Tuesday, October 16, 2018

That's nearly an armful!

Just been for a blood test. Feel rather like Tony Hancock. (For those unfamiliar Hancock was a famous British comic in the 60s who did a famous sketch about giving blood.) Feels like they've taken half an armful.

On the plus side I didn't faint, which is always a relief. Hospitals aren't good places to faint in: the staff get all panicky and don't like it at all.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

A bit of coffitivity

At first glance coffitivity sounds like a word Trump made up and, to be fair, it probably is a made-up word. It's also the name of a website and the product they're selling.

According to research carried out by the University of Chicago, "A moderate level of ambient noise is conducive to creative cognition." Meaning a bit of background chatter stimulates your thought process.

So the website provides a library of downloads you can choose from including morning murmur, lunchtime lounge and university undertones. You can choose to pay for chatter from Paris, Brazil or Texas. 

I've listened to the first three and I have to say it's hard to tell the difference between academic discussion, early morning mutterings and lazy lunchtime chats. I've had it playing while writing this post and it hasn't distracted me though whether it has fuelled my fervour is less easy to judge.

Sloe pickings

sloes on the bush
There are very few sloes left on the bushes on Mumbles Hill. It seems that most local people, unlike Daughter and Husband, didn't read the article that said you should wait until after the first frost to gather sloes. Like the grapes they use in Canada for their famous ice wine I assume.

After the severe weather warnings accompanying storm Callum - which didn't actually amount to much for us - a sunny afternoon seemed like a good excuse for a walk and an ice cream.

Saturday, October 13, 2018

Dumpling disaster all over again

Do you ever find yourself in the middle of cooking something and thinking, 'This is going to be a disaster'?

steak and kidney pie delia
This is what it should look like.
I should have known better than even  thinking about making a steak and kidney pie tonight after yesterday's dumpling disaster*. But no, I strode in to it as if I were Delia Smith herself. To make matters worse I decided to follow the recipe on the Cookeen - 'for the best possible pastry' - fat packet.

I don't make pastry very often but when I do I usually follow my gran's recipe for shortcrust using twice as much flour as fat, the fat being half and half lard and butter. My gran made wonderful pastry. She showed me how to make it. I make poor pastry. It's edible - usually - but not up to my cake standards.

I have a 'thing' now about making pastry. A fear of failing. A certainty of flopping. And I always have cold hands, which are good for pastry.

Anyway the recipe on the packet recommended using a third fat to two thirds flour. It's in the oven now. It's not looking good.

It doesn't help that I have no whatsitcalled - spatial something or other. I can't look at something and work out what size dish I will need. So I have ended up with not enough filling and over-stretched pastry.

It always sounds so good in my head. A bit like my singing.

I bet you're glad you're not coming for dinner tonight.

* My dumplings were so hard they could have been used as cannon balls.


Not a total disaster. Tasted okay as long as you like anaemic slightly crunchy/chewy/soft pastry. (You didn't know pastry could be all three at once? You haven't tasted my pastry.)

Thursday, October 11, 2018

Pick up three

Being able to walk George on the beach again means becoming re-aware of plastic pollution. I know you can't tell from this photo but that's because it's below the tide line. Last year a campaign started - actually it was probably before that but it gained fame on social media last year - to encourage beach visitors to pick up three pieces of plastic each time.

But it's impossible to stop at three. Once you start you just can't stop. A bit like Pringles.

In a very short time from a very small stretch of beach
I collected this much:
And that doesn't include the very many plastic bottles that littered the beach. And I could have gone on and on.

On the plus side I did find a headless Lego man who isn't going in the plastic recycling bin.

No, I don't want to help the homeless!

Caught the bus into town today and then checked with Information what time it left for return journeys. If I wanted to avoid being caught in the rain I needed to catch the 37 bus home and they only run every two hours.  The man behind the desk told me and then added, 'But there's also the 43 at 1.30.'

I made a mental note - okay, I actually wrote it on a piece of paper - and returned at about 1.20 to find the right stop. Slightly alarming to discover that the 43 went to Morriston Hospital, which is completely the other direction. Thankfully it turned out that it goes all around the houses. Literally.

Browsing in town before meeting someone I thought I'd look at clothes. My enthusiasm lasted all of five minutes. Everything is so drab!  Spent the rest of the time avoiding people. 'No, I don't want to help a starving child/find a cure for cancer/help the homeless/find out what Jesus did for me.' I just want to wander around quietly without being guilt-tripped every three minutes.

I am well and truly afflicted with the British disease of politeness.

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Saving bunnies

I have spent a large part of the day chasing monsters who were trying to steal our picnic and then rescuing baby rabbits from said monsters. 

It involved a lot of running across the beach and it was fine until I found myself carefully carrying an invisible rainbow-coloured mother rabbit to the cafe, finding her a seat and sharing my ice cream with her.

I love it when my grandchildren display such vivid imaginations.

Mumbles pier beach
I chose the pier beach because when it's windy everywhere else it's always sheltered there. Except today. And the last time we had a picnic there.

The spiders are turning

We have a spider who lives under the television. Most nights he runs out to check we're there. I've tried banging my slipper on the floor to tell him to run the other direction i.e. away from me, but he ignores me.

Last night I was chased across the landing by a spider.

A terrible thing has happened: they have worked out that we're more afraid of them than they are of us. 

Come to think of it, I haven't seen lounge spider for a while. However I did see this:
a poor drowned spider in George's water bowl. (George managed to drink all the water while avoiding the spider. Harvey used to be the same with peas in his dinner.) Maybe lounge spider's foolhardiness took him too far.

Tuesday, October 09, 2018

Goddesses all

Debra's comment on my last post reminded me of this card I have on my wall. Bought for me many years ago by wonderful Husband.

Roses grow on you - or scratch you

'I'm running an ad campaign on Amazon,' I told Husband. 'But I'm restricting how much I spend on it.'
'How much are you spending?'
'Ten pounds.'
Husband laughed. 'It'll take you ten years to earn that.'

You see dear readers, this is what I have to put up with. 

Having set up the campaign remarkably quickly I went out into the fresh air to do some gardening, the sort of gardening I am good at: the destructive sort.

Husband does the planting and nurturing and I, well, I destroy. The roses put up a fight though and I wasn't even pruning them. I had to fight my way through them in order to cut down the perennials but the roses took it personally. 

I love roses. Here's a little reminder of the wonderful summer we had.

Celebratory walkies

Took a celebratory walk with Daughter this morning as George's eye is better and Holly's lung and heart scans showed no serious problems.
A beautiful morning for it too. While George has been receiving treatment for his eye the vet suggested cutting back on his arthritis medication so he's been walking more slowly than ever. I'll never be able to cross a busy road with him again. Although he's always taken his time crossing roads disregarding completely my urging to 'hurry up, George, there's a car coming.' In George's view all traffic should stop for him. 

Came home to left-overs for lunch. Some left-overs work better than others. Runner beans that weren't particularly nice first time round didn't improve with keeping. And now this afternoon I'm going to work on the marketing of my book, The Dog-walking Club, now available from the kindle store.

If you decide to buy and read it I would be most awfully grateful if you pointed out to me any typos, spelling, duplication or grammar errors that need to be corrected before I work on the paperback version. Thanking you in advance.

Monday, October 08, 2018

First mention of Christmas

I think I must be the touch of death for blogs. It seems whenever I start to follow someone they cease to write or if they continue it's very infrequent. Most frustrating. For me at least. The bloggers have probably got better things to do with their time.

On the good news front I'm pleased to report that George has finally been discharged by the vet. His eye ulcer has healed at last. That scratching with a needle last week must have done the trick and kick-started the body into healing itself. George will be pleased to stop the drops but sad, I'm sure, to miss out on all the extra treats that accompanied them.

Meanwhile Daughter's dog, Holly, is having chest and heart scans today as she gets a bit breathless. At thirteen the way she runs around I'm not surprised she gets breathless; George gives up way before she does.

Oh, and the photo I ordered from our kayaking trip in the Ardeche Gorge in France in July has arrived.
kayaking in the Ardeche
To look at that you'd think I was enjoying myself, wouldn't you?

Incidentally the editor of Bay gave me the go ahead to plug my books as shamelessly as I wanted. I'll have to remember that when I'm submitting for the December issue - books make ideal Christmas presents, don't you know?

Rather like Doctor Who all is revealed

So within hours my second novel, the imaginatively named The Dog-walking Club, will be available to buy as an ebook from Amazon for the bargain price of $2.99. I bet you're counting down the minutes.

And now I can reveal the cover.
the dog walking club
Speaking of Doctor Who I did enjoy yesterday's episode, the first with a female doctor. I think she will hold her ground and be very successful. One thing I especially enjoyed about the episode was the fact that I understood what was happening. It had all got very up itself over later years, the writers being too clever by half. Or thinking they were clever. Unless you were a nerd and could remember, for example, what happened in the fifth episode of the second season when Christopher Ecclestone was the doctor you didn't stand a chance.

I've written more about the process of self-publishing over on my not another wannabe writer blog if you're interested.

This time next year

A fun afternoon paddling in streams and making cookies with some grandchildren yesterday. The day before it was library story time with the other local grandchild. I am so happy to have them close by. Although I might not have said that when GrandDaughter1 giggled and slopped her hands around the blob of supposed-to-be cookie dough, covering everything in flour and bits of flying-around-cookie. And GrandDaughter2 kept asking, 'Can I lick this?' and both of them kept eating the chocolate chips. Cooking with children is such fun.

What else? I suddenly remembered my copy for the next issue of Bay magazine was due shortly. (Do you like the way I drop in that technical term 'copy'? I'm a professional, me.) I decided I'd do some shameless plugging for my novels. (Have you noticed that plugging is almost always shameless?) I'm waiting to see if it will be rejected on the grounds it's too shameless.

But I impressed myself with unexpected wisdom. When my first novel, This Time Next Year came out Uncle bought twenty-five copies to send to various women in his life. Uncle has since died. I was going to make some jokey reference to the down-turn in sales of my books in the final sentence of my article but decided it could come across as heartless if taken out of context. See? Unexpectedly wise.

Friday, October 05, 2018

I am perfect

I left Husband watching a comedy show on television last night while i went into the other room to play on the computer. I could hear enough to recognise some voices.

Today we talked about it in the car on the way to the dentist's.
'Daniel Scloss was on,' Husband said.
'And Milton Jones?' I guessed.
'Yes, and a Glaswegian comic in a suit.'
Glaswegian? I thought I heard that Liverpudlian comic.'
'No, definitely Scottish. But I can't remember his name.'
'Did he look as though he should be ginger?'
Look of bewilderment from Husband.

Later on return journey.
'Kevin,' I said.
Another look of bewilderment from Husband.
'The comedian. Was his name Kevin something?'
'Yes! Kevin Bridges!'
'I recognised his voice,' said I, pleased with myself for remembering his name.
'But you thought he was Liverpudlian?'
I shrugged. 'Liverpudlian, Scottish, I knew who he was.'

Between us Husband and I have almost a full brain.

But let me tell you what the dentist said. 'Perfect!'

He didn't even add '... for your age,' even if we both knew it was implied. 'Whatever your oral hygiene is keep it up.' I can do that.

Tuesday, October 02, 2018

Reflections on Zac's

You may wonder what exactly Zac's is about so I thought I'd do a little explanation.

Sean Stillman, who leads Zac's, often describes it as a cross between an AA meeting and A&E, but let's go back to the beginning.

Sean and a local singer called Lorraine King set up Zac's Place, church in a pub? about fifteen years ago. The question mark was important as they didn't know how things would turn out. They met weekly in a variety of pubs in the town centre. Sean was finding that he was meeting lots of people, especially through his work on the bike scene, who were interested in finding out about God but who wouldn't dream of going into a 'normal' church. 

It proved to be successful but Sean realised that many of the people who attended or who would attend were struggling with alcohol-related issues so a pub wasn't the ideal meeting place. When an old gospel hall came available the Trust that supports Sean bought it and Zac's Place, church for ragamuffins was born.

The building is used weekday mornings for breakfast for rough sleepers and on Thursday evenings for a coffee bar/soup kitchen/drop-in. On Tuesday evenings it's our Tribal Gathering, our Sunday morning church meeting. Because, yes, it is a church now, a community of like-minded people who care about each other. At least that's the basic grouping that meets each week but we're also joined at each week by all sorts. 

Nobody is turned away. Zac's is known to be the last place in Swansea to ban someone. Someone who's been banned from every other facility for ragamuffins can still come to Zac's. We put up with a lot. Yes, now and again a temporary ban has to be put in place but it's with reluctance.

Drinking on the premises isn't allowed but drunks are welcome. As are addicts and the smelly, the ones with obvious mental health problems and the ones whose symptoms are less clearly seen, the ones who say they love or hate God and the ones who think they're unloveable.

A lot of churches these day boast that they're welcoming and inclusive. I would argue that they can safely say that because the only people who will attend are those with vaguely similar beliefs, people who know how to behave and who know to leave their bad habits at home. 

Zac's truly is inclusive - I hope you'll get a glimpse from my previous post. Sean's book tells the story of Zac's in full and he gives many examples of those who are or have been part of the story. It's where everyone belongs; it's where I belong.

Reflection on Zac's a week later

A week has passed so I can write calmly about last Tuesday's bible study at Zac's, the one I was leading.

I got there early and a young woman who doesn't usually come wanted to use the toilet so that was fine. Then she asked if we were doing food and when told no, we were doing bible study, she said she wouldn't stay. She was quite apologetic but went. Again fine.

A bit later Martyn, one of the regulars, arrived and came and found me in the kitchen. He said, 'Christine (not her real name) just came onto me at the corner of the road and said she'd been thrown out of Zac's because she was a Roman Catholic.'

I think my jaw must actually have dropped.

I reassured him it was no such thing, which he knew anyway, but thanked him for telling me. What on earth happened in the 100 yards between leaving us and meeting Martyn that caused such an enormous ... well, lie? 

I suppose in her head it wasn't a lie. Somehow it had become true for her. Or it was a lie and she wanted to damage Zac's for not feeding her. Who knows? 

I should have known the evening wasn't go to go strictly to plan after that.

Will (not his real name) was there. I confess my heart sank a little when he walked in. Will likes to talk, has an opinion on everything, says he believes in Jesus, has humanist beliefs, takes discussions off at tangents, irritates people, doesn't know when to stop. But he's clever and I do quite like him.

Later in the study when I'd been doing my best to get things back on track two young men came in. One asked me to read a prayer, one of those little prayer card things - RC incidentally - Christine would have approved. I said I'd read it at the end. 'Okay,' he said, then  asked me every three minutes.

His friend, who is one of the rare people to have been banned occasionally from Zac's, said, 'Jesus saved me,' just before telling us that the yellow people were coming, the Meking. Fortunately he quietened down after that. Or did he leave? I can't remember. It was turning into a bit of a blur.

His friend meanwhile took a seat at the back and continued to converse with his neighbours in between apologising and asking me to read his prayer.

Afterwards he came up to me and said, 'You didn't read my prayer.'
'I did.'
'Oh I didn't hear you.'

At least I wasn't spat upon and I didn't have to intervene in a fist fight as was the case for another study leader recently. Physical violence is rare but occasional; verbal abuse more frequent.

The continuing saga of George's eye

In our now twice-weekly visit to the vet yesterday we were told again that the ulcer on George's eye isn't healing as it should. A normal ulcer would heal in 5-6 days; it's been 3 or 4 weeks without any real improvement and it's now classified as a chronic ulcer.

Each time we go George has dye in his eye - bright green dye at that - and the last few times his eye has also been anaesthetised while the vet has removed the 'pretend' healing skin. Yesterday he underwent a further procedure: using a needle the vet scraped grid lines over the affected area. (I couldn't watch that bit.) The idea is that it will stimulate the body into repairing the cornea. There are signs the body is trying to heal itself - new pink blood vessels - but not quickly enough.

We go back again on Friday when, if it hasn't worked, and the ordered contact lens has arrived that will be fitted. The purpose of the lens is to be a protective shield while the eye heals. In the past they've sewn up the eyelid but the disadvantage is that you can't see what's happening underneath and if it gets gungy, or goes awry somehow, you don't find out until the stitches are removed.

In a separate or possibly connected issue we also told the vet about the patch of nearly bare skin where George has been biting at himself. She couldn't see anything obviously causing it except a couple of little spots but we have a foam to massage in several times a day. It's possible that he's biting his side because his eye irritates him ...

It's at this point in time that we wish we'd taken out doggy insurance. We were lucky with Harvey who was so fit and didn't have any problems until his very last year or so. George is still only eleven and, hopefully, will live quite a few more years, albeit expensive ones.

On the plus side the summer dogs on beaches ban ended on Sunday so yesterday we celebrated.

Monday, October 01, 2018

God's Biker

In prison yesterday morning to hear a man who walks around the country carrying a huge wooden cross. Clive Cornish had a difficult childhood and spent some time in prison for armed robbery. Now he travels, as I say, and also visits churches and prisons telling people that they can be free.

He said, 'I'll walk twenty-five miles in a day. When people see me at the start they may think, "what a knob,' but when they see me again at the end they think, "he's still a knob but an impressive one.' It gives me openings for conversations with people.'

I've been going into prison for about fifteen years now and I have to say he was probably the very speaker I've heard in there. His story was good - not overly dramatic - but effective and he was honest, not just about the past but about the present too. He said things I've never heard anyone else say and it was refreshing. So a really good morning.

Then in the evening it was off to the Hyst, a bar in Swansea, for the launch of Sean's book, God's Biker. Sean leads the church that is Zac's Place as well as being part of the biker community. The place was packed! He's just completed a short tour of venues in England and his publishers have sold out and have ordered an urgent reprint. I'm planning to write another blog post all about Zac's so I'll leave it with these words from a Baptist minister and broadcaster, 'Sean's community of "glorious chaos and complicated beauty" changes lives. His whole story challenges us to learn from fragile people.'

Working for your dinner

The alarm went off very loudly - I'd accidentally turned up the volume - this morning and I fell out of bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed I said, 'Where am I going?'

Gradually I came to and remembered that people had dropped out at the last moment of a workshop Younger Son was leading so he'd invited me. I set off excitedly but ill-prepared. My decision to wear shorts wasn't really thought through.

In a small wood next to a stream we gathered to make cawl spoons (llwy cawl). Cawl is the traditional Welsh soup/stew of lamb and root vegetables. Younger Son was cooking us a vegetarian version over the fire while we carved our spoons in readiness.

First things first though: a cup of tea from water boiled in a kelly kettle, which is rather like an inside out thermos.
Then Paul, who was the teacher, showed us the real things after which we selected a piece of wood. Thankfully Paul had already done the axe work so we had a basic shape with which to work.
 The photos show my lump of wood alongside a ready-made spoon. This was what we were aiming for.

Then he demonstrated the correct knife hold and pointed out that the knives were very sharp. 'Yes, yes, yes,' says I, shortly before being the first to stab herself with sharp pointy bit at the end. 

I was trying to ignore it - rather than draw attention and shame on myself - but I began bleeding over my spoon so had to be wrapped up.

Let's jump ahead now to the finished item.

Here are all the spoons being displayed above the pot of bubbling cawl.

And here's mine. I'm not comparing it to the real thing because it doesn't.

But it's not bad! And it works. Traditionally it has a slightly uneven bowl to allow for scooping one side and slurping the other. (Mine's obviously intentionally uneven for those and any other number of reasons.)

Gower doesn't seem to have a tradition of wood-carving so it's likely that pedlars came from further west and sold spoons. They'd be used for about a year then replaced when the pedlar came again. The old ones went for firewood so it's hard to get hold of an antique cawl spoon. Paul has a collection of spoons from all over the place, a few thousand pounds' worth of spoons.

An interesting fact he mentioned: sugar spoons have very short handles so people couldn't stir their tea with them - and then put them back in the sugar bowl - but had to use other teaspoons. We could do with some sugar spoons in Zac's.

Saturday, September 29, 2018

An early morning swim

Up bright and early this morning to see the start of the Mumbles Triathlon. Why, you may well ask. Because Younger Son and Son-in-law were entering, first-timers both.
A thumbs up before the race that began in an air temperature of about 4 degrees. It was a beautiful morning though.

The triathlon - at least the option they had chosen - consisted of a 750m swim, then a 32km cycle and finishing with, as Younger Son described it, a muscle cramping 5km run. They were amongst 500 other entrants so the swimming was like 'being in a washing-machine with lots of clothes flapping about,' Son-in-law said.
Once they'd set off Husband and I went home via the doctor's surgery where we joined a snaking queue of old people waiting for our flu jabs. Very much like a conveyor belt and the people in the queue had a very British attitude. All bar two men who thought that if they had been given an appointment for 9.00 they should be seen at 9.00. 

Apparently the 65s and over have a different vaccine this year so they were being very careful to make sure everyone was in the right age bracket. When it was my turn the vaccinator asked me again, 'Are you over 65?'
When I said yes I like to think that she gave me a, 'You don't look it,' look.

Anyway my arm aches now.

Back later to Southend for the finish. We missed Son-in-law's triumphant return but we were in time to greet Younger Son.
As he's been under the weather for a week or so and he was dreading doing this he was pleased with his time of 2 hours and 7 minutes. 

As I would probably still be on the swim stage - if I hadn't had to be rescued - I am in awe of them for completing their first triathlon.


'These people who sit talking to themselves do look silly.'
As I say this I realise that the man is in fact talking on his phone while I am the one talking to myself.

I'd thought doing some yesterday morning but then Nuora said they were going to Blackpill and did I want to join them. Let's see, cleaning the bathroom or playing with GrandSon4? No competition. 

Nuora planned on cycling from Mumbles so I walked down to meet them at Blackpill. Time passed and I began to wonder if I'd missed them somehow. I took lots of photos to pass my time and sat in the sunshine for a while.

I didn't have a watch so I didn't know how late they were but it seemed quite a long time I'd been waiting. I also had no means of contacting them or of them contacting me. It's times like these that make me think, 'I really should carry my phone on me.'

They turned up. Nuora had had to repair a flat tyre and then fight against a surprisingly strong wind. And then we had fun.

These michelmas daisies in Clyne Gardens were positively humming with busy bees. I stuck my head in hoping one of them would recognise me and say, 'Mummy,' but they didn't.

Thursday, September 27, 2018

God or Santa?

My  latest article for Bay magazine is now published. You'll find it here.

It's all about laughter and in it I almost wrote that, 'God gave a Brian Blessed type laugh,' but then I stopped myself as I explained to Husband, 'Can't go stereotyping God as white, middle-aged and slightly chubby, can I? Oh wait, is that Father Christmas?'

Lassie get help

Inspired by a post on Polly's blog in which she wonders if her dog would fetch help should she need it I thought I'd post the photo of this card again - I'm sure I must have shared it before.
Lassie get help cartoon from the New Yorker
From the New Yorker
Not that I'm suggesting that this is what George would do. Although of course we did take him to see a therapist when he was a puppy ...

The trouble with lichen

Spotted some beautifully intricate patterns of lichen on the rocks today. The one in this photo is probably about 2" long and is almost spiral.
lichen on a limestone cliff
I did a little research and it turns out that lichen is a composite organ, meaning it's formed by the pairing of a fungus with an alga or bacterium. The resulting 'body' is completely different from that of either the fungus or alga on its own. 
One of the first life forms on earth it's highly resilient and can survive extremes, thriving in both arid deserts and Antarctica. It's even been sent into outer space and has been shown to survive conditions there unchanged.

Who'd have thought something so everyday that usually passes unnoticed could be such a triumph of survival? 

Just a gentle stroll in the sunshine

Our gentle stroll took us part of the way along the cliff path between Langland and Caswell. It was gloriously warm the only downside of which meant that the path was quite busy with other walkers. But at least they were nice walkers not like some of the Sunday walkers you meet.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness

There is an unusually thick mist coming off the sea in the bay this morning. As I drove towards it I realised two things:
1) I didn't have my long glasses;
2) I don't know where my fog lights are.

Fortunately I only stayed on the misty road for about 200 metres before I turned off up the hill and all was sunny and bright again.

So we're taking George for a nice walk today. The trouble with Wales is that it's hilly. That isn't usually a problem but becomes one when you have a dog who can't do hills any more. All our favourite beaches involve a long walk down and up a cliff path and the easy accessible ones don't allow dogs until October. We're counting down the days.

Speaking of dogs, we took George for his now weekly appointment at the vet's yesterday. The ulcer on his eye is not healing as it should. The eye apparently shows signs of trying to but so far it's not succeeding. We have to take him back again next Monday when they will consider:
a) giving him his own plasma;
b) putting a contact lens in.

In the meantime we continue with drops seven times a day, each time accompanied by a treat. This had better end soon else he will turn into a little podge.

Meanwhile Younger Son has now bottled all his honey and has 68 jars.

And remember this man invited me to drive his train?

One more thing. I was listening to the radio in the car and caught a snippet of a drama about Lancelot and, as it turned out, how he lost his virginity and thus the power to perform miracles, such as freeing an eighteen-year-old virgin who had been boiled in water for five years and from which she emerged naked and unscathed.

She, not unnaturally, fell in love with her handsome rescuer and tricked him into sleeping with her by pretending to be Queen Guinevere for whom Lance - 'don't call me that!' - had a thing. He was furious when he found out and blamed her for his loss of power. Which seems jolly unfair as he was happy to lose his power when he thought it was the Queen he was bonking. Men!

Tuesday, September 25, 2018

A bit of a buzz

When you buy rocket, spinach and watercress salad only to discover you don't like watercress.
And our first jar of honey from the hive, courtesy of the bees and Younger Son. Very good. 

Watched the last episode of Bodyguard last night. Well, I wasn't expecting that. Still just a little puzzled over what happened exactly but I usually am. Apparently there could be more series of Bodyguard, especially as its final episode attracted a record number of viewers. I thought it was a little slow and then a bit fast. Could have done with cutting out a bit of the will it explode, won't it explode scenes as we all assumed it wouldn't, but then didn't really explain why the police officer went over to the dark side.

But, as I say, there are likely to be more series although whether the hero will star in them isn't yet known. As someone funnier than me wrote, 'He only had one job.' (And he failed in that if you haven't seen the programme.)

Very much enjoying Killing Eve though. There's nothing like a bit of (warped) humour to bring a drama alive. So many of television's drama series are very black and depressing and life's not like that. Even in the grimmest of situations there's always a bit of humour; it's what helps us get through the rest.

And now I should be practising the talky bit for tonight's bible study. I subjected George to it while we were walking although now I come to think of it he hung back, by a goodly distance, most of the time, until I put my notes away.