tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-172186242024-03-19T08:47:34.139+00:00Finding life hard?Now just the thoughts of me and not my dog until I can persuade Husband we should get another.Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.comBlogger8078125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-4358998694725873912024-03-18T15:57:00.001+00:002024-03-18T15:57:19.987+00:00To turn a pike<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWdIxQUea-BYvKHOtJA3t2Oudi_tsebczBHIBY1QPnq7LCyzJRbmEFmEpWhXSp6UPnsCcknLnXt_VoXqBUF0GxzHUOHxkXaOVmo1J5vWDKgmBXjDs9tw1iyNPvzaO1Z4q03B6x6d4pw_gDZp9TnoifMLrlLES0mwXH2am2YXUo-QunULuaHJ5/s1368/face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="1368" height="131" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinWdIxQUea-BYvKHOtJA3t2Oudi_tsebczBHIBY1QPnq7LCyzJRbmEFmEpWhXSp6UPnsCcknLnXt_VoXqBUF0GxzHUOHxkXaOVmo1J5vWDKgmBXjDs9tw1iyNPvzaO1Z4q03B6x6d4pw_gDZp9TnoifMLrlLES0mwXH2am2YXUo-QunULuaHJ5/s320/face.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Did someone say we're expecting an announcement from Buckingham Palace?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Walking back from exercise class I noticed a poster advertising a talk about local turnpike roads. "That sounds interesting," I muttered to myself before clamping my hand to my mouth.<br />"For goodness sake, first I get a bad back then I find turnpike roads interesting! Did I get old overnight?"</span></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then I pulled myself together. "It means you're still interested in things and want to learn. That's good. Means your brain is keeping young. Even if your body isn't."</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, for anyone interested here's what I found out (through google not by going to the talk) about turnpikes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In the 17th century parliament set up a number of Trusts to build, maintain, and operate toll roads across the country. Originally a turnpike was a framework of pikes that could be turned to allow horses through, but on the toll roads they were simply gates that stopped transport. After the toll was paid the gate was opened. </span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32G8HBasnl4Nin7W513MRP74XtkYdjNq4Wf06iD8HRTYnzYzgNBma4SJ9qDYth53PBbw-9U2csCpKOEjfFOIgUNouTdXqqjV42pQRSWTf7jBP4cJGDnzhf4IQ3o1hwIvOIYszHNi7ZXlJHjKuHQ1hBZ8YHOlPSCacleMLlIMlXai67hun4jpZ/s800/turnpike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj32G8HBasnl4Nin7W513MRP74XtkYdjNq4Wf06iD8HRTYnzYzgNBma4SJ9qDYth53PBbw-9U2csCpKOEjfFOIgUNouTdXqqjV42pQRSWTf7jBP4cJGDnzhf4IQ3o1hwIvOIYszHNi7ZXlJHjKuHQ1hBZ8YHOlPSCacleMLlIMlXai67hun4jpZ/s320/turnpike.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The remains of the turnpike at Southend in Mumbles<br />From British Listed Buildings</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-36931781974780747792024-03-18T12:01:00.001+00:002024-03-18T12:01:24.243+00:00An eventful morning<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The stroll and ice cream improved my back enormously so I was able to get to exercise class this morning. I was working on the theory that stretching would be good for me, but I determined to take it easy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">That didn't last long obviously. I was soon skipping about as usual but I did go carefully doing the back leg lunge-type things.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Then on my way back to the car I saw a woman pick something off the floor. It was a baby sparrow. It seemed lopsided and was struggling to fly - except straight down. I offered to take it to the vet's on my way home.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">We put it very gently into Husband's hat that happened to be in the car and I talked reassuringly to it on the way. So magical were my words that when I got it out in the car park at the vet's it flew away. While I was pleased to see it wasn't badly injured I am left with the concern that it's far away from its mummy now and wonder what its chances of survival are. Silly little bird.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-7408229022220289792024-03-17T15:19:00.000+00:002024-03-17T15:19:44.929+00:00St Patrick was Welsh<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I can't believe I haven't written about this before but it seems not. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland, was born in Wales. (Allegedly but definitely true.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And to prove it here's a sign:</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhpj-ITGg5Kh-gu8QN01J-Uhpyxb9kFNLeqTN-_hQ2oKzhB8wdKmN4c52x0RGlxt7dwT7ZnUWvRlq6Em-IqsLCNjoadjHVpz3GHhXbxKFGh45HoTt-yTgpTmf8gs0KhV2fFHq7chNJRW2yWChyphenhyphen6xlVJUxkJHGIXYh_e2dTULtPdmMqsq6CCl1/s320/patrick2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="213" data-original-width="320" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhpj-ITGg5Kh-gu8QN01J-Uhpyxb9kFNLeqTN-_hQ2oKzhB8wdKmN4c52x0RGlxt7dwT7ZnUWvRlq6Em-IqsLCNjoadjHVpz3GHhXbxKFGh45HoTt-yTgpTmf8gs0KhV2fFHq7chNJRW2yWChyphenhyphen6xlVJUxkJHGIXYh_e2dTULtPdmMqsq6CCl1/s1600/patrick2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Banwen is a small village in the Dulais Valley to the north-east of Swansea. Born in the 4th century AD as a teenager he was captured and sold into slavery by Irish marauders. When he finally escaped he returned to Wales and trained as a priest in Llantwit Major, before returning to Ireland as a missionary.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">He died in AD 461 on 17th March.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Back in Banwen they have erected a monument to him.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXZk5wLJsNW9I8KeqcN4CsPgKkLltnRWcbCgYIMG4tPM9-YDhdMmuqCqVVEmraj2QKtUTC5EQIew9tlTijpSq3ixpj-OeI42vO6SS1miiGM3-I8lIHidcj3J510EsO8KwoB3ZYQ9DjASZ6p0yEJzZxZcVdHPFdUtA6nhdxZ0QZANaIk5QRLc8/s2048/patrick1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFXZk5wLJsNW9I8KeqcN4CsPgKkLltnRWcbCgYIMG4tPM9-YDhdMmuqCqVVEmraj2QKtUTC5EQIew9tlTijpSq3ixpj-OeI42vO6SS1miiGM3-I8lIHidcj3J510EsO8KwoB3ZYQ9DjASZ6p0yEJzZxZcVdHPFdUtA6nhdxZ0QZANaIk5QRLc8/s320/patrick1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-76961445489853700252024-03-17T14:40:00.000+00:002024-03-17T14:40:01.324+00:00I am not happy<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't get bad backs. I am fit and healthy. I object to getting a bad back.</span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting doesn't help so I dragged Husband out for a short walk. It's the first time we've walked anywhere together without a dog for, well, years. It felt odd. Even odder was the number of people we saw out without dogs. "People walk without dogs?" I said.<br />"Covid," Husband said. "In lockdown people began walking more."</span></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Elder Son has suggested going to Verdi's later. Ice cream is a well-known remedy for bad backs. I will be happy again at least for a while.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlHo4Lsa-6Bj4Dh5Gt53DQoaqiHSgvS-dkgbvMiqd_j4L5zWc0KEIRGmLD1J_Idlyfwy6p2xkCidMqLvNEryvyixnHJgLL4emNiQoOAX0VvRbAeUd_3290rSshRZmlhguCUDEZwWIHv3RUePSW_zcO0X89hOFsMHALCrkQbKQX0xeDlPftOX4/s911/italy%2023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="683" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYlHo4Lsa-6Bj4Dh5Gt53DQoaqiHSgvS-dkgbvMiqd_j4L5zWc0KEIRGmLD1J_Idlyfwy6p2xkCidMqLvNEryvyixnHJgLL4emNiQoOAX0VvRbAeUd_3290rSshRZmlhguCUDEZwWIHv3RUePSW_zcO0X89hOFsMHALCrkQbKQX0xeDlPftOX4/s320/italy%2023.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="text-align: center;">That ice cream is from Italy last year. We would have been preparing for another visit had it not been for Husband's ailments. But soon we hope.</span></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I'm going to watch a little television with an ice pack. Not as cosy as a hot-water bottle but maybe more useful.</span></div><p><br /></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-17730643422008438382024-03-17T10:28:00.002+00:002024-03-17T10:28:23.541+00:00I've had a bad back<p>And I'm feeling sorry for myself!</p><p>It came on yesterday morning and was bad - by my standards - during the day. I was on ibuprofen and a hot water bottle. It's a bit better today so I'm hoping it will pass. For a few months I've had a very occasional tingling in my hip so I assume it's associated with that. A trapped nerve according to Dr Husband.</p><p>The pain in my back at least took my mind off the pain of Wales losing to Italy and winning the wooden spoon in the Six Nations Championship. </p><p>* * * * *</p><p>Another highly-praised - "brilliant," "best book I've ever read," - novel failed to grab my attention. I did try but gave up and took it back to the library yesterday. And in the library on their Q-buster stand (new books you can only borrow for a week) I spotted <i>The List of Suspicious Things.</i></p><p>Now this is another title that has been all over Twitter. I guess the publishers spent a lot of money on promoting it. Or it really is as amazing as they say. I will let you know when I've read it. </p><p>* * * * *</p><p>And to celebrate St. Patrick's Day here are The Dubliners and The Pogues.</p><p><br /></p>
<iframe width="360" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/yAEFKjqPtlU?si=K27PMH7_2b3agprz" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture; web-share" allowfullscreen></iframe>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-16973160399625469702024-03-15T20:36:00.004+00:002024-03-15T20:36:32.314+00:00Observant? Moi?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've had this bible ten years. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrp6LnGFXZ9TSmgL_iZTUgO2nnHcLMxVjySmfj7FlwO5Lc5mLis-rtxeLDlao4QcX_REwwgWJSotYo2y_42uUqAKhO5N3E3d8EX9fDDl9Gpq0hRJDiLumVxlmSOoaBdVnCLJ599-2Dvic_rKqH9KnRF3XQ4MHDvh_smXXq7PYl4IZQ-13SCDw/s1689/bible.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1689" data-original-width="1252" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsrp6LnGFXZ9TSmgL_iZTUgO2nnHcLMxVjySmfj7FlwO5Lc5mLis-rtxeLDlao4QcX_REwwgWJSotYo2y_42uUqAKhO5N3E3d8EX9fDDl9Gpq0hRJDiLumVxlmSOoaBdVnCLJ599-2Dvic_rKqH9KnRF3XQ4MHDvh_smXXq7PYl4IZQ-13SCDw/s320/bible.jpg" width="237" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today I noticed it has a cross on the front.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I made Nigel Slater's pork with cashews, lime and mint for dinner tonight.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn5HhccJpv3ADSNPNdc3Zt8rVhjZBVkORhWhWh_hqahhr3LQLxSSAB9q_1lnzVO66KKSOhETaIjlMZ7rfDsBJg1sy3t_K57658aKzHO0S6EwS5CQpBrtu0Ctbus91IYcpG8YLpfyDb4rvVxlfsgHvrkD9r8th12J7gdHUc3xS5plwsBkESjImE/s1952/pork%20with%20cashews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1464" data-original-width="1952" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn5HhccJpv3ADSNPNdc3Zt8rVhjZBVkORhWhWh_hqahhr3LQLxSSAB9q_1lnzVO66KKSOhETaIjlMZ7rfDsBJg1sy3t_K57658aKzHO0S6EwS5CQpBrtu0Ctbus91IYcpG8YLpfyDb4rvVxlfsgHvrkD9r8th12J7gdHUc3xS5plwsBkESjImE/s320/pork%20with%20cashews.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It didn't look like the picture . . .</span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0wqz0EnJAE6794TSmjOsipI8sGVrScwoEP4I5so9_HXoFESBvhmjPN3Op9sSZD3YzkybyjrPXLPO7eLoZIoRgy7ZIKih8nqt3pd-E4XjFKu_jJkZCDf5xkRZavYrtMF2yuhmzsAsB6x_d-pUVtafm5TJ0l9GVkVJ27pgbe2Ejry6aW73CSg5/s1830/pork%20with%20cashews2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1830" data-original-width="1372" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv0wqz0EnJAE6794TSmjOsipI8sGVrScwoEP4I5so9_HXoFESBvhmjPN3Op9sSZD3YzkybyjrPXLPO7eLoZIoRgy7ZIKih8nqt3pd-E4XjFKu_jJkZCDf5xkRZavYrtMF2yuhmzsAsB6x_d-pUVtafm5TJ0l9GVkVJ27pgbe2Ejry6aW73CSg5/s320/pork%20with%20cashews2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">but it tasted okay. But not enough to warrant the coughing and struggling for breath resulting from frying the chilli. It was extreme.</span></div><br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-56075202639760174012024-03-14T16:10:00.000+00:002024-03-14T16:10:08.696+00:00Final post for today (probably)<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Greater love hath no blood-phobic woman than she mops up her husband's bleeding ear.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And I only had to lie down once.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-14382091757000526212024-03-14T13:59:00.003+00:002024-03-14T13:59:44.388+00:00Pointless<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Just saw something on Boud's <a href="https://fieldfen.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> about a misinterpreted sign and it reminded me of the light that occasionally comes on in the car.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx3nVMSMf8l2cNsU1CYo1lafuyUPvRQSzFpe-d3Wx6UHsx8lFYYOU8JYD_OWp-dtFll9s1bS2izi89niphZa_VkC7TgvLr1tB-hxza_THiCwMKRpwYjg8LBHzN-mXrLyiRMO3LNFdA_PX8WWBZfW9wikj130AD1fmDh6T05OAL0-A2WtxB-cx/s1146/green%20lights.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="897" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNx3nVMSMf8l2cNsU1CYo1lafuyUPvRQSzFpe-d3Wx6UHsx8lFYYOU8JYD_OWp-dtFll9s1bS2izi89niphZa_VkC7TgvLr1tB-hxza_THiCwMKRpwYjg8LBHzN-mXrLyiRMO3LNFdA_PX8WWBZfW9wikj130AD1fmDh6T05OAL0-A2WtxB-cx/s320/green%20lights.jpg" width="250" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now what does that say to you?</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The fact that it comes on occasionally makes me think I must be doing something wrong, probably to do with not staying in my own lane. But I take care to do that and check I am doing it when the light comes on - which I seem to be.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">While I'm in the car I think, "I must look that up," but as soon as I get home I forget about it, so thank you, Boud, for reminding me today.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I went through all the Mini sites; not one refers to an icon like it. They do say, however, that green lights mean something is working as it should. So that's something but not enough.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Husband came into the room at that point and seeing my frustration dug out the manual. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It seems that it means a road line has been detected. That's all. I assume it changes to red if you go over it. No, that can't be right because you often have to cross lines to do all sorts of things and it's never gone red. Or beeped frantically, and, trust me, Minitoo gets into a panic very easily.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So it's just a pointless icon. <br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And talking about pointless: advertising promotions that don't offer an easy link to Amazon are pretty pointless too. See? I really am bad at this stuff.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And again, talking about pointless, Richard Osman used to be co-host on the show. Today an old piece he wrote has resurfaced. It's a <a href="https://nation.cymru/culture/why-richard-osman-loves-wales-and-the-feeling-is-entirely-mutual-2/" target="_blank">love letter to Wales</a>. And very lovely and true it is too.</span></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-19911752125384785872024-03-14T12:14:00.004+00:002024-03-14T12:14:37.215+00:00The realisation that a I is better than I am<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Spent some time this morning creating promotion artwork, which sounds grander than it is. On reflection I'm not particularly pleased with the result. Maybe I should get AI to do it instead!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqj7jA9oHCqvnz_iISU3IZqwwdxXLrSlGbJExK05vLozvZzARrRtvUnonzO6mHEpr47OShGteKA308ipuNoqToJruPdZAFbdOEjElnEcfiKqRMVRHqt-jAmtJmbDJCG_jRvAMIKPimdb7xhjTU-Sm-I-meYohjCJdh_JLiGYGd9jN2IhdKs_M/s940/1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPqj7jA9oHCqvnz_iISU3IZqwwdxXLrSlGbJExK05vLozvZzARrRtvUnonzO6mHEpr47OShGteKA308ipuNoqToJruPdZAFbdOEjElnEcfiKqRMVRHqt-jAmtJmbDJCG_jRvAMIKPimdb7xhjTU-Sm-I-meYohjCJdh_JLiGYGd9jN2IhdKs_M/s320/1.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't know where authors find the time to keep up with the ongoing promoting. Apart from anything else I worry about boring people. (I mean I worry that I might bore people rather than worrying generally about people who are boring.)</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">And here's the AI version.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WoC0gPyjdhefLMaBqUylX1rnGVfYX-CRHSo1sRR6OGd8TM2cXzcAtzSsExpOJ9NanuZQ5lg6gKJkglTn7AaEvl6i7WQCqiDzBB55WucY3L3a2JiWooja0-clWQ6oj_YnZcKMUk_Vp5EVqcEEORrzFPC6DpyOX4JCsgsf0mO-8_WsWm7PDo2G/s940/4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8WoC0gPyjdhefLMaBqUylX1rnGVfYX-CRHSo1sRR6OGd8TM2cXzcAtzSsExpOJ9NanuZQ5lg6gKJkglTn7AaEvl6i7WQCqiDzBB55WucY3L3a2JiWooja0-clWQ6oj_YnZcKMUk_Vp5EVqcEEORrzFPC6DpyOX4JCsgsf0mO-8_WsWm7PDo2G/s320/4.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Looks much more fun!</span><br /><div><br /><p><br /></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-12708351178164179202024-03-14T10:38:00.000+00:002024-03-14T10:38:11.975+00:00How to breathe and/or get distracted<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I went to Amazon to get to the self-publishing page and I noticed a book by an author I enjoy, Mike Gayle. I read more about it then searched the library database and ordered it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was also reminded about the <i>Falco</i> series (I heard bits of an episode on the radio and it sounded fun) and discovered the kindle edition of the first book in the series was only 99p. So I had to buy it.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So much for not getting any more books until I've cracked the back of my To Be Read pile.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">But now I'm definitely getting back to self-publishing and WILL NOT ALLOW myself to be distracted any further.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Husband had his ear chopped yesterday afternoon, hopefully getting rid of all remaining cancer cells. He currently looks rather like a cartoon character with his head bandaged and is quite grumpy. (To be fair he is in a lot of pain, and is irritable with me because I said he couldn't loosen the bandage because they did it that tightly for a reason.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I dropped him at the hospital and went to look for a parking space. It's a big hospital and finding a space is very very difficult. I toured the grounds and found car parks I hadn't known existed - but all full. It's a case of watching for people leaving the hospital and following them in the hope you get to their parking space before someone else does. And with a one-way system in place that's not always easy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Eventually I was in the right place at the right time, was able to park and go in, by which time Husband was already in with the doctor so I took up residence in the waiting room, where I was reminded of the importance of breathing through your nose.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's in the <i>52 Ways to Walk</i> book, and, apparently breathing in through your nose is much better for you and not just because it filters the air before it gets into your lungs. Breathing through your nose increases the production of Nitric Oxide, an antibacterial, antiviral, anticoagulant gas, which widens blood vessels leading to lower blood pressure and all sorts of other things that I don't recall right now. I just know it's good. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And humming increases the production even more. So be like a bee and hum!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'm a mouth breather I think, especially when I exert myself so I need to practise - and now I have a vague feeling I have written something along these lines before. Hang on . . . yes, on 8th March 2021 I wrote:</span></p><p style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #222222; font-size: 12.1px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">P.S. I have just looked at an article about improving breathing techniques. I am definitely a mouth breather and, apparently nasal breathing is better for you in all sorts of ways. So the article suggests, practise nasal breathing when at the computer, watching television, or reading - being still basically. After that try nasal breathing when exercising over short distances at a time. But sixty-eight years of mouth breathing may be hard to change.</span></i></p><p style="background-color: #eeeeee; color: #222222; font-size: 12.1px;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">P.P.S. I am practising as I type this.</span></i></p><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The P.P.S. still stands only now it's seventy-one years.</span></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-31596442756952759542024-03-12T16:32:00.002+00:002024-03-12T16:32:12.452+00:00Cake and peace, man<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">There's a young boy in whose life I have been involved in one way or another since he was born. I asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He said, "A cake and a hug."</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cTZjGDBxKSX1KHmQiyJpQA4eBa7l4MlVRDZRySbBg6Xf-1gWhnljGxppZFu32ZS1pu_7azTgIxJ_Dpe97uItFyInagw88_yxu9EcqvTqSAKPH9obWbtHlFkH6CGYwtS7lkjRvpkmsmtBpJ-UJTeq0YoaUuA-KgrCkb29pYffrGVNGGRnmfav/s2093/24%20justin1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1570" data-original-width="2093" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4cTZjGDBxKSX1KHmQiyJpQA4eBa7l4MlVRDZRySbBg6Xf-1gWhnljGxppZFu32ZS1pu_7azTgIxJ_Dpe97uItFyInagw88_yxu9EcqvTqSAKPH9obWbtHlFkH6CGYwtS7lkjRvpkmsmtBpJ-UJTeq0YoaUuA-KgrCkb29pYffrGVNGGRnmfav/s320/24%20justin1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">It's a game controller in case you're wondering why I made a moustachioed man face!<br /></span><p>* * * * *</p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And another utility box, this time from a student area.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfllYJdN_tfKQFAkakdak3lTPYBJNkDBUP9652ZC39_Hk00vBz4hLjUDf2XJ5TX6yNHzxGkm5bAz7ZdfdGPsnFAoAy3M5oCRDlJEntnR2JX7kmqRaX54oIJ5s5CUA291MGSMdCNFHkHRjhWI8YzmYNSKwvA0gIVZDkeZmtLZ13hLduA9HAlg79/s1566/quote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1175" data-original-width="1566" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfllYJdN_tfKQFAkakdak3lTPYBJNkDBUP9652ZC39_Hk00vBz4hLjUDf2XJ5TX6yNHzxGkm5bAz7ZdfdGPsnFAoAy3M5oCRDlJEntnR2JX7kmqRaX54oIJ5s5CUA291MGSMdCNFHkHRjhWI8YzmYNSKwvA0gIVZDkeZmtLZ13hLduA9HAlg79/s320/quote.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-85711466801770505942024-03-12T12:04:00.002+00:002024-03-12T12:04:29.503+00:00When melting chocolate goes wrong<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi151_nm6hc5fxIVIyjD15StTn113qnevPQCnFoEtjMTMCPUnKbalxvCBCvELn8-80i5H84FGsRlXDj850R7yfqWUDuKvGa9nr4nrlBG7b6Fklu0WjS_hKBxKjth-ZNvmhWAkJaDxmQmO11CYQmVOHHMyVVE7pgAqiBr6G2x2xXpNcbpLH5glR/s2006/choc%20burned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2006" data-original-width="1504" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi151_nm6hc5fxIVIyjD15StTn113qnevPQCnFoEtjMTMCPUnKbalxvCBCvELn8-80i5H84FGsRlXDj850R7yfqWUDuKvGa9nr4nrlBG7b6Fklu0WjS_hKBxKjth-ZNvmhWAkJaDxmQmO11CYQmVOHHMyVVE7pgAqiBr6G2x2xXpNcbpLH5glR/s320/choc%20burned.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I put it in the microwave to melt and popped out to the washing line. When I re-entered the kitchen it was to smoke and a strange smell. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was very impressive, like lots of little volcanoes, as it turned to ashes.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">For Lent I've been trying to put 'Jesus said' quote up on the Zac's Facebook page every day. I haven't always managed it, just because of life, but when I have I've discovered that, though Jesus said a lot of brilliant things, he rarely said anything about whatever happens to be on my mind that particular day.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So yesterday I was going to write about hope - following the raising and crushing of it in the rugby on Sunday - but he didn't say anything specifically about hope, not in an easy quotable way. Ditto today. I was thinking about motherless children and, again, not a lot about mothers and what there is just makes it complicated. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">When his mother and brothers were outside a house Jesus was teaching in they sent a message in saying they were there. Jesus responded saying, "Who are my mother and brothers?"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A bit harsh! So I had to come up with a positive take on it. There are plenty of quotes about orphans in the Old Testament and the letters but I didn't want to use those. Tomorrow I will find a quote first and then think of something intelligent to say about it. (Or something not stupid. With the 'who is my mother?' quote I was all ready to do an angry mam post. "Who'd he think he is? I went through merry hell having him and this is the thanks I get." And so on. But not all people appreciate my sense of humour.)</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-73425509477636135222024-03-11T13:54:00.003+00:002024-03-11T13:54:51.463+00:00The warping of inches<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">How is it that something that measures 5x8 in one program doesn't measure 5x8 in another? Why, when a program gives you a template to which you stick rigidly, is the final product misaligned?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yes, I'm back in the self-publishing business. I ordered a proof copy of my book and didn't like the way the cover fitted so have spent the morning fiddling so that it looks perfect . . . until it's put into the publishing bit. Where it's out of place again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've done the best I can. I am stopping.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">All this self-publishing nonsense fades into nothingness though compared to the good news that Husband went for a scan this morning to check if the cancer in his ear had spread and it's all clear! Yay, yay, and a yeah yay!</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-52076139557215180692024-03-11T10:27:00.003+00:002024-03-11T10:27:25.716+00:00Hope is a terrible thing<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Do you know, I do more tidying in the hour before the cleaner comes than I do in the rest of the week?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Anyway, <i>International Women's Day, Mother's Day</i>, all passed in a bit of a blur. Had two grandsons for a sleepover on Saturday night. All well-behaved and good fun. I don't think I even completed two rounds of the board on <i>Junior Monopoly</i> before being bankrupted. I'll never be an entrepreneur.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Mother's Day breakfast consisted of a hazelnut and chocolate croissant and a share of an ordinary croissant. Lunch was delicious chocolate biscuits (present from Elder Son and family, see below), and dinner was curry and cake at Elder Son's house. I know how to live. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">All good apart from the afternoon's rugby interlude. I expected France to beat Wales so that would have been okay, but two-thirds of the way through and Wales were winning, thus raising my hopes. Sadly soon to be quashed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So four games played and four games lost in this championship. Unless Wales beat Italy in the final game next week we'll get the wooden spoon. But, as everyone says, we're rebuilding, it's a young team, and they've definitely shown promise for the future.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">It looks like another busy week ahead. I vaguely recall sometime over the weekend determining to be more . . . something. Focused, dynamic, on the ball. We shall see.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">In other news <i>Oppenheimer</i> has won loads of Oscars, and several major news agencies have 'killed' a photo of Princess Catherine and her children, alleging it has been photoshopped. Like many people with an ambivalence towards the Royal Family I've been drawn into the wormhole of conspiracy. It's amazing the ideas people come up with.</span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DasZvWvlkEE3mypD1017Vk9OWvC5xFEj9ZKTsgiffnOOqAJdQWZCrSIx0Y9SGZYwenrX6rk0kqFJlAZGZFoEbjC4gR6ZZ3aOW2dZvagr_x11Gb2XIrjpk3NQCj1J-uhGF5TWlmng5hCT6AtbaxUygc5ZoOizJA_JcTySj-meb1Uy04eqtiOb/s1880/mothers2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1880" data-original-width="1410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5DasZvWvlkEE3mypD1017Vk9OWvC5xFEj9ZKTsgiffnOOqAJdQWZCrSIx0Y9SGZYwenrX6rk0kqFJlAZGZFoEbjC4gR6ZZ3aOW2dZvagr_x11Gb2XIrjpk3NQCj1J-uhGF5TWlmng5hCT6AtbaxUygc5ZoOizJA_JcTySj-meb1Uy04eqtiOb/s320/mothers2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Flowers from Elder Son and family</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcm3aldrpevLnWMrHFmwTlGiO1dVXXU3NiMYh1b1dw7oyRjS8Ob72kEj1K3ui8KD3aNrRLS4pU6KXbDiIawg-2pDtFvq0vnCBR3UAcxZ0Zl2SvqPWBOirvu8gSWgyZTLgd88K2lvcxFsTgbkNqyEQqwWEXo0CqsWticZHSQBmLPoq7FoSWa0eB/s1557/mothers%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1168" data-original-width="1557" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcm3aldrpevLnWMrHFmwTlGiO1dVXXU3NiMYh1b1dw7oyRjS8Ob72kEj1K3ui8KD3aNrRLS4pU6KXbDiIawg-2pDtFvq0vnCBR3UAcxZ0Zl2SvqPWBOirvu8gSWgyZTLgd88K2lvcxFsTgbkNqyEQqwWEXo0CqsWticZHSQBmLPoq7FoSWa0eB/s320/mothers%201.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The tin containing the biscuits - so beautiful I will have to keep it but very thin so not sure what for!</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-90469058698384883782024-03-09T14:02:00.003+00:002024-03-09T14:02:41.146+00:00As old as the hills or at least the valleys<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With our weekly food order put away this morning and the risk of being knocked unconscious by a precariously-balanced bag of flour on the top shelf growing ever greater I decided it was time to sort out the pantry.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now I am convinced it is not that long ago that I last did it. Dates on packets tell me otherwise.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO84tccXwy_Jse7jPPgO63tZXdqJga1ICiTmTeq46z_r1h2gtvkXQCHY068xE_eQP1JJDsWsWLBUQhfNbLoRBdfD_wxz7uis-IPdej8S4A1h93MAxwQWLiKhs5ARwdSsIvTyFBQyhYISXlRkcuEgHDx1OTuRlkkx9kEVpGGqJ1ZEgyU3L94fz8/s1893/old1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1420" data-original-width="1893" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO84tccXwy_Jse7jPPgO63tZXdqJga1ICiTmTeq46z_r1h2gtvkXQCHY068xE_eQP1JJDsWsWLBUQhfNbLoRBdfD_wxz7uis-IPdej8S4A1h93MAxwQWLiKhs5ARwdSsIvTyFBQyhYISXlRkcuEgHDx1OTuRlkkx9kEVpGGqJ1ZEgyU3L94fz8/s320/old1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I thought the packet of mustard seeds* with a best before date of 2013 was going to take the <i>Oldest Thing In Pantry (Barring Liz)</i> award but no.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YL2SBq5VupRm1OZXDANltG8_RAr1-IonyTQpj2guFnsRRBhc6rEo9jNLMciAleNlmV3cHcpf-3bA4I-WRkLffjEUzyGwmNo7Fi3jEHt7Vq1MNJEdqzCCaK_-fJNaoj7EpcTUGoRj5aK7oE2WV0hJDlNVTDZHmdG5omB2_1M3JAutpHcFS8yU/s1159/old2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1159" data-original-width="1041" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9YL2SBq5VupRm1OZXDANltG8_RAr1-IonyTQpj2guFnsRRBhc6rEo9jNLMciAleNlmV3cHcpf-3bA4I-WRkLffjEUzyGwmNo7Fi3jEHt7Vq1MNJEdqzCCaK_-fJNaoj7EpcTUGoRj5aK7oE2WV0hJDlNVTDZHmdG5omB2_1M3JAutpHcFS8yU/s320/old2.jpg" width="287" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Saffron from 2010 wins by a wide margin.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Especially frustrating as saffron is so expensive.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I have resolved** to not buy things on impulse, to check whether I already have stuff before buying it (do I really three jars of ground ginger or cinnamon?), and to not buy stuff that I know I'm only going to need a tiny bit of but will keep the rest, just in case, for ever. Or until I come to clear out the pantry again.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I love my pantry, and having a large food store space is wonderful but it's too easy to forget about items hidden away in the corner.<br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* I think I may have inherited the mustard seeds from Younger Son when he moved to Italy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">** How long do you think I will stick to my resolve?</span></p><p><br /></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-24224891027714867282024-03-08T16:56:00.002+00:002024-03-08T16:56:36.962+00:00A day late<span style="font-family: verdana;">Following our chat over ice cream on Monday, Vivien sent me the link to a conference where I could learn about funding, sponsorship, and general networking opportunities.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">To have to go somewhere, walk up to and introduce myself to strangers, with an eye on the money is my idea of a bad dream, but, as a new trustee of an organisation that is going to need some serious funding if the building work is to happen, I took a deep breath and booked myself a ticket.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Special last-minute arrangements had to be made to get people to cover part of my shift in Zac's so I could leave early today and go to the event, and all was going well . . . until this morning when I discovered the conference was yesterday.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In my defence the email about the event wasn't very clear. It didn't give a date - at least not obviously - but did say at one point, "to celebrate International Women's Day on 8th March." So that must have been where I got the idea from. You'd think I might have noticed though when I booked a ticket . . .</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I also missed World Book Day yesterday so didn't take the opportunity to plug my books.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">So instead of a conference I took Toby to Crawley Woods. I was in need of some sea air and nature. A quick gallop through the dunes is enough to perk anyone up.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjONzp6EHnK3SLkzGuhFDbOKWAzLb4jPMGhChmNEe7UoXXQJ0up35SSHav-uszILp8DwVOmJnYIIlHl6Qnk5HcMNh-MRscsCjo91OVWdWCzXnvW-oVXRBCZMsAJS0UxeQ14tD_WwmVKIuWe2OLn1JuwEPXtNr-wRrXSumlyk-9rvEuyXEpyvx/s1831/crawley1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1373" data-original-width="1831" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXjONzp6EHnK3SLkzGuhFDbOKWAzLb4jPMGhChmNEe7UoXXQJ0up35SSHav-uszILp8DwVOmJnYIIlHl6Qnk5HcMNh-MRscsCjo91OVWdWCzXnvW-oVXRBCZMsAJS0UxeQ14tD_WwmVKIuWe2OLn1JuwEPXtNr-wRrXSumlyk-9rvEuyXEpyvx/s320/crawley1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySQs9RzdFzTeoLkLPSZAE21jROtx-3ZQokMkKK-gZLhbBNzmAYV1exbCD1UEtm5-32ZTpP6ponfeajtB59zZuMPD1fOmJJusGHQjniGrnpkIOXqrQ3tVKrt6agY1_kzgoS8cemajCh685MLyrlgaV4_E1aDGW-qP7XvqTwGKAZeHgxPKqXKWI/s2282/crawley2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2282" data-original-width="1711" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySQs9RzdFzTeoLkLPSZAE21jROtx-3ZQokMkKK-gZLhbBNzmAYV1exbCD1UEtm5-32ZTpP6ponfeajtB59zZuMPD1fOmJJusGHQjniGrnpkIOXqrQ3tVKrt6agY1_kzgoS8cemajCh685MLyrlgaV4_E1aDGW-qP7XvqTwGKAZeHgxPKqXKWI/s320/crawley2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVQt9omqqqxBw6MyPRXPOiJF-r14VpAeLGex-acYXW5y3kmENx5okT33O1yU6h5p0BFZRs2vhEY3O23Mi1q9aeCNJIJ_Zy1HjU_icKLbqmBBzKIlmPnMjiTAgswMueBI6hYm_X7LRTl-l5VwaIGNEs0gdCyHmOcXL1Z23lqtALmO42oCtMlSH/s1284/crawley3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1284" data-original-width="963" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtVQt9omqqqxBw6MyPRXPOiJF-r14VpAeLGex-acYXW5y3kmENx5okT33O1yU6h5p0BFZRs2vhEY3O23Mi1q9aeCNJIJ_Zy1HjU_icKLbqmBBzKIlmPnMjiTAgswMueBI6hYm_X7LRTl-l5VwaIGNEs0gdCyHmOcXL1Z23lqtALmO42oCtMlSH/s320/crawley3.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">The only bad thing about Crawley Woods is the number of steps back up the hill. One hundred and eighteen to be precise.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">But I certainly got my fresh sea air. Everyone else on the beach - all three of them - wore coats, hats and hoods. </span></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mH_tMqQJELX8co5LOEGshUAcW_8antE8n49bevJ5BVpLelZ6_vEKhR4X50lbXcSYA5vqaDve5PiJ08ppdXjEH9gu0W97eaVyoErVGAKXWS2vjBwuCMa1ZPDIvOi07ynO2STMzxvyUL56ZJwOlNo3v-oZaMsEU8C01cl0nodRkDB8ubwY2CJb/s2513/24%20mar%20wind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2513" data-original-width="1884" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4mH_tMqQJELX8co5LOEGshUAcW_8antE8n49bevJ5BVpLelZ6_vEKhR4X50lbXcSYA5vqaDve5PiJ08ppdXjEH9gu0W97eaVyoErVGAKXWS2vjBwuCMa1ZPDIvOi07ynO2STMzxvyUL56ZJwOlNo3v-oZaMsEU8C01cl0nodRkDB8ubwY2CJb/s320/24%20mar%20wind.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /></div></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-36503265948988967552024-03-07T15:56:00.007+00:002024-03-07T16:56:18.522+00:00Fashion tip no. 45<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">According to the hundreds of Facebook clips I trawl through mindlessly this is how the stylish woman wears her jumpers.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRz_YyBnDPjHzmz4C5Wu4iqCxjz77DZbqcdpwW8vn1g4Y24rR-Xrbasg0EVqCwJjN1W9-hMoX7g4wz0FDOlly7dcy4FV6EOrlSJyLaDIXXLpFqwkd-AklHry5oXnFQD5eY3ppB3REfECi2ZLj_sFsaGvqcDTb-eXdueNNuUjPXOxbhKLxFG4Bf/s2333/fashion%20tips.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1750" data-original-width="2333" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRz_YyBnDPjHzmz4C5Wu4iqCxjz77DZbqcdpwW8vn1g4Y24rR-Xrbasg0EVqCwJjN1W9-hMoX7g4wz0FDOlly7dcy4FV6EOrlSJyLaDIXXLpFqwkd-AklHry5oXnFQD5eY3ppB3REfECi2ZLj_sFsaGvqcDTb-eXdueNNuUjPXOxbhKLxFG4Bf/s320/fashion%20tips.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">With a bit at the front tucked in. Admittedly the women in the clips always look a bit neater than this but you get the general idea.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I went to Zac's this morning dressed like this, expecting to be acclaimed for my suddenly stylish appearance. No-one even noticed. Or perhaps they did but didn't like to mention my jumper was tucked in my trousers. Probably thought it was simply another case of me not being able to dress myself properly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Though I jest, it does make a difference I think. Or am I simply worn down by the videos?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Follow me for more style-defying hints.*</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Currently enjoying <i>Eligible</i> by Curtis Sittenfeld, as recommended by Boud. The fact that it's <i>Pride and Prejudice</i> in a modern-day setting lifts it above the 'another rich man romance'. Along with some very good writing.</span></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">"He's a lawyer in Atlanta, and he's very active in his church," Mrs Bennett said. "If that's not the description of a man looking for a wife, I don't know what is."</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Also continuing to enjoy, on kindle, the adventures of the <i>Provincial Lady.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>* </i>Elder Son tells me, "</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">french tuck mum, timeless". </span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-45162176031377186252024-03-06T16:08:00.002+00:002024-03-06T16:08:25.382+00:00Street art<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">In Mumbles we have the lighthouse.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmPgrLa3s8vBe7Uk__DTkaO_LmKYdeI9lt6T6g6nirpfAF1NCAObjbetZRGsAyqm0OVNOYAaxcxx5vdmPWmryEmX39ffjYJurfOcgvrTGBlYf3gXhwd2xL6BnfXUg6kpbblS-COMTP8NeBra0mhX3gVX8LLJGhKshjcRUXnd8tgmjqjxcs3Y8/s1807/painting%20boxes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1355" data-original-width="1807" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAmPgrLa3s8vBe7Uk__DTkaO_LmKYdeI9lt6T6g6nirpfAF1NCAObjbetZRGsAyqm0OVNOYAaxcxx5vdmPWmryEmX39ffjYJurfOcgvrTGBlYf3gXhwd2xL6BnfXUg6kpbblS-COMTP8NeBra0mhX3gVX8LLJGhKshjcRUXnd8tgmjqjxcs3Y8/s320/painting%20boxes2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmo0T2rRxLlzXYyqhhEaJGDS3ohRfdFtzzRwSa-T5JM6H_11vStE5KMYcjaNJv9u1zd-kKt7XKZzwU5L9V7dAuaEumLrHTadt_eXdRg9G1ehO-ygJHYmOhfjL2vk4_n7M9klD82itbWR1HHzV2M4V9VtWVkGZxYWvn3w3Kwgfs6DeCm3ssnlk/s1878/dt1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1408" data-original-width="1878" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwmo0T2rRxLlzXYyqhhEaJGDS3ohRfdFtzzRwSa-T5JM6H_11vStE5KMYcjaNJv9u1zd-kKt7XKZzwU5L9V7dAuaEumLrHTadt_eXdRg9G1ehO-ygJHYmOhfjL2vk4_n7M9klD82itbWR1HHzV2M4V9VtWVkGZxYWvn3w3Kwgfs6DeCm3ssnlk/s320/dt1.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">In Uplands, where he lived as a child, it's Dylan Thomas. (Sorry for my shadow. I had to leap on and off the busy road quickly.)<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntQTBBQCOX3e22Fxw-zyKgC6DT94OUaAJwabpF06XOrkoAMgsGmUhkyYFsill_wQHlb1N-D2_QYZ7LPpZHcuP_A0Ux5REwwWn7EHxPbxfvqimN1B53fGs3mezxhf8H2E6iJEt3V1tIWkJpm15_ug0wy-lIusS-WjykQnIfJeuV2YzEL9FBkY8/s1633/dt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1633" data-original-width="1225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgntQTBBQCOX3e22Fxw-zyKgC6DT94OUaAJwabpF06XOrkoAMgsGmUhkyYFsill_wQHlb1N-D2_QYZ7LPpZHcuP_A0Ux5REwwWn7EHxPbxfvqimN1B53fGs3mezxhf8H2E6iJEt3V1tIWkJpm15_ug0wy-lIusS-WjykQnIfJeuV2YzEL9FBkY8/s320/dt2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">And, where's Zac's is, in the more multi-cultural bit of Swansea, we have these.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRp8-qpvW8LeOuTiIvcWzhyphenhyphencOGVznMicpFoRwX_2FfmifMxZ1lTyro80lTVpnKlX2bhW8ccTbbkQNhIy1BietIg_8E8fC5ZO39kQzSl3Zcac-hfpE0dRHcPP0Y8lxoou1DlA83dnuTfpP1uyyNWIhMgeQfD5YQ_1ha0S5N1eOYTiAqD2lszdQW/s1666/utility1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="1666" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRp8-qpvW8LeOuTiIvcWzhyphenhyphencOGVznMicpFoRwX_2FfmifMxZ1lTyro80lTVpnKlX2bhW8ccTbbkQNhIy1BietIg_8E8fC5ZO39kQzSl3Zcac-hfpE0dRHcPP0Y8lxoou1DlA83dnuTfpP1uyyNWIhMgeQfD5YQ_1ha0S5N1eOYTiAqD2lszdQW/s320/utility1.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dlZwdoIWmtcpNusDJBWmlNxa43bvi77bKSc59853z_SOMSAj9hVzVHHlLe1GztsFBcMU_cTE8qsH6Qn30KE7rUarVOybCe47hT4vNOo4Z6tUfUirEOZV29P4g58TgoCxVqLT_StcCJPtwWd9luf1-WCAERzxI3d0QCrWJecMmYV_9tdgKsN2/s1552/utility2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1552" data-original-width="1164" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_dlZwdoIWmtcpNusDJBWmlNxa43bvi77bKSc59853z_SOMSAj9hVzVHHlLe1GztsFBcMU_cTE8qsH6Qn30KE7rUarVOybCe47hT4vNOo4Z6tUfUirEOZV29P4g58TgoCxVqLT_StcCJPtwWd9luf1-WCAERzxI3d0QCrWJecMmYV_9tdgKsN2/s320/utility2.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">I don't know who came up with the idea of painting utility boxes but it was a great one.<br /> </span><p></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-7690778811200776472024-03-05T16:00:00.002+00:002024-03-05T16:00:58.826+00:00Patent pending<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Minitoo, like most modern cars I guess, beeps when you're getting close to something when reversing. Beeps very loudly and frantically. Nerve-wreckingly loudly. Basically she panics far more than is necessary.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So I have come up with a better system. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">A few years ago, in a charity shop, I bought a squeaky rubber pig. I think it's meant to be a dog toy but the children and I all enjoy making it oink. So here's my invention.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBR5dJHiVB-OzPm-6oWaXHE6X6N9QWTmeoEb3BtTnlKNKTVWMlPHyWyLdSzLfZQwnRbkMPi3b4_cHzTvkFonrA8i3XQNTvVNcMxZJNuEeuYba4GvxIURjdpXP0Dd9nQ3F5VyUSnFYgMsbuaxx22gNwULxhRawe_1RF_GgCU3zL498ea25wlTi/s2085/piggy%20car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1563" data-original-width="2085" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuBR5dJHiVB-OzPm-6oWaXHE6X6N9QWTmeoEb3BtTnlKNKTVWMlPHyWyLdSzLfZQwnRbkMPi3b4_cHzTvkFonrA8i3XQNTvVNcMxZJNuEeuYba4GvxIURjdpXP0Dd9nQ3F5VyUSnFYgMsbuaxx22gNwULxhRawe_1RF_GgCU3zL498ea25wlTi/s320/piggy%20car.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Not only would the pigs squeak if you bumped into anything they'd also protect you from damage. Ingenious eh? Can't imagine why no-one has thought of it before.</span><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Extra bonus is that you could have whatever animal you wanted custom-made. I wonder if I should take my idea to Dragons' Den and see if they'll give me money for a prototype. I don't see how they could resist it. <br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Of course, it wouldn't necessarily have to be an animal: it could be as simple or as fancy as you wanted. You could have a pretend bomb that went boom, or a lion that roared, or one with a personalised sound. I could have Husband saying, "You silly woman!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The sky is the limit. </span></p></div>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-16147996008702616812024-03-04T16:55:00.005+00:002024-03-04T16:55:48.374+00:00The good life<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Delicious Sunday roast lamb at Elder Son's yesterday and yummy hazelnut basket at Verdi's today with Vivien. Living the good life. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqN7gNkGoW9XpftuhdoSPLXW0qhm71yUTCNCwtaTOunO2W1Bosz6tjHzT5VJX98z1T1ffb9EjRe-MQeArHbzYF1myXHDFNIk3qZGwEipdFuxeS59vQ4Pliy2-Fd1K_PwsWNyBTlQzu3YZMCsGDzJe0Y64ch89cxwcQbHgasszppqBaPCDmwcIJ/s2262/march%20verdis%20ice%20cream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2262" data-original-width="1696" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqN7gNkGoW9XpftuhdoSPLXW0qhm71yUTCNCwtaTOunO2W1Bosz6tjHzT5VJX98z1T1ffb9EjRe-MQeArHbzYF1myXHDFNIk3qZGwEipdFuxeS59vQ4Pliy2-Fd1K_PwsWNyBTlQzu3YZMCsGDzJe0Y64ch89cxwcQbHgasszppqBaPCDmwcIJ/s320/march%20verdis%20ice%20cream.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">Wild, wet and windy outside. You can see the sea is the same colour as the paving slabs outside the window. Glad to be in the dry enjoying my ice cream.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Now there's a lamb curry cooking gently in the oven and I think I might watch a little television before it's time to do the rice. There's a part of me saying, "No, no, must do something useful," but I think the other part is winning. </span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-90865119298911400062024-03-03T17:10:00.001+00:002024-03-03T17:10:36.262+00:00First cousins twice removed?<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Jabblog has done a <a href="https://jabblog-jabblog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">post</a> about family and birthdays, and has provided an excellent explanation of cousins, second or otherwise. So I did a very abbreviated family tree so I could identify the status of my various and numerous cousins.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqQXus0MSNyrUVS8afR9Cn70OR00MwFZCe1xdszE0OS8no2OxdW_-rABhzdC13TUQdDHt9H5igl4NlW8LsfKDvnbmHd-albEoOv0jpqlb6tBXFiP4JxwTJzhtlfUtMHJmlLwl8aDEP1lpIr9bfbWK-16DvMY1RvnrKqP2h-Rpq6OD8Vnd_1XF/s2021/second%20cousins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="911" data-original-width="2021" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNqQXus0MSNyrUVS8afR9Cn70OR00MwFZCe1xdszE0OS8no2OxdW_-rABhzdC13TUQdDHt9H5igl4NlW8LsfKDvnbmHd-albEoOv0jpqlb6tBXFiP4JxwTJzhtlfUtMHJmlLwl8aDEP1lpIr9bfbWK-16DvMY1RvnrKqP2h-Rpq6OD8Vnd_1XF/w400-h180/second%20cousins.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've always assumed my cousins were all second cousins but it seems lots are first cousins once removed. And here's the explanation from Jabblog:</span></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Your second cousin is someone who shares a great-grandparent with you.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">Your first cousin once removed is either the child of your first cousin, or your parent’s first cousin.</span></i></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So now you know.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-87607200828141485412024-03-03T10:42:00.000+00:002024-03-03T10:42:02.379+00:00close to heaven<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFiFXMEPe9sfq0bv6ve0vjVjisqoNaRFFUNGZY38TxeFPasqHafXfZHSzbuXv00KRTCrU1wDU4RVohmk61XLWgPaG7zWHsxBv7UeRcTItZwgRYNlZLcY75zYLQWV1TyYKw6MUfkh5oC_K9SAB_Q6LFI7BE8ObtM-uYevTwTs-NPhRMLe-Clga/s1232/welshcakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="585" data-original-width="1232" height="152" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcFiFXMEPe9sfq0bv6ve0vjVjisqoNaRFFUNGZY38TxeFPasqHafXfZHSzbuXv00KRTCrU1wDU4RVohmk61XLWgPaG7zWHsxBv7UeRcTItZwgRYNlZLcY75zYLQWV1TyYKw6MUfkh5oC_K9SAB_Q6LFI7BE8ObtM-uYevTwTs-NPhRMLe-Clga/s320/welshcakes.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">With it being St David's Day on Friday my Facebook page was filled with pictures of welshcakes people had made. </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Yesterday afternoon I could bear it no more. I weakened and made some. I thought I'd try a different recipe but I'm not impressed. I shall return to my old favourite, below.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2auoccekRU7IVqvMm09qRMJSV0n9eTI0OyQ-abjW2Y4dDQ3SGdVBdzvn8B5unjlBShQwduJNNjYHP_pfiY9S0T2RQf_YHl_H91QH7UqdwtEzw0jG-sbkMrB9F0IOYoxnWWr7ncHPejIUAQHvo_QbJbxxkcnV2nYkQ_tq5bFmsa91N9GnU2M1m/s1789/old%20recipe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1342" data-original-width="1789" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2auoccekRU7IVqvMm09qRMJSV0n9eTI0OyQ-abjW2Y4dDQ3SGdVBdzvn8B5unjlBShQwduJNNjYHP_pfiY9S0T2RQf_YHl_H91QH7UqdwtEzw0jG-sbkMrB9F0IOYoxnWWr7ncHPejIUAQHvo_QbJbxxkcnV2nYkQ_tq5bFmsa91N9GnU2M1m/s320/old%20recipe2.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">A well-thumbed book as you can see, with all the pages falling out.</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qJOt-512v09MAr4Nj6zgtYKt7ickN2wb6RwUTp0ge3imCzrv1fxaU9ps4L35vRAz5MTbEyYHYZiJgZubEKz2qXXPseUSUP4N0F5Z9YJfXQH6JnZuSHd3DJvyv3HvMRqqsQZ1oHaIZiN4gvtQ4SXSsYWd66soTCZxH4r516u6mMK3JrvJiUi6/s2058/old%20recipe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="2058" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6qJOt-512v09MAr4Nj6zgtYKt7ickN2wb6RwUTp0ge3imCzrv1fxaU9ps4L35vRAz5MTbEyYHYZiJgZubEKz2qXXPseUSUP4N0F5Z9YJfXQH6JnZuSHd3DJvyv3HvMRqqsQZ1oHaIZiN4gvtQ4SXSsYWd66soTCZxH4r516u6mMK3JrvJiUi6/s320/old%20recipe.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Makes 60 only if small.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: verdana;">The biggest problem I have making welshcakes is getting the right temperature on the griddle. My cakes inevitably have black bits - not the ones in the photo obviously - or are cooked so slowly they're a bit hard.</span><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> Still, Husband and I managed to eat six of them last night.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">As I was late making them it was too close to dinnertime to eat one warm from the griddle, but I tell you, a warm welshcake is the closest thing to heaven.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-47807036971592285412024-03-02T15:09:00.004+00:002024-03-02T15:09:55.389+00:00I have a dream<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Like Dr King although mine is rather more prosaic. No, not prosaic just simpler.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcp7I_Z91vXwaeMOTnRZCNugwIewuvF_7gBLg5Vw-WBEj3hZDrOLIwL61yuKIC1CCmb13iUjIToAPggr6pQon3o3hbSPkvYio76EdsWzsLuLnRQIK8-DLmc50zLR4JMT5ZJ6lGUJTu1hh0cLkZnziPpX3OBj4tGscI5bn-gSGQa_gLIxDbdL_3/s1468/feb%20bare%20fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1101" data-original-width="1468" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcp7I_Z91vXwaeMOTnRZCNugwIewuvF_7gBLg5Vw-WBEj3hZDrOLIwL61yuKIC1CCmb13iUjIToAPggr6pQon3o3hbSPkvYio76EdsWzsLuLnRQIK8-DLmc50zLR4JMT5ZJ6lGUJTu1hh0cLkZnziPpX3OBj4tGscI5bn-gSGQa_gLIxDbdL_3/s320/feb%20bare%20fence.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /> A fence covered with rambling roses. What do you think?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I've already planned roses for the bit of wall that's been cleared but doing a bit of weeding out here this afternoon it struck me how much prettier this fencing would look covered in roses.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">When the children were little we holidayed in the Isle of Wight and there I saw and fell in love with a red-brick walled rose garden. Since then I've longed for a red-brick walled rose garden. I thought it was in Osborne House, the holiday home of Queen Victoria, but looking at photos on google now I don't remember it being that grand so perhaps it was somewhere else. Anyway I can't have the wall but I can have the roses.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Trouble is I'm good at dreaming and thinking but less good at the actioning. And, of course, there's my plant-killing affliction.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sitting here now looking at the fence I'm wondering what happens when the fence gets old and rots, if it's covered in roses. Aw, that'll probably be after our time so I won't worry too much about that.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">And it just so happens my new rose catalogue arrived yesterday.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-34822504473683902752024-03-02T12:40:00.001+00:002024-03-02T12:40:04.872+00:00Missing St David<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">So, yesterday was St. David's Day and normally I'd post about that but yesterday was also quite busy with Zac's in the morning and Husband's hospital appointment in the afternoon.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">The news wasn't quite as good as we'd hoped. His ear has healed well but the biopsy showed some remaining cancer cells so he has to have another chunk cut out. The doctor asked if he minded about how it would look as he'll probably be left with a wedge out of his ear. (The answer is he doesn't mind as long as they get all the cells. Me, I'm thinking how cool a big missing chunk would look. He could tell strangers he lost it wrestling with a shark.)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I'd planned for us to go out to eat to celebrate good news so, as it wasn't, we had a Chinese takeaway at home instead. The biggest takeaway we've ever had. It was the same quantity we've always ordered so maybe we're eating less (unlikely) or the portions were just exceptionally large. I had to leave some, and you won't hear me say that very often.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today a thought occurred to me and I said to Husband, "You realise what this news means don't you? I'm going to have to keep on being nice and not nagging you to do things!"</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">"I'm sure you'll find a way," he said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This lovely quilted wall-hanging was in the stairwell in the hospital.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyRNJIf6FutLydz7KJN0LflKbhx-xlhGJWXB8MEwe3lt3nXovbfw_FzLkabA8E9PU_rOOCRZwcgBPbDl4_keHkRXxRKzF3r1TFuUdiSra6w6Is-CpUT3qePm7IOmXFnRfFt_Wax2CZ_mZKGgEvhCh2QZby8apqKUdRruwQzGlQOAy1723-xuD1/s1662/quilt%20hospital.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1246" data-original-width="1662" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyRNJIf6FutLydz7KJN0LflKbhx-xlhGJWXB8MEwe3lt3nXovbfw_FzLkabA8E9PU_rOOCRZwcgBPbDl4_keHkRXxRKzF3r1TFuUdiSra6w6Is-CpUT3qePm7IOmXFnRfFt_Wax2CZ_mZKGgEvhCh2QZby8apqKUdRruwQzGlQOAy1723-xuD1/s320/quilt%20hospital.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">* * * * *</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I signed up recently for a newsletter called <i>Letters of Note</i>, from Shaun Usher. Yesterday this newsletter featured bits from letters all written on 1st March. This one from a letter from Boris Pasternak to his parents in 1930 sums up my relationship with important calendar dates perfectly.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">"<span style="color: #404040; text-align: left;">I should have remembered
on the 22nd about your anniversary on February 27th. I did know and remember
it, but there’s a big difference between an abstract awareness in one’s memory
of a forthcoming date, and paying attention to the real days of our lives,
which might pass without being numbered in any way, monotonously grim as they
are, so many thousands of versts<span style="font-size: 20px;">*</span></span><span style="color: #404040; text-align: left;"> from any kind of festivity. I had in my mind the last
possible date for sending you a letter of congratulations to reach you by the
27th, and went on carrying the date with me and waiting, while the 27th itself
had long come and gone."</span></span></div>
<p style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p style="line-height: 19.5pt; margin-bottom: 15.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">*A verst is a unit of length of roughly one kilometre.</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17218624.post-47249046194632739092024-02-29T20:30:00.002+00:002024-02-29T20:30:27.821+00:00How to learn Welsh<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> o flaen = in front of (there's an f in front and flaen)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">o dan = under (there's a d in under too, and if you say it in a deep voice that helps remember)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">ar ben = on top of (like Ben Nevis)</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">tu ôl i = behind (because, why wouldn't it be?)</span></p>Liz Hindshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04646532093872561703noreply@blogger.com4