Life's like that

Christmas... Humph!!

2011-12-30T09:09:00.000-08:00

And so another Christmas draws to a close leaving only the discarded wrapping paper, turkey bones and sweet wrappers to be picked through to see if anything worth rescuing remains behind. Only hours remain before the onset of a New Year with resolutions of diets, quitting smoking, drinking, gambling, arguing with nearest and dearest and all the other well intentioned promises that will at best last into February and at worst the first week of January. Our family is no exception, from a personal viewpoint this Christmas has been a bit of a non starter. No drama's, major calamities which considering the size of our family is remarkable to say the least.

This Christmas I abandoned the kitchen, under pressure from my assorted offspring (who I religiously taught the philosophy of peace and good will to all men), I agreed to accompany them to my ex husbands home for Christmas dinner. We had one of those long standing marriages that really ought not have been, it ended most bitterly but since then we've called an uneasy truce putting the family first. I must admit the prospect of savouring his cooking rather than mine was appealing and he didn't let us down serving a splendid range of tempting foodstuffs.
Sitting at opposite ends of a table to someone you've only exchanged grunts with for a decade is quite tricky, but plonk crackers, turkey and funny hats into the mix and anything is possible. I'm confirmed teetotal for a variety of reasons including the fact that just one sip of alcohol sends me into a deep snoring sleep.
With a heavy head cold I sneezed my way through dinner. I ought to have remembered my ex husband knew my reaction to alcohol, but when he suggested I have a little wine to help the cold I agreed. Half a glass later, sneezing forgotten I settled back comfortably in a chair.

Knowth thy enemy, so they say, or at least be on guard against mischievous family members with a wicked sense of humour. It wasn't till the next day when I turned on the computer did I see the picture of myself laying back in a chair mouth wide open snoring and clutching an empty wine bottle!!

Roll on next Christmas...

Nothing in Particular

2011-03-08T22:58:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I sat and wrote of nothing in particular. Not that there's a shortage of things in particular to write about, with national and international affairs dominating every waking moment, But I can't help thinking occasionally I should take a step back and leave commenting on particular subjects to the more educated and concentrate on my nothings in particular. I suppose every aspect of life has particular importance and effect on our personal day to day life, even if they don't have world changing significance particular life events matter to us personally.
Life in my particular case has passed with it's usual assortment of drama, excitement, chaos and sometimes mediocrity with a few other factors thrown in. If you appreciate those elements then my life certainly contains all of them and more...

Recently I had a few days stay in hospital for a lengthy eye operation, the hospital itself had marvellous staff and state of art medical equipment but the building was a relic of bygone days. Spread over five floors it had just two wards each containing six beds, it seemed rather empty and spooky and I wondered briefly if I was in the right hospital when they ushered me to a bed next to an elderly lady who was having a full length conversation with herself. It reminded me of a time I went to visit someone in a mental health unit, it was a warm summer night so I didn't have a coat on, the visit lasted beyond visiting time and through a change of staff approaching the duty nurse I cheerfully asked to be let out. The woman looked me up and down before replying “Now dear you know that's not possible why don't you go watch TV and I'll bring you a cup of tea”. I managed to keep my calm in case they did decide to admit me!!
Back to the eye hospital, the woman in the next bed continued her one sided conversation through the night and into the following afternoon before she was discharged, I fervently hoped her ranting hadn't been caused by something they put in the anaesthetic. I was a nervous wreck before the operation which was scheduled to last 2 ½ hours. I'm one of those people who prefer herbal and homoeopathic medicines but accepted the offer of a “mild sedative” to calm me before theatre, The mild sedative was tamazepam and I reckon it was triple strength, I've no recollection of anything about being prepared for theatre or being taken there. The nurses did tell me I was singing “I will survive” totally tunelessly. I'm teetotal but the after affects of the sedative and anaesthetic left me with a headache worthy of a hardened binge drinker.
That evening headache or not I was starving and looking forward to dinner, my appetite and enthusiasm vaporised when I saw a small amount of slimly looking pasta dressed in tomato sauce accompanied by a dollop of mashed potato and salad... When the nurse came to remove the virtually untouched food she placed hands on hips and demanded “Didn't you like you're dinner then?” Fearful of being force fed, being given more sedatives and worse, ending up rambling like the old woman who'd been in the next bed I smiled at her weakly and said; “The cucumber was delicious.”
I signed myself out early. Like I said, lovely staff, great surgeons but give me my own bed and a plate of home made lasagne any day.

2010-12-23T15:36:00.001-08:00

And so this is Christmas….

It's that one word that inspires great joy or utmost dread in people depending on circumstances. I’ve experienced both extremes and a few others in-between, one thing you can sure of with Christmas time, it’s never predictable.

My own childhood Christmases were amazingly colourful and generally extravagant unless we were (as was sometimes the case), in some primitive backwater or hundreds of miles from civilisation in the outback. Then presents would be a hand made grass skirts or a spanking new boomerang, not quite on the same level as a dolls mansion with designer wall paper, lights and carpets.

My favourite Christmas memory as a child comes from a time when I can’t actually recall what gifts I received. I was seven years old it was Christmas eve and unbeknown to me my parents were hosting a fancy dress party. I awoke in the middle of the night to find the most beautiful fairy imaginable standing beside my bed. Her delicate wings glistened in the faint light, she waved her wand over my head and whispered softly for me to go back to sleep promising when I awoke again all my wishes would be granted. As I say I cant recall what my wishes were or what I got but I’ll always remember that fairy, I still didn‘t recognise her later that year when I was her bridesmaid, she finally owned up and shattered my illusions when I was a teen.

Still harking back to my youth, I’ll always remember one specific Christmas when we had some distinguished guests for Christmas dinner. Mother as usual was aiming to impress and had cooked a huge joint of beef as well as the traditional turkey and trimmings. She was busy setting the table while I lurked round the kitchen happily daydreaming. My reverie was broken by a sudden crash spinning round I was just in time to see our huge tabby cat heading straight through the cat flap into the garden hauling the huge joint of beef behind him. Mother returned to the kitchen looked at the empty plate and then at me, still in shock all I could manage was to gesture towards the cat flap. Mum had an awful habit of being slow on the uptake but on this occasion she put two and two together with the sort of speed that Einstein himself would've been impressed with. Faster than you can say Jack rabbit she was off out the door chasing the cat round the garden waving her arms madly and making quiet whimpering sounds least her guests heard the commotion. After what seemed an age of crawling on her hands and knees in and out from under the huge cypress trees she emerged scratched, dishevelled but very triumphant waving the beef in the air like an Olympian gold medallist. Back in the kitchen her mood changed drastically, turning me me she hissed quietly; “If you utter a word about this to anyone you’ll be eating out of the cats bowl for a year.” As I watched her wash the beef carefully then carve it before placing it on the serving dish I didn‘t have the heart to tell her she might as well have put her esteemed guests dinner in the cats bowl seeing as the cat had been eating the beef anyway.
If there’s one thing I don’t do today it’s cook beef for Christmas dinner.

Merry Christmas to all.

Little Things

2010-08-07T07:39:00.000-07:00

We’re a nation of animal lovers, who can resist a helpless little creature, I’m no exception and over the years I’ve had an assortment of animals both as pets and as injured creatures brought home by my family, often in pitiful states and beyond help. Everywhere we’ve lived we’ve left a garden littered with mass graves for the unsuspecting new occupiers to unearth.
My reputation must have got out at some point because an old neighbour once asked me to bury her Yorkshire Terrier for too!

Pets are a source of comfort most of us in hour of need have grasped hold of our dog, cat, rabbit and shared tears hopes and fears, some dogs and cats display levels of sympathy, others evade high emotions in owners. A sympathetic lick or quick escape mirrors human response.
For some people especially those who live alone, grief following the death of a pet is real bereavement.

Having an animal die in unfortunate circumstances is horrible. When my children were little they had a pet gerbil called Fergie. A quick moving cute little thing that would make a run for it whenever it got out the cage. The children were expert at catching Fergie but their father never had any luck, his attempts often caused gails of laughter as he slid across the floor rugby style.
One evening after bedtime the mischievious chilrden let fergie out of his cage and couldn‘t corner him, when their father announced he’d catch it no one was convinced. Sadly the gerbil was under the far end of the bed and with typical male logic my husband lifted up the top end of the bed to lure him out.
There’s no need for graphics other than to say Fergie the gerbil was no more. That night in pouring rain and gale force winds we buried him in the garden. Hubby required a visit to the pub to console himself, however any relief was short lived when next day our son came home with a few friends and asked if he could show them where the gerbil had died. One little chap stood eyeing my husband up and down then said in a hushed voice, “I’ve never seen a real murder before.“
That unfortunate accident that marked the death keel of Fergie and also brought an end to tiny creatures as pets in our family.

Alternative Realities

2010-08-01T17:55:00.000-07:00

How many times have we made a decision and later wished we hadn’t, done something purely spontaneous with amazing or drastic results or not taken advantage of something that could’ve benefited us greatly.
Well there’s no need to beat ourselves up about choices and decisions any more, not if you listen to the latest claims by scientists. Somewhere out there parallel universes exist. Alternative realities containg us with minor differences.

As a dedicated fan of Dr Who (who could resist David Tennant) Star Trek, The Matrix Trilogies and StarGate, it’s safe to say I love science fiction, I’m also a daydreamer with visions of a perfect world with a perfect climate populated by perfectly happy people so it annoys me to think my reality here is not consiously aware of my existance in alternative realities.
Lost? Well so am I I suppose. Mind you, science rarely makes sense to the likes of me I struggle to make sense of washing machine instructions or self assembly kits, so what hope do I have of understanding mind boggling scientific theories. I don’t understand teenage girls though I was once one myself, and I don’t understand why my brain tells me I can still do the splits but my body refuses to comply.

Imagine the fun jumping between universes watching ourselves and knowing even if we get in wrong in one place the odds are we got it right elsewhere.
It’s all very Matrix stuff and they say you have to totally open the mind and change concept of reality. Sounds good to me, there are many times I’d love to change mine and other people’s concepts of that, especially when I’m arguing a point or making a complaint especially over the phone. It seems staff in customer service departments take great pleasure trying to assure me the problem doesn’t exist, I’m wrong, mistaken, or the issue has been dealt with. How convenient for them knowing if I get irrigational they can disconnect leaving me to go through the whole process all over again with a different customer service employee. What happened to the reality of customers always being right.

Come to think of it though, the negative side to having access to me in parallel universes is I’d get to see myself doing mundane tasks such as cleaning the oven and windows several times over and see myself repeating those embarrassing events that we strive to forget over and over again...Eek!

In retrospect I’m not convinced opening the mind to more concepts of reality is a good thing, sometimes dealing with this version of reality is quite sufficient.

2010-06-04T17:53:00.000-07:00

Still thinking of vanity, it’s interesting the way it manifests in different cultures yet differences are purely cosmetic. For example native tribesmen with bone piercing to the lips, ears and nose really are no different from the guy next door who has his nipples, eyebrow, nose and lip pierced. It seems the world over humans are intent of altering appearance for power and authority image, sexual appeal, fear of aging, religions reasons or just plan whacky reasons.
My parents were both 'glamorous' in the sense they wore the 'right' clothes, posed as models and gave the generally conserved idea of beauty and pose to the outside world. But once the front door closed on the outside world the image vanished. My father would look on in horror while his beautiful wife removed her stylish dresses, panti girdle and underwear, wiped off the makeup, piled her luxurious long back hair up in curlers tied with a scarf and put on a garish baggy gown and housecoat. Father would sigh heavily, shake his head and mutter under his breath about the beautiful woman the outside world got and the old hag he had. Somehow despite that they had a long enduring marriage.

Aged 17 I spotted what appeared to me then as the perfect male specimen. A punk rocker with spiked multi coloured hair and a grin to die for. In comparison I was short, not the slimmest girl in the neighbourhood, dressed conservatively with the most disgustingly thick, highly frizzy, long ginger hair and knew something drastic was needed if I hoped to catch my dream punks attention. My parents would never have agreed to allow me to have a trendy hair cut or use perminant hair dye, it so seemed the perfect solution when someone suggested using food colouring instead. Of course I assumed it would wash off without much trouble so I leapt at the idea. That evening armed with a collection of yellow, green, blue, red and black food colouring I set to work . After washing and towel drying my hair I carefully applied each colour to separate sections of hair, not thinking about wearing rubber gloves or considering each un-dried section might run. After about an hour work I looked into the mirror and almost fainted. Not only had the colouring run on my hands and wouldn’t wash off wet colourings had blended together and turned a strange blue/green shade and covered my entire scalp, worse it had run in streams down from my forehead right down my face and neck and no amount of scrubbing would get it off my scalp and skin. I’d a Saturday job the next day and had to face my friends, customers and the punk. Needless to say he noticed me alright, he almost died laughing, My skin tone almost matched my surname which caused greater hilarity. I hadn't heard of Lloyd Webber's musical “ Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat” but thereafter people who knew me would habitually burst into song. “Bring me the head of many colours”. I’ve still not seen the musical, didn’t watch Lloyd Webber’s search for Joseph , totally went off punks and still cringe at the memory of my folly. On the plus side it taught me the best way to appeal to other people is not through expenisive clothes, makeup hairsyles or actions but to be myself.

Vanity

2010-06-02T11:14:00.000-07:00

With world events being so bleak and worrying it’s nice to turn the focus on trivial things now and then. According to men there’s nothing more trivial than a woman’s obsession with her size, shape, looks and style, but from my observations men are just as bad. In their defence it takes males longer than women to reach that annoying level of vanity and self awareness.
Most girls have it drummed into them how pretty they look dressed up nicely or freshly out of the bath with pink cheeks and shiny clean hair, on the other hand it’s acceptable for boys to walk round looking like they’ve just stepped out of a Turkish mud bath.
I’ve never known a girl to turn down the chance of a bubble bath with all her favourite dolls included, and I’ve never known a boy to agree to a bath without threat of dire punishment. More often than not when a male hits 16 and discovers girls he changes completely, fighting with his sisters for bathroom and mirror space, changing underwear daily instead of monthly, and spending pocket money on ghastly smelling body sprays guaranteed to send the girls running… in the opposite direction.
I remember my own brothers going through those phases. My older brother was aghast finding blackheads on his chin, “Try a mud pack son” mum suggested helpfully. He’d spent all his money on the dreaded body spray and hair gel so couldn’t afford a mud pack. He was desperate to impress a trendy looking girl who’d just moved to the neighbourhood, so with a stroke of genius, the sort only males can have, he went up the garden to the compost heap and dug up some soil. He’s been sitting hiding in his bedroom for 45 minutes before mother sent me up to call him down. The poor thing had mixed the soil with water and covered his entire face with it. I don’t know the composition of specially made mud packs but I’m certain they don’t come from compost heaps and contain vegetable scraps, hedgehog droppings, worms and the liver my mum had cooked the week before that I couldn’t stand and hastily tossed out of sight. Needless to say his completion didn’t improve, to the contrary he came out with even more spots and had to remain hidden from the girls and his friends till the antibiotic face wash that mother bought the next day worked.

Brought to Heel

2010-05-24T17:59:00.000-07:00

I remember cringing when my parents or their friends used to say “I remember when”, what ancient twaddle I’d silently scoff wanting to yell, ‘YES we know you remember way back when but this is now, new society new people get on with it and forget it, these days are the good days‘. Of course I didn’t dare say anything of the sort. We had utmost respect for parents and adults. Yes in those days everything was done differently, things seemed pretty carefree from a teen perspective. Were things better than today? Well hazarding a guess yes they were.

For as long as society has existed teenagers have challenged or at least tried to flaunt to laws of the land with each generation attempting to do it in as many creative ways as possible. Underage drinking has only existed since someone decided to impose an age limit. Both my parents were teetotal but kept an impressive looking bar stocked with every spirit imaginable, spirit levels, decanters, every conceivable type of glass, last but not least my fathers huge collection of whiskey miniatures lovingly gathered from all corners of the earth. Guests would come in and perch at the bar while my father stood proudly behind it happily serving. We of course didn’t dare sample anything, I can’t recall being tempted either, fear of incurring my fathers wrath was enough deterrent. It didn’t put me off the idea of sampling alcohol elsewhere though. My sheltered childhood, distinctively different accent and attitude had set me apart from my peers so naturally I wanted to fit in. Popping into the pub with them on a Friday night seemed a good way of doing it. My father was a magnificent individual but strict disciplinarian although I feared him finding out I still dared my luck and somehow or other I’d managed to sneak off to the bar on three occasions without detection.
Mother had a beautiful collection of stiletto shoes in every colour, I’d sneak a pair under my coat then my newfound friends would splatter me with makeup and filled with bravado I’d pop the shoes on, totter into the bar and order the Bacardi and Cokes.
I was happily sipping away one night when my father walked in, he’d obviously followed me. Despite the makeup my face must have turned gothic white with shock but to my amazement he sat down beside me smiling. “So what’s that your drinking” he asked good humouredly. ’Coke ’ I lied, praying he wouldn’t detect the Bacardi as he took a sip. “So how many times have you been here?” he said still sipping and looking perfectly well tempered. ‘Four times now daddy, and thank you for being so wonderful about it’ I replied beaming.
“That’s alright darling, now look at the time I better head home” he rose to his feet then glanced at his watch before looking back to me adding, “by the way, you’ve got 11 minutes to get home, I’ve timed the distance, if you carry your mum’s shoes and run barefooted you might make it in ten minutes”. The distance was not much under 2 miles, Roger Bannister ran the first 4 minute mile, I ran 1.8 miles in 10.02 minutes.

Times have changed, things were much better then. In case your curious I'm teetotal.

Cats

2010-05-15T16:00:00.000-07:00

Our three year old ginger tom Charley is remarkably intelligent and understands a few commands such as giving paws, high fives and kisses, in comparison his playmate PC shows about as much intelligence as a goldfish, and never strays from home. My daughter Sue always refers to them as “her cats” while I'm reduced to Grandma. I get annoyed when she adamantly insists they're hers then leaves me to stay up till all hours making sure both moggies are safely in, fed and watered for the night.
Visiting her friends house one night she messaged me.
“Will be home late forgot key don’t lock back door, feed cats and make sure they are in I‘m worried about them”.
I messaged back saying I wouldn’t feel safe leaving the door unlocked in case I nodded off. Cheekily she replied, “you’ll be just fine and can look after yourself but it’s not safe at night for the cats!”.
One night recently she had a friend staying over , it was getting late and Charley was still out not responding to calls to come in. After listening to Sue and her friend calling him repeatedly for 10 minutes I decided the only way to get peace was to go out and look for him. Disregarding the fact I was dressed in pyjama’s, slippers and dressing gown I trudged round the neighbourhood clutching cat biscuits stopping every now and then to yell, “ Charley darling please come in and get dinner”. Some new neighbours had just moved in next door that day but I hadn’t yet spoken to them, forgetting how I must have looked I saw them peeping out the window and gave a cheery wave, I saw a few other neighbourhood curtains twitched too. I know our area is resonably quiet but you'd have thought they'd seen worse and had more exciting things to do on a Friday night than spy on a harmlessly eccentric woman dressed in night clothes calling out a male name. Mind you I felt a bit of a Charley looking round and seeing four hungry looking strange cats following me.
Thankfully Charley eventurally turned up safely. I still haven’t spoken to my new neighbours wonder if they’re avoiding me. I can’t fathom why we called our cats PC and Charley, but it’s much better than the names my late mother chose for her cats. A theatrical Shakespearian fan her three cats were named Puck, Blossom and Bottom (from Midsummer’s Night Dream), Can you imagine the embarrassment when mother stood at the back cakking them in.!

Caravans

2010-05-03T17:35:00.000-07:00

One of the benefits of having grown children is I get invited to go on various types of holidays with them, the other day one of my daughters suggested a caravan holiday. It reminded me of the time we purchased a magnificent looking static caravan set in a popular scenic location, I was proud to own it and we’d escape there as often as possible, to save endless packing and repacking we‘d leave clothes, towels, beverages and food provisions. I even left bottles of my favourite perfumes and toiletries. It would’ve been logical to rent it out from time to time, but even though it often meant leaving it empty I didn’t want strangers staying there. We’d had a busy few months and decided it was time for a break and headed up to our beautiful caravan. I sighed contentedly when we arrived and headed straight to the living area to make some tea and found the cupboards empty, worse, our little stock of wines and even my perfume were missing. The place was spotless and no sign of forced entry, on the table we found a note saying “thank you for the wonderful two weeks here and hope we can do it again next year”. We never found out who stayed there or if they went back maybe I should‘ve rented the darn thing out!!
Some friends went on a caravan holiday to an established caravan park. They’d been there happily for a week before a group of hells angels took up residency in the next caravan. They seemed harmless enough apart from their late night rancorous music and drinking. My friend didn’t mind much but her husband was a “Victor Meldrew” sort always complaining to them to quieten down they usually obliged for a short time.
Returning to the caravan after a night out they found the hells angels gone and their own caravan door open, nothing was missing or damaged so they soon forgot about it and enjoyed the rest of the holiday.
About two weeks after returning home my friends husband opened the mail one morning to find an envelope containing a photograph. It pictured one of the hells angels standing in my friends caravan with his pants down bottom in the air and my friends husbands toothbrush shoved up his behind!!

Clangers

2010-04-27T07:48:00.001-07:00

Almost everyone has committed gaffs and clangers at the most inopportune moments, I’ve certainly had my fair share, having low vision can bring all sorts of mishaps too although I suppose some disastrous events are more due to my scatterbrained tendency than anything else. Still I’ve has hilarious and embarrassing escapades and near misses over time which I always enjoy recounting.

As a young girl I loved nothing better than climbing tree’s sadly more often than not I’d get stuck and need rescuing.
As a teenager in South Africa, I loved to go for walks through the bush with a group of young friends, one day we were joined by a new boy roughly the same age as myself and definitely someone I wanted to impress. Some of the boys were climbing tree’s, wanting to show off my climbing skills I joined in, dressed in shorts and T shirt I nimbly worked my way up through the branches encouraged by my cheering friends sliding along one thick branch the inevitable happened, my shorts got tangled in the branches try as I might I couldn't free myself. The cheers faded to moans of “hurry up“ and “get down will you“ while I wiggled and twisted. Suddenly to my horror I heard a slow ripping sound and gasped as my shorts and my pants gradually ripped in half. Being stuck half way up a tree minus shorts and pants is no laughing matter, well not if it's you stuck up there, I whimpered and blushed trying vainly to cover my modesty with the remains of my shorts and underwear. To this day I swear I can still hear the roars of laughter coming from below, thankfully one of the boys lent me his T shirt to tie round my waist. I didn’t see the new boy for a long time after than, and I didn’t venture up a tree again for a while either.
In some respects I’m a Mrs Magoo type and have the scars to prove it. As a small child mother warned me not to approach strange dogs because of rabies but being an animal lover I never heeded her advice. One day I spotted a particularly ugly looking mutt, smiling and talking sweetly I held out my hand, the dog hasn’t feeling quite so friendly and bit me on the thigh leaving two little holes. It wasn’t particularly sore but I ran in to tell mother. She was busy making dinner for some guests and didn’t really pay me any attention, without thinking she told me to go bite the dog back. It made sense to me so grabbing a biscuit I ran out to search for the wretched animal. This time I approached more cautiously holding out the biscuit for it to sniff. My efforts paid off when it made a grab for the treat. In a flash I grabbed it’s ear and bit as hard as I could, I’ve never seen such a look of shock and fear on a dogs face before and few times in life has revenge been as satisfying as then.

When I first married we had a twin tub washing machine, (one side washes the other spins), one day the pump broke and the machine wouldn’t drain. I’d seen a program where they emptied an engine of gas by sucking through a pipe so thought I’d try that, no one told me there was a technique to it though! I took one hefty suck without thinking of the level of machine and myself suddenly my mouth and throat filled with dirty warm soapy water. I was laying on the floor gasping when a neighbour popped in and spotted me, I tried to indicated to my throat and water but she assumed I was pointing to my heart and immediately dialled an ambulance. Still gasping and unable to speak they too assumed it was me up to heart machines they headed to hospital sirens blaring wiring my heart (which of course by now was indeed racing), to heart machines. At hospital they rushed me into crash still sweating gasping and pointing. Doctors and nurses hovered over me for what seemed an age trying to assess what was up with my heart while I still withered and gasped. Eventually after about 30 min I managed to croak “water” , recovery was pretty quick after a good gulp of clean fresh water thankfully the hospital staff laughed about it too. But I didn’t dare tell my neighbours the truth of what happened and to this day I think they still believe I had a heart attack at a very young age. The good news is, I still don’t understand the pipe technique but funny enough I don’t want to know.

Bring on the sun

2010-04-10T06:40:00.000-07:00

You have to love the British and the way they cherish warmth and sun. It seems any temperature above 5c sees them raking through the drawers for outdated shorts and T shirts, they might have fitted properly when they last had an airing ten years previously but they sure as heck don’t now. Bum cheeks dangle out and thick white thighs a sumo wrestler would die for are exposed to the light. Temperatures of 17c are classed as heat wave; the local pharmacy is deluged with requests for sun cream and sun screen factor 35+. Bare chest Gordon Ramsay wannabe’s hover round barbeques incinerating burgers and sausages, passed to hungry guests who lustily consume them unobvious to the fact the alleged food resembles fossilised charcoal.
Sadly climate change has almost annihilated wild bee populations but not so the wasps. Charcoaled food, exposed flesh and fizzy drinks make a wonderful combination for the pesky insects, if your unfortunate enough to live north of the boarder then there’s the dreaded “midges‘” to deal with too! Billions of tiny insects that infest everything and everywhere with bites to rival Peter Benchley’s Jaws. They drove Mel Gibson out of Scotland when he tried to portray the a la natural version of “William Wallace”, I’m convinced if the English hadn’t got hold of the real Wallace the midges would’ve finished him off. I can’t help suppressing a giggle looking back at pictures of Prince Charlie’s posing happily in the highlands wearing a kilt and very much doubt he’d have been a true Scotsman underneath the heavy tartan!
Yes of course it’s lovely and joyful to see a bit of sun particularly after the long gruelling winter, but can’t the British wait until they purchase clothing that covers the winter flab, don a few coats of instant tanning lotion to disguise the pinkish white flesh, and wait until the sun hits 20c or more before walking round semi naked in public places.

Musings

2010-04-09T13:19:00.000-07:00

I feel sorry for today’s youth, society provides very little recreational outlet beyond sporting activities. It seems every young person I know spends their free time on pc’s and play stations with little idea how to create their own entertainment.

In comparison my own youth was beyond description doing things others could only dream of. I was raised by whacky adventurous parents who wanted their children to experience the world, and we did! From living in the wild arid Australian outback where the heat is beyond description, the terrain wild and rugged and the wildlife astoundingly fascinating. When not hunting for evasive golden nuggets we’d hunt kangaroo’s, gather emu eggs, swim or attempt to swim in salt laden lakes formed during seasonal torrential downpours, each raindrop almost the size of a fist hitting the ground with force turning the yellow dusty earth blood red, sending insects and snakes scuttling for cover and bringing larger creatures out from hiding all happily wallowing in the gloriously warm rain.
Of all the many places I’ve visited and lived in, none gave me as much wondrous freedom and pleasure as the Aussie outback.
In a strangely warped way my interest in human behaviour, cultures and societies came from studying worker and solder ants. I recently read that scientists and engineers now study ants and use the data to assist modern construction and behaviour. I was there first guys! People would be amazed how much we have in common with these amazingly intelligent insects, their ability to design and construct, their work formations when cultivating food, the hereditary status each type of ant holds in the nests and the survival ability is purely awesome,

How did my conversation progress from teenagers to ants? Easily, from the moment they hatch ants are nourished by a community of “nurse ants” thereafter every step of the way to adulthood they are guided by worker or solder ants, shown how to play, work, feed, construct, never left to run loose or left to their own devices but encouraged to explore and learn. There’s a moral there humans could and should apply to young people. It only takes one kick from a human to destroy an ant’s nest, or one careless footstep to crush hundreds underfoot. Yet even when covered in a swarm of ants the vast majority of species won’t and don’t bite, they simply gather themselves together, reconstruct and reinstate the survival, growth progress all over again.

Communicating

2010-03-17T13:07:00.000-07:00

Words, words, words…written words I marvel at them, habitually used out of context when trying to describe something, cleverly used to inspire, strengthen, build courage, ambition, hope. Provide laughter, tears stupendous pleasure, cause shock and horror, leave the reader baffled, annoyed or worse…bored.
The use of words written or oral provide 95% of all human communication therefore as species we‘re dependent on the art of communication with words.
So what about the remaining 5% of communicational methods. Well obviously gestures - a smile, frown, flick of the hair or glint in the eye. A kiss, or any other general action contribute to
3%.
Strangely possibly 75% of the world population suffer some form of hearing loss whether they are aware of it or not, and a potential 77% have vision problems. Millions of people round the globe have either little or no hearing or vision, it‘s a sad fact both do tend to deteriorate naturally with the aging process. Other communicational methods are sign language used by the deaf and hard of hearing then of course Braille is used by the blind for reading/writing.
And there is the remaining 2%.
Or is it?
A small number of people world wide (approx 4.6 %) are classed as “deaf blind”, suffering duel loss or limitation of both senses. It’s just figures one could say, but shockingly an equal number of affected people live in modern sophisticated Western societies,
Unable to see or hear adequately they can’t use normal communication, sign language is defunct though Braille can provide access for some to the “written word”. Deaf blind people exist all over the UK America, Australia, Europe you name it, the forgotten people with no access to every day communication with the world, worse than a prison sentence, they live a life of solitary confinement cut off from everything others take for granted, the amazing use of “words and communication”. Up to 60% of duel sensory impaired people are older adults who have lost the use of there senses after having experienced them.
In this wonderful modern technological world where communication is the essence of life helping the forgotten people to communicate is vital.
Raising awareness, learning the art of finger spelling (hand to hand spelling words) is the key….Learning it could change someone’s life, who knows a few years down the line you could be one of the forgotten people finger spelling could change your life too.

999

2010-03-13T22:11:00.000-08:00

All the emergency services do an amazing job rescuing people and saving lives, as much as we admire them no one really want’s to be in the position to need their help and we don‘t expect them to show up unexpectedly at opportune times either.

One beautiful sunny day I was preparing to go out for dinner later that evening and took a long leisurely bath, My two daughters had gone out, I didn’t hear them return home with a couple of their friends. I’d often warned them to stay out of the loft, it was just a storage area with beams across the place. Being mischievous and bored they ignored my orders and went up with their friends thinking they wouldn’t get caught.
Skylarking around in the loft they accidentally jammed the door shut and couldn’t get out so screamed and yelled for help. Out of the bath I sat in my bedroom singing away drying myself blissfully unaware of the drama going on above me at the opposite end of the house.

I was sitting on the bed drying my hair and didn’t hear the bedroom door open, I looked round and saw three fully equipped firemen pile into the room.
Leaping up in shock the bath towel fell to the floor leaving me stark naked and the firemen open mouthed in amazement. I’d like to say it was my fantastic body that left them dazed but I fear it was sudden unexpectedly loud screaming and screeching with a few unladylike questionable obscenities thrown in that did it. Being firemen a assume they face many harrowing situations a manical naked female with dripping hair screaming at them to get out is probibly one of them. The remains of decorum prevented me turning back on them to bend down to collect the towel, instead time stood still till at last one of the officers finally remembered his professionalism and the reason for their appearance, "we're here to help damsels in distress" he said cheerfully.
Blasted girls!! Only one of them had a mobile, it didn't have credit so they pressed the free emergency number instead.

I was still feeling mortified several weeks later, when early one morning I was cleaning out the filter tray in the tumble dryer when I spotted a 20 pence piece stuck in a gap at the bottom of the filter space. You don’t live in Scotland without gaining some Scottish traits and not wishing to throw away money is mine. Gingerly squeezing my hand down I grabbed the coin feeling quite clever and smart, till I realised fishing around in such a small space had caused my hand to swell and I couldn’t get it out, the more I wiggled the worse it got. The phone was in the living room and I just couldn’t drag the machine through the doorway, in inspiration I dragged it to the back door, opened it and started yelling towards my neighbours house for help.

I’d been there over an hour my hand throbbed and I was very irritable when at last a different neighbour passed I sighed with relief. “Be with you in a minute dear”, he said called over the fence before disappearing, I waited and waited but he didn’t come back, instead the front door was thrust open and in walked…three fire men. The same three who'd from a few weeks earlier! This time I was dressed in a short flimsy I was dressed in a flimsy night dress, with a dish towel embossed with the words "Always look on the bright side". That side was most definately my cheeks, which were redder than a babies bottom though doubtfully not as soft as one, I hadn't applied the morning moisturiser. They didn’t bat an eye lid instead set to work dismantling my machine and trying to free me. After a lifetime of semi silence on my part (anyone who knows me will agree that's most unusual), and cheerful chatter from them my hand was finally free from the carnage of what was once a tumble dryer. One of the firemen held out the 20 pence coin, with a wink and a grin he said “ you’re a lot quieter than last time we saw you love, but just as lovely, we'll give you a knock before we come in next time".

Like I said the emergency services are great, I just hope I don’t the them, or them see me again any time soon!

Spiders

2010-03-13T20:24:00.001-08:00

I often find it hard to sleep at night and find it a great time for doing those jobs that never get done. In the small hours of a morning I decided to take down the lounge curtains and wash them. They’d been up ages gathering dust because they were bulky and heavy to handle. Why take down curtains at that unearthly hour you may ask. Well for a start I don’t know anyone else foolish enough to be awake then, so my stretching up and down in front of the window grimacing with effort wouldn't be observed.

After 20 or so minutes heaving and cursing I’d almost unhooked the second curtain when I came eye ball to eye ball with a gignormous hairy spider. I’ve nothing against house spiders provided they keep well out of sight and preferably out on my specific house.
I had a very close encounter with a small potentially deadly spider back in the days of my early carefree womanhood in a far off beautiful land called Australia. That particular spider decided it didn’t appreciate blooming young women and bite me, of course I recovered but it left me wary of all eight legged creatures.
This one looked highly intelligent and cunning too, it sat firmly affixed to the curtain flexing it’s spindly hairy legs challenging me to dare try and move it.
The only person in the house apart from me was my teenage daughter blissfully asleep upstairs, I gently woke her whispering promises of financial reward if she’d get up and help, however one look at the seemingly grinning giant insect convinced her no money was worth approaching it. feeling woebegone I asked her to keep her eye on it while I had a cup of tea in the kitchen and tried to come up with an eviction plan. Cruelty to creatures great or small is not something I aspire to, though my children would beg to differ having suffered numerous groundings and denial of privileges over the years. However on this occasion I decided to hoover the blighter off, for a fleeing moment I knew how Margaret Thatcher felt trying to purge the miners, unlike her though I just couldn‘t bring myself to do it. I told my now somewhat bemused daughter to watch the beastie again and retreated back to the kitchen for another cup of tea. Plan B was to get it into a cup and throw it out but back in the lounge daughter had forgotten her duty and was leafing through a mag drooling over a picture of some talentless pop star and the spider was nowhere in sight. Shaking nervously I eased the curtain off and threw it on the floor. “You can fold it up” I told my daughter craftily knowing she’d forgotten the beastie thanks to the talentless twerp.
I watched her carefully as she picked up a corner of the drape and then screamed piercingly “There is is!!“. I didn’t dare go for another cuppa, I thought of calling the fire dept but doubted they’d rescue me. With a lot of effort and sobs on my part we manoeuvred it reluctantly into a plastic cup. The whole eviction process took just over two and a half hours, Davina McColl could have handled it far quicker. I once read spiders prefer to return to the warmth of houses. As I said before, none of my neighbours are ever awake at that hour of the morning. Just as well they would’ve spotted my daughter and I dressed in nighties, wearing ridiculous fluffy slippers trudging up to the top of the street and throwing the spider into someone else’s garden and running away as fast as we could. It was sheer coincidence the garden we threw it in belonged to a misrable neighbour.

Communications

2010-02-25T13:30:00.000-08:00

One of my great joys in life is visiting school children all over the country on behalf of Touching Lives (a deaf blind awareness program). The project received national lottery funding after winning a BBC 2 program on disability awareness,
Youngsters today get endless criticism from adults. Sorry folks we made them the way they are, with an increasing “me first, second and last” ideology. declining community and family structures we have to take the blame.
Visiting schools, meeting groups of youngsters, from differing regions and class structures is an eye opener, the majority of young people are decent, caring, curious, humans keen and willing to learn about human differences. There’s so much distrust and lack of proper communication between adults and teens, it’s about finding a way of bypassing the barriers, which is also what deaf blind awareness is about, breaking down barriers of communication.

We have in depth discussions with them on causes and effects of duel sense loss (which can happen to anyone at any age for any reason). Before ending each lesson we have a question answer session, enlightening and entertaining for everyone.
q. “How do deaf blind people open doors?”
a. “They use the handles”.
q. “How do deaf blind people eat their food?”
a. “They use knives and forks”.
q. “How do deaf blind people get dressed?”
a. ”The same way you do”.
q. ”Would a guide dog bite someone who was mugging a deaf blind person?”. (the question came from an unruly looking teen so took careful thought to reply to).
a. “That’s classified information, you’d have to mug a deaf blind person before you find out if your going to get a nasty bite or not”.
q. ”Can deaf blind people drive cars?”.
a. Technically no, but they ought to, they’d probably do a better job driving than some of the idiot’s on the roads today”.
The questions surprisingly came from teens not primary children, along with the answers they cause great hilarity and willingness to communicate. Incidentally if you didn‘t know these answers either maybe it‘s worth finding out more about deaf blindness, it could affect your life at some point in the future.

Daughters

2010-02-23T01:57:00.001-08:00

My daughters have blossomed into beautiful intelligent women, but not before putting me through the arduous teen years. I well remember my own teenage acts of rebellion and may or may not disclose some at a later point. My second oldest daughter (who was fifteen at the time), begged to be allowed to attend a party being held at the home of some disreputable young people, naturally I refused.
She was quiet during supper and after sulkily announced she was going to bed and asked her sister (who shared the room with her), not to switch the bedroom light on. It all seemed rather suspicious and after 10 minutes I decided to check on her. Tiptoeing into the darkened room I felt round the bed, instead of a sleeping daughter I found pillows and teddies stuffed under the quilt. It didn’t take long to guess where she’d gone and took me even less time to drive to the house, being a good two mile walk I knew I’d be there before her so hid round the corner. The look on her face was classic when some minutes later she rounded the corner and spotted me waiting for her. It’s those sort of memories that keep us laughing all night when we all have a gettogether.

Sons

2010-02-22T14:29:00.000-08:00

With four daughters and just one son in the middle of them, I knew he’d have a tough time and have to be creative and innovative to survive. Particularly when aged four I found his sisters had dressed him in their old clothes, plastered him makeup then stuck a hideous curly blonde wig on his head. He was sitting in an old push chair cheerfully sucking a lollipop while they stood round him with tins collecting money for the guy.
I knew he’d do well in life.
Knowing my love of baking cake, cookies, toffee apples etc, he came home one day and told me the school was holding a charity fete and needed some baking, naturally I obliged and baked a huge amount of goodies. Later after school I asked him how the money raising had gone, he shrugged and said “OK“. It wasn‘t till the next day I discovered there was no fete, Along with one of his friends he‘d set up shop in the school playground selling my baking to the other kids at recess!
Glad to say he still knows how to make me chuckle, he's doing well in life and I'm thoroughly proud of him.

Pedestrians Crossing

2010-02-22T13:57:00.000-08:00

Those electric shopper vehicles are marvellous inventions for people who have difficulty walking distances, especially with the new indoor shopping malls that stretch for miles.
But I cant help feeling sometimes it would be easier crossing the M1 at rush hour than maneuvering safely past these machines.
You need to be quick and nimble and they need the experience of formula one drivers to avoid loss of limb/ Worse still, having the bag containing those sexy little bits of lingerie chosen with loving care intended to impress one set of eyes, knocked from your grasp and the contents strewn over the shopping mall floor, no longer Victoria’s Secrets or yours either. Believe you me I speak with embarrassing experience.

I’m all in favour of people using the vehicles, but there should be a limit to how many are permitted inside the malls at any one time, including privately owned ones. I know of several people who don’t actually need one but purchase one on a whim simply to avoid walking back and forth through the malls.
Better still they could introduce a crossing system, someone with a shinny yellow jacket and big red stop sign to allow safe passage in and out of stores. It would help unemployment save the national health service money on bandaged shines, and of course make sure those secrets remain just that.

Laughter

2010-02-19T16:39:00.000-08:00

Laughter really is the best medicine scientific study proves it. Humour exists even in sad serious times though often it’s only apparent long after the event. Unintentional humour is a marvellous thing, no doubt we’ve all made classic gaffs that have given us red faces but reduced others to mad hysterics I do it often much to my embarrassment.
Recently I was asked to give a speech about deaf blindness, I spoke of a disabled friend and how I’d asked her, if she could pick between her legs and arms what would she pick. It took me several minutes to work out why the audience had erupted in laughter.

Many years ago I worked in the office of a large cleaning company, I took great pains typing out the cleaning specification for the washrooms of a large factory. My boss personally handed in the specification, he returned looking pleased and announced we’d won the contract. I was mortified when he told me I’d made a typing error which had made them laugh and broke the tension. I should’ve typed “all bowls must be thoroughly cleaned and disinfected hourly”…instead I’d put “all bowels must be thoroughly cleaned and disinfected hourly”.

Yes unintentional humour works wonders.

Oh Buzz

2010-02-17T10:03:00.000-08:00

My father died several years ago after a lengthly illness, He’d a great sense of humour and would joke he’d return reincarnated as a bee just to annoy us all.

Several years later my younger daughters and I were on a day out with my mother who was driving the car at the time. It was a beautiful sunny day, we had some of the windows slightly open when a large wasp flew into the car. Panic ensured as we tried to evade the clearly angry instect. Eventually mother pulled over and swatted the pesky wasp with her road map. We were astounded when both girls burst into sobs, “what’s wrong” my mother asked concerned.
With tears streaming down faces they cried “ Oh granny you just killed granddad again“.

It wasn't on the Menu

2010-02-10T21:29:00.000-08:00

My daugher and I decided to go out for lunch with my small granddaughter Megan. Before we left I noticed Megan was scratching her head and suggested we check to make sure she didn’t have head lice.
After a good comb my daugher said there were no nits just an itchy scalp.

Later at the restaurant we sat at a table beside two dignified old ladies and Megan immediately began chatting to them.
My daughter and I were busy discussing our order when we looked round we saw one of the ladies with fork posed to mouth and Megan leaning her head across the table towards her. The world stopped momentarily when pointing to her scalp Megan inquired innocently,
“would you like to see my nits?

Wheelie Dangerous

2010-02-10T00:12:00.000-08:00

Out shopping with six year old Laughlan and my disabled mother she decided to use one of the shop wheelchairs, Laughlan repeatedly asked to push it but the store was busy so I said no. Having walked round for a few minutes I spotted and old friend and stopped to chat completely forgetting Laughlan and my mother. Suddenly the sound of yelling filled the shop, I spun round to see Laughlan pushing his grandmother at breakneck speed her arms flappling wildly in protest as they sped towards the store café and a display of toilet tissues. Reaching them in the nick of time I severely reprimanded the boy.
“That was silly and dangerous” I told him angrily. “Were you trying to kill grandma?”
He shook his head vigorously and replied with a wicked grin. “No was just testing to see how long it would take granny to find the brakes“.

Normality

2010-02-09T22:47:00.000-08:00

What is normal?
It seems to be something that’s considered socially acceptable at any given time or location, which gives rise to the questionm how can it be normal when it only applies to a specific section.
It’s expected if a young woman wants to achieve the prefect size zero she's expected to semi starve, but having anorexa as a result is decidedly not expected or normal in any sense. It’s normal for young people to shave and wax body hair, dare to be individual and keep it then your a freak. It’s strangely acceptable to fill parts of the anatomy with silicon or fluid to enhance, or to have metal dangling from the ears, nose, eyebrows, through the tongue and a few other places I dare not mention, It’s socially normal to cover the body in artwork designed by wannabe Dali's or Van Gogh's. In my opinion some designs look like they were created by someone abducted by aliens and reprogrammed with crazy imaginings. Then there's botox, poor deluded people (or rather those with considerably more money than brains), people with bloated lips and zombie like expressions that make the Mona Lisa appear ecstatic in comparison.

Yes the synonymous of normal or acceptable is decidedly warped.

A worrying trend of fashion being the norm is Bi Polar (manic depression), people in the public eye now admit to suffering from it, others felt encouraged to speak out about it and whether people like to admit it or not it's now not only acceptable but the amount of people now claiming Bi Polar fail to match actual figures suggesting it's now socially acceptable in some area's. Sadly the same doesn't apply to other mental or pysical disabilities, both still experience sigma and ignorance. When yu take into account that the majority of people in all societies have experienced some major health problem or have a family member suffering from a physical or mental disorder it makes a contruduction to the word normal.

Part of the joy of humankind is the diversity. Colour, religion, outlook, you name it...I might not agree or like some of the ways others differ to me personally but wouldn't it be wonderful to all have acceptance if people could accept there is not fixed normal and learn to rejoice and respect our differences.

Another Book Bites the Dust

2010-02-09T16:53:00.000-08:00

Rummaging in antique bookshops is a delight. I could hardly contain my excitement when I stumbled across a hand-bound copy of Tolstoy’s War and Peace, In super condition it had a bookmark with a list of characters written in French, Russian and English, it was quite expensive but worth it.
At home I placed it carefully on the kitchen table while I went to look for something suitable to wrap it in to preserve it.
Returning to the kitchen several minutes later I found my daughter clutching a now sodden book and vigorously dabbing it a dish cloth. Seeing my look of horror she said remorsefully. “Sorry mum I spilled the coffee the book’s damaged now, but don’t worry it’s only an old book anyway I’ll buy you a new one!…

Death Becomes Her

2010-02-09T16:29:00.000-08:00

After a strenuous day cleaning out cupboards and generally decluttering from top to bottom I slumped down onto a cushion beside the photograph chest feeling worn out and aged. My youngest daughter who‘d been helping me, pulled out a couple of photo albums and we leafed through them discussing the various pictures. There were several of my late father who’d died when she was a baby. We talked about him for several minutes. My father had been an amazing man but very strict and old fashioned.
Progressing through the albums we came across one of me dressed in a fashionably short skirt and looking the worse for wear after a night out. Laughing at the picture I said “I wonder what your granddad would’ve said about that”.
My sweet daughter was quiet for a moment, then putting her arm round me she said solemnly. “Don’t worry mum it won’t be long before you see him again and you can ask him yourself!”.

.

Opinions

2010-02-09T15:33:00.000-08:00

Admittedly I’m gradually approaching second childhood but there’s still a distance to go. One of the joys of maturity is it’s socially acceptable and expected to have an opinion on everything and anything. Love them loath them, agree or disagree my opinions took years to acquire and what’s more I‘ve got the odd grey hair and wrinkled line that says I‘ve earned to right to them.
A noteworthy person once stated opinion should be based on facts, but facts according to whom and what. Well these are my opinions and my facts because to me life‘s just like that….

The Trouble With....

2010-02-09T14:12:00.000-08:00

You don’t reach middle age, have five children with age gaps of up to 16 years between them and not know every trick in the book, no indeed not, you probably wrote the book. Anyone just starting out in parenthood or with a up coming toddler who believes life gets easier after the first five years is badly mistaken. Your stuck well and good from their first breath till your own last one. If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s the arrogant parent, you know the one’s who pat themselves on the back for successfully steering their offspring into adulthood. Well here’s some news, there is no specific successful technique, what works perfectly on one child fails miserably on another. Of course attitudes, family structure, environment, peer pressure and parental moral input all count, but essentially it’s all down to individuality and genetics. Yes it’s right to expect all your children to obey house rules with respect, but it’s a mistake to expect them all to do so with the same level of willingness and agreement. Once upon a time individuality wasn’t encouraged, conform or be cast into hells flames was the motto. Today it’s all about individuality, one child might turn out a budding tycoon while the other ends up serving time at her majesty’s pleasure, Yes, yes it’s vital to install values into young people but it’s just as important to understand them as individuals not just part of the collective family. Whether you live in grandeur or poverty their nature will dictate the outcome you can’t change it all you can do is guide it and hope for the best.

Pass or Fail

2010-02-09T10:04:00.000-08:00

The age old question of what is success, sometimes just passing a test, reaching the pinnacle of a chosen career, raising a reasonably well adjusted family, having a secure financial status or a wealth of materialistic gains, these and more equate success in the eyes of most people. But sometimes success is far more simple than that, just getting out of bed in the morning and surviving a mediocre day without a nervous breakdown is a major achievement. Really success doesn’t have a clear cut definition it’s an individual thing.
Why waste time theorising on a word with so many possibilities, well simply because it goes hand in hand with it’s sister word failure. I failed to get up in time, failed the exam, failed to pass my driving test, failed the job application, failed to win the lottery, and so it goes.
A lot of twaddle I suppose but I for one would love to see the words success and failure obviated and replaced with alternatives, I believe even failure is often a success, it’s not all about what we get out of things it’s the amount of effort put in whether the effort obtains the desired result or not. No one is a complete success or failure. Life’s like that.