Life Of A Flibbertigibbet

Astronomy

2011-02-09T15:26:00.005Z

I got a phone call from a friend:
"Do you like astronomy?"
"Well it's interesting but I'm not really bothered really, why?"
"I'm doing this night school course and they need a couple of extra people to be sure it'll run and I wondered if you fancied it."
"I don't have anything else on on a Wednesday so why the hell not".

And thus began my introduction to Astronomy, which, for the record is really bloody fascinating.
I MUST buy myself a Planisphere - which is quite honestly the best invention, and not since sliced bread, just simply the best invention. Ever.
Any argument against this statement is invalid.

However, there is one problem with astronomy. I will admit I am now a 35 year old woman. I'm a grown up. With the sense of humour of an adolescent boy.
On my very first night the tutor said Uranus. Seven times.
Seven times I had to control my desire to burst into uproarious laughter.
"I'm sorry it's cloudy tonight or we would have had a clear view of Uranus".
It doesn't help that he pronounces it 'your-anus'.
Seriously. How is that ever not funny?

I'm not sure a week has gone by that he hasn't said it. And every damn week do I have to fight to control my snigger.
It's one of those laughs that is in your nose, you know what I mean? It starts to come out as a snorting noise that you can't control. Or you get the silent shoulder shake kind of laugh, either way, when there's only a dozen of you, you single yourself out as the immature one. Which is pretty fair and accurate.
I have a puerile sense of humour. It is out of my control.
I might have to search out who said it but they were wise: "Growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional."
I'm opting out.

Anyway, tonight is astronomy, it's cloudy out there so the observatory will be shut and the telescope locked away. Classroom studies it is then, so I can come away and for the next week go on about the size of Venus' moons, or the size of the red spot on Mars' surface, or what they believe Venus to be made of, etc., etc., etc.

On a final, puerile note, I don't recollect where I first saw this and I don't have a source to who created it but by crikey it makes me snigger:

Motivation

2011-02-09T11:22:00.005Z

I told myself I was going to set myself a blog challenge and blog every day but I am terrible at motivating myself.
I should really work on that I suppose, although I was the same in school so I am beginning to wonder if all hope is lost, which is leading me to question my decision to do an Open University degree.
I mean I started a night school class in Astronomy and they've only set homework once and I didn't do it. I suck. Hey, at least I know this. Maybe I should do the first course and see how I go. Maybe I'll surprise myself. Stranger things have happened.
Although I'm trying to remember the last time I was surprised and I can't remember when that was.
No wait! I was properly surprised by the dream I had last night.
I dreamt that I was pulling into my Dad's driveway, except that he was living in the house I grew up in, where he never actually lived. Anyway, there were all these random cars in the driveway and I was really confused.
When I got out of the car there were women waiting to hug me, they were women I knew but through other people, friends of friends and friends of family.
They were hugging me and telling me congratulations, but I had no idea why until I suddenly said "Oh wait! Is this a surprise hen night?" They all nodded.
Now this was a definite surprise, what with me being single and all.

Although, a couple of weeks ago I was sitting on a date in a coffee shop and went to order another couple of drinks and was openly chatted up - by a different dude!
That was rather a surprise too.

I need more surprises in my life. Only the good ones though thank you very much.
Feel free to surprise me with bouquets of flowers. Regularly.

Random Rounding Up

2010-09-06T17:00:00.004+01:00

Last year I contemplated hacking my fringe off. I neglected to update and say I had done just that, look see:

So here's the thing. I decided I would just go for a just-above-eyebrow length fringe, to start with and work up to a super short one.
So, I concentrated hard to make a straight line.
Then I relaxed my face to see how it looked.
Apparently I'd massively raised my eyebrows in concentration and my fringe? Much shorter than I'd intended.
I spent the rest of the week flattening it down and unconsciously pulling on it.
I'm not sure I'd have cut it so short if not by accident, but I've come to like it. It's makes my face squarer and I just don't care. We care a jot too much about what we should and shouldn't wear, what does and doesn't suit us. What the hell, I'm going to cut my hair any way I jolly well like.

What I didn't foresee was the amount of people stopping me to talk about my hair, some physically grabbing me to say how they liked it. And what surprised me more than anything was the age of the complimenter, the vast percentage being well past retirement age.
I'd wondered if my new, visible, tattoos combined with my bright hair would make people quick to judge me, but that hasn't been the case at all.
Not that I have any idea what people are saying behind my back of course!
But then, I'd have to care about what was being said!

I spent the entirety of August unwell. I got Croup. My younger sister refers to it as my baby disease. There was no recommended treatment for adults, because adults don't get it. Hmph.
Let me tell you, it's a horrible thing. It's like flu, with a cough that is antagonised by every single thing you do. Want to talk? That'll make you cough. Want to sit upright? Why that'll make you cough too. Want to buy milk in the shop? Yup, that'll make you cough. Not just any kind of cough, the one that makes people threaten to call the Sea Lion rescue centre. The kind that makes your ribs feel like they'll explode. Couple that with the extreme fatigue and it's just wonderful. I kept saying that I was sure I'd be fine, whilst all the time thinking it was the most unwell I could remember feeling for years and years.

Prior to the miserable croup I was at Cambridge Folk Festival, which was super this year. I had a wonderful time, the croup made its appearance on the Sunday evening, I was aware I was starting to feel unwell but made it to the end and dutifully sang along with Show of Hands as the closing act. Actually, I would like to thank the croup for waiting until after the festival to put in an appearance.
Anyway, despite a little rain, I really had a fabulous festival indeed, come along next year, all of you, I'll befriend you!

In other news, I'm getting an allotment. Oh yes. I rang the lady, I should have my plot of land in a matter of months.
She told me the plot is approximately 40m by 10m.
Well put me down for half a plot says I!
Then I go away and think about it, suddenly 20m by 10m starts to sound smaller and smaller.
If I had a full plot I could have a dedicated asparagus bed, and a globe artichoke bed, room for masses of my beloved peas, a polytunnel!
I rang back, please make it a full plot dear lady!
Because I have OCD I have created a scale plan of the area.
Holy hell 40m by 10m is a big space. What the hell was I thinking?
Digging anyone?

I have decided to do an Open University Degree, with Honours no less.
It came about after reading a lot different blogs online, reading peoples ideas, their opinions and realising that I really needed to go back to learning, that I needed something extra in my life and that maybe, for the first time I can ever remember, I really wanted to study.
I wanted to learn more about Feminism.
My attitude towards myself and my environment has altered so dramatically over the past couple of years that I wanted to add more fuel to that, to the discovery.
After some trawling through prospectus after prospectus, I'm going to do an Open Degree, I like the freedom that gives me. I can study some Social Sciences, some Criminology and Psychology, do some Environmental Studies and also try to take on some of the History courses over the years.
I wonder if my long held love of folk music and my growing interest in the English tradition has led to my desire to learn more about England and our/my heritage.
It's exciting and it's nerve racking.
I hated school. With the exception of seeing my friends, there was nothing about it I enjoyed.
I had this overwhelming feeling of not fitting in. I knew there was something a bit weird about me, I knew I had desires veering towards the eccentric, but I didn't know anyone else like that and I caved to peer pressure. I did my GCSEs, and despite zero revision, I did pretty well. Then, as all my friends were doing it, I progressed to A Levels. I didn't want to, but my paralysing terror of the big wide world was worse. I didn't revise for my A Levels either and fluffed one of them totally. My friends were heading to University. I really didn't want to go to Uni but what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't want to work either. Not through laziness, but through fear of all those new people to meet.
I look back now and see the social anxiety but back then I just knew I had to do everything I could to avoid actually getting out there.

So I went to night school to get a different A Level, and after that, then I would go to Uni.
It goes without saying I fluffed the night school A Level too. I hated the topic.
Suddenly, all choices were gone. Work was looming. I had to get a job.
I did. And you know what? It wasn't nearly as bad as I'd imagined, not only that, I made new friends and whilst the job was crappy, I had fun!
I'm never studying again I thought to myself.
I've always said I'm just not academic. I'm just not made that way. I'm not good at essays. I can't write that way.

But now? I just think that nothing piqued my curiosity, I wasn't actually interested in learning. I couldn't find subjects that I was passionate about. It's taken almost 2 decades but I've found the things that pique my curiosity. I've found the passion for learning.

I think it all started with my discovery of the Body/Size/Fat Acceptance movement. Reading what those ladies had to say was inspiring. It challenged my beliefs, it made me challenge things generally. As an intelligent woman I'm almost surprised at how willing I was to just believe everything I heard & read as the truth.
Then the feminism started to creep in and my desire to read more grew and grew. I feel like my eyes are opening wider and wider day after day. I feel like there are people out there with whom I share a common ground. That maybe they didn't fit in either all this time.

It feels like a time of discovery is on my horizon.

Gardening

2010-07-08T10:08:00.002+01:00

I was never much of a gardener, really didn't like getting my hands dirty, couldn't really care less what the names were and whether they were annual, biennial, blah blah blah.
And yet, somehow it happened, without my knowledge, I love being out there. I wonder if, as the child of a gardener the love of it will somehow kick in.
I don't like to wear gloves, I want to get my hands buried deep in the dirt. I've read that it's supposed to be good for mental health and I second that study. Watching something grow, getting the jolt of excitement when something you planted finally sticks those first leaves through the soil it just makes you feel....good.
I only have a small garden, so as time goes by it becomes more and more planned. It has to be functional. It has to be pretty. It has to feed me.
With my newly purchased fire pit, bench, swing seat and picnic bench it serves as an entertaining space, somewhere to relax, somewhere to read, somewhere to just be.
The lupins, paeony, poppies, tulips, lavender, lillies, pansies, daisies, day lillies, gladioli and all their friends make it a colourful place to be, it makes me smile to see all those colours. And, interspersed in the flower borders are the leaves of the beetroot, kohlrabi, the fronds of the asparagus which are voraciously proving me wrong when I said they'd never grow.
The Jerusalem (f)artichokes are moving ever skywards looking more and more like their cousins the sunflower.

I always put off watering the garden, it's a chore, trailing back & forth from butt to pots but every time I start watering I get lost in it. I stand for that short time, studying each plant as the water pours forth.

How many more little red flower buds there are on the runner beans today, the very first, tiny flowers have appeared on my asparagus pea, how the lettuces are starting to bolt in the hot summer that has blessed us this year.
In my small space I've managed to fit a surprising amount of vegetables, without it looking like an allotment.

I love lists, even though they're boring to everyone else, but check this out:
Alpine Strawberries
Angelica
Asparagus
Asparagus Pea
Beetroot - 4 varieties, 1 specifically for harvest as a salad leaf
Broad Beans
Butternut Squash
Carrots - 3 varieties
Courgettes
Fennel
Globe Artichoke
Gooseberry
Jerusalem Artichoke
Kohlrabi
Lettuce - hearting varieties, cut and come again, oriental.....
Peas - 2 varieties
Pea Tips - to harvest for use in salads
Potatoes - 1st & 2nd earlies
Pot Marigolds - to harvest the petals for use in salad
Radish - 3 varieties
Red Perilla
Rhubarb
Runner Beans
Spinach
Strawberries
Swiss Chard - 2 varieties
Tomatillo

Outside my front door, along the drive there's mint, rosemary, sorrel, thyme, tarragon, sage, lemon balm, applemint, oregano, chives, fennel, dill, red orach and parsley. In the conservatory my cucumbers and tomatoes, yet I still find myself wondering how I can fit more harvestable produce in the garden! I'm adding more and more edible flowers. From the day lily to the lavender to the pot marigold. This year will bring raspberries and blackcurrants.

All of this is fitted into a pretty small space, as made obvious by the duck squatter photos below, and yet through the summer it is enough to give me a salad at least once a day.
Above all, it's easy, it takes almost no time to maintain, and in truth took very little time to get it planted, it gives me so much pleasure that I can't even begin to take it for granted.

Get out there, dig in the soil, relish it getting under your fingernails!

Duck Squatters

2010-06-26T13:17:00.003+01:00

Sometime last week, seven of the village ducks decided to pop by for a visit, the following day they were back again, and the day after that and after that. You get the idea. So, somewhere between 4 and 5pm every day they'd show up, quacking away and I'd try and find some remaining bird seed to feed them with.

This morning I was out relatively early getting everything watered before another hot day set in and the ducks arrived, before 8am. Definitely ahead of schedule!
It is now almost 1.30pm and they're still here.
I just popped down the garden and there they are, a couple hiding in the shade under the picnic bench.

And the others were hiding in the shade of the swing seat, until they saw me and assumed grub was coming their way. Alas, they were wrong.
However, I had just tweeted that I felt guilty for not having a pond, so I decided to improvise. Plus I figured, they had to be thirsty by now. It's a hot day out there people!

The seven ducks are Mum and her six ducklings, it's getting harder and harder to tell them apart, but Mum is a little more slow to get involved, she likes to keep her beady eye on me.

Anyway, they don't seem to mind that it's a poor excuse for a pond, they jumped on in, although it's strictly only 2 ducks at a time in the pool.

They have made attempts to disobey this rule, but attempts are usually scuppered when one falls out head first into the grass. Which, it has to be said, has yet to fail to entertain me!

Song of The Week LXV

2010-06-25T11:03:00.003+01:00

Whilst listening to last.fm a few weeks ago this song was played and it just struck me as incredibly beautiful. I'm sure that it strikes chords with more than a few of us.
It feels like an incredibly brave song to me, I have no idea if it's autobiographical or not, but either way it's fabulous.

Maria Mena - Sorry:

Laughter

2010-06-23T14:19:00.004+01:00

I was discussing with someone the kinds of laugh we all have, from the polite chuckle to the full belly laugh that you can't hold back until it takes on a life of its own and which you are powerless to stop.
In discussing that I was reminded of a couple of incidents and as I'm getting back to my blog world I had to come back with a chuckle or two.

A few weeks ago my niece, Chloe, and I decided to have a picnic. We couldn't decide where to go but eventually opted to chill out by the river at Newark Castle which also meant a quick trip for delicious goods from Waitrose. So we picked up some goodies, laid down a blanket and munched.
After a while, upon realising I was the second oldest person in the entire park I thought about jumping into the river to end it all but my fear of water saved me. Then Chloe realised that made her the third oldest.
At this point the snort of laughter was released.
After a couple of hours of lounging we got ready to head home, gathered up our food remnants and started to pick up the blanket. That was when we noticed it.
A piece of chocolate cake, or rather the mousse part of a very delicious slice of chocolate & raspberry cake.
But this piece. It didn't look like cake.
It looked like someone had taken a tiny, perfectly formed poo in the corner of our blanket.
Chloe and I made eye contact, looking from each other to the chocolate poo.
We knew it had to be moved.
Laughter ensued.
The blanket could not be folded with chocopoo in the corner.
I started to head towards what can only be described as the donkey laugh.
I found a tissue and reached for the chocopoo.
I didn't get it all, now it looked like a really sticky chocopoo.
At this point the laughter had reached hysterical.
There were tears.
There was pain.
There was a serious inability to breathe.
And a serious concern about bladder control.
And the donkey laugh was full blown. Eeyore on ecstasy.
Snorting. Squeaking. Squealing.
Desperately trying not to draw even more attention to ourselves. Although it might have been too late for that.

I cannot even begin to think of chocopoo without the giggles setting right back in.

Getting Back To It

2010-06-23T12:00:00.006+01:00

So, it's been a long old time. Hello!

Losing Mifford really sent me into a funk, you know I went day to day in my jolly mode but something really left me when she did.

It's months later, I've just celebrated a birthday and it's time to get back into it.

First things first, an introduction.

This is Kini:

She came to live with me some months ago. I'd quite decided that I wouldn't have another cat, but the empty house proved too much. Then out of the blue I heard that a little cat was looking for a new home. I went to meet her, she was incredibly timid, quite the opposite of Mifford so I wasn't sure what to expect.
On her first night here I lost her, I knew she was in the house but she seemed to have just vanished, I eventually located her holed up behind the computer in a space about half her size.
Over the months she's changed considerably, she's shy around new people but the difference is tremendous. From hiding under the bed any time anyone even breathed in a different way she now wants to investigate every new person that comes round. She still refuses to leave the house but will always be found sitting in the window chattering away at the birds.
She has started to miaow and is quite vocal about her opinions on various things!

Her previous owners had named her Sacha and I hadn't really liked the name, but didn't have any new names in mind. She's black all over apart from a white neckerchief and a white bikini and thus Kini she became. Although her nickname is Pigeon. I have no idea why. Just as I have no idea why I called Mifford, Poodle. I'm just odd.

I've spent a lot of time in the garden of late too, I grow a lot of my own veg so I've been getting that going and also trying to make it look tidier. There was this one corner which was always dreadful, where my swing seat sits and where some of my beans & peas are growing. It was a nightmare to mow so I decided to take up the turf and lay bark chips with this result:

Feel free to come on over and chill out with me out there, once the cushions are in place you can lose hours just gently swinging, plus, the fire pit I ordered for my birthday arrived yesterday so we can even spend the cooler evenings swinging away. I'll light the lanterns, fire up the barbeque and it'll be spot on!

Mifford

2010-01-25T23:32:00.016Z

At 9am on December 12th 2009 my cat Mifford passed away.

I'd known for a week that she wasn't well, I put her in her carry box and headed to the vet.

When he asked me what was wrong I said she just wasn't right. He asked what I meant and I said she hadn't come to bed. It's something that sounds so silly, but in the years I had Mifford I could count on one hand the amount of times she didn't come to bed.

She was my shadow. Where I went, she went. From room to room, from house to garden.

I just knew in my heart she wasn't well and I knew that it wasn't good.

The vet examined her, couldn't find anything really wrong, gave her a shot of steroids and sent us on our way. We were back two days later, she wasn't eating, she wasn't moving but the only course of treatment would be the injection she'd already had and that had made no difference. I took her home, I made tuna smoothies, I made sardine smoothies, I can't tell you how terrible these things smell, but nothing induced her to eat. I brought her glasses of water to the sofa so she didn't have to get up.

I spent Friday night sleeping curled up alongside her on the sofa. I knew time was short and I couldn't bear to spend a moment away from her. It was the worst sleep I've ever had and I wouldn't change a minute.

We went back on the Saturday. We can operate he said, but if I open her up and there's something bad in there, I won't wake her up again. We could put her on a drip but I don't think that's fair he said. I can send you home with a syringe to force feed her he said, but for me, that just wasn't an option. If she didn't want to eat, what business was it of mine to force her to do so?
Which left only one option. I wasn't going to be going home with Mifford. I knew it was the right choice for her. I knew that any decision I made that wasn't euthanasia would be purely selfish and unfair on her. I knew in my heart she was ready.

When I had to make the same decision for first Smudge and then Lightning, years ago it was horrible. I can tell you these are the three hardest decisions I've ever had to make in my life.

I went home alone and my heart was broken.

Her things were everywhere, her favourite catnip pillows, the little mice she batted around the lounge. Her bottle tops that were chased up and down the stairs, then left to attempt to kill me.

I could do nothing but lay on my sofa and cry.

My best friend, my very best friend was gone.

I used to walk in my front door and know she'd missed me.

To anyone that hasn't had pets, that doesn't understand the connection you have with your animals, it's impossible to comprehend the grief and loss you feel. This is not just an animal. They're your family, your companion, your friend and your confidante. They don't judge you, they accept you any which way, they don't care if you're dressed up to the nines or in your sweats, they want to cuddle with you every day of the week and they never hold a grudge if you've been in a bad mood. They don't fight you for the remote, they don't mind what you watch on tv, they don't care if you cry over a silly movie and they don't want you to do anything but make sure there's food in their bowl, water right next to it and fresh litter in the tray, but mostly they just want to be loved and in return they'll love you right back.

I loved the way she laid down in the street and showed every passer by her tummy, demanding that they stroke her as she rolled back and forth.

I loved how she would wrap her front legs around her favourite catnip cushion and fall asleep.

I loved waking up in the morning and finding her face just inches from mine waiting for my eyes to open.

I loved the way she chased me round the bed every time I changed the sheets or made the bed, running from corner to corner.

I loved that she would run to the door every time I walked in, miaowing the loudest hello she could muster.

I loved that if I was away all day, or maybe a couple of days she wouldn't leave me alone, that I'd have to pick her up and carry her around just so she would calm down.

I loved how she had to be able to see me, so when I had a bath she had her own chair to curl up on so she would be comfortable right next to me.

I loved how she demanded that every single person through my front door acknowledge her, refusing to leave them be until they had greeted her.

I loved that she knew Friday was the day she got her special food, it was treat day.

I loved that she took every opportunity to cuddle up with me.

I loved how she made me laugh.

I loved how she loved me.

I miss her every single day.

Clean Up In Aisle 5

2009-09-29T21:26:00.002+01:00

After Harriet and I spending the majority of our recent lives readying her shop for opening, we decided we needed a day off and possibly a spot of retail therapy.
By retail therapy I mean a desperate hunt for hair dye in order to address the inches of roots on my noggin in a shade I dislike.
So there we are, having a brief wander around the delights of the local JTF warehouse. I have tracked down the necessary bleaching agents for my locks and we're browsing. Harriet wanders off to look at toys, I glance at the trolley and there's a gaping hole where my handbag should be.
Both hands fly to my face. I am completely frozen as the thoughts run through my head, "my car keys are in there", "all my money is in there", "how will I get home", "how will I get in my home", etc., etc.
I managed to emit a strangled "Harriet" whilst obviously looking like I'm about to pass out.
She dashes over (as well as a woman with a week left till she brings forth a child into the world can dash).
I'm not sure I've blinked and manage a sort of quiet wail of "my bag's gone". She immediately starts to walk away, before turning back and ordering me to start walking up and down the aisles to look for it.
I did a dance not unlike that which accompanies desperation for the toilet. For some reason panic totally disrupts any kind of thought process and the decision of whether to head left or right to begin my search seemed impossible.
I finally began my slow walk down the aisles.
A tannoy noise sounded, my imagination let me believe they were going to issue some sort of code word for 'thief in store'. But they just called a member of staff to the barrier. Quite disappointing and not the red alert I'd imagined.

Several aisles later, more thoughts of "how will I get Harriet home? She's too pregnant to walk!" and "oh my god the keys to everything are in that bag" and there sits my bag on a shelf. Waiting patiently. Just where I'd placed in order to partially scale the shelving in order to reach something too high up.
Ah how clear your memory is after the fact.
I rang Harriet. I explained the fact I am a twat and she came on back to me where I stood shamefaced and more than a little covered in a film of cold sweat.
She suggested that we go sit down and get a drink.
I suggested I go to the loo as I was either going to wet myself or throw up.
Equally pleasing events for a day out.
She then tells me that the tannoy announcement that asked for someone to do the barrier was the red alert I'd imagined.
They'd closed the barrier meaning no one could exit the premises.
So even though I'm clearly an idiot, it was a little bit exciting causing havoc.
But I promise to try and control myself, and my handbags, in future.
Well at least for this week.
Or tomorrow.

More Wild Dreams

2009-09-20T21:07:00.003+01:00

The past couple of weeks I've spent a huge amount of time at my friend Harriet's new shop. It opens on Tuesday and we've all been really pulling out all the stops to get it ready in time. It's involved me catching up on all of her paperwork and the like for her and my goodness there was a lot of it. All I've wanted to do is sleep!
I also hurt my foot. Well, rather I hurt my foot way back in June whilst leaping around at a festival. Following that with more leaping about in July at another festival didn't really help matters. Then a couple of weeks ago I went to a ceilidh. I danced a fair bit and by the end of the night I knew my foot was displeased with the galloping around the room.
As it had been nearly three months, I figured it was about time to get some medical advice (well, you don't want to rush these things), I had an x-ray, it's not broken so I have spent all my evenings resting it. And using a lot of ibuprofen gel every day. It's SO rock and roll.
When I went up to the x-ray department the receptionist motioned for me to take a seat, now we all know this is the point you make a vital decision. Who is going to make the least annoying neighbour?
I sat down, leaving the obligatory spare seat between myself and the gentleman to my right. At this point I am reminded how short I am when I realise that, once seated, I can no longer touch the floor, so my legs swing like I'm a toddler. I then realise I can hear the thud, thud, thud of a repetitive bassline. I had not chosen wisely in my neighbour.
He is listening to his thudding through only one earphone, broadcasting to the waiting room through the other. I sit and calmly consider ways of causing him pain or at least making him go away with his thudding. Then he leans towards me, points at my arm and says "that's a really nice tattoo".
Damn it.
Now I feel guilty for being mean about him in my head.
I felt even worse when the nurse came out and said to him (rather too loudly), "come and put on this gown, we'll need you to drop your shorts."

Anyway, on to the title of this post. I've mentioned regularly that I have some superbly weird dreams, but I think I might have excelled myself this time.

Some of the details have become a little blurry so forgive my jumping all over.
I'm at this house, I don't know who owns the house, but there's some sort of get together. The parents of my friend Harriet are there and suddenly a young woman collapses. Harriet's Mum decides that she needs to use those paddles you use to restart a heart - the name of which is really frustratingly evading me. Anyway, these aren't in evidence so her Mum decides to fashion some out of a pair of barbecue spatula things. (See, I said my dreams were nuts.) For some reason only one end could be a spatula and she sharpened the other to a point. Also, instead of needing a voltage, they needed heat, so she put them in a fire until they were incredibly hot. When she applied them it got a little gory - which is weird as I never watch horror - the flesh sort of burned off and I could see the heart.
I have no memory of whether the girl recovered or not!
But, it was somehow discovered that she'd collapsed because Harriet's parents were secretly evil geniuses and had been giving people this drink which made them split in two, whilst also remaining whole so that they were identical twins, but with only one heart between them.
Seriously, I would love a dream expert to tell me what the hell that means.
But wait, there's more...
In one of those dream jumps that you do to a totally different time, I was inside the house and watching a movie, even though it wasn't my house, when I realised something was going on outside. I snuck out and hid behind a bush whilst I watched Brad Pitt (!) and some friends standing on the lawn trying to come up with a plan to beat Harriet's parents!
At this point my friend Pete rode up on his motorbike and I went into a major panic because I wasn't supposed to be in his house and was really worried he'd be cross.
What in the hell?!
He doesn't even have a house! He's emigrating to New Zealand in a matter of a couple of weeks.
I never found out if Brad Pitt managed to overcome Harriet's parents, but I anticipate a Hollywood happy ending would have come along if my alarm hadn't prevented it.

Tonight I should like to dream about cuddly bunnies. And daisies. Or maybe cuddly bunnies eating daisies...

West Keal & Old Bolingbroke

2009-08-31T11:43:00.006+01:00

On Saturday Rachael and I headed out for a spot of walking, just a bit over six miles, although I firmly believe that you get extra credit for walking uphill!
Or maybe the bonus for walking uphill is getting to see the stunning views. Never let it be said that Lincolnshire is really flat.
We started off at West Keal, although were somewhat unnerved to discover that it wasn't even on the map. I made the fairly safe assumption that if we headed to East Keal (which was on the map) that West Keal couldn't be too far away!

I love old churches, I just do, although I'm sure these little gargoyle fellows were crossed with owls.

I'm such a sucker for old things even the lantern looked pretty to me.

I think my camera favours bad weather though, it's somehow managed to make it look stormy out there and although it was pretty windy on occasion, it was a lovely warm day and not in the least stormy, don't believe the grey clouds!

We had ourselves a picnic lunch with this view:

I'll admit it doesn't really look that impressive, but this is Bolingbroke Castle, the birthplace of King Henry IV and to be fair, I'd be fairly ruined if I'd been created in 1220.
However, the walls are carved with the name of a different King:

I like to believe that I can really imagine how it was when this was all moat, when they got to pull up the drawbridge and keep out those damned marauding invaders.

Is it just me or does anyone else find those vintage petrol pumps really attractive? I have no idea what it is, I just really love them. At least I don't have room to start collecting them...

The Wolds are an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Goes without saying really doesn't it?

Okay, so I love vintage petrol pumps and I love tree stumps.

This walk marked the virgin expedition of my foraging bag, superbly created by my Mum so that I could collect fruits and nuts easily. It swings over my shoulder, sits on my hip and I can slip all my bounty in there and carry it off home with me.
As we walked I spotted a lovely little apple tree on the side of the road. The apples were quite small but I decided that they looked so good I had to risk it.
I did the gentle lift and twist and they came away in my hand, ripe and ready.
However, aforementioned tree was at the top of a gentle slope populated with nettles, I was scarcely balanced, holding one end of a branch as I picked a few apples. I had not chosen well, the branch I was relying on for support was past its best and decided to leave the rest of the tree. Or rather the twig part I was holding on to gave up and headed for greener pastures, trying to encourage me to join it.

I did that classic arm windmill in a desperate effort not to become one with the nettles, regained my balance, glanced at Rachael and decided that maybe it was time to move on and leave the rest of the apples just where they were.
See how shiny and red it is though?
See how easy it was to be tempted?

For me, the nicest thing about a good walk is when you get to the end and you're not ready to fall over, when you feel invigorated. You've seen the countryside. You've seen it up close, picking those nuts and fruits and you've seen it far off in the distance when the skies are clear, the sun is shining and you can see for miles and miles.
I've realised I'm not a group walker, I want to walk at my own pace, sometimes quickly and sometimes just sauntering along, looking at the butterflies, flowers, grasshoppers and trees. I want to sit on the hillside, eat an apple I picked just moments ago and appreciate the beauty of where I am.

Peppers

2009-08-27T10:57:00.002+01:00

As I've been getting into growing my own vegetables this year, Mum gave me a gift of two boxes; one contained compost and tomato seed, the other more compost and pepper seeds.
I duly planted them and small plants grew.
I've happily eaten the tomatoes that have grown like mad in my conservatory and the peppers appear to be reaching the point where they're starting to ripen.
They're called Bolivian Rainbow and the peppers go all different colours, at the same time, on the plant, thus creating a lovely rainbow effect.
Anyway, I thought one looked as though it might be ready to eat.
I gently plucked it from the plant, held it between thumb and forefinger and gingerly gave it a gentle bite.
I barely broke the skin, in fact to look at it, you wouldn't know I'd bitten it at all.
However, I suddenly got the sensation that I'd stuck my tongue to the inside of an oven that had been heated up to temperatures similar to those seen on the sun.
I ran from the conservatory, heading at speed for the kitchen, all the while bemoaning, out loud, that I'd used up all the milk.
I grabbed the cold water from the fridge, poured a glass, then proceeded to sit with tongue immersed in cold water.

I'm not known for my tolerance for heat in food, I struggle even to eat black pepper. I am incredibly glad all I did was break the skin of the pepper, otherwise I suspect I may have combusted.

I looked it up online, those bell peppers that you slip into salad, maybe add to a stir fry, they have a heat rating of zero. That's zero.
Those Bolivian Rainbow buggers? Six. Six! Holy shit! I was lucky my head didn't come off.
So now I have two plants, each with dozens of peppers that I can't eat.
Still, the tomatoes were nice.

It's A Soapbox Moment

2009-08-26T11:00:00.008+01:00

Yesterday morning Mifford woke me at 3.30am. That would be bad enough, except she woke me up by throwing up. In the bed.
Ah, you have to love having pets.
I thought that surely had to be a bad omen, but actually it wasn't a wholly bad day at all.

Later on when I logged into twitter the number one Trending Topic was "fatpeoplearesexier".
I was immediately suspicious and wondered what sort of piss-take was going on, but was really pleased to see that most of the tweets were positive. People agreeing or relishing something that wasn't negative being said about overweight people.
Obviously there were exceptions. What was refreshing was that they were in the minority.
They were still of the mindset that it's ok to be ignorant and rude.
There's an old saying that if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all.
Maybe you shouldn't jump at any opportunity that presents itself to be offensive.
This is lovely "gent" is one such example.
Apparently you have to BE fat to find anyone who IS fat attractive.
I guess those men who are thin and going out with fat women are unable to think for themselves.
But wait, he goes on to say, you can only be sexy IF you're not fat any more. He's a great guy.
Then Miss Cherry Pie steps into the mix. She's ever so funny. See what she did here?
She made a whale joke.
That's one of the funniest things I've ever seen.
It's never been done before.
Oh the originality.
Sigh.

I actually feel a little sorry for them. If you don't have some body - that the media/fashion world has defined as perfect, then you cannot be attractive.
One must be thin to be pretty.
What utter bullshit.
And yet, people like the example below, again, have been brainwashed into believing it to be true.
It's sad to me.
This isn't what defines you.
Your weight doesn't define who you are as a person.
To my mind, your actions define you.
What kind of person thinks it's nice to mock others? For any reason, be it weight, colour, religion, disability, musical preference, whatever major or minor thing.
What kind of person finds outright insults amusing? I just don't get it.
How anyone functions with a mind so small is beyond me.

The vaguely amusing point is that the whole hashtag trending topic thing, started out because of this guy, Shane Dawson, and his video:

The whole point was that he doesn't understand why people are mean and narrow minded. As if to prove the exact thing this guy is talking about people have to jump on, what they assume to be, an offensive bandwagon but in the process make themselves look foolish.

While I'm on the soapbox...

I drove home from town last night, the traffic was nose to tail as we moved through traffic lights and I spotted in my wing mirror a large van driving quickly up to the merging point. All other cars were in the inside lane as there was clearly no room to overtake anyone. This van got his nose just in front of my car, indicated and pushed his way in, forcing me to literally stand on my brakes to avoid a collision. I may have gesticulated in anger, just a little.
A moment or two later the road bears to the left, it's a pretty serious bend, you can't see beyond it.
The van? It has decided the appropriate road placement is in the other carriageway, directly facing any possible oncoming traffic. Not just nosing over the line, hell no, his entire vehicle in the oncoming lane. I like to talk to myself and yelled "that's a bend you idiot!" Once clear of the bend he overtakes, I suspect there was just enough room, I also suspect that the car in that lane had to brake rather to allow the van time to make its pass.
I travelled along, at the speed limit, watching this van accelerate away from me, clearly breaking the speed limits.
I felt that satisfaction that every road user feels when I realised he was stuck behind some slower moving traffic with no chance of overtaking.
However, a few minutes later there is a very brief short stretch of road, before a sharp right hand bend. He chose this spot to overtake, rather brilliantly this is also where a large, bright red sign has been erected, warning about the dangers of this road.
My route from home to town is known as a red route, it denotes a dangerous road, this year it would probably average out to nearly a death a week on that road.
This guy is driving dangerously, endangering the rest of us.
You know the worst part?
Guess what it said on the back of the van?

POLICE. COLLISION INVESTIGATION.

I'm composing a letter of complaint to the Chief Constable later today.
That's actually not my nature, but seriously, if we can't get away with driving like that, why in the hell should they?
Especially when there are no sirens and no flashing lights.
Were it an emergency we'd all have let him pass, I just object to him being the one in danger of causing the emergency.

Batter vs Pastry

2009-08-23T12:25:00.003+01:00

This is a totally random debate that has been raging for weeks and weeks now, amongst my family, friends and random strangers that get drawn into it.

So the question is: Which is the better food, batter or pastry?

Both can be sweet and savoury.
Both work as starters, mains and desserts.

Batter brings us pancakes. Maybe you like a crepe with a banana and chocolate filling or perhaps a cheesy roasted vegetable filling. What about Yorkshire pudding? Toad in the hole? Then of course there's the batter that goes around the fish in our wonderful English fish & chip shops. Weirdly I miss the batter, not the fish, as a vegetarian. Although I suppose you can still get that batter on a Mars Bar, I've never tried that and I intend never to try it. Tempura batter is another one...

But pastry opens the world of quiches. Banoffee pie.
There's shortcrust, filo, choux and puff. I adore a pie made with puff pastry and I would hate to have a life without chocolate eclairs. I made these superb feta and spinach filo triangles a while ago and they were delicious!

Now it's time to help answer this (very important) question:

Song Of The Week LXIV

2009-08-21T22:43:00.002+01:00

I haven't had a song since I posted the Michael Jackson one, which wasn't intentional, I haven't been inspired I guess.
Then this one has been used in a relatively frequently played advert and each time I've found myself singing along.
It's funny, I've had it in my mp3 collection for ages, years maybe but I never really heard the lyrics, or rather never properly listened, but it's just beautiful.

Bright Eyes - First Day of My Life:

More Books

2009-08-15T13:59:00.002+01:00

I updated my Books, Books, Books post with another list, which has some different titles... I clearly have to read faster and up the number of books I've read!

That said, I'm really enjoying Eat Fat by Richard Klein at the moment. Not your ordinary take on overweight people, that's for sure. I suspect I'll be re-reading it and making notes!

Definitions

2009-08-15T12:46:00.004+01:00

The defintion of hard work:

That's a lot of hedge right there, let me tell you - and this is the second phase of cutting it down. I'm knackered!

The defintion of full to capacity:

The defintion of unlikely allies:

The definition of pretty:

To Kill A Mockingbird

2009-08-15T10:12:00.003+01:00

A couple of weeks ago the kindly Lovefilm sent me 'Failure to Launch'.
I expected a pretty standard romantic comedy which would be lighthearted, easy to watch and that I'd forget it pretty soon after I watched it.
What I didn't expect is that I'd find myself randomly giggling after recalling a specific scene.
Actually, I have to admit to laughing, loudly at frequent intervals throughout the movie, but, no matter how many times I see this scene I find myself giggling.
The actual scene starts about 2 1/2 minutes in, but I like the way this little clip sets it up:

"Walk away from the light little buddy!"

A Peek Inside My Mind

2009-08-07T23:02:00.004+01:00

I was laying in the bath earlier this evening, I'd left my PC running through my collection of mp3's and as I laid there I thought to myself "I'm sure I don't have Cotton Eye Joe on mp3". Then I realised it was Loaded by Primal Scream.
Because those songs exactly alike.
Or not.
I think I might have stood near to too many speakers at too many gigs.

I like to have candles around me when I bathe. It makes for a relaxing environment. What's less relaxing is having one candle piss wax all over the carpet. Especially when you're meeting your landlord for the first time in three years in a few days.

I love water. Cold, cold water. I have no reason for saying that, other than the fact I'm really thirsty and am going to have a big pint of cold water any moment.

I also really love how soft baby oil makes your skin feel. Again there's no reason for sharing that either. It was just a thought running through my mind.

I'd give a telepath SUCH a headache.

Oh and that mean Twitter? Yeah, it is keeping my account suspended it seems.
It would appear I got caught up in this spam invasion as I had the exact same tweet appear on my list of tweets. Still despite being one of thousands affected it's bloody frustrating!

I think I've become addicted to MicroDermabrasion. I keep thinking about when I can do it next. I'm currently at alternate days, but I'm worrying about my (full) pot of cream/lotion/potion becoming empty.
Must consider more important world crises....

De-Twittered

2009-08-06T12:02:00.003+01:00

My Twitter account has been suspended.
Mean Twitter.
I didn't even do anything!
Although when I did log in some weird spam message seems to have been sent from my account. The worst thing is that it contained txtspk. Oh the shame.
So, I've been in, promised them I'm not a spammer, changed my password and will remain confused as to how in the hell that happened.
Maybe I'm a sleep spammer!

Now I have to wait for Twitter to forgive me, or rather figure out that I really don't like spam.
Especially the spam song. Remember that? Crap, that's going to be in my head all day now.
And just when I was starting to get my head around the whole Twitter thing too. Denied.

Cambridge 2009

2009-08-05T11:20:00.005+01:00

Thursday rolled around and it was time to pack the car, tick things off the list and make our way to Coldhams Common, put up the tent and make a home for the weekend.
Typically the rain kicked in just as we started to knock tent pegs into the ground, I hid under the Jeff's boot lid (my car, for them what is not in the know) waiting for it to ease off a bit. Until the rain started to come in sideways and then I took refuge in an already erected tent.
Once the tents were up, beds made we had our wrist bands attached and headed to the festival site. I had my traditional Nachos Grandee for tea, the sky looked like this:Yet I managed to get rained on whilst eating, so there I sat, gnome-like under an umbrella, keeping those lovely nachos nice and dry.
I seem to remember very little of Thursday night, I know I saw or heard a little of Mumford & Sons. I know I decided that the purchase of a poncho would be a wise investment, in fact it came in very useful when it came to having something to sit down on as I waited for Ruairidh Macmillan to come on to Stage 2. It was also useful to the man next to me who seemed to wipe white paint off onto it and I thank him for that from the bottom of my heart.
We headed off to Stage 2 to catch Adrian Edmondson & The Bad Shepherds, who were great and are playing in Lincoln in the not too distant future so I will be getting myself a ticket for that gig I reckon. Their rendition of All Around My Hat was superb, in fact I'm going to see if a video of it exists for your pleasure. Here it is - go watch!

End of the night meant heading back to the campsite, grabbing a hot chocolate and sitting to listen to a few folk at the Coldhams Common stage. I think this is the first festival that I've sung along to Tie Me Kangaroo Down.

Friday means heading down to Sainsburys for a cooked breakfast before heading to the festival site to get a nice spot to enjoy the music from.
This is where things get ugly at the festival.
I wrote last year about the whole space issue. Some people want to sit on blankets, some people don't. Which is fine, so long as we can have a little live and let live. Have your blanket but don't be greedy with your space. Have only as much as you need to sit down. These days I don't have a blanket. I have a roll mat which I fold in half and is perfectly ass-sized. It stops the cold from the ground coming up and I take up only the same amount of space as I would without it, but I somehow feel guilty about it.

I don't want to repeat myself, but I really feel that people seem to enjoy the festival in two ways. There are the people that want to choose a spot and pretty much stay there all day, be that Stage 1, Stage 2, The Guinness tent or wherever. Then there are the people that want to wander, roam from stage to stage, catch different acts. I can't honestly say that either is better than the other. I tend to fit into the former group to be honest, which is what suits me. I'm sure it might be frustrating to some people but I don't always want to stand to watch an artist. Take the wonderful Cara Dillon, I absolutely love listening to her, but I don't need to be able to see her. I am prone to sit, eyes closed, just listening and I do so want to know why that's frowned upon!

Anyway, a spot was found on Friday, the festival opened with Genticorum, wonderful Quebecois music. A nice way to ease us into the day. Then The Shee, who I'd seen previously at Big Session in Leicester and enjoyed. Nice to see a harp on stage!
Then it was the turn of Edward II. I adore this band. Back in 1999 watching their farewell gig I could only dream that they'd come back and tour again. Here we are, ten years later and my dream is fulfilled! I danced and danced and danced some more. Absolutely brilliant!
The Waterson Family were on next and have more talent than is entirely fair for one family. I can't even play the tin whistle. It's not right I tell you!

I grabbed up my stuff and decided to head back to the campsite to dump most of it off in the tent as there was a ceilidh due to happen on Stage 2 and I do have such a love for ceilidhs. I didn't get to dance, although I did remember exactly how to do the Boston Tea Party, so that's two ceilidh dances I can probably get through without injury now! I caught Hayes Carll's set and loved it, checking my programme I saw he was doing the second set on Saturday on Stage 1 so had that to look forward to. Everyone else was hanging around Stage 1 so I wandered around the stalls, then headed to the Internet cafe, then off to the duck ponds for some quiet time, although ended up being stalked by a pair of swans. It was a little unnerving it has to be said!I finally decided to head back to the tent where I could still hear the festival. I just didn't really have any interest in seeing The Zutons.
When I got to the festival on Saturday morning I overheard numerous mumblings that people felt The Zutons shouldn't have been part of the line-up, although from the cheering I could hear I'm sure that there are plenty of people that would disagree with that.
Saturday kicked off with Crooked Still who were great fun and Mum ended up hitting the CD sales to purchase one of theirs later in the day.
Next up was Hayes Carll and I enjoyed him all over again, although I was disappointed not to get a second listen of She Left Me For Jesus, the youtube comments would indicate that it's felt to be a little blasphemous by some and I apologise for that, but my goodness it made me laugh.
To carry on with a really fabulous day, Jim Moray was up next and was superb but I swear the "Bless you, bless you.." chorus is going to be stuck in my head for months and months. I was also a little amused by the reaction of the people surrounding me to his song Lucy Wan which I adore, but some of the traditional folkies were clearly totally unsure as to what to make of it. Excellent, you know you're pushing the boundaries when that happens!
The afternoon set was finished off with sets from Cara Dillon and Blazin' Fiddles. Bloody brilliant both!

The evening set started with Martin Simpson and as he's also playing Lincoln this year I'll be having to find some cash for tickets for that too. We decided to have a move and see what else was going on, ending up at Stage 2 just in time to get ourselves under cover before the rain started. It was heavy for a while and I could almost feel the mud starting to develop.
Diana Jones was playing and I really liked her voice, she was down to play Stage 1 on Sunday so I was looking forward to catching her again and making a mental note to add one of her Cd's to my collection. Then we watched Mairtin O'Connor, Cathal Hayden & Seamie O'Dowd who again should pass off a little of their talent to me, it's the right thing to do. Actually I'd settle for just being able to sing a bit to be honest!

For some reason we were wiped out and decided a hot chocolate was the order of the day. Not just any hot chocolate. Oh no. I'm talking hot chocolate, with marshmallows, whipped cream and a flake. It's chocolate heaven.

Sunday showed the toll that the rain had taken on the festival site.There was plenty mud and a big truck with a giant vacuum sucking up all the water that it possibly could.
We headed back to Stage 1, Bella Hardy opened, wonderful voice and possible CD purchase.... Then Mairtin O'Connor, Cathal Hayden & Seamie O'Dowd were on again and just as good as the night before, followed by Diana Jones who did a song that I absolutely have to own - If I Had A Gun. I'm not sure there's a woman on this earth that song doesn't resonate with, as it was written during a conversation with girlfriends about ex-husbands and ex-boyfriends.
I watched most of the set by Lau before heading off for a brief wander to stretch my legs, check out the Internet cafe (which by the way needs much better organisation - I was hassled three times by staff whilst the woman to my right who was there when I arrived wasn't hassled at all, ranty rant.) I got back in time to see Jim Moray and once again enjoy Lucy Wan and ensure that "Bless you, bless you all of the pretty girls" was well and truly stuck in my head for eternity.

Made my way back to Stage 1 just as Eddi Reader was finishing, despite having seen her a number of times, I'm just not a fan and I don't know why as she has a lovely voice. Weird.
I did rather like Oumou Sangare though, and their dancers were superb. We'd met up with Geoff again from last year and he and I attempted the occasional mimic of some moves seen from the stage, none of which seemed to work well for us!
Then a few of us made our way to Stage 2. I had heard good things about Imelda May and decided to watch her instead of Paul Brady. For me, I absolutely made the right choice, we danced until we could dance no more. We danced so much a lady joined us just so she wasn't dancing alone. When some poor man ended up standing amongst us she scolded him that this was the dancing quarter and if he wanted to remain there, dance he must. And dance he did.
She was absolutely superb, we screamed for more, we couldn't help it, when faced with this, how could you not want more?!
I was also surprised after the gig, when I wasn't looking my sweaty best by a fellow Twitterer who had recognised me, turns out the red hair is more noticeable at a festival than I ever realised!

Spent the next while having a good old gossip and a fine old time with another lovely Twitterer (is that even the right terminology? Twitteree?) before finally heading to Stage 1 to catch The Treacherous Orchestra. I didn't know anything about them until Geoff told me they were made up from guys that had worked with Martyn Bennett and with The Peatbog Faeries, which instantly made them unmissable. I cannot begin to tell you what an absolutely fabulous time I had.
I had on my dancing wellies:
I rocked those wellies let me tell you. We jumped and bounced and danced and laughed and got hotter and hotter, sweatier and sweatier. It was the absolute best end to the festival. I could literally barely walk afterwards from all the leaping around, even now, on Wednesday, my legs are still sore, going up and down stairs is a slow process!
Do one thing - go here and have a listen - then tell me if that's what you imagine when you hear the term 'folk music'? Just make sure your volume is up as far as you can manage. That's my kind of folk music, where I can dance until I'm absolutely exhausted but so incredibly happy!

For the record I never got to use my poncho! Could have spent that money on a CD!

When I got home I had to thank my neighbour for looking after Mifford, so I made cupcakes, I had a few leftover. Cupcake anyone?
Oh wait, I have one more little tale to share. On Monday night I decided to upload the few photos I'd taken from my camera to the pc so I could do this blog entry. Except my camera wasn't in my bag. I pulled everything out, but there was definitely no camera. Shit. Shit. Shit. I went out to the car, you know, in case it had fallen out. No.
Tuesday morning rolls around, Mum takes my car keys and conducts a thorough investigation. No camera.
I have to go out and do some jobs but on my return, I ring the box office, they give me a number to call. I call said number, but lady I need to speak to is busy. An email address is given and an email is duly written and sent off.
Mum is away at this point, collecting my Step-Dad, Tim, from the airport. He's flown in from France and has brought with him Mum's old digital camera for me to use. In doing so apparently he made catching the flight a close call. So, my photos are gone but I am not without a camera.
I sit down on a footstool by my TV, I turn my head to the right, what is that silver flash I see?
Ooops. That would be my camera. Which has been sitting in front of the TV the whole time.
Do I email the lady again and confess to being an idiot? Or do I just hope she's really bad at her job and never gets back to me?

When To Defrost?

2009-07-28T11:09:00.003+01:00

On Sunday I helped my niece move house.
As we put her stuff away in the kitchen I pointed at the freezer and commented that it was the same make as mine and opened it to see if it was the same inside.
It was rather iced up and I chuckled about it, commenting that it was a good job that my niece was going to swap that freezer for hers.
She looked at me and said I hadn't seen anything yet.
Reaching for the fridge door she opened it and what I saw inside made me literally speechless.
I have never, never seen an icebox that is actually just ice. Or rather like the world's biggest snowball.
I mean really, this deserves a place in the Guinness Book of Records, right?
Holy Moly that's the mother of all ice balls.
I like the way it seems to be glowing.
Even in the desert that sucker would take the best part of a year to defrost!

Snapped

2009-07-27T13:45:00.003+01:00

I broke my bed.
I loved that bed.
Look how beautiful it was:

What's worse? I wasn't even in bed when it broke, I was minding my own business when it made a deeply suspicious noise and the corner here nearest the camera looked distinctly wrong.
The problem? I had taken to swinging lightly on this corner as I went to bed - I like to sleep on the right, just so you know. So there I have been for the past few years gently swinging on that Gothic fleur de lys each time I passed it.
I didn't realise I was weakening the joint and on Friday it decided enough was enough and banished me to the spare room for the night.
I have been told it might be repairable and despite the difficulty in typing I am keeping my fingers crossed....

On Sunday I went to help my niece move and she had been looking for somewhere to store her bed and offered to let me have it whilst she doesn't need it! Result!
At about 11pm last night, in very muggy conditions I finally finished deconstructing one bed and constructing the new one. I cannot say how grateful I was to finally fall into bed.
I love being in bed, sleeping is never overrated. I would like to sleep more, I seem to be averaging around 4 or 5 hours at the moment and I miss the nights of 8 hours. 8 is where it's at.

Craic

2009-07-20T14:05:00.006+01:00

So here's what's been going on:

I had a weird dream. A really weird dream. Actually I had two, but the second one faded to nothing and I'm really cross I forgot it.
However the first one was superbly surreal.
I dreamt that I had a baby. It was a little boy, I don't remember naming him but a short while later I'd misplaced the baby. Careless and anywhere other than a dreamworld, a really terrible thing! Anyway, I had another baby, this time it was a girl. It was only a little while later and I seem to remember that mid birthing process I decided I'd have a sleep and finish off in the morning. Very realistic obviously. So in the morning I had a baby girl. I was really stressed out because I couldn't decide on a name for her. Then I found the baby boy and both babies turned into cats. Weirdly the baby boy turned into Mifford - especially as Mifford is a female cat. I was really worried that the baby boy/Mifford wouldn't like the baby girl/other cat, especially as I hadn't named her, but then Mifford starting licking the face of the other cat and I was ecstatically happy.
That's weird right?

My choice for a belated Song of The Week is coming up, damn this is a seriously sexy song, there was one video that had some superb photography but I went with this one instead.

Jace Everett - Bad Things:

I've been out in the garden quite a lot, eating almost exclusively every evening from what I've picked fresh from the vegetable patch. Salad is one of my favourite things in the world! Also I've had to put in new sowings of various things. I want my allotment!
Speaking of which.... I took a wander round the village to post back one of my lovefilm dvd's and as I passed the village noticeboard I paused to see what was posted there. I found myself reading, thoroughly, the minutes of the recent Parish Council meeting. I read the whole thing and what worries me most is that I found it quite interesting.
I got to read a bit about what is happening as regards the allotments and it's good to know I might still be in the running for a wee plot of land. Fingers crossed.

Someone ran into my Sky dish. I have a caravan as my prime suspect. What was really a pain was that it was going to take almost a full week to get it repaired. Again. It's sited in a ridiculous place and is frequently getting bash by high vehicles. Anyway, the delightful engineer arrived early on Saturday morning and moved the dish to a location that will require incredible ingenuity to be hit with anything at all. Oh how I missed my TV!

But, on the plus side, it did mean that I found time to sit and watch the entire box set of My So-Called Life. I am obviously deeply in love with Jordan Catalano again. What's rather disturbing is that, as this came out originally in 1994, I am now closer in age to the parents in the series than the kids. Crap. Back then, they were twice my age, now they're just 5 years older. Crap.

Oh, the other week I went to see the Battlefield Band! My last gig for a while, but on the upside I do have Cambridge Folk Festival in just over a week! Must be getting near the time where I have to start choosing my outfits! The weather forecast is not looking pretty so I suspect a lot of my outfits will be revolving around wellies. What looks good with wellies? Hmm? Anyone?
Yeah, nothing.
Can you even dance in wellies? This remains to be seen. Although to be fair, I'm not so sure that I dance so much as flail wildly and jump around. I'm not sure about my ability to dance a ceilidh in wellies though... what a shame there will be no video of my attempts.

I'm attempting to slowly take down my hateful conifer hedge. I don't strictly have permission to do so, so am attempting a very definite trim of the hedge in the hope it won't survive. If you feel like lopping off a few branches, please don't hesitate to pop over, for I shall not hesitate in handing to you the loppers! I'm wildly generous that way.
Mum is coming to stay for a while so I'll offer to let her cut some hedge too. See, my generosity knows no bounds.

Oh and finally, I have not sustained any new injuries! Remember that incident with the hand blender and my finger? The fingernail dropped off. Nice eh? Not in a gross way though - which is what I was really worried about. The slashed nail grew until finally it was too weak to carry on. It was a bit misshapen for a while but I think it's actually going to be ok, I'm sure that's a massive relief for everyone. I will have normal (ish) fingernails. Well, until the next time I do myself an injury that is....

Cats & Ducks

2009-07-06T12:26:00.007+01:00

Thursday last week, I made my way down to Bristol to watch The Cat Empire. Always superb live and great high energy fun.
With the exception of missing one junction - which I will continue to blame on poor road signs - I made it without a problem, even driving into the city centre and finding my destination without a wrong turn. Without sat nav. Not half bad!
Met up with Siobhan and Aaron and we went for a pizza dinner, trying out the one of the new Leggera pizzas. God, just the word pizza makes me hungry.
Afterwards we headed to the venue and made our way in, taking up my traditional spot towards the front.
The support came on and were pretty good.
I told Siobhan that Felix in the Cat Empire was beautiful. She asked whether he was really beautiful, or just my idea of beautiful.
I think she might be trying to infer that I have occasionally unusual taste in men.
I assured her he really was very beautiful.
The band took to the stage, I pointed at the stage and said "That's Felix".
"Oh my God, that's like a real life Patrick Dempsey" she said, then turned to Aaron and continued "I'm sorry, but I might have to leave you".
Look how beautiful he is:

That man was standing just feet from me and I was able to contain myself. That's self control I tell you.
And for your viewing pleasure, here they are live, doing one of my favourite songs, in fact the chorus is my ringtone on my phone.
Oh, and check out the dude in black on the trumpet. That's Harry. I wouldn't be turning him down either! Plus that Harry, he can really scat.

A little bit of the lovely Harry (I'm generous today eh?):

So, after they came on stage the crowd got a little, well crowded, a lot of pushing and shoving commenced. After a song or two Aaron decided to bow out and during the next song, Siobhan and I nearly ended up getting pushed over. I grabbed her wrist and despite her declarations that she was fine I insisted it wasn't safe and we made an exit. Or rather I shoved a number of people and trampled on a lot of feet. We headed upwards and watched the gig from tv screens and where I was free to dance like a dervish, as is my wont.
Despite the crush at the front I had a splendid time.
When they did The Chariot (the first video) it went to an instrumental in the middle before suddenly morphing into Billie Jean, which was awesome. None of the band sang the verses but as it moved into the chorus the whole crowd started singing. I sorely missed someone doing a moonwalk but it was just brilliant, as they morphed back into The Chariot, Felix said they felt he deserved a tribute and it was an excellent one.

Post gig we headed back to Siobhan & Aaron's place where I kipped for the night, before heading home at lunchtime.
I again missed the damn junction, for the exact same road, but this time, brilliantly, I managed to not only miss the junction but then get caught up in the tailback following a small pile-up. And thus welcomed an extra couple of hours on to my journey.

Finally made it home in time for tea and started preparations for the picnic I'd arranged for Saturday. Only a small affair, but as it was the annual Dunston Duck Races I thought it would be a laugh for some of my mates to come over and bet on a duck or two.
So, at 11pm on Friday night, I was busy whipping up a couple of batches of cupcakes. I'll be uploading the recipe for the cupcakes with mascarpone & fruit on my cookery blog soon and you must try them, find any excuse you can, they were just so very, very good.

Saturday rolled around and it was picnic time, I took a sack trolley and made my way up to the green, laid out blankets and started to feast. To begin with it wash just Rachael and I as it was also a massive airshow just down the road and traffic was rather heaving. I suspect we looked quite funny with this enormous amount of food and just the pair of us, bit by bit other folks showed up. The kids ran up and down the beck, slowly getting wetter and wetter, but it was so warm that they seemed to dry almost as quickly. There's something about kids just jumping around in water, free fun and they make seemingly endless games out of it!

A little while later the races commenced. I bet on races 4 and 5.
Below is my duck, number 43. It's safe to say that this little grouping of ducks is towards the rear. I was in no danger of winning.

These would be the ducks making it under the finish line. Mine was still feasting on weeds or stuck behind an obstacle. Quite frankly number 43 let me down.
Truth be told, my bet on number 7 didn't go any better either. Ah well, it's a good job I'm not a gambler.

I managed to get a wonderful circular spot of sunburn on my back, having not thought through the keyhole part of my top very well. I just can't reach there with suncream!

Everyone but Rachael made their way home after the racing had finished. Rachael and I headed to my garden where we reopened the picnic leftovers. There was more feasting. I had made fresh lemonade and some elderflower cordial but Mifford wasn't allowed any, so as not to be outdone, she found her own sweet nectar:
Got to love a bit of watering can water, although that might only apply if you are a cat, or Mifford.
Once the sun started to cool, we headed in and watched Transporter 3, which I enjoyed. I know it's not a good movie, but I do like the Transporter movies, they make me laugh and the violence is just so wonderfully choreographed!

A final couple of notes. I totally ran over the big toe on my left foot with the sack trolley, I cannot tell you how that smarted. I did well not to curse in a number of different languages.
So, on Sunday my big toe was clearly swollen and I therefore decided that the ideal way to proceed would be to stub my little toe and hard. So hard it went a purple/black shade and I wondered for some time if I'd actually broken it.
It's a talent.

That's all for now folks, I have to go pick tea from the garden.
Oooh, it's raining and the sun is out, I also have to go see the rainbow.
I'm easily excited, me.

In The Kitchen Or Not....

2009-07-01T14:49:00.003+01:00

Whichever way you look at it, Mifford just can't take the heat: Poor love.

Salad Days

2009-06-30T14:08:00.002+01:00

There is something about getting your lunch fresh from the garden that I just love. The freshness of the lettuce, the sweetness of the carrots and those peas. I have spoken many, many times about my love of peas, but these, just minutes old from the plant are wonderful.
I really, really hope that I'm able to get an allotment because I need more peas. I'm sure that I could exist on a diet of peas and lettuce.
With the odd block of chocolate, naturally. I only wish I could grow that myself too!

Twittering

2009-06-29T16:58:00.002+01:00

I joined Twitter. I hate being new at something.
I've realised this is a part of my character, I want to completely understand something, see how it works and investigate every part of it so that I know what I'm doing.
Those first moments though of having no clue what the hell I'm doing, I hate them. I get really frustrated by not knowing what the buttons do, or how to get to where I want to be.

Many moons ago, when I was practice manager of a dental surgery, we had a new computer system installed. I must have driven the guy half mad with my "how does that work?", "what does this do?", "how do I make it do this?", "where is the button for....?"
Anyway, the first day that we went active with the system we had one of the developers come to stay with us for the day to help with any issues we had.
Except he went home at lunch, he said there was no point in staying when I'd got it all sussed out.
I can't help it, I have to know how to do everything!
Well almost everything, I know I'll never be quite able to do any plastering.

I think everyone should be mentored on a new website, they should be shown around, just like the prefects at school should take care of the little new kids, you know when they show them where the classroom is and the toilet.
I mean, I can find my own toilet, thank goodness but still, I should like a little tour and have it all explained to me.
Oh, maybe I'll have to relent and read the instructions.
Or the FAQ.
I'm sure I'll be tweeting along with the rest of them before long...see, I've even got the lingo.

Baslow Edge - The Peak District

2009-06-27T19:14:00.009+01:00

On Friday Rachael and I went for a wander in the Peak District, now it might look a little overcast, and it was a little windy, but my goodness it's beautiful:

It didn't take at all long to get there and it's remarkable how the scenery changes in such a relatively short distance. From the almost flat Lincolnshire, to the distinctive hills and valleys of The Peak District in just a couple of hours.
I loved these rocky outcrops, the way they appeared to have been positioned, whilst they leave me wondering just how long they've been there. Some have some wonderful shapes to them, as if they've been carved out by a human hand.
I have no idea why I didn't expect to see cows, but I didn't, and this one was interested in the scenery too. Or me.
Whilst this one was clearly disinterested in me. Harsh.
Now I know I'm only short, but those there boulders are bigger than I am, and that's the footpath that runs between them. It got pretty intimate between those rocks and I at times, let me tell you.
Then I found this:
I'm not at all sure what it is, we'd wondered about it being a plague stone but it seemed a long way from any developments. Or maybe that's the whole point.
I'd really like to know what it was for, and in fact what those carved letters represent. I find myself becoming more and more interested in the history of these things, in a way I never was before.
Now, this is Eagle Stone:
Apparently young gentlemen would have to climb it in order to show their fitness to marry. Rather them than me. It's hard to see the scale here, but I guess it's at least 6 or 7 times taller than I am. As we slowly made our way towards it, there was a man definitely attempting to climb it and he didn't appear to be doing very well, so I'm guessing he's going to remain unmarried for a while yet.

I'm such a genius. I was standing and staring at this carved stone sign trying to work out what on earth it said. I stood there uttering the words as they were carved:
CHESTE
RFEILD
ROADE
Chesty? Arfield? Roadey? What the hell?
Oh no, wait.
Chesterfield Road.
Of course.
I won't embarrass myself by admitting how long it took me to get that.
They totally spelt field wrong though. That was what confused me. Ahem.

And then there were more cows. With big horns. Really big horns. With sharp points. However it would seem grass holds far more interest than ladies with rucksacks.
Although this might be how a cow looks disdainful. Got it down hasn't she?
I have a feeling that she might be smirking at my windswept appearance.
Anyway, our walk progressed, I moaned petulantly each time there was an uphill stretch. I like the flat, I'm not built to clamber over boulders. I'm just not, I know my limits!
That said, I will accept it's good to stretch myself, even if I do end up a little puce in the face. Or rather, glowing in a ladylike manner.
It was a really good walk, we went through the heather, then through the boulders, through woods (I'd like to thank the mosquitoes for all of their attention) and we made our way down gashes in the hillside.
At one point the instructions told us that the way would be clear but overgrown.
They weren't kidding.
The path in front of me became precarious and I felt obliged to photograph it.
Now, it doesn't look that bad, however, those dead leaves, they're like inches and inches deep. Your whole foot disappears, causing you to be a little wobbly.
I must have sensed something as I took this photo, as immediately after it was taken I attempted to descend, which I did, albeit faster than I'd intended and made a graceful landing into those ferns at the top of the photo.

I sat there for a second, one leg in front, one behind, totally (impressively) uninjured and started to giggle. The giggle became a full blown guffaw and I absolutely couldn't stand. I could barely breathe through the laughing. I had no idea where Rachael was as she'd descended before me and vanished from sight. Apparently she heard me go down, I probably swore (profanity is my friend), which was swiftly followed by my hysterical laughter, so she figured I was ok. She said afterwards that she could tell I was laughing so hard there was no way I'd be getting up.
I swear, I have not laughed that hard in a really, really long time.
There's something about those real belly laughs that are really good for your soul.
Even now, I'm having a wee giggle to myself.

We apparently were only walking for 6 miles, but I'll tell you it felt a lot, lot longer. With the heat and the climbing and clambering I was absolutely shattered. As we rounded the corner to the road that led back to the car park, I repeatedly called for Jeff in the hope she would become like Michael Knight's car KITT and come and fetch me, but alas no, she waited for me to emerge, somewhat ruffled and pink.

As we were almost at the car park I noticed something in the road.
"Look!" I said to Rachael, "someone ran over a snake! What are the odds of running over a snake? It's an adder too, they're not even that common! Did you see it? A snake, I mean I've only even seen an adder once or twice before, that's amazing."
At this point in my babble I remembered that Rachael has a snake phobia. I'm a good friend, me.

Finally Jeff's lovely turquoise features appeared on the horizon, I stumbled into the car park, flung open her doors and hugged her. Because the rear door slides, like a van, you can actually hug her when the front door is open too.
It was a good walk, but by crikey I was pleased to be done.

Michael Jackson

2009-06-27T15:56:00.003+01:00

Song Of The Week LXIII - Michael Jackson - Man In The Mirror:

I wonder how many blog posts are out there written about Michael Jackson and his sudden, unexpected death.

I heard the news and felt the shock. Sometimes you feel as though some people are going to live forever. The fact one day they will die is a concept you can't even begin to grapple with.
I watched the news, read the reports, saw the pictures but somehow you still expect that they'll turn round and tell you it's actually not real.

As a child I idolised Michael Jackson, I was a real fan. My best friend and I collected everything we could find about him, I had folder upon folder of newspaper & magazine clippings and dreamed that one day I'd see him perform live, that I'd get to be one of the girls that why always showed on TV in the throngs desperate to see him.
We went to see Moonwalker at the cinema so many times we got to know all the lines and sat in the back row singing along, being asked by the ushers how many times we'd seen it. I'm actually not sure of the number.

When the allegations hit, huge numbers of his fans stuck by him. I don't think those die hard fans ever believed he was capable of the terrible things he was accused of.
There was something about Michael, they called him Peter Pan, but to my mind he really had never grown up. He seemed barely to have progressed beyond adolescence in his mind.
Being in the spotlight for 45 years of your life has to take its toll.
Adults are a judgemental bunch and children so much less so. I really felt as though he chose to have a large part of his life around children for the freedom it gave him to be himself.
I remember an interview he did with Oprah, they had shots of a cinema he had built, which had hospital beds so that sick children could come, have fun and be cared for.
It never struck me as the behaviour of a man who would wish to cause children harm.
For those who chose to ignore his complete acquittal of the allegations made against him I feel a little pity, that they choose to believe the worst about people, I only hope that if they were ever placed in the same situation the world is kinder to them.
To loosely quote one of Michael's friends interviewed on the news; "I hope history will be kinder to Michael than contemporary media".

I remember, many years ago, when River Phoenix died I felt a profound sense of loss. I couldn't explain how I felt this grief for someone I didn't know. For someone who existed for me only on a screen or through the words in a magazine, but it was there and it was real.
I knew that I was not alone in that grief but it wasn't until I found a magazine article by someone explaining the reasons they felt a grief for this movie star that I really understood my own.
They ended the article by saying:
"We wondered how anyone could comprehend the grief we felt. How could they understand when he belonged to our generation. We understood because River spoke our language, voiced our worries and fears about our future. Only in the years to come will they realise how much he meant to us - a symbol of both our frustrations and hopes. Like his name suggested, he rose from the ashes of obscurity and flew in the face of public opinion with a poetic grace that matched the rhythm of the times."

Michael Jackson was a part of my childhood, my formative years, I practiced my terrible singing, I wanted to make a change, I wanted a pet chimp to be my best friend. I did feel almost as though I knew him, I felt his shyness and maybe I appreciated his eccentricity, knowing I carried my own with me.

I feel a deep sadness about his death. I feel for his family and his children who must now feel so bereft.
There's little to say that hasn't already been said, but what a real loss to the world of music too. He might not have released anything for a long time, but his catalogue stands up, as someone said, his World Record Album sales for Thriller will never be topped. So much is sold online now that that number of real world sales will just never be beaten.
That's one hell of a legacy.

I am to be found regularly joking about my age, about getting old, but then when someone just 16 years older than you are, dies, suddenly you appreciate how young you are. 50 is no age to die. I'm not sure what IS the right age, only that at 50 you expect to have decade upon decade left in front of you.

So, I join in with all those other grieving fans and people who felt like they knew him, who grew up with his music, those who don't care a jot that you couldn't put him in the pigeonhole marked 'normal' and those that will miss the opportunity to know what he had left to show us.

Sessions

2009-06-23T22:52:00.006+01:00

This is very much how my weekend went:It shot past in a tremendous blur, although it was a very enjoyable blur!
I headed to Leicester to go to the 5th Big Session festival and had a superb time.
Friday saw me picking up Gary, loading up the car with tents and bedding and heading off to find ourselves a camping spot.
We put up our respective tents - I'm still sporting my vintage tent. It's so noticeably different from everything else it stands out really clearly in the field. Which rather suits me down to the ground.
Friday evening brought me the Peatbog Faeries and the Levellers. It's almost perfect I swear, I got myself to the front and danced, danced and danced. Included in that dancing was a lot of jumping and bouncing. I just can't help myself. It's safe to say I was thoroughly exhausted!

When I woke up on Saturday I was aware of several things. Firstly it was my birthday, I'd made it to my 34th year. Secondly my left foot was distinctly sore, I had a suspicion I'd landed funnily during a session of jumping and the sore foot was proof positive. Not only that, I appeared to also have rather hurt my ribs somehow. I'm clearly not built for that much bouncing.
As I laid there, thinking about opening the cards I'd brought with me, just so there would be something to open on my birthday I heard singing begin outside.
"Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you"
What the hell?
They were women's voices, they clearly weren't singing to me. I listened to multiple birthday greetings, finally rousing myself and exiting the tent. I queried who was celebrating and when she stepped forward, I told her it was my birthday too!
What are the odds that in that big field two birthday girls would camp literally next to each other?!

Gary and I ended up spending most of the day in the Big Top, there's something strange about laying on a blanket where it feels clowns and acrobats should surely be dashing about. We listened to the bands that played without really moving to go the main stage until later in the day, but when we did I was suddenly taken by what I could hear. I felt myself being drawn to the stage and cursing myself for not having been there earlier. On stage were Baskery and I can't even begin to explain how good they were, I went to the CD tent to get their album almost immediately, I just had to have it, but they didn't have any! I was going to have to wait till I got home to hear more!
I'd intended to go back to the Big Top and dance in the ceilidh but the foot injury was clearly going to prevent any leaping about in a crazy fashion, much to Gary's obvious relief.
I ended up seeing Eliza Carthy for the third time in a couple of months and started to feel not unlike a stalker.
And as for the two women who talked for the entire set oh you're going on The List. I see a maiming in your future.
Gary was excited to see Billy Bragg who was next on stage, I made a swift exit and headed over to see Edward II where I danced most sedately, predominantly on one foot. These guys are doing a 12 month reunion, 10 years on from when they originally split. I am consoling myself that come hell or high water I am going to go and see them in November and dance properly! (That's like a maniac!)

Oysterband were closing the festival on Sunday and I was so excited about getting to see them again, I just always enjoy the camaraderie that comes from being in a crowd that has a deep love for the band on stage.
But before that Gary and I settled ourselves back into the Big Top as the sun was making infrequent appearances sadly.
I was most impressed with Fatima Spar & The Freedom Fries - definitely worth seeking out, I'll probably pick myself up an album at some point. They weren't at all like I was expecting and I do so love being surprised.
Gary had opted to stay and watch Adrian Edmondson & The Bad Seeds when I headed off to see Oysterband.
I was restrained and stood at the front but off to the side so I wouldn't be tempted to start leaping around!
The very last song they performed as an encore was done without microphones, and as such was very quiet, John Jones sang the first verse and without prompting, the audience all quietly joined in when it came to the chorus. There's something about that which I love, the knowledge of the songs, I feel like part of a shoal of fish, all moving without any apparent trigger to tell us what to do. I don't mind being a sheep in times like that, it's like a community for that song.
It's like knowing how a song goes and knowing that although there's a slow start, soon the fast part will come and as that first beat hits, the crowd raises as one into a big jump. I can't explain how exhilarating it is for me.
Without music I think I'd lose a part of myself.

I've written previously about the fact I'm not excited about Cambridge this year, but the Big Session has fully left me in the mood for it, I'm looking forward to seeing some new bands now.

When I got home and had to cut off my wristband, I felt a moment of loss, it's over for another year and the anticipation of what will come next year begins.

Mifford

2009-06-16T23:29:00.004+01:00

I was out in the garden the other day when I heard the unmistakable sound of Mifford's collar. I glanced around, she was nowhere to be seen. I heard her again but she just wasn't there. I called her name but nothing and I eventually decided she must be the other side of the fence, until I spotted a pair of eyes in the undergrowth:

She's so cute I want to snuggle up with her all day.

I made her a cushion, she loves her cushion, she likes to lay, hold and cuddle her cushion. Sometimes she holds it between her paws and puts her head upon it and drifts off to sleep. It's quite possibly the cutest thing in the world
However, see the pic below:
See how she holds on to that pillow? See that licking of her paw. This is mime.

The licking says, if you try to take this pillow from me, I will take pleasure in licking your blood from my paws. Don't make me prove it to you.

God damn I love her.

Memories

2009-06-16T22:04:00.004+01:00

I was in the kitchen washing up when I suddenly heard something play on the TV that I recognised, I literally ran through to the lounge and immediately began singing along with this:

This apparently was first shown in 1989, I clearly remember having the words to this written on the back of my Maths book. Ah, I was 14 years old, my friends and I could sing along. I still remember all the words to it, in fact without it being on I could probably do it all the way through.
How it's still cool I'll never know.

It's been re-released on I guess, it's 20th anniversary. However, interestingly, I didn't hear what it was changed to, but the part about appetite has been altered and also they've taken out the word 'smart' and replaced it with 'good'.
I wonder who decided that was better for us to hear?

2009-06-14T10:52:00.003+01:00

Following a couple of emails this morning I decided I had to come and share these brief tales.

Back in the days when MacGyver was on TV, I was a huge fan. I loved him, I wanted to be him. He was just so clever and could rescue you from any situation with just a Biro and some ingenuity.
So, I watched religiously, hoping this talent would rub off on me.
In one episode he sits at a bar, eating olives and declaring his love for them.
This was it! I had to have olives! If MacGyver liked them, then I surely would.
I went out to a restaurant with my family, there was a salad bar, it had olives.
This was my moment, I loaded up my plate with the black and the green.
My Mum issued words of caution "Don't get too many, you might not like them."
Ha! I thought, don't be ridiculous, if MacGyver likes them then I shall too.

I ate one. Just one. Then wondered what the hell I was supposed to do with the pile that still littered my plate. They were nasty damn it.

I have to say I have since acquired the taste for olives, but even today I couldn't manage the quantity I'd piled my plate with that day.

Within the email from my friend, Paul, he told of a dodgy knee resulting from trampoline misadventures.
I was reminded of those delightful P.E. lessons at school. I'm sure they were designed to fill your life with shame.
Today kids we'll hold hands with the opposite sex and learn how to barn dance.
Teachers can be cruel.
On this particular day, the activity was trampolining. There was a single trampoline and all the kids stood around whilst one of our number jumped and flopped about on the trampoline. It was clearly humiliating.
I am a short and stumpy creature, I always have been and it's likely I always will be. My desire to jump about on the trampoline was infinitesimal. I mean it could have been fun if you weren't being observed by 30 pairs of eyes. There was some quick thinking to be done.
My name was called, I was encouraged to get on the trampoline.
I refused.
I was told I must get on the trampoline.
I refused.
My eyes filled with tears.
Between small sobs I told my teacher of the day my family went to a local kids play area which had a trampoline. I told her how excited I'd been to jump and bounce around. Then I explained how I'd lost my balance, how my leg had slipped between the springs on one edge and how I'd been so scared and bruised. I told her how now I was left with a real fear of trampolines.
She comforted me, of course I was not going to need to get on, she called the next name as I quietly wept a little more.

Afterwards my friends said they had no idea that had happened.
Um, that would be because it never did.
I think it was the tears that sold it.
What's funny is, I really hated drama in school. Acting just wasn't for me... or perhaps I missed my vocation.
I think I may have just booked my seat in a hot and fiery place.

Song Of The Week LXII

2009-06-12T17:05:00.003+01:00

Last Friday I went off to a festival, just for the day, at Southwell.
As there was a ceilidh on as well it seemed like a good chance to have a good dance and to see some new music.

I was really surprised to see that both of the stages had rows of chairs set up in front of them. I have never seen a festival with seating like that and it made me feel a little disappointed. What about dancing? What about lounging around? I'm not good at being stuck into conforming little rows.
Anyway, Rachael and I sat and watched a few acts, keeping our fingers crossed that the weather would hold.
As we watched one guitarist the lady behind us started commenting to her husband;
"I didn't think much of that first one" she said "it was just a bit of strumming!"
I should point out here that the guy was playing a wonderful bit of slide guitar and that Rachael had leant over to me at the end and said how much she'd liked it. He played beautifully and it showed how ignorant she was to assume it was 'just a bit of strumming'.
I willed her to be quiet.
For his second number he sang a song and for his third it was another instrumental piece on an acoustic guitar.
Again she piped up "I just don't understand it, is this a tune with a beginning, a middle and an end? Or does he just go on playing until he gets bored?"
I don't remember her husband replying, I'm only hoping that he was rolling his eyes and resisting the strong urge to slap him.
It would seem it is only music in her mind if there are words.
Poor old Beethoven. If only he'd known I'm sure he'd have mustered up a lyric or two.
Eventually she decided to leave and try the other stage. I did not shrilly scream Good Riddance as she exited, but trust me that took willpower.

The second stage at Southwell had been given a, somewhat uneven, wooden floor. I'd slipped on it twice and was becoming a little worried about the idea of dancing a ceilidh on it later on!

By now the rain had come in, Rachael and I decided that a pizza was the way forward and queued for a lovely wild mushroom affair which we then huddled under cover to eat before heading for more music.

Finally ceilidh time rolled around and this is where the song of the week comes in.

Steamchicken - Boston Tea Party:

Rachael and I danced this one. Well not this exact one as shown in the video, but this dance.
To be fair, in the video it doesn't look too chaotic, but imagine the hall filled with twice or thrice the number of people. Oh I can't tell you how I love to dance in a ceilidh, it's just guaranteed to make you laugh. If you ever get the chance, go on, go for it!
All I'll say is if they say the next dance is going to involve the move called 'the basket' sit that one out. Someone will always get hurt!!

Bad Hare Day

2009-06-07T20:23:00.003+01:00

On Wednesday I headed over to my barn, as I went to open the huge sliding door, I squealed and jumped back as I noticed a bloody great hare had died and was leaning up against the barn door.
As I started to move the door I realised the eyes of the dead hare were staring up at me and tried desperately to ignore them.

When I returned to the barn on Thursday I hoped desperately that something would have carried off the dead hare during the night. But no, there it lay, eyes still staring up at me.
I just cannot bear dead animals, I start to get cold sweats and feel nausea.
It didn't help that the movement of the door made the hare wobble about.
As I went to leave the barn I decided to look in the opposite direction and just slam the door as hard as possible, ignoring wobbling dead hare.
I grabbed the handle and pulled hard to slam the door.
The door ground to a sudden halt as it was half shut at the same time as a loud snapping noise rang out.
I told myself not to look, but glanced down anyway.
The legs of the dead hare had jammed the door and snapped. Now the hell what was I supposed to do?
Obviously I rang Harriet, did the well renowned dance of the grossed out girl and squealed a bit.
Whilst Harriet was on the phone for moral support, I slowly dragged the door shut and with it the body of the hare.
I can't even begin to tell you how this makes me shudder. It's just nasty, nasty I tell you!

When I got home, I spoke to my neighbour and pleaded for help.
He came back with me and moved Mr Hare to a much better resting place.
I expressed surprise that he was able to move it so easily and I wished I hadn't when he said "it was actually pretty stuck in there". Eugh.

Why is it that I feel like the only person that ever got a hare stuck in their door?
Which sounds like a euphemism.

Flat

2009-06-02T16:38:00.004+01:00

It's been a while, things have been rather chaotic with my Dad so I just don't seem to have had the energy to get online and write.
Dad lives alone and the only family here is my good self as his sister lives down in London, a few hours drive.
It got to the point when Dad was feeling terrible every single day, ringing me in a state of panic because he was absolutely terrified he was having another heart attack. At this point, I had to try and figure out - over the phone - if he was indeed having a heart attack and needed an ambulance or if that he just needed to calm down and stay home.
He'd ring me several times, every day, with chest pains. The absolute terror that you feel that you might be giving the wrong advice is something I can't even describe. It's life and death, but on one hand I know he desperately doesn't want to go back to hospital, but on the other hand knowing that he needs some help.
What the hell do you do?
In the space of around 10 days, Dad ended up being admitted to hospital four times.
The first three times he was sent home within a couple of days, but this last time they seem to have started some real investigation and he remains in hospital, having been there nearly a week now.
Honestly, I'm pleased, it keeps him calmer, he knows if he gets pain there is someone there, on hand to help him immediately.
The stress of those daily life or death calls has lifted.
I still have to find the time to get to the hospital to visit him and make sure he's got everything he needs, but that's so much easier than worrying about him being at home alone.
He said last week that he is petrified he will die alone in that flat.
I can't even imagine how that must be. Especially when you accompany that fear with daily severe chest pains, each time wondering what it means.

Over the weekend and beginning of last week I'd run flat, all of my personal little batteries were seemingly beyond repair and I was exhausted. That kind of tired when you start to cry over everything.
You've run out of washing up liquid. Tears.
You've just got out of the shower and realised your towel is in the bedroom. Tears.
The website you need to access won't work. Tears.
The bank balance isn't as much in the black as you'd like it to be. Tears.
You don't have any chocolate in the house. Tears.

My friend Harriet got married last Saturday and I was in charge of music. I'd made the CD, she and I had played it to make sure it was exactly right.
We all arrived at the castle where she was to be married, I was pointed in the direction of the sound system. After a bit of faffing around it was established that the machine did not like my home-made CD. I was about ready to degenerate into hysteria. Minutes later we decided that we'd change the CD into one of the other slots and see how that worked. Hurray, it started to play, except there was no sound and no visible volume control.
At this point, my mobile, which was on silent started buzzing atop the sound system. I looked, it was my Dad's sister, Rosemary. I checked the message, advising me Dad had been rushed into hospital. My head started to expand, I swear it, I just can't deal with that many thoughts.
Must fix music.
Must watch wedding.
Must ring hospital.
Must get to hospital.
Etc, etc, etc.

I finally got the music started, the wedding got underway, it was beautiful and it went off without any further hitches. I must ask permission to post a photo!
So, we all headed out, to meet up for a picnic at a huge reservoir nearby. All our cars were scattered around the small town and I was dropped off at mine, to head off to the picnic site on my own.
I rang the hospital first and was told in no uncertain terms by the nurse that answered that she was unable to answer a single question about my Dad's health as it was against policy, even if I was family. Christ, I just want to know if he's bloody dead or alive. At this point she deigned to say he'd seemed ok when she'd chatted to him before, but if I wanted to know more I'd have to go in. Bitch.
I then realise I have no memory of where the picnic is being held and how to get there. I drive around, getting gradually more lost and started to do that self-pitying weeping, desperately not wanting to interrupt the picnic with a phone call to admit I'm an idiot and am completely lost.
Harriet then rings to see if I'm ok and where am I. I confess to being lost, obtain better directions and make my way to where they're all parked. I sit in the car and cry. I can't even say why, because I feel foolish for being lost, because I'm so completely stressed about my Dad's health, because I don't want to cry on Harriet's day.
Bless her heart, Harriet comes over and tells me to go home, having spotted me and knowing I wouldn't want to join the picnic alone. This is why I love her.
I decline and stay, hoping no one will notice how terribly late I am, at which point her son Finlay turns to me and says "Stephanie, where WERE you?!" I think they noticed!

Post-picnic I make my way to the hospital, I find out how Dad is doing, make sure he's as settled and finally head home for the night.
As I drive up the hill towards home a squirrel sits by the roadside, he looks both ways and darts into the road, I've slowed and he sprints across in front of me with plenty of room, but runs straight into the oncoming car on the other side of the road. His little body is thrown into the air and I see him hit the ground with a thud.
It about broke my heart, I cried all the way home and I don't think I stopped for several days.

So, Dad still sits in the hospital, they're still not able to give a proper diagnosis as to what the pains are. The best they have been able to come up with is that he's becoming older, at 70 he has to expect he will have aches and pains and will have to live with them. Doesn't seem right or fair somehow, that they can't manage it better than that.

I think one of the hardest things is being so completely alone in it. As there's just me, no other family around to talk about it to, none of my friends have parents that are either of a similar age or alone and of that age. It's hard to appreciate how exhausting it is to be so very responsible for a parents wellbeing and solely responsible. I didn't expect it.
My heart goes out to everyone else in similar situations, it's a big old job.
But, with all that said, I'd rather Dad rang me every day and told me everything he's worried about than sit and be afraid on his own. That's much, much worse.

I'm also incredibly grateful to a couple of my friends who text or call me frequently to ask how I am and to ask after my Dad. I guess it's the circle, I'm there for Dad and my friends are there for me, knowing I'm there for them too.

I've had Mum staying too for a week so she's been cracking the whip and keeping me super busy, which is a pretty good thing. Stops you talking to yourself so much for sure!

Song Of The Week

2009-05-22T14:52:00.002+01:00

I tend to have these weeks where I don't share songs, because I'm both forgetful and busy. Sometimes at the same time, which isn't productive at all.

Anyway, tomorrow one of my best friends is getting married. It's going to be a small ceremony, followed by a picnic by the lake which stands to be absolutely delightful.
This afternoon I've been putting together her wedding music on a CD for her and it's left me feeling rather sentimental, as we ladies are prone to be on occasion.
Left in this mood I decided to go with songs that have been dedicated to me in the past.
How very slushy.

Song LIX
Teddy Pendergrass - It Should Have Been You:

Song LX

Bob Dylan - Lay Lady Lay:

Song LXI
Aqualung - Strange & Beautiful:

Doesn't it just make you all warm and mushy?
No?
Just me then!

Jumble's A Dog

2009-05-21T22:24:00.003+01:00

I went to see my friend Harriet today, she was ready to leave when I arrived but I resisted and urged her to chop my hair before we left. After a brief panic and my assurances I was sure it would be fine, she dutifully trimmed the back of my hair, I just can't do that part myself, no matter how I try.
I asked for the dustpan to clear it up and she refused, assuring me she was coming home to hoover the whole downstairs and she'd just do it then.
So off we went, when I returned her home, she went off to collect her son from school.
Apparently on returning home from school, her son wandered into the house, pointed at the remnants of my hair on the floor and said "What happened? It looks like Jumble ate Stephanie!"

Walking The Wolds

2009-05-17T23:01:00.005+01:00

The Lincolnshire Wolds Walking Festival is on again and I did the first walk of a few planned for this year yesterday. I headed out with Rachael for a 10am start at Binbrook with fingers crossed that the weather would hold.
It was just a 6 mile walk, nothing too strenuous but there were a few hills, the majority of them of the steep variety, but one was of the long and winding variety that went on and on and on. There's something disheartening about climbing a hill that has no visible end.
We toured round deserted medieval villages, of which little remains but small mounds, but it's still fascinating to think of people living in these places, especially as evidence suggests that we were tramping along the exact same paths that they would have travelled.
The walk leader, a retired history teacher, was relating her feelings that it was a shame that none of this area had been subject to any excavation. She then went on to say that as far as she was able to ascertain no excavation had ever been done of any nunneries. Apparently it was believed we had 153 nunneries and of those, the exact location of 100 are known. But out of that 100 absolutely none have been excavated. It would seem that the archaeological/scientific worlds see no interest in sites which relate only to women.
I'm actually a little appalled that this is the case.
The records of those years aren't even able to state how many nuns were living in the nunneries, it would seem the same is not true for the monks.
What a great shame.

We stopped off at a couple of the small churches along the way, in the second one it was decided to have a snack. I'd eaten most of my flask of soup at lunch, when I'd realised most of my lentils appeared to have jammed themselves immovably into the flask, but when we stopped in the church I thought I'd have a go and shaking them loose. Rachael held the mug and I shook the flask. Result! Lentil evacuation!
I started upon my lentils and promptly started to choke. I was in a church, I was down a pew, there was no swift exit to go cough quietly outside. I tried to cough quietly but realised this was not dislodging damn lentil. I motioned to Rachael and only managed to utter the word "water" whilst waving my hand to try and indicate my water bottle was empty. She dove into my bad, held up my bottle and told me it was empty. I nodded furiously, coughing copiously and the gentleman in the pew behind said "easy, love". Which didn't help.
Rachael finally handed me water, my eyes were streaming, my throat burning. After a swallow of water I managed to say that I needed to get out of the church so I could really cough.
I might be an atheist, but a coughing fit still seems really inappropriate in a church!
It's safe to say I did not need the heimlich, but my goodness my throat was sore right through till when I went to bed!

This morning Rachael and I headed out to Wragby to walk another 6 miles around the Lincolnshire Limewoods and out to Goltho which is the site of another medieval village - in fact in the overhead photo in the link, you can clearly see the outlines of the village near the chapel in the centre of the picture.
I somehow managed to hurt my back yesterday, the ground was uneven and I think I twisted it, so it was really nice to have a walk on the flat today, although I hadn't anticipated the level of mud! At one point my feet were cloaked in it!
This was another walk with plenty of stops for information on the area. The Limewoods project is working with ancient woodlands and has actually purchased land and planted enormous numbers of trees in an effort to join the patches of woodland together. They are planting only native species and also making sure they are native to the area as well as the country.
There is something gratifying in seeing so much green land and not just that, but green land which is solely for the growth of trees. When it seems that so much land is being taken over by the need for housing I'm awed to see acre upon acre given totally to nature. Absolutely wonderful!

Less wonderful is the sunkissed neck I am currently sporting. It was windy so I tied up my hair, neglecting to realise this would leave my neck mighty naked and now it is a shade that matches the scarlet of my hair.

Speaking of which, I discovered that my car, Jeff, had a flat tyre this morning, so after the walk, I rang for the breakdown fellow to come and help me. It's not that I'm not capable of changing a tyre, but I was parked right up against the kerb and I actually had no idea how I was supposed to release the spare tyre from underneath the car as I'm completely without a manual! Anyway, the lovely man from the RAC arrived, rang me to say he was outside and I popped out to meet him. He climbed out of his van, pointed at me and said "Fantastic hair!" How very kind! Naturally he's right of course!

Whilst I was wandering around the woodlands I got a call from Dad to say he was being readmitted to the hospital, bless him. His sister, Rosemary, is staying at the moment and was able to sit with him as I was out in the middle of a field/wood, so once Jeff had a new wheel and the old tyre was declared ruined by the nail within it, I headed up to the hospital. Dad seems to be doing ok, but mightily fed up. I can't say I blame him, I'd hate the constant toing and froing, so hopefully, hopefully, hopefully this will be the last trip and they'll finally establish what is causing him to live with pain every day...

Small Pleasures

2009-05-17T23:01:00.004+01:00

Look what I got!
Times have been a bit tough these past weeks, being so tired and run down whilst being really worried and stressed about my Dad, which I haven't really mentioned here, but he's not doing so well and I think I've been coming here and rattling on about nonsense so as not to dwell on it.
Anyway, I can't tell you how it made me really smile to find that Sleepydumpling had nominated me for this. It properly made my day.
I'm still doing a joyful jig in my chair.
No really, I am.
Luckily my computer/craft room is on the first floor and I cannot be viewed from the window, or else there would be the sirens of men in white coats.
Do they have sirens actually? Or do they approach with stealth to take you unawares into their straitjacket?
Anyway, the fact remains I'm chuffed to bits!

So, it's hard to choose who I'd like to share with you as I have a list of my favourites over there on the right, but I have to say that I always really enjoy what Carrie has to say over at Carrie's Musings.
I shall be over there to nag her to give an update now, because whatever she's writing about I feel as if I know exactly where she's coming from.

I've lurked over at Pretty Gingham for a long time, I feel like every one of the pictures she posts are works of art and I'm jealous of how the camera behaves in her hands.

I've only recently discovered A Smile A Day but it turns out we're very close neighbours and I'm looking forward to being a regular reader.

So, thank you Kath, if we're ever in the same hemisphere we should totally have cupcakes! I'd love that!

Festivals

2009-05-17T22:23:00.003+01:00

I've spoken before here and some where in here about the effort it takes to obtain tickets to the Cambridge Folk Festival, so knowing that the box office was due to open at 9am this morning, I set my alarm and readied myself for the inevitable online queue.
At 8.40am I went to the site, where it told me I could buy tickets from 9am. But there was no button to click!
Mum rang to make sure I was awake and ready to book.
I assured her I was and went back to relentlessly refreshing the page to see if a "Buy Tickets" button would appear.
I rang the BT clock to see if their time was the same as mine.
I might be a little anal.
9am rolled around, I refreshed the page, the button for tickets had magically appeared. I hurried to click it and was sent to a page advising that the box office didn't open until 9am! It was 9am, I'd damn well set my clock to Greenwich Mean Time!
I refreshed and clicked again, waiting for it to drop me into a holding queue or for the site to crash completely.
But no, I was directed to the page to buy tickets, I selected all the right options, entered credit card details and was done. All within a couple of minutes. I hadn't even made it to 9.05am. it was a real anti-climax.
Mum rang again and made conversation briefly before asking how I was getting on. I told her it was done and dusted, there was an almost splutter of disbelief. It was by far and away the easiest booking ever.

The only down-side is that I'm not even slightly thrilled by the line-up this year. Sure I like Bellowhead, Cara Dillon, Jim Moray, Blazin' Fiddles and Edward II but these are all acts I've seen many times, have regular opportunities to see or am seeing at other times this year. It's the first time I can ever remember not being at all excited by the idea of Cambridge.

Conversely, I am also booked for The Big Session and the line-up for that does have me buzzing. John Jones & The Reluctant Ramblers, Kathryn Tickell, Karine Polwart, Peatbog Faeries, Eliza Carthy, Oysterband, Levellers and Edward II. So you see, Edward II are playing both this and Cambridge - so whilst that's brilliant, I always hope to see something new at Cambridge. My hopes are that I will find new, unknown bands to fall in love with.

I've spent time looking at the line-ups at other festivals Beautiful Days has the brilliance that is The Imagined Village, as well as The Pogues and Hawkwind!
Trowbridge Village Pump Festival has Loudon Wainwright III - which made my heart jump when I saw that on the list, it made me desperately wish I could be there and then start to hope and pray he'd do some other dates whilst here, nothing has been announced, but I'll keep my fingers crossed. Trowbridge also have 3 Daft Monkeys, Luka Bloom, Seth Lakeman and Steve Knightley but the presence of Loudon is enough to excite me!
Larmer Tree will have Jools Holland, Ash Grunwald, The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain, The Imagined Village and Oi Va Voi all playing which is just an awesome line-up.
And playing at Wychwood are Oysterband, The Men They Couldn't Hang and The Dhol Foundation!
To taunt me further The Dhol Foundation, Shooglenifty and Seth Lakeman are playing at Solfest. It's a mean world out there.
However, I do have a ticket for Southwell Folk Festival, but only for the Friday. Damn financial constraints.

Eurovision 2009 - The Photos

2009-05-17T09:39:00.031+01:00

I'm a little disappointed I couldn't get all the photos from the actual performances, something is lost in the backstage shots!

Lithuania (23rd Place)

Israel (16th place)- you totally should check out the video, well the beginning of it.
France (8th place)

Sweden (21st place) - tell me she doesn't give you the fear a bit too...

Croatia (18th place) - she's really not into that embrace is she?

Portugal (15th place) - tell me that's not an acid trip.

Iceland (2nd place)

Greece (7th place)

Armenia (10th place)

Russia (11th place)

Azerbaijan (3rd place)

Bosnia & Herzegovina (9th place)

Moldova (14th place)

Malta (22nd place)

Estonia (6th place)

Denmark (13th place) - he kept that I've-had-an-accident-in-my-pants stance for almost the whole performance

Germany (20th place)

Turkey (4th place)

Albania (17th place)

Norway (1st place)

Ukraine (12th place) - how on earth did I previously fail to mention the gladiator figures in micro mini-skirts? I like to think of it as Eurovision blindness - not unlike snow blindness.

Romania (19th place) - don't the dancers at the back look like amputees here? That's an unfortunate stance.

United Kingdom (5th place)

Finland (25th place)

Spain (23rd place)

And finally, a couple of shots of those lovely suspended pool things:

Eurovision 2009

2009-05-16T23:17:00.005+01:00

I feel like a real traitor even contemplating watching Eurovision this year. I don’t remember a time that Terry Wogan didn't do the narration. Graham did amuse me though at the opening with his words “I know, I miss Terry too, I’m sorry”. He might have started to win me over.

I like that it’s coming from Moscow, having been there and I envisage spending the evening talking to myself going “Ooh I've been there!”
I also like circus acts and the dude swirling fire has some fine tattoo work.
Maybe I want to be in the Cirque Du Soleil. Or at least doing the trampoline bouncing.

Is it wrong that I laughed a lot that last years winner flew down and flung off his coat and it got caught in his flying wires? I bet he hated that and was mighty embarrassed, all the better for my entertainment. Why is he running through walls? Why does anything happen in Eurovision?

Good lord, what is the hostess wearing? I think she might be imitating a wedding cake decoration.
There’s a new way of voting, this should be interesting, I wonder if it will make any difference to the block voting that always occurs. 50% of the votes go to the voting public and 50% to a panel of some sort of musical experts.

First up is Lithuania, I normally like a fedora on a man, but I’m not so sure in this instance. I don’t think I hate it, which surprises me. His sideburns concern me though. Whilst it’s not a bad song I have started to wonder about maybe making a hot chocolate and having a nap. To wake me up he swaps languages, just to make sure I’m paying attention. I am, really I am. I wish I had some nutella though; a spoonful of nutella in your hot chocolate makes it extra special. And naughty.

Israel is second. Graham says to look out for the clever use of biscuit tins. The first singer reminds me of a character from CSI:Miami, although combined with the second, I am led to wonder if the rest of their coven knows where they are tonight. There’s a lot of mutual stroking going on. Is the guy, right at the front of the stage, proud that the only reason he’s there is to use a tambourine? Oooh there are the biscuit tins. A bit of drumming, well I think that’s what it’s meant to be.
Graham informs me, and the rest of the audience they’re olive oil tins, not biscuit. Shame I like a good biscuit.

France comes on third. She has been assaulted and looks ready to cry judging by those eyes, sadly they didn't have time to finish her dress either. Oh well. For a while they even had translations of what she’s singing on many of the screens, sadly I didn't get to see what she sang prior to the line “in my hair”. I wonder what was in her hair. I’m totally imagining the scene from There’s something about Mary. Which might not be what they intended. Apparently she’s very famous. Who knew?

Fourth is Sweden with a dress that reportedly cost 37,000 Euros. I hope the intention was to distract us from the song. Oh it’s a world of bad. I’m also making the assumption that most of those Euros went on paying to take the life of the birds whose corpses seem to cover the bottom half of her dress. I’m not sure what this song is, it could be dance, it could be opera, it could be a woman having a breakdown in public. I’m a little afraid of her. She also reminds me of a fembot. I’m not alone, Graham declares her to be “properly terrifying”. I concur.

Croatia are fifth on stage, with a promised dramatic costume change. Is he dancing or snake charming? He’s quite a pretty little fellow. I think all his backing singers/dancers are clones of Mischa Barton. And there she is, from black flowing cape affair to virginal white meringue dress. I bet all those jewels on the bust are really itchy. I've just realised, they’re singing. It hadn't really invaded my consciousness. Not a winner. I hope.

Graham professes to like the sixth entry, Portugal. I like all the Russian words in between the acts, although I wish they’d do some I don’t already know, then I’d feel like I’m getting an education too. The stage looks not unlike an acid trip, but I can see why he likes it, they look so happy. The drummer might actually be on a trip. I feel like I wish I’d turned on the song translation for this one. I actually feel like I just watched some wholesome kids cartoon.
Apparently Portugal have competed 43 times and never won. That really sucks!

Number seven is Iceland and this time I learnt the Russian word for snow. I like her eyeliner. It’s a nice song. Thought to be a contender. Does little for me though, I’m back to thinking about hot chocolate. I think she has bells hanging from her right boob.

Greece are eighth and he’s dancing like he means it. And he means you to see his navel. I’ll admit I’m drawn to watching him and whilst it’s not a great song, it’s painfully catchy and damn my toes for tapping. It has nothing to do with his navel either. Ooh I hope he doesn't slide off that thing on stage…it’s opening up like Tower Bridge and yet looks like a stapler to me.

Ninth is Armenia. I appear to be lost for words. That’s a lot of braiding. Wow. Am too distracted by writhing and outfits to be able to concentrate.

Russia is tenth. She’s ageing in the video, that’s not too attractive. Why did they think that would be a good idea? She’s wearing a sheet. I don’t think Russia will be winning again.

Azerbaijan are eleventh, what in god’s name are they wearing. Is she wearing one legging? One gold legging? There must be some sort of a law against that. How can she hold her arm up with all those bracelets? She’ll give herself a strain. I can’t talk about the song. There’s just nothing to talk about for me!

Twelfth are Bosnia & Herzegovina. Must. Not. Snort. With. Laughter. I think they might have time travelled. Although I’m sure this era usually wore those white dusted wigs. Why are they holding up a pink sheet? I don’t understand.

Who’s in unlucky thirteenth place? Moldova. I think she has the words to this song on the palm of her hand, which might rub off on that outfit if she’s not careful. I’m hoping that is some sort of traditional dress, because there can be no other excuse for it. But those boots. I might be a bit odd, because, outfit excepted, I sort of like the song. I am still concerned the repetitive use of the wind machine is going to cause her (short) skirt to take this to an X-rated affair.

Malta are fourteenth and singing is someone who has sung for Malta twice before, you’d think if she hadn't won for them yet, they’d have dumped her. Maybe they don’t have anyone else? Have I watched too much Eurovision if I think I recognise her? I’m wondering if she’s wearing the same dress. A good old fashioned power ballad.

Fifteenth are Estonia. She’s really pretty, I like her fringe. I know she’s singing, but I can’t stop thinking about how I might want my hair just like that. There’s a lot of strings on stage, I feel like a band with a Cellist will always go far.

Denmark come on Sixteenth. I think that’s a neckerchief. I also think that’s a bad song. Oh dear, help me, I’m fading.

Germany are Seventeenth. If I were Dita Von Teese, I’d be upset that he wore those trousers. He’s tap dancing in trousers made from tin foil and she has a waist with a diameter the same as my wrist. It’s not at all good.

Eighteenth are Turkey and I think she wants to be Shakira. Her hips don’t seem to be lying, that’s for sure. This is just superb Eurovision, they clearly feel they have a winning song when what they’re singing is just dreadful. There’s a pretty man in a skirt with clearly a fetish for bondage.

Graham promises us a “WHAT?!” moment for number nineteen, Albania. I’m actually having a “Holy Shit” moment whilst also fearing for my bladder control. Why is the man blue? Why is he blue AND shiny? Imagine the scene in their Eurovision meeting “so I was totally thinking we should have a guy on stage, behind the singer, who is totally blue and has his face covered in sequins”. At this point everyone else in the room cheered at the brilliance of this idea, then someone else said, “let’s also have two other guys dressed like the joker from batman”. “Let’s also make sure the singer is a child with no responsible adult to prevent this shame.”

Twenty is the bookies favourite from Norway. Graham liked it originally, but after three days appears to have developed a deep loathing. Ooh there’s fiddle. I like fiddle. He has big eyebrows. My goodness. I do have a thing for waistcoats. I've been watching The Mentalist on TV recently and Simon Baker’s character is always in his waistcoat and this has led me to develop a bit of a crush on Mr Baker. Now Mr Big Eyebrows is singing that he’s in love with a fairytale, how sweet, I only like the fiddle part though. I’m not sure about the accompanying acrobatics.

Holy crap that’s a big bow Miss Hostess is wearing!

Ukraine are twenty-first. Graham tells us that she mortgaged her flat in order to pay for the stage set-up, however it looks as though she might actually be practicing pole-dancing. Or considering becoming a lady of the night. I;’m sure I just saw enough to do a gynae exam. And now she’s drumming, whilst wanting to be your valentine.

Romania is twenty-second and the stage is infested with wood nymphs. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to be in the background. A tree? A piece of stone? I’m not sure. Typical Eurovision fare for sure!

United Kingdom are finally on, twenty-third. I know I’m likely to be biased but I do quite like her dress, even if her boobs are a little squished. I haven’t followed any of the preliminary stuff for Eurovision so I hadn't heard the song or even really seen who was singing, I didn't even realise that Andrew Lloyd Webber would be there too on piano. It wasn't a bad song at all, and it was leagues ahead of some of the others.

Twenty-fourth are Finland with they swinging fire-men and bad singing. I’m ready for the end. Or the end of baseball caps worn backwards. Eugh.

Spain are last. A very dramatic beginning. I think Nicky Clarke is one of the backing dancers. She’s wearing illusion bodice, I believe only ice dancers are allowed to wear that – by law. There’s acrobatics again, there's a lot of that this year. And now there’s magic, she has vanished, but the singing continues. Which is a shame. She reappears! I totally thought she’d have had a costume change when she vanished. I am disappointed.

There are cosmonauts opening the voting lines. What the hell?
So now, 15 minutes till we start the nil points.
There’s some kind of perverse fun in watching the last minute tick down whilst the presenters try and fill that minute without it seeming to be scripted. It was painful and entertaining because of that.

I’m entirely unsure of what to say about the interval act. I've seen that before on TV I think, when I accidentally watched America’s Next Top Model, where they were sprawling around on suspended polythene in water.

The voting begins.
Spain starts and give us 10 points. I don’t believe it! We got points!
Belgium don’t give us a single point. Miserable devils.
Belarus have deigned to give us 3 which I’m happy for!
Malta give us 10 points, this is the best we've done in years!

Already Norway have taken an early lead. See if it stays that way. It’d be nice not to be at the bottom! We’re in third place.

Germany give us 8 points. Hurrah! It’s not going badly at all! We’re in second place.
Czech Republic give us 6 and Graham starts to moan, when he realises that last year we’d have been thrilled to have got a single point! We’re still in second place. I can’t believe it
Sweden don’t give us a single point. Damn them. Now we have 37 points and are still in second place. Norway are first with 69 points.
Iceland ignore us and don’t give us any points either. We’re still in second but a fair way behind the leaders.
France give us 4 points. Could be better but it could be zero, we slip to third place.
Israel give us another 4 points. At least we’re actually registering this year, but have slipped now into 4th place and Norway have almost double the second place.
Russia hand us 6 points. I realise we’re actually in joint second.
Latvia give us a measly 2 points. We move up and are in third place on the board.
Montenegro don’t vote for us and we end up slipping to fifth place.
Andorra give us 4 points and we’re in third again.
Finland didn't like us and with zero points from them we’re back to fifth.
Switzerland didn't like us either but we don’t move from fifth. What’s funny is that i predicted we’d be in the bottom 5, not the top 5!
Bulgaria kindly give us 7 points and we stay in fifth. Maybe this is going to be where we finish but we’re only 17 of 42 voting countries down.
Lithuania give us three points and bring our total to 67 although Norway is now up to 175.
United Kingdom pop up next, it’s a damn shame we didn't get to vote for ourselves. We gave 12 points to Turkey, oh the shame. And 7 to Germany, we've lost our minds.
F.Y.R. Macedonia kindly give us 6 points. We’re still in 5th place.
Slovakia are the 21st country to vote and they give us 7 points.
Greece give us our first 12. I love Greece!
Bosnia & Herzegovina disagree with Greece and give us 4 points. We’re in 4th place.
Ukraine quite liked us and gave us 6 points and we share our 4th place score of 102 with Azerbaijan.
Turkey don’t give us a single point but move Azerbaijan above us. Damn it.
Albania give us 8 points. We’re in 5th place again, we haven’t slipped lower than that, I really am stunned.
Serbia give us another 8 points. We have 118 points, Turkey is second and has just 7 points more than us but Norway is on 255.
Cyprus give us 7 points and we’re in joint 4th. I’m really quite happy!
Poland is the 29th voting country and give us 4 points and we’re in joint third.
The Netherlands handed over 3 points to the UK and down we slide to 5th place.
Estonia don’t give us any points, we stick at 132 points.
Croatia give us 4 points and move us up to 136 points and 4th place.
Portugal give us 10 points. I mentally high five you Portugal.
Romania don’t give us a single point. Buggers.
Ireland kindly give us 12, we’re in 4th place.
Denmark vote to give us 3 points, our total is 159.
Moldova give us a miserable single point, but I will be grateful.
Slovenia are the 38th voting country, we’re nearly finished and they give us 3 points.
Armenia vote to give us 7 points, we have a total of 170, it looks as though we’ll be finishing in 4th place.
Hungary are mean and only give us one point, we deserved more than that obviously!
Azerbaijan are the penultimate voting country and they don’t hand over a single point, that’ll teach me to complain about one point!
Norway are last to hand over their scores and give us just 2 points which moves us finally into 5th place. That has to be the best we've done in years! In fact the best since 2002 when we were third!

Norway win with 387 points, the highest score in the history of Eurovision, in fact almost 100 points higher than the previous record holder.

The fun is over for another year. It was refreshing to see it all be so much fairer, I'm not sure if that was down to the new voting style or if it has become about the music and not about the politics. I'm a little sorry that Terry didn't stay for one more year, it might have cheered him to be there to see us do well. I shall be looking forward to see what he has to say about it, for I'm sure they'll be rushing to interview him.
Anyway, Graham did a pretty fine job, he didn't sound like he was getting remotely drunk, how disappointing!
Also, not many shots of Moscow itself, I was a little disappointed, I had memories to relive damn it.

B12 & Bidding

2009-05-15T14:18:00.005+01:00

I had an injection of the lovely vitamin B12 on Tuesday. That sucker might sting a bit on the way in but when it starts to work I am eternally grateful.
For the past couple of weeks I've been operating like a kids toy in which the batteries are on the verge of dying. The entirety of my motivation has gone on attempting to stay awake in daylight hours. Yesterday though, I realised at lunchtime that I had no urge to curl up and sleep for a decade. It's amazing the effect that one little jab has and I am grateful to be back to 'normal'.

Last weekend I went to an auction.
I've mentioned my love of auctions a number of times. I just can't help it, maybe it's the love of a bargain, maybe it's the thrill of bidding against someone unknown. Will the other bidder give in before you do? Will you be able to stop yourself from going over your mental budget?
I'm surprisingly good at giving in, this part of myself surprises me.
Anyway, as I stood in the main auction hall, deciding whether I had the energy to hang around or not this lot came up:

The catalogue described it as "a rare XIX century lignum vitae coffee grinder, the turned body with a screw off knop* to apply the folding iron handle, 28cm high".
The auctioneer said it was a fine item, that you'd be unlikely to see many like it. I glanced at it, my heart didn't skip a beat and I started to drift off to other thoughts. Like why was the other auctioneer standing on the phone almost pressed against the selling auctioneer. It seemed a little rude.
Then the selling auctioneer announced there was a phone bidder for this item, that the bidding would have to open at £500, as commission bids had clearly been left.
My attention was grabbed.
£500
£600
£700
£800
The price kept raising and raising, the phone bidder clearly not prepared to give in easily.
To my right, a lady stood, her back to the rostrum where the selling was taking place, with each increasing bid she giggled a little.
When items sell for reasonable amounts of money you notice that the room gets progressively quieter. Everyone becomes intent on the bidders.
£900
£1000
The lady to my right holds a handkerchief in her hand and laughs quietly to herself, disbelieving of the sum.
£1100
£1200
A man in the room has the current winning bid.
It's gone to the phone bidder.
The room waits to see if that phone bidder will go again, or bow out.
£1250 is announced.
The bidder in the room, stamps a foot and turns his back on the rostrum in a pique of temper.
He turns back.
£1300
I'm sure the room collectively holds its breath.
£1350 says the phone bidder.
The room bidder gives in, he stomps from the room, clearly angry.
The gavel is dropped. The phone bidder has now purchased a coffee grinder for £1350.

The lady to my right seems to barely believe it.
I catch her eye and express my surprise at the price it fetched.
There are tears in her eyes as she looks at me and tell me it was her coffee grinder. It belonged to her mother.
I move and give her a big hug.
She tells me that her mother died last year and her husband just died in February.
I tell her that I firmly believe sometimes, after a run of life being unpleasant, the world will send something along to buoy you up a bit.
She tells me that her mother used to tell her that a pair of oil paintings she owned should be treated with care for they were very valuable. They sold for £10. It would seem that her mother never really rated the coffee grinder, but not only that, she'd had the coffee grinder valued, they'd told her maybe £200.
I sent her off for a cup of tea, for that is the English way.

It just makes you smile to see good karma visited upon someone.
Or I'm just soft.

*I totally didn't believe knop was a real word. I was wrong!

In The Past Week

2009-05-10T10:31:00.003+01:00

I have:

* Repeatedly banged the finger I slashed in the blender - the finger has healed, but the nail? You don't want to know.
* Fallen out of my front door.
* Given myself a splinter. From a decorative basket.
* Cut the knuckle of my forefinger on the back of my left hand. Goodness knows how.
* Bruised the palm of my left hand. Goodness knows how.
* Cut my right forearm on a pallet.
* Cut open my right hand on the back door of my new car, Jeff.
* Impaled my middle finger of my right hand on a 2 inch screw.

Am I the definition of accident prone?

I Used To Believe

2009-05-05T21:50:00.003+01:00

I spend time over on I Used To Believe now and then.
It entertains me to know I wasn't the only one that believed in things that only seem odd now I'm an adult.

I used to believe that Dr Dolittle was true. I wanted Rex Harrison to be able to talk to the animals.
When his parrot, Polynesia, told him that you shook your leg at a pig to say hello, I believed. I shook my leg at pigs. Although, I don't ever remember telling anyone I was doing that. I either wasn't entirely sure it was true or was aiming for a private conversation. Either way, I was very upset to realise it wasn't true.

A friend of mine was told by her parents that if she waved at a plane flying overhead and the lights on it blinked, it meant that they had seen her and were waving back in their own way.

Thanks to the X-Files, I believed that the bogeyman would inhabit your teddy bear if it fell to the floor in the night, then if you were to lean out of bed to bring your bear back into bed, the bogeyman would grab you and be off with you.
As a result, I still can't sleep with any of my limbs hanging over the edge of the bed. Damn bogeyman.

So, you know you have to... what did you once believe?

Lincoln County Hospital

2009-05-04T22:22:00.003+01:00

I got a call from my Dad yesterday to say he'd been having chest pains, had rung the Out of Hours service who had in turn rung an ambulance for him.
Unsure of what was going to happen and assured he didn't want me to meet him at the hospital, I waited a while and rang the hospital.
They'd decided to keep him overnight and do some tests, getting ill on a weekend is one thing, but getting ill on a Bank Holiday weekend is a different adventure. Doctors? Few and far between.
Everything slows to a halt.
Dad informed me today that the pharmacy was closed. In a hospital. Where they never need any kind of pharmaceuticals. I'm lost for words.
Anyway, I popped in to see Dad, find out what had been said and just keep him company for a little while.
We sat and chatted and after a little a strange noise started from behind the curtains of the patient across the ward.
It was like two glasses touching and the table on which they were sitting was being repeatedly shaken. After a few minutes I started to become concerned, the noise wasn't abating and there were no nurses heading in his direction.
I squinted across the ward, trying to see through the small gap in the curtain, becoming concerned that whoever was in there was convulsing or something.
Eventually I made out that they were sitting upright, but still the shaking noise continued.
Several minutes later a voice came from behind the curtain "Nurse!"
It was clear something was wrong.
His bed was maybe 12 feet from the nurses station. They were all standing and talking, they had to have heard him, but no-one responded.
Half a minute later he shouted again.
Still no-one responded.
At this point I'm wondering if I should interfere, does this make me a nosy old bat?
He shouted again for a nurse.
He was ignored again.
Finally, after another minute he shouted for the fourth time for help.
This time he got a response. A barely concealed angry response of "You'll have to bear with us for a minute!"
At this point it's probably a good ten minutes since the noise of shaking started.
No-one has been anywhere near him.
Minutes pass. At what point, do you interfere?
He shouts again and someone new has entered the ward, she pulls back the curtain in response to his shout.
The gentleman is leaning against the table, his whole body shaking violently as if frozen to the bone.
A shout goes out for help, another shout goes out for an ECG, they ask him if he's had a heart attack before. Maybe he's having a heart attack. The only word he can get out is "cold".
So there he has been, shouting for help, for at least ten minutes, and now they're worried he's having a heart attack.
When they're helping him, finally, it's not an appropriate time to go and smash their heads together, but damn they need it.
This was the Emergency Assessment Unit, which means they have been admitted, as emergencies to be assessed as to what the cause of their complaint is. As such, when you don't know what's wrong, is it appropriate to ignore not one, or two, but four pleas for help?

After the abysmal care I witnessed in the weeks I spent in hospital, working my way round, seemingly, most of the wards there, I don't know how I manage to remain surprised. But I am. Sometimes I just don't understand the choice of career.
I can honestly say, that in all the time, in all the wards, I can count on one hand the number of good nurses I came across. And I don't even need to use all the fingers on that hand.

I spent time on a ward where the nurses kept patients waiting up to 80 minutes for morphine. Morphine, not paracetamol. Morphine. People dealing with serious pain, barely able to move or speak and denied pain relief because nurses had a bed to make.

I'm grateful that the NHS exists, I truly am, but the standard of care saddens me more often than I'd like.

Hopefully I'll get to take Dad home tomorrow, once the Bank Holiday is over and the world returns to normal, he'll be able to get some answers and get out of there and finally make a full recovery.
I just hope his biggest concern tonight is whether there's a snorer on his ward or not.

Song Of The Week LVIII

2009-05-01T16:42:00.004+01:00

It's been a good week this week.
I pulled up outside my house just as our postlady, Pearl, was about to deliver my mail, she paused and said how jealous she was of my Sylvac collection. No-one is ever jealous of my Sylvac, I'm the only person I know that really likes it. But Pearl said she always wanted to break my window and steal the items on my windowsill. So at least I'll have a prime suspect if that ever happens!

Also, my Dad went for some surgery on Tuesday, it all went really well so that's a worry off the mind. I got a call on Wednesday morning to say he was ready to come home. I wasn't expecting him till the afternoon and had gone out on some chores, so I set off with only a couple of road numbers as directions, to a hospital I'd never been to before. I'll have you know, I drove straight there with nary a wrong turn. My sense of direction must finally be coming to life.
So, I find the hospital, go into the car park and savour the feeling of being in a car where the windows wind down and enable me to reach my arm out and get a ticket, instead of having to get out of the car!

I stride my way across the car park when I suddenly hear a shout and turn towards the voice. A gentleman is yelling that he loves my hair. It's been this shade of scarlet for such a long time I almost forget, in fact it never really feels very red to me. He catches up with me and joins me as we walk into the hotel, continuing to compliment me on my hair, which was very sweet really, particularly as it really could have done with a wash. He then says that he wishes he had a camera so he could photograph me.
At this point I'm not sure if it's still a compliment or not, or just a little odd.
I'm going to believe it to be a compliment.

Wednesday night I went to a gig. I'd been really looking forward to it and am no longer even slightly nervous about going on my own. I'd never have believed that possible.
With the exception of the elderly couple to my left it was excellent. They were a little hard of hearing and their whispered conversation was a rather shouted. And they weren't fragrant in a good way. Oh well, they didn't stay till the end, which I wasn't wholly sorry about.
This leads me to this weeks song, this is who I went to see:

Eliza Carthy - Like I Care:

In this video she is pretty heavily pregnant and still jumping about, she just seems to love the music.
Her new baby girl was there at the gig, born on Christmas Eve and christened Florence Daisy, which I think is a really lovely name.
My niece was doing the lighting for the gig so I'd offered her a lift home afterwards, knowing I'd have to wait for her to sort out all the equipment and stuff first.
So, when the gig ended, I went back out to the foyer, sat at a table and drifted off into my own thoughts. Until some people sat down immediately behind me, they were Eliza's friends, then Eliza arrived. So they all sat in this big jolly, chatty group and I was sitting there like a billy-no-mates. Some sort of stalkery hanger on. So I decided to nonchalantly wander off and read the posters on the wall (after having already read them all thoroughly several times already).
Slowly the place emptied and all that was left were the venue staff and the band.
I hung around in the foyer still. I watched the sound guy huff and puff his way around, if you look up asshole, there will be a picture of this guy. I swear it. I don't know what was wrong with him, but I swear he tried to run me down with a double bass.
It was some time later and it was clear the band were almost ready to go, when Eliza reappeared, with little Florence.
I am still hanging around. At this point I start to feel like she thinks I'm some desperate hanger on.
My internal monologue is telling me to be quiet, go read the posters again, take out my book and read it, but for goodness sakes to keep my mouth shut.
"She's a really beautiful baby" I say. I just can't keep my mouth shut.
My internal monologue is screaming at me to shut up, don't say anything else.
Eliza smiles and says she thinks so.
"By the way, I'm totally not a stalker hanging around here, my niece did the lighting and I'm waiting to take her home". My internal monologue never wins, I always feel the need to explain my behaviour, except instead of people thinking I'm NOT crazy, the opening of my mouth has the opposite effect.
Eliza looked unconvinced and left very soon after.
Way to go, me.

Whilst I was hanging around in that foyer I noticed that The Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain were playing on Friday 1st May in Lincoln - I couldn't believe I hadn't known and was cursing my serious lack of funds.
However, I have tickets and am going this evening, thanks to Dad! Hurrah.

There was a sad moment this week. I decided that it would be best if Beastie went to the autobreakers. She had a few more problems than I realised after a friend came to look at her and I realised I was going to have difficulties selling her on. Thursday afternoon rolled around and in rolled the autobreaker truck.
"Will she start?" he asked me?
"Most definitely" I replied. Of course she'll start, first time too, she's a very good girl and I love her with all my heart.
As the autobreaker dude blocked the drive, a man with a delivery of very long planks of wood suddenly appeared. We looked at each other and I said I didn't think he was in luck.
"I'll have to pole vault over" he suggested.
"Do it, do it" I encouraged.
"You'd be impressed if I made it, wouldn't you?"
"Hell, that's my car on the back of the truck, even if you don't make it, I'll be entertained and cheered."
"It's going to be scrapped?"
"Don't you say the S word!!!!"
"Sorry, she's going to the place for cars in the sky?"
"Yes, to a better place"
I'm sorry to say that I just closed the door of autobreaker man's truck, there was no pole vaulting.
Beastie was carried away on the back of a truck and I was overwhelmed with guilt, I admit I had to sit down and have a big cry.

At least the sun is shining, I got more veg planted in the garden and I also started myself a little gardening blog. Mostly for my own benefit, I wanted to keep notes of what I liked and what I didn't. It's also really interesting to be able to note how long things took to germinate, how long it was before I was harvesting some crops.
I'm also hoping to be able to get some notes on any foraging I get to do this year. When I mentioned that I was planning on making Elderflower cordial this year I was asked if I would be selling it, by two separate people. So I'm definitely going to have to try and get that made well. Although I don't think I'll be selling it!

So, has it been a good week for you too?

Psychopath

2009-04-29T17:08:00.002+01:00

Some time ago, a friend of mine put this question to me and I didn't hesitate with the answer, which apparently makes me a psychopath. But don't be afraid.
Maybe I just have a brain that works laterally.
Or maybe I'm a psychopath.
If I am, I'm a gentle one. If such a thing exists?
Anyway, I babble. As usual. Here is the question:

This is a story about a girl.
While at the funeral of her own mother, she met a guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much the dream guy that she was searching for that she fell in love with him immediately.
However, she never asked for his name or number and afterward could not find anyone who knew who he was.
A few days later the girl killed her own sister.

Question: Why did she kill her sister?

First, find your own answer to this question.

Then, check out this link for the answer.

Naturally, you have to let me know if you're a psychopath or not... I have to know if I'm in good company. Or bad company. Whichever.
So, leave me a note in the comments... go for it.
Are you a psychopath?

Being Girly

2009-04-28T11:44:00.004+01:00

I blogged before about the fact that whilst I love power tools, whilst also being in possession of a deep love for handbags.
I was having a spring clean today and getting everything really sorted out, as there seems to be a forever increasing number of things on my To Do list.
Anyway, I'm not sure if this is weird or not, but I like a record of the places I've lived. I imagine that in years to come it'll be fascinating to look back at decor and ornaments, I'm intrigued to see how my tastes change.
As I was clicking away with my camera, I thought I totally have to share a little portion of my handbag obsession.

I'm not a follower of fashion, I tend to go my own way and as a result this is the only designer item that I own. My Lulu Guinness fish handbag.
I love it!
I was walking round the Lincoln Christmas market some years ago with my boyfriend of the time, looking at all the craft stalls. We paused by a handbag stall. Well, I paused, he was likely oblivious until I started cooing very loudly about how much I desired this bag.
I knew I had enough handbags and slowly, feet dragging, moved on to another stall.
A little later on, he said he had to leave and I went off home.
Then Christmas came around, he'd left me that night to run back and buy it for me. I love it still. I'll admit the white isn't that practical, but who the hell cares?
I think that I'm really easy to buy for, I'm always, always going to be happy with a handbag, this one, a gift, came all the way from Thailand.
And this one, my newest bag was also gift, which travelled to me all the way from New Zealand. My handbags are more cosmopolitan than I am.
I have hooks over the door to my dressing room, makes for easy handbag storage.
Except.
This isn't all of them.
I'm afraid of ripping the door from the hinges if I add any more.

I actually do use them all. I could probably even tell you when I last used most of them.
Some days, if I change, I'll get through a couple of handbags a day. It's an addiction.
I had a clear out too. I rehomed a couple of dozen of them.
But they're so pretty. In my dream world, I totally have a house big enough to warrant a walk-in handbag room.

Bad Taste

2009-04-26T10:32:00.002+01:00

The sun is shining, it's perfect for sitting in the garden.
You go to hang out your washing in the lovely Spring air, only to realise that this is the time of year that some people need to show everyone else in the neighbourhood exactly how bad their taste in music is.
For some reason they are never playing anything that you enjoy listening to, or in fact judging by the reaction of other neighbours, that those people enjoy listening to either.
But these folks with bad taste in music persevere. They must let the world know that their thinking remains inside the box and if it hasn't been on an Ibiza album, well then, it's just not worth listening to.
Why do they never see the sunshine and think that maybe they'll go for a bit of blues. I'd be happy to wander into my garden and hear my neighbours playing a bit of Eric Bibb, maybe some Keb Mo, although if I came out and they were playing the Levellers I'd be super happy (and likely to be leaping around).
To be fair, I live in a peaceful little village, I do love it here. The only downside is the mongrel that bought a little house to renovate very near by.
He's upset everyone in our little patch.
His delivery lorries have managed to hit my Sky dish three times, which I'm overjoyed about.
As for the utter mess he's created. Broken panes of glass stick up vertically from the ground, just begging for a big jugular accident.
And today he's playing goodness knows what rubbish which blares beautifully into my garden.
I'm beginning to loathe him. Deeply.
It's quite a considerate neighbourhood. The most noise you tend to hear is the sound of lawn mowers or a bit of DIY, none of which you ever mind, they're the sounds of summer!
Anyway, his house is still empty, still undergoing renovation, the surrounding area of building site slowly encroaching onto everyone else's space. Rumour has it he plans to live there himself when it's finally completed. I hope not. I sincerely hope we get someone with a good taste in music.

Song Of The Week LVII

2009-04-24T12:34:00.003+01:00

As it was St Georges Day yesterday I think this is an appropriate song.

Show of Hands - Roots:

I love how it celebrates being proud of your heritage, whatever it is and wherever you are from and also about knowing those things. Knowing the history of your homes and your cultures, that can't ever be underrated, surely?

Sprung

2009-04-23T21:18:00.006+01:00

Spring has truly sprung.
It was so deliciously warm yesterday I decided to do a circuit of my garden with my book. Now, it's only a tiny garden, but the circuit starts at the swing seat, until that's fully in shade, then move over to the bench until the sun starts to make me melt. Then it's back to the house to pick up the blanket I forgot to bring out earlier. Lay down the blanket, prop self up on elbows and delve further into book. At this point Mifford lays against me, where she stays until too hot to even touch, at which point she moves to the shade, then once cooled, it's back to the sun.

I've said it time and again but daisies are my favourite flower. Look at that happy face, petals still unfurling. Makes you smile eh?

That's my vegetable patch. Isn't it wee! I can't tell you how those seedlings excite me.

So, whilst daisies are my favourite, there is something about pansies that make me happy. I have pots of them outside my front door, I swear each and every flower smiles to the sun. In fact they smile at the rain too, they have this joie de vivre about them.

And.... I just don't believe anyone couldn't love daffodils.
Even my sister likes them and I told her they were edible, so she ate a whole one. She wasn't well. I wasn't popular.

The sun was out again today and I decided it was time to hit the countryside on my doorstep. It's a funny thing, I really enjoy walking alone, there's something about setting your own pace, stopping whenever you want without worrying about holding up someone else or a whole group, but there's that concern that you're out in the sticks on your own and that is somehow dangerous.
The world as it is today, is dangerous - not that it hasn't always been. It's not as if murder and rape are new crimes, but we are infinitely more aware of it and there were moments as I walked and didn't pass a single other person that I felt vulnerable. But what are we to do? Stay home, just in case? I don't feel like I can do that, besides which, to be honest I was most scared of this cow:

That one on the left, I think there's evil in its eyes.

It was so incredibly pretty out there, all the spring bulbs having pushed their way through, I only wish I'd taken a proper camera.

The wild garlic is out - so I'm going to go back and harvest a little at some point as I have a recipe for wild garlic pesto. And I do so adore pesto. The idea of a wild garlic version just sounds delicious.
I'm actually really interested in the idea of foraging, I've been sitting with my copy of Food For Free by Richard Mabey and the idea of finding edible leaves right here on my doorstep, wild and free is fascinating. It also seems like a great way to learn more about the flora. I recognise the fauna, having stood quietly on a path and watching a hare potter about in a field, hopping this way and that. There were also so many wonderful birds singing from the skies and trees. I don't think I ever tire of the sound of the skylark, or in fact of the sight of goldfinches flitting from here to there and back again.
So, I recognise the birds and animals well enough, but the plants? Not so much, what's edible? What's going to make me ill? No clue beyond the obvious things that everyone knows. I wonder if there are foragers in my area... time for some investigation I think...

Beastie & Jeff

2009-04-23T11:31:00.006+01:00

Let me introduce you to Beastie. I love her. She's clearly a sizeable car and whilst getting on in age, she has the temperament of a kitten not an O.A.C (Old Aged Cat). She likes the accelerator. She likes speed. She also likes to make an uncomfortable rattling sound somewhere around the front right wheel.
Her windows don't work. Should you be foolish enough to try and open one, the window will slide into the door at a 45 degree angle and then pop open the door.
But I love her.
She's comfortable and when she's not around I'm going to miss her like hell.

Now, let me introduce you to Jeff:Jeff is clearly made of different stuff. She has a huge ass. Oh and she's clean. This is something that Beastie was never described as.
However, Jeff and I are having some adjustment issues.
I have realised I am a little too small for her. I'm just 5'1 and I have size 4 feet. These small feet are not designed for Jeff, the tip of my big toe just catches the accelerator. When I gave her a bit of a test, I hadn't realised this, but when I brought her home after getting her taxed I walked into the house, limping a little from the cramp in my right leg and eyed her between narrowed eyes through the window.
I have established it is necessary to wear big shoes to drive her. I think that she and I will learn one anothers foibles, but I currently miss the ease of sliding into the driving seat of Beastie and whizzing off down the road.
Also, Beastie and I, we spent our lives in the outside lane, I loved the sound of her engine roar.
Jeff is just not as nippy. Not even close. Yesterday we were overtaken going up the hill. This has never happened before. And may have added to the resentment I felt when I glared at her through those narrowed eyes.
I find immense pleasure in driving and I feel a little like that has been curtailed.
So, it wasn't love at first drive with Jeff, but I'm hanging in there, for I'm sure she and I will find our own way.
Plus, she's booked in next week to have the bloody awful tape deck removed and a delicious CD player installed. Hallelujah. I cannot even begin to describe how much I miss my music. It's like a dull ache that just won't go away.
So yesterday I was a little unhappy, seeing Beastie sitting on the drive, almost sulking. I felt so sad at the idea of not being able to drive her and I still can't bear the idea of parting with her.
Maybe when she's gone, I'll be able to properly fall in love with Jeff, for Jeff is a super car and deserves her time to shine. Aaaaah.

Brrm Brrrm

2009-04-20T22:04:00.006+01:00

I've had my Mum and Step-Dad Tim staying with me for a week, it's so strange going from a house of two with Mifford & I to a house of five, including their dog Louis.

I had to remember to close the bathroom door!
Am I alone in this, but I just never bother as I'm living alone, am I weird?

Well, I know I am, but still...

The really cool thing was that I got to try out lots of different recipes. As a single girl, I don't really bother to cook much for myself, so many recipes make family sized portions and you can't really get a quarter of an egg, you know?
So, I've updated my Food Blog with the lovely things I made, like Lemon & Asparagus Risotto, Blueberry Bagels, Pavlova Roulade with Rose Water Mascarpone, Pak Choi with Cashews, and more...
I think I'll be back to the old cup a soup and pasta from now on.

I also finally managed to find a new car. It was so much harder than I ever anticipated it would be.

Tim & I went browsing for cars last Monday. All day we drove around and I spent many a minute berating this vehicle:

It's not a pretty thing is it? It's an ugly car said I. I'd never have one of those said I.
We arrived at about the last garage of the day and one sat in the forecourt. Once again I reiterated how ugly it was, but joined Tim in his peering in through the window.
"It has three seats in the front!" I squealed.
"Yes" says Tim.
"But that means there's room for me, my handbag AND a passenger upfront! I think I want one! How much is it?"
Tim looks at me and I realise I have done nothing but whine about this car for most of the day.
I have been swayed by the fact it has a seat for my handbag. It's not even that big of a handbag.
But not only that, it's huge, it's basically a van with seating.
Then I discover that the back of the middle front seat folds flat and provides you with a tray and drinks holders. I am smitten. Gone are my loathings for its ugly exterior.
It has a tray! And room for a handbag!

I didn't buy one. It was bloody expensive on the old insurance. Damn shame.
Anyway, I collect Jeff tomorrow, that's the name of my new car.
I'm not sure why I called her Jeff, it just suits her. Even though she's a she and Jeff's clearly the name of a he.
I am suffering with a combination of excitement and sadness.
I am excited to share some adventures with Jeff and to experiment exactly how much stuff I can fit into her spacious interior, but I am sad that the Beastie and I will have to part ways. Tomorrow is the last day I will be able to drive her and I am going to miss her terribly. I enjoyed driving out of town earlier today, in the outside lane, zooming up the hill, engine revving, aware this might be the last time I'm able to win a race up that hill. Dropping from a 2 litre engine to a 1.4 is going to sting a little. I am telling myself that Jeff is lighter than Beastie and will be able to attain a similar level of speed.
Harriet sent me a text to say she'd seen a Jeff-a-like on the motorway, going very fast. She also seems to be excited by the spacious, van-like interior. We are going to be dangerous.

Speaking of Harriet, I went with her today to an ultrasound scan. I totally saw that little, very little, baby of hers put up a hand for a high five. It's true, there's even a photograph.

The garden is full of seedlings. I am beyond excited. Well, with the exception of the Ambassador Pea which is either really lazy or completely useless. Everything else is pushing its way through the soil in an effort to please me.
Also while Mum & Tim were here, my garden got a bit of a facelift, the lawn was edged and, once the lawn becomes lawn, rather than a home for all weeds, it'll be complete.

Oh! My finger didn't drop off! I attack it with a blender and still it remains strong! It also remains bloody sore, but heck, shove a blade through any part of you and it's likely to smart for a while. I think the fact that I sliced right through the nail and nail bed is what's most sore, it's like having a horrible bruise right under my nail. Nice.

That's all folks.... I won't leave it so long next time... honest!

Songs and More Songs

2009-04-20T21:11:00.003+01:00

In this busy world days and weeks pass you by, my song of the week has been passed by, and then today the sun was shining in a glorious way and it made me think of summer songs. Those ones that make you want all the windows open in the car as you drive along.
So, I came to catch up in an aural fashion.

Song LI
Cherry Poppin' Daddies - Zoot Suit Riot:

Song LII
Lenny Kravitz - Are You Gonna Go My Way:

Could Lenny be any more beautiful to look at? No, I thought not.

Song LIII
The Cat Empire - The Chariot:

Felix & Harry are pretty easy on the eye too. I love this song, in fact a snippet of it is the ringtone for my phone. I like my phone yelling to the world that it's never yielded to conformity, makes me smile every time.

Song LIV
Katrina & The Waves - Walking On Sunshine:

Song LV
Blur - Song 2:

Song LVI
The Boo Radleys - Wake Up Boo:

Try As I Might, Sometimes I Just Never Learn...

2009-04-07T21:17:00.003+01:00

So, I think I've mentioned before that I'm really squeamish. Forgive me if I'm repeating myself, I did a bit of a search through my blog and I hope I'm not.
Anyway, this is my life. I've always struggled with blood and injury and that light headed feeling I instantly get which means I usually have to lay down for a bit.

Some time ago I got a call from my nephew, he'd fallen from his bike and felt he needed to go to A & E, so I hopped in the car, picked him up and we went on our way. We hung around for a bit until the doctor was free. Finally they called his name and we trotted through to be seen. Well I walked and he hobbled. He explained to the doctor how he had pain in both his knee and his wrist. I felt myself starting to get warm. Which is the first warning sign. The doctor started to manipulate his wrist and my nephew winced. Let's bear in mind, that there's no blood. Not a single droplet, just an invisible injury.
I said I'd just step outside of the curtain and wait for him.
I can't have looked good as I leant against a nearby wall as a nurse appeared and asked if I was ok. She had me sit down and I realised my hearing and vision were both a little fuzzy. A short while later my nephew reappeared, no serious injury having been sustained, he was just going to be pretty sore for a bit.
So now, let's remember that I have brought my nephew to the hospital because he is injured. I have no illness or injury.
So with this in mind the doctor suggests my nephew go and collect a wheelchair, in which to push me back to the car.
I'm ashamed.
I did, however, walk very slowly to the car on my own two feet.

What's weird is this. Many years ago I lived in a, shall we say, less savoury area. Personally, I didn't really have any serious problems, but there were some rough elements. I'd had a neighbour move in and she wasn't really the kind of neighbour you dream of and on this particular occasion there was some serious partying going on. The music was loud, I'd banged on the wall at midnight or sometime thereafter, needing to be at work in the morning it was getting more and more frustrating. Finally at some hour more like morning than night, the party still showed no sign of abating and I called the police. I had to almost plead for them to come out but they finally arrived and told them that the noise really had to quieten down. I could hear my neighbour screaming and calling me names through the wall and wasn't entirely looking forward to the next day.
The music died down and I sat in my lounge just trying to calm down before going to bed. There was still a lot of shouting going on next door and suddenly a door slammed, I looked out the window, saw a man stumble down the drive then lay down in the road. I debated what to do, deciding he was clearly very drunk and couldn't be left in the road when I heard, very clearly, through the wall "I can't believe you've stabbed him".
Shit.
I thrust my feet into trainers, ran into the street in my snowman pyjamas and discovered he was gone from the road. I looked down the street and he was stumbling along. I cautiously approached from behind, making sure no one else was coming from the party. He stopped, turned round and looked at me. Blood had soaked through his t-shirt and shirt and was dripping to the floor. It clearly wasn't good.
I uttered the immortal words "Are you ok?" (I mean obviously he had to be feeling great right?)
He looked at me and said "I've been stabbed. Have you got a light?"
I think he was committed to his cigarettes.
A random stranger had arrived, rung for the police and an ambulance. I made the guy sit down and told the stranger not to let him move while I ran home, grabbed tea-towels and ran back and did that whole applying pressure to a wound thing. But it's different when it's not just a tissue to a spot you picked.
That's a shit load of blood from a stabbing.
Weird thing though, not once did I feel faint. It never fails to amaze me how the human body will block out a normal reaction. It floods you with adrenaline and you feel like you can do anything. Until it's over, then it's one hell of a come down. I remember standing there in the street as he was driven off in the ambulance and the police took away the girl that had stabbed him, I was exhausted and suddenly alone. And really quite lost. I had no idea what to even do with what had just happened.

As an addendum to that, I later found out she'd taken a large kitchen knife and gone right through one of his lungs.
I saw him again, spoke to him and said how good it was to see him up and about, he looked down his nose at me and didn't even bother to speak. Nice guy. I felt a brief, insincere moment of regret for having helped him.
A second addendum would be that some time later there was a serious hammering on my front door, I ran down and came face to face with someone I didn't know, but someone that had clearly taken a bit of a beating. She begged me to call the police, the guy that had been stabbed had come back, and was currently next door beating up my neighbour.
I don't miss living there.

Anyway, it is clear that in times of trouble I am able to cope with injury. Given time to think about it I don't cope at all well. Which is unfortunate as I suffer so very many injuries myself.
Which leads me to this weekend.
I had some carrots and parsnips in the fridge that were borderline, so I decided to whizz them up into a soup and freeze portions of it. I'm working on being frugal, it feels good.
I let the carrots and parsnips simmer away and when they were ready I took out my hand blender and whizzed away with it, I love how the texture of the soup changes, as it becomes more velvety as the vegetables are liquidised.
Some time ago, I made soup and very foolishly didn't remove the pan from the stove before whizzing it with the hand blender, this meant the plastic got pretty soft and a little deformed.
As I was liquidising the carrots and parsnips I found myself wondering if the plastic was soft again and if I could pull it back into shape.
I pulled it out of the soup, placed my thumb and forefinger against it and pulled. Unfortunately, the thumb of my other hand was still resting against the on switch and the movement of pulling on the base pressed the switch against my thumb. The blender whizzed into action.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
I felt it hit against my finger.
No pain, just that feeling of impact. I pulled my hand away, dropped the blender and looked away.
Had I chopped my finger off? I really didn't want to know.
I braved a glance. Finger red, but in place.
Here's a question, why is it our first instinct to stick that in our mouth?
I ran upstairs to grab a plaster, hoping that was all I'd need. Sadly as soon as I removed my finger from my mouth it started to drip. This couldn't be good.
I am, at times, my mothers daughter and knew I had to have sterile gauze swabs somewhere.
I flung a gauze swab around it, applied pressure and went to lay on the sofa before I fell down. I just can't cope, but strangely, if anyone else had been around I would have been as bad. Since I was small I've hated and squeaked anytime anyone came near an injury.
I'm sure my Mum will read this at some point and it's safe to say that if she ever said she promised she wouldn't rip the plaster off, she'd go ahead and rip the plaster off. If she said she wouldn't touch, that pretty much meant she was going to touch. I remember many occasions.
"I've got a splinter"
"Let me see..."
"You'll touch it"
"I won't"
"Do you promise you won't touch it?"
"I won't touch it"
"Okayyyyyyy, but don't touch it, just look"
Then before you know it, your finger is in a stranglehold and the tweezers are upon you. You know it's true, Mum!
Still, it was quicker than the extraction of a splinter in my current life, which involves having a poke, feeling faint, needing a lay down, having another prod with tweezers, feeling nauseous. I'm really that pathetic. I am shamed by it, really I am.

I read a quote the other day, I didn't catch the author of it but I think I might be the exception that proves the rule:

"You live and learn or you don't live very long."

For The Love Of Words

2009-04-02T11:46:00.005+01:00

And the love of timewasting.

I keep finding myself going back to WordCount. I find it absolutely fascinating.
I was interested to see that vegetarian is more commonly used than carnivore and in fact omnivore doesn't feature at all, which surprised me.
I started to challenge myself to then find more words which didn't feature.
Bathykolpian doesn't which is not really surprising, but it is one of my favourite words that I use to describe myself.
My favourite word is tegulated. I'm not sure why, it's not even something I can easily slip into conversation, but I just like the way it sounds and feels in my mouth. I'm weird that way.
It interests me also that 'he' is ranked in 15th place and 'she' is in 30th.
I searched for the 1975th ranked word, because that's the year I was born, and the word was 'attractive'. I thank you!

Go play, then come back and tell me where your favourite word is ranked... actually, what IS your favourite word?

PS: I just randomly clicked to see what word would appear and in 44,851 place is the word 'kpnlf'. What in the hell is that?

Green Fingers & Square Eyes

2009-04-01T22:22:00.004+01:00

On Sunday I roused myself and discovered the sun was shining and the sky was as blue as can be so I decided that it was finally time to get into the garden and start my vegetables off.
I'd already planted my potatoes and Jerusalem Artichokes but I had a couple of boxes of seed begging for their turn in the compost.
So I managed to plants carrots, beetroot, radishes, peas, beans, sweetcorn, leeks, globe artichokes, strawberries and heartsease.
I then ran out of space.
I'd already needed to stage a run to the garden centre to top up on compost and came home with 360 litres of the stuff.
In order to extend my growing area I flattened out and laid down some cardboard boxes, I then took my bucket and tip-toed over to the building site a short distance away and picked up lumps of abandoned broken brick, creating a border for my flat boxes. When I had a full border I dumped a couple of bags of compost onto the boxes, raked it out and abracadabra I had another planting space. It blocks out the weeds below, whilst the cardboard slowly degrades and allow the plants roots from above to work down. Genius I tell you. I can say that as it wasn't my idea. I saw it on TV. Like everything.
Anyway, it's the perfect bed for my lettuces, rocket and spinach.

I have since established that I am an impatient gardener. I planted this stuff on Sunday. Why hasn't it grown already. It's Wednesday! What are they playing at?!

Anyway, the sun was out today and the temperatures were really pleasant so I decided to have a quiet hour in the garden. I took oranges from the fruit bowl and juiced them, I grabbed a book and headed out. I called to Mifford and she joined me, resting happily in the sun as I swung gently on my swing seat. Mifford won't sit on the swing seat, it freaks her out I think. She got on once and I let it gently swing and her eyes started to bulge in terror as she tried to figure out why the hell the world was moving.
My swing seat is in the shade and after a bit the sun was clearly favouring the bench at the other side of the garden, so I moved over and Mifford decided this was the time to join me. We sat in the sun, my nose buried in a book.
A few moments later a fluttering announced the arrival of a huge wood pigeon who perched atop my fence and slowly fell asleep.
I noticed a buzzing close by and looked up from my book, a bumble bee was flying nearby, I watched him a moment as he landed on the lawn. I looked and said "no pollen down there mate", at which point he disappeared under a dandelion leaf (it's a bad lawn) and promptly vanished from sight. I clearly have a bumble bee home beneath the weedy lawn and this vaguely excites me. I stared at that patch of lawn for a while, waiting for him to reappear but eventually decided that he'd gone for a nap.
As I tore my eyes away from his home they came to rest on where I'd first planted my potatoes, my prayers had been answered, the very first tiny shoot had broken ground. I nearly applauded.
If only I hadn't used all 360 litres of compost I bought, those potatoes are going to need earthing up.
I'm feeling all green-fingered!

I'm also feeling square-eyed. I wonder if that's a phrase that translates well or not?
I love television. I do. I'd love to be able to apologise for it, but I just can't.
I really enjoy getting caught up in a new series. The fourth season of The Unit recently started here, I taped the first episode and for the whole of the following day I got a jolt of excitement when I thought about it waiting there for me to become absorbed.
I've only recently finished the fourth season of Lost on DVD and am sincerely wishing I hadn't missed the beginning of season five on TV.
I'm now watching season three of Prison Break which I really like, but I miss all the tattoo views, although I'm quite sure make-up are pleased he keeps his top on these days.
I'm also watching the second season of Dead Like Me which makes me laugh very loudly. I keep checking my Sky Planner to make sure that the end of the season isn't approaching as I'm going to miss it so much.
I actually decided that when I become a bazillionaire I am going to recommission all those shows that were cancelled before I was ready for them to end. Carnivale. Twin Peaks. Dead Like Me. I'll Fly Away. Boomtown. Dark Angel. The 4400. My So Called Life. Invasion. Daybreak. Jericho. Plus all the others that haven't immediately popped into my mind.

If it's crime drama I'm pretty guaranteed to be addicted. Should I be spooked that at the exact moment I wrote that my mp3 player decided it should play the theme tune to CSI:Miami? But really, I just love both the CSI and Law & Order franchises. And of course there's Criminal Minds, which makes me want to be able to profile people. Can't forget NCIS of course. Then there's Numb3rs, which makes me want to actually understand math, beyond 1+1=2, which is currently my limit. Sometimes I stretch to trying to remember my times tables, but only on a good day.
Also on my Sky Planner are The Listener, The Mentalist, Without A Trace, Mistresses - which by the way, when the last episode ended I actually called out "No, don't end now, don't leave me this way!" Damn Cliffhangers.

I look back and think of how I adored Northern Exposure when I was growing up, in fact I still do. And, Rob Morrow looks just as bloody gorgeous in Numb3rs as he did in Northern Exposure. Which can't be fair.
If you have never seen it, I hugely, enormously recommend The Secret Life of Us. I love each and every character in that series and felt like I knew each and every one of them, more than that, I wanted to live with them and be their friend!

I can't wait for the new season of Dexter!
Are they doing another season of Smith? I need to know... maybe it's IMDB time!
Oh and I need to see more of Las Vegas too - I like that a lot!
Maybe I need help for my addiction... or once again, more hours in the day?
There's a new show coming to Living - The Eleventh Hour, I suspect it's going to drag me in too. I seem to be powerless to resist.
I'm not entirely sure that it's a good thing I have a wealth of unseen TV boxsets on my lovefilm list too. Bones is waiting for me, along with Firefly, Californication, Deadwood, Homicide - Life On The Street (which I remember really liking many years back), JAG, Murder One, The Shield, The Sopranos, The West Wing (yeah, I'm behind the times) and The Wire.
I do have an addiction. Oh well, it's a good one, theoretically I can ride an exercise bike whilst watching, so essentially it's good for me. Maybe.

To Hack Or Not To Hack

2009-03-27T12:14:00.003Z

Hello there!
I have been a little caught up in life once again. This lark with there not being enough hours in the day is getting a little wearisome. Och well, I have more important things to think about. Namely fringes. Or bangs.
Are there other words for the fringe? I don't know and I want to.
Anyway, I'm digressing as usual.
Here I am with my fringe, it does that flicky thing all on its own. I'm not sure why but it always seems to want to escape my eyebrows, maybe it's the huge difference in colours.
So, I have a question, this is my current fringe:
I have been tempted to attempt a fringe of this nature:I'm also tempted by a dress of this nature, but a new fringe is cheaper. And will grow if it doesn't quite fit your face.
I can't decide if I have the courage for a fringe as severe as this. Or in fact if I have the face for it.
In fact, I only have a fringe these days because I was bored and hacked a chunk out of my hair.
I raised the issue of a new fringe yesterday and my niece was adamant it was a bad idea and yet I am still unsure of this and tempted to hack further at my hair.
I also have always loved the idea of one day going raven haired, but I am fully aware I will look like the living dead with this pale skin, although lovely Ms Max up there looks pretty pale.....

2009-03-19T10:06:00.001Z

It does! Or is it just me?

My Dreamworld

2009-03-12T11:53:00.003Z

I've blogged more than once about the weirdness of my dreams, but last night I had just the most awesome dream.

When I woke I'd forgotten it, I had my breakfast, took a shower and as I wandered back into my bedroom and there sat an emery board on my dresser which suddenly brought back the brilliance of my dream.

My friend Harriet has a business selling vintage clothes & bridalwear online and in a shop in the real world.

That's the scene set.

So in my dream she's looking for a new member of staff and who should apply but Barbra Streisand.

THE Barbra Streisand. She's left film and music for a career in vintage clothing it seems.
Except there's a problem, (in my dream of course) she has really bad nails. They're really ragged and with terrible hangnails.
There's no way she can work with vintage clothing - she might damage the delicate fabrics with those nails, so she is refused employment.
It's not every day you can say you refused Barbra Streisand.

I love my dreamworld!

Kinds Of People

2009-03-10T14:32:00.007Z

There are people in the world who want everyone to think their children are cute. There are also people who think their pets are the most adorable thing in the world.
Both of these people feel the need to force everyone else to look at photographs of their children or pets, sometimes both, and agree to how absolutely gorgeous they are.

I think I may be one of those people, because, behold:
Look at those eyes! At this point, she's laying on her back, on my lap, legs splayed and stomach displayed. Which is the perfect position for combining both a tummy rub and looking cute.
I love her, I just can't help myself, she makes me happy.

It does put me in mind of this though:
It makes me chuckle, so it does.

On a less happy note. I have been a little lax with my dyeing routine and some roots have developed, rather disturbing to me is the discovery that a few of these roots are of the grey persuasion. I have been removing them with tweezers, which is probably not an ideal solution, but until I get to the shops to buy more dye, what's a girl to do?

Contortionist Am I

2009-03-06T16:31:00.004Z

So there it is. My latest piece of art. I cannot even begin to tell you how many attempts it took to take that almost reasonable photograph.
It was taken in a process usually referred to as 'hit and miss'.
There was a lot of aiming and hoping that I'd get something. It's hard when you can't see what the viewfinder can see.
I'm bloody grateful for digital cameras, that would have been a roll of film for that one shot. Maybe two.
Anyway, my firefly and her bells are making herself at home on my arm.
My arm didn't mind the clingfilm for the last tattoo, this one, it had a fit, just decided after two days that it didn't like it any more. The rash is slowly going, but those little red marks you might be able to make out? Those would be my arms aversion to clingfilm!

A Lot To Say

2009-03-06T10:14:00.004Z

I'm feeling in an organised sort of mood today so I'm putting my thoughts out there in an organised manner. Tomorrow I'll be back to flitting, hell it might be this afternoon. I'm an unpredictable sort.

So:

Mum and Tim are in New Zealand. They're vacationing. And they're blogging it here. Just to make sure you feel the envy. Although, the sun is shining and the sky is blue here. It's just that if you were to try flip-flops you'd risk frostbite. Damn it.
I'm going to a ceilidh tonight. I've never been or seen a ceilidh where there hasn't also been an injury. To date the injured person has not been me, which in itself is a minor miracle, so I'm wondering if my time has come.
I went in a chatroom last week, for the first time in years and years. I'm regularly complaining about the world of txtspk, I do loathe it so, but anyway, so there I am in the chatroom, receiving a few private messages. To be honest, over the course of the evening I probably had about 30 guys contact me to say hello. No wait, with just a couple of exceptions they contacted me to say ASL. Some of them didn't bother to say hello. Just straight in there with the Age/Sex/Location. Personally I'd have thought that the 'Lady' part of the moniker I was using would have given the middle part of that set of questions away. But it seems not. I pointed out that I thought it was generally considered bad manners to ask a lady her age, to which one responded that he had to check I wasn't underage. Which is a fair point, but it doesn't really excuse it, unless he also believes that each and every person on the planet tells the truth all the time. Hmm, I think not. Seriously though, what's up with that? No small talk? No, Hi, how are you, have you had a good day? Do they approach people in the real world and say "How old are you, are you really a chick and where do you live?" No, they would get short shrift. (I just looked up shrift and it wasn't a definition I expected). There's something about the 'virtual world' that makes people feel they can be less polite, that it's ok to just say "Hi, what are you wearing?" It's weird, because real world or virtual world, I'm not telling someone I don't know the colour of my underwear. I guess I'm just old-fashioned.
Or not. I did go and get another tattoo after all. I am having difficulties obtaining a photograph. I used an assistant last night and his photographic abilities sucked. I have been outskilled in the blurry photo ability. On the upside, I do love my tattoo, which is a bonus really as it's never going away!
I have a question about smelly people. Why do they always stand so close to you? I like my personal space, I do, I hate it when you're in a queue and they're almost pressed against you, but when they also smell bad it's just dreadful. The other day I stood in a local shop waiting to be served and a lady joined the queue behind me, almost immediately I smelt her and took a step forward, slightly turning to place my basket between her and I, to better protect my poor nose. This didn't help, I assumed the usual posture, free hand moved to just below the nose as you pretend to stroke/play with your lip and try not to breathe. I glanced behind me and saw that the lady behind the smelly one had assumed an identical posture. The people being served were taking a while, I toyed with the idea of leaving the queue, feigning having forgotten something, but maybe I'd be served any second, did I have time to stand again at the end of a queue of increasing length?
The thing is, the smell is so often of unwashed clothes and unwashed body. It's not a smell of exercise just completed, it's a smell that has accumulated for days and I hesitate to say weeks, and it saddens me. Do they know? Do they care? I think most of us would be horrified to discover that people around us thought we smelt bad.
One more thing about people. The TV channel Living have been screening the original CSI, beginning from Season One every night of the week, it's not on till late evening so I prefer to record it. As a result when I sit down to grab some lunch or just chill out for half an hour and turn on the TV, it is set to Living, daytime Living shows a lot of Jerry Springer and Maury. I want to know, is any of it real? It is all fictional? Because honestly, some of those stories, they just don't compute. One chick: "Hi Maury, I'm here for the third time to test three more men, because I'm sure one of them HAS to be the father of my child." On this occasion, it was taking her tried total to 7. Seven men that could potentially be the father of her child. I mean, she's been wrong four times already, what if she's wrong three more times, exactly how high a number can she even achieve? It gives me the fear. I need soothing and reassuring they're all actors.
I think I have an addiction to store loyalty cards. No really. My friend Harriet, my niece Chloe and I compare how many Dividend Points we have on our Co-Op cards. When I got my letter from the Co-Op telling me what I'd earned and how much of a bonus they were going to give me, I was genuinely excited. It has become like a competition. Harriet sent me a text to tell me she'd broken the £15 mark and was irrationally excited. I'm just pence away from hitting £30. I'm a terrible saver, but these points, which are, in essence, free money, well I take pride in them. I can't bring myself to spend them. I must hoard them, see how high I can make that figure. When the offers come out I'm there, getting my 5X points on local produce or fair trade, just so I can see how much more I've accumulated. Yesterday I got an email, telling me about my Nectar card - which I use in Sainsburys - saying I could sign up for more points, just spend £5 on fruit & veg and 100 extra points would be mine. There was also a link to show me what I could spend my points on. Now I have a Nectar card obsession, I have to choose what I can save for! I have gone beyond sad, to lands undiscovered. I'd say I needed to get a life, but I actually quite like the one I have. Even with its loyalty card addiction.
This weekend is one of Lincoln's Free Weekends. It's a brilliant idea, you can visit the tourist attractions and get free entry. So, I'm heading to Doddington Hall with Rachael. Despite it being almost on my doorstep and driving past it regularly, I've never visited the actual hall. I was even there this week at the farm shop & cafe with Harriet.
She and I went to have lunch there, when we arrived it was a bit pricey so we weren't sure if we should stay, both of us being short of cash, but we thought we'd brave it. I ordered a Jerusalem artichoke risotto and was told it was gone but I could have mushroom risotto instead. As the only veggie option on the menu I couldn't argue. Harriet had a burger and when they came both meals were lovely, but we both felt overpriced. Our table was near the till which meant we could be surrounded by customers at times, so it wasn't a private dining situation. We're both cake fiends so we opted for dessert which was beautifully presented. We went to pay, Harriet handed over her card and I handed her half of the bill in cash. As we left Harriet swept ahead of me, I'd been intending to meander through the farm shop and have a browse but Harriet seemed to be in a hurry. She turned back to me and hurried me a little. We got to the car and she explained. I hadn't realised but we'd thought the meals were overpriced, then they undercharged us, so she'd been in a hurry to make a swift exit. Are we terrible? Sometimes I like to believe Karma bites you in the ass and sometimes it smiles on you.

Song Of The Week L

2009-03-06T09:56:00.004Z

I honestly believe this woman has one of the most beautiful singing voices. There's something about it that just makes you feel warm inside.
The essence of this song is sad and you feel that but her voice still shines through.

This song also has, I think, a really beautiful line: "Forget about it, when forever's over, I won't remember how much I loved you anymore", takes your breath away. I'm such a mush!

Alison Krauss - Forget About It:

Five A Day

2009-03-04T20:56:00.002Z

I'm not sure how universal the five a day principle is; the idea that we need to eat 5 portions of fruit & veg a day to maintain a healthy diet. Being a vegetarian that's just fine by me!
However, I was reading an article earlier on which is a little alarming.

One in ten parents believe fruit flavoured sweets count towards a child's five a day. Double that think chips count.

One in five parents think spaghetti hoops and orange squash constitute a portion too.

One in five parents also believed that oranges and bananas did not count as a portion!

That's scary right?
Well, it gives me the fear, but then I was the only kid I knew that ate kohlrabi, so maybe I had a vegetable head start!

Ugly?

2009-03-03T16:16:00.005Z

I saw a link to this earlier, which supposed that this is the worlds ugliest cat.
I happily describe myself as a cat person, more than that, I'm an animal lover. I've always had pets from Bobby Flowerpot my hamster (I was young, I'm sure the name made sense) till Mifford today.
In between have been pets including cats Smudge & Lightning, chinchillas Poppy, Quaker, Dobey, Flip, Flop, rabbits Oswald, Goose, Edwina, Rosalind, Chish, guinea pigs Wellington & Fips, hamsters Blob, Chaffie, Chi-Chi, gerbil Jeremy Splodge, stick insects Edgarina & Gluey and a locust Jiminy. There was also Louis the Bichon Frise - but he belongs to Mum so not strictly mine but he lived with me a while, although I can't forget Delirious, a greyhound but she came as a bundle with my ex-fiance.
As a youngster we also had chicken and several aviaries with budgerigars, love birds, canaries, quail, finches.....
The point being I love animals, always have, always will.
And I just don't think that cat is ugly.
I think it's adorable. I want to take it home and cuddle with it.
Which is not something Mifford would approve of. It's safe to say she feels nothing but loathing for anything with four legs, and if you have feathers, two legs don't work for her either. And to be fair she did catch a slug once, so even a lack of legs annoys her. It's safe to say she hates anything that is not a human. She's a bitch, what can I say.
But a cute one.
This is a little known yogic pose: "at one with radiator".

I take a great blurry photo. It's a skill.

Song Of The Week XLIX

2009-03-02T14:14:00.004Z

I love lovefilm, I have so many movies on my list that half the time I have no idea what I've actually put on there and when the movies arrive I'm always a little surprised.
I don't remember adding this movie to my list but I must have done and I'm pleased I did, it was totally bonkers and really made me laugh and I found myself absolutely in love with this track from the movie.

Please Mr Jailer - From the movie Cry Baby

On the note of movies I went to see Helvetica last week. It was part of a World Cinema Season that I've mentioned before that's showing at a local venue. It's about the font Helvetica. I know right, how interesting can a movie about a font really be? Honestly? It was excellent. I'm really sorry that more people haven't seen this. It was funny and interesting, without once making me feel bored, or making me shuffle in my seat.
I really, really recommend it.
It also gave me a quote that I have fallen in love with:

"Trying to look good limits my life."

How often is that true?

One guy in the movie had a wall of framed quotes behind him and I admit to being a bit distracted trying to read them all. I may have permanently damaged my vision by squinting so hard.

So, you may possibly have noticed, I have a butterfly brain, flitting from here to there and back again.

Here I flit.

I was in traffic, waiting at a red light, when I noticed the number plate of the car in front of me. It was on a car which was advertising a local dairy.

The plate was: MO0 4 You.

Really. Every time I think about it I smile. It's absolutely the best plate I've ever seen in my life.

More flitting.

I bought some books recently and I was chatting to the gentleman from whom I purchased them, he asked me about old bibles and what to do with them. I had no idea so he went and spoke to the local vicar, who advised him that bibles should be buried on consecrated ground. I had never heard of that. I'm wondering if that has always been the case. They had a funeral the next day, so the gravedigger also buried the bibles.

It quite fascinated me. I don't have a religion and it had never occurred to me there would be a proper way to dispose of bibles.

Further flitting.

I had an email recently, from a woman who complained that a book she had bought was a bit dusty. To be fair, if I were over 100 years old, I'd probably be a bit dusty too. I mean, really? Do you purchase something that is a century old and expect it to be as new?

Penultimate flit.

I'm going for another tattoo tomorrow. My friend Gary asked if I was planning to join the circus. That would be no. Not this week.

Although, that does lead me to wonder what my circus act would be.....

Last flit.
I'm asking for lots of good vibes to be sent to my little sister, Siobhan. She got hit by a van. While she was on her bike. This was not a fair fight. She's relatively ok, no broken bones and thanks to her helmet, no head injury. I believe she is sporting a number of bruises as well as a sprained wrist. So a few healing vibes would be great. Thanks!

Interviewed

2009-02-25T09:54:00.003Z

Where does the time go?
Seriously?
It does more than fly, it moves at some sort of Star Trek warp speed.
I have no idea what that means, I've never seen Star Trek, but I think it's quite fast....
Anyway, I have a cold. I'm happy to share it around if anyone would like one. It comes complete with my usual hacking cough and I'm willing to also pass that on. My generosity is a weakness.

So, the last time I was here I got my interview questions from Sleepydumpling and now that I have a moment to breathe I'm going to answer them.
This is such a brilliant idea, I love it!

Q1. What was it that got you started with blogging? And what keeps you blogging?

I remember way back in 1998 reading The Diary of V and absolutely loving it. It was a fictional diary and the word blog didn't really exist back then - or at least I never heard it, but I'd go and religiously check for a new entry to see what was going on with her, it was like reading a really long book and I loved the idea of it. It stopped being written back in 2006 and I think it was around then that I started reading some of the other blogs that were around, both fictional and real, slowly finding more and more and being a little envious of how funny people were! But I also really liked finding a group of people that wrote without resorting to txtspk and also knew how to spell.
I wasn't sure that I had anything to say, or even that I would be entertaining, or amusing, or in fact not fickle enough to give it up after the first week.
I started a blog on myspace, but found it really limiting and moved on over here where I could do a little more.
I enjoy the interaction with other people around the world, which isn't something you get to do everyday in normal life. I was always a little awed by other bloggers and really nervous of commenting on their blogs! But I've braved that this year and it's probably that which keeps me blogging, getting comments, knowing what I've written has been read and possibly enjoyed!

Q2. What did/do your parents think of your tattoos?

I think it's safe to say that in this case, actions would speak louder than words and the action would be a large frown! My body is mine to do with what I please but I think there was always a concern I would regret my decision to be tattooed. Maybe not today or next year, but possibly in another 30 years. I don't believe that I will but I also think that I can't hold off on doing something today because of an effect it could possibly, maybe, perhaps have when I'm elderly - so long as it's not bad for my health!

Q3. What would you say the greatest inspiration has been in your life?

That's a really hard one. I've been through psychotherapy and I think the realisation that who I am is just fine. I can be eccentric, unreasonable, angry, happy, wild, adventurous, loud, quiet, tattooed, scarlet-haired, ditzy, organised, opinionated etc, etc, etc, has inspired me to be whatever I want to be and not apologise for not being mainstream. That said, I've always rather revered those that didn't follow convention in some way. Back in my school years I remember learning about Albert Schweitzer and being amazed by this man, who gave up what could have been a very prosperous life to train as a doctor to go out and help with medical care in Lambarene. He was a vegetarian who reportedly lived surrounded by animals and this undoubtedly appealed to me. As did his work 'Reverence for Life'. I remember trying to memorise quotes for my examination essays and one with I think has been paraphrased through history is:
"I am life that wills to live, in the midst of other life that also wills to live, when I acknowledge and respect all life, then will to live becomes will to love"
Those words have always resonated with me, respect life.
Have courage to go your own way.
Great lessons and certainly an inspiration to me.

Q4. What is your earliest memory?
It's always been the same thing, my Dad coming to collect me from my Mum's house, usually quite late (by a small child's reckoning), I'd be wrapped in a blanket and put into the back of the car to head off for the weekend. I remember just feeling so sleepy, but warm. Always makes me smile!

Q5. You clearly love music. What would you say would be the songs that most define you?

You realise that this question makes my brain start to bleed a little? It's an incredibly hard question, there are so many songs with memories attached!
I think Lady Marmalade by Patti Labelle is almost the quintessential song. Although I don't use that name here, I've been Lady Marmalade online since back in 1996. I used to go to a good number of internet group meets and would be often introduced as Lady M. I swear Lady M almost became a different persona!
It was understood that if that track was ever played in a club my friends were obligated to go dance with me! By the way, I hadn't appreciated, when I chose Lady Marmalade as a screen name, that she was essentially a prostitute. That is definitely no reflection on my good self!
The song Black Betty by Ram Jam will always remind me of being a nanny, driving down the road, playing it loud, windows open with the kids screaming "BAM-A-LAM". (I can't tell you how my eyes are watering as I laugh remembering that!)
I suspect I've said this before but I think the band Oige was my first introduction to folk music and the first moment I heard them, I knew what I'd been missing from the music everyone else was listening to on the radio. It was like coming home, there was fiddle, bodhran, tin whistle and pipes combined with beautiful, beautiful songs. Cara Dillon was the singer in Oige and do have a listen to P Stands For Paddy which will forever remain one of my favourite songs.
Folk music was really such an awakening, I'm slowly trying to draw more people into it and there does seem to be a real movement towards it. When I started going to the Cambridge Folk Festival tickets took weeks to sell out, now it's hours.
Oh my god, as I was thinking about music and this question, a memory surfaced, I clearly remember putting this vinyl single on and then I had to jump around for the length of it. I wonder where all that energy went?

I swear I could go on and on with songs... but I'll restrain myself!

So I guess it's time... if any of you are reading and fancy a five question interview, just say so and I'll pop over (once I've had some inspiration) and interview - minus the overhead spotlight obviously.

Song Of The Week XXXXVIII

2009-02-15T22:38:00.004Z

I was busy doing my washing up this evening and this guy was being featured on TV, I have to admit I danced into the lounge, turned it right up, danced back into the kitchen and danced while I dried up.
He's awesome, there's no two ways about it!

Seasick Steve - Doghouse Boogie:

I had the opportunity to see him play a year or so ago and am really disappointed we arrived late to the festival and too late to see his gig.

You should totally check out him playing the one string guitar too!

Anyway, this week, my nose has been so close to the grindstone I have friction burns. Only slightly less attractive than a huge boil.
Nothing has happened. Which is really boring.
No exciting snow related dramas.
I haven't received any injuries.
Quite the mundane week really.
Well, with the exception of coming dangerously close to running out of oil and going without heating. When it's been particularly chilly... that wasn't a whole lot of fun!

Here's a thing, and I'm curious if anyone else feels the same way. As I'm living with my new tattoo and becoming used to seeing it there, it rather feels not as though something has been added, but instead as if something has been revealed.
Does that make sense?

Going It Alone

2009-02-10T11:20:00.004Z

On Sunday I went out on my own. I mean to a gig, not just leave the house alone, I do that every day, I'm very capable of being alone!
I've just never gone to an event on my own, never gone to the cinema alone, no festivals.
I found a surprise store of courage that I wasn't sure really existed and I drove on over, all the time telling myself I could just leave if it felt weird.
I parked a five minute walk from the venue and strolled over, when I got to the venue and went to find a seat, it was absolutely packed, if it wasn't sold out, it can only have been a half dozen seats from being so. Which made me a little nervous about finding a seat as they hadn't been allocated.
I followed a couple of women up the stairs and as they moved along a row a solitary seat was left at the end of the row and as I moved to ask if it would be taken someone grabbed my arm.
I looked up and saw a friend of a friend.
It was the strangest thing, I'd gone to a gig alone, run into someone I knew and suddenly felt like I wasn't a billy-no-mates. I felt as though I was confident enough to go to things alone, that I didn't need always need the company of someone else.
There's something quite wonderful in that.
I really enjoyed the gig, I'd gone to see Drever, McCusker & Woomble but they had another three guests and it was a really good night. Until the interval, when they came back and informed us the snow had started up again. I cursed my last minute decision to ditch my hiking boots and go with ballet pumps instead. With the weather being so horrid, I'd grown sick of living in boots.... that'll teach me!

After the gig I nervously headed to the exit, wary about exactly how much had fallen. The world was white. But maybe only an inch deep. Which would have been fine in my boots. I started walking, slowly, towards my car and felt my socks grow wetter and wetter until I began to wonder if they'd actually become liquid as they sloshed inside my shoes. It was a delight. I wondered about frostbite. After having just read Songbird by Sebastian Faulks, my mind flitted off to the images of war and men living in permanently sloshing socks.

I finally made it to the car without falling on my ass once and in fact only having one close call. Which is almost as great an achievement as going to an event on my own for the first time!

The roads were white and the journey home was slow as it was almost impossible to judge, on the country roads, where the road and verge were.
It was beautiful though, we were a day away from a full moon, the sky was absolutely clear, the light of the moon reflected from the snow in a way I've never seen before. It was so bright it made almost no difference whether the car lights were on full beam or not.
I chuckled as I passed a temporary sign, on which the only visible words were 'Diverted Traffic', the arrow indicating which way you should go had been obliterated by snow.
When I was almost home, a barn owl swooped up over a hedgerow, then low over the road before swooping back up and over the hedge on the opposite side of the road. They're such incredibly beautiful animals, they take my breath away.

Tonight I'm going out alone again. To see a band called Moishe's Bagel, whom I know almost nothing about, other than that I'll be listening to a bit of Klezmer with a twist. Should be an interesting evening!

I was out last night too, at the same venue I was at on Sunday and the same one I'll be at tonight - the Drill Hall. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that they're running a world cinema season, this time the theme is obsession. A couple of weeks ago I went with Rachael to see A Zed &Two Noughts, and it's safe to say I had to look at the IMDB when I got home to try and understand what the hell it all meant. I just don't think I really enjoy Peter Greenaway movies. I know he has a number of fans and maybe they'd say I just didn't understand what he was trying to say. They'd be right.
Anyway, last night we watched Black Cat, White Cat and I absolutely loved it. I always like going to the IMDB after I've seen a movie as someone is always going to disagree with my point of view and there's something in that that I like. That we're all so different. There are, as always, lovers and haters, but to be honest I enjoy watching something that's outside the realm of Hollywood but is fun and doesn't require a degree in film-making to understand!

Song Of The Week XXXXVII

2009-02-07T09:47:00.002Z

It's not really a song this week, rather a beautiful piece of music.
Every time I hear the opening notes I feel like I could just drift off somewhere. I get lost in the memories of the movie, remembering the scenes and how powerfully acted they were.

Michael Nyman - The Piano - The Heart Asks Pleasure First:

I can't quite believe this came out in 1993. 16 years ago. I was a teenager and that really blows my mind. I still love this movie, haven't watched it in a while and I'm going to have to rectify that!

It's Hard To Photograph Your Own Arm

2009-02-06T11:12:00.005Z

Today's title would definitely come under the heading "Things I Have Learned Today". I had no idea it would require a degree in contortion to photograph your own wrist, well that's my reason for the dodgy nature of my photographs. And I could not get one of the band that wasn't distinctly bleached by flash.
I'm going to need the help of a lovely assistant at some point to get a better picture I think!
So there it is, my new tattoo, a Claddagh with a Celtic band.
I know a Claddagh doesn't usually come with stars, but that was part of my design and it was important for them to be there.
I do hope you aren't suffering with some kind of blindness after looking at the last one!
I'd had this planned in my mind for ages and as I sit here, newly wrapped, again, in clingfilm (apparently you don't scab if you clingfilm and I am scab-less so far) and I love it. It's exactly what I wanted and makes me smile every time I see it. Which has got to be what a tattoo is about, right?

Ice & Ink

2009-02-04T21:15:00.002Z

The snow is still hanging around, it seems perfectly at home on everyones front lawn. The only thing is that the roads are instead covered in ice. It makes for an interesting driving experience on the unsalted roads.
I went out to my barn today, I was a bit nervous about it because I wasn't sure I'd be able to get out again as the ice was pretty serious and I was preoccupied with that as I drove out. Then a hare darted across the road a short distance in front of my car and over into a field. I glanced to my right and the world was absolutely beautiful.
The field which is the barest example of a hill was absolutely white from the covering of snow, with only a few hare tracks across its surface. Sitting on the horizon with the sunset behind them were the silhouettes of two more hares. Absolutely still. It felt like the universe was screaming 'photo opportunity'!
My breath caught. I know I'm a big soft lump, but it was just beautiful. In that way only nature can be, you know?

I got a new tattoo today. Had I remembered I would have taken a photograph before I got wrapped in clingfilm and tape. A picture of that might just detract from the tattoo I think...
Anyway, I'm really pleased with it, but it's like any physical change and feels like an absolute surprise every time I catch sight of it. I remember when I had my nose pierced, every time I touched my nose or caught sight of it in the mirror I was almost shocked to find it was pierced, until it becomes a part of you.
The same was true when I had a gem attached to my tooth, the first few days if felt like someone had stuck a football under my lip. These days I have to run my tongue over to make sure it's still in place.

So, which gets your vote? Batter or Pastry?
	Batter?
	Pastry?

pollcode.com free polls