh on their own side of Offa's Dyke or is Wales still struggling to hop into the 21st century. After all, here in Wales, we still don't do motorways.
Oh well, just off to get out the horse and cart...

Cake!

For her birthday, Kathy decided she would like some Cath Kidston china, so Claire bought her the cake stand and I bought her some plates. Her goal was to be able to do the 'ladies who do tea' thing with her friends.

And so she did, yesterday.

I shall make two comments about this:

1. She obviously didn't make the cakes herself, but cheated and asked Mr Kipling to do it instead.
2. I shall have to make sure Keith doesn't get wind of this or he will be very upset that she had cake and didn't invite him.

Baboons at the bottom of the garden

Keith and I were watching Baboons with Bill Bailey on ITV last night. It's an entertaining series and, last night, I was taken by the idea of people, going about their ordinary, everyday lives and also coping with a gang of baboons in the garden just waiting to break into their kitchen and steal any food they could find lying around.
"Paddy would get a bit of a shock if there were a couple of baboons on the garden fence instead of squirrels," I commented. "He'd think twice about charging into the garden to chase them."
Keith's mind was obviously still on the shots of said  baboons raiding the kitchen.
"Well, they'd be disappointed if they were looking for food in our kitchen!" he said.
Oooh! Nasty! Especially as he's the one who insisted on stocking up on wall to wall lettuce.

Taking the horse out for the day?

I have been out shopping this morning so I am a bit late with my post and John has got in first with this little item. The horse was apparently a Welsh mountain pony which generally stand under 12 hands high, but even so, Arriva trains didn't feel able to accommodate it. However, I remain unconvinced and I am sure that in pre 'Health and Safety' days when every inch of our lives was not controlled by rules and regulations  of varying degrees of sense and usefulness, the kindly guard would have said, "Come on, boyo," (or something like that), "no-one's looking, pop him in the guard's van and we'll say no more about it."
But I think the best part of the tale (no pun intended) is the reaction of the staff at Wrexham Maelor hospital when the man also took his horse there:
A spokesman for Wrexham Maelor Hospital said it was unable to do anything for the animal.
“We can confirm that a man did turn up with a horse in A&E, but we were unable to treat the horse,” he said.
Really, you couldn't make it up. However, I hope the Maelor then directed him a little further up the road and round the corner to Rhyd Broughton vetinary centre, where they treat a variety of animals, including horses.
And if a sheep can go to Slovenia in a car, why can't a horse go to Holyhead on a train?

Delightful

Last Thursday was my 'ladies who lunch' date but this time, Dad came too. We drove to the Park and Ride, as usual and then took the bus into Chester itself and walked through to Northgate Street, where we were to meet. Being one of those extremely unobservant people, I never take any notice of street names, so they mean little to me when it comes to finding my way around, but I had a rough idea of where we were heading, so I left Dad having a breather on a bench in Eastgate street, while I walked to the corner and back.

Of course, on my return, he was already being chatted up by a lady who didn't look too pleased to see me, but, eventually, we made our escape and went off to meet Gill and Julie and  had a very pleasant lunch.

Back  home, I got text messages from Gill and Julie saying how much they had enjoyed meeting him and I read them out to him.

"What did that one say? Delightful? Hmm, I'll have to remember that," he mused.



And back again

Back to Bristol with Dad today and a good journey - until we got to mad Bristol! Well, not actually Bristol - I gave up driving around Bristol many years ago. It's one of those places where the policy is to make life as difficult as possible for the poor beleaguered driver in the hope that, for his next journey he'll take the bus - if it turns up and is going anywhere near where he wants to go. On the road into where Dad lives is a Co-op, where we had planned to stop and stock up on the groceries he needs, but of course, there was nowhere to park anywhere near there so we carried on to the other end of the village where parking is usually easier.
Not today, however, as there was a fair going on on the common opposite the shops and so, again, not a spare inch of road on which to park. So back again to the original area to try another car park, unfortunately just as small and pokey as the first and just as full. Making it even fuller was the army of 'parking attendants' walking round photographing various cars, front, back, underneath, tyres. If they had been making a video, it would have been riveting! A mind reader would probably have described how they were rejoicing in the large amounts of cash they would soon be demanding from the drivers in fines, but they were certainly going about their task like people on a mission.
In the end, I had to drive Dad to his house and then make the journey to the Co-op on foot, twice, to do his shopping. I was not impressed! Coming back along the high street the first time, I noticed a large 4x4 stopped outside a row of shops, on double yellow lines, blocking the passage of a lengthy queue of traffic behind. Wondering if the driver had suddenly lost consciousness or died, I looked through the passenger window as I passed. There behind the wheel was a young woman, seemingly in the best of health, studiously ignoring all the hooting to the rear. I was so intrigued, I kept looking back till I got to the corner and eventually saw that she had been waiting to pick up her passenger from one of the shops! You would have thought there would be a traffic warden around to sort things out - oh no, they were all in the car park, taking photos of cars.
Which just goes to show the truth of my earlier observation - they are mad down here!

Help!

Dad is staying with us this week and has already lined himself up to be Paddy's ever-present, ever-constant 'patter on the head'.
Meanwhile, Keith has stepped up the diet over the weekend, has already lost nearly a stone and is proceeding apace with the light of the newly converted fanatic in his eyes. That means that any meal that deviates even slightly from 'grass' is verboten and this, in turn, means that I am rapidly approaching the stage where, if I see one more salad product, I shall break down in sobs of abject misery.
Can someone please smuggle me in some real food..... please......!