ABC Wednesday - D

For ABC Wednesday Wales this week we look at the letter D for dragon, David and daffodil.

You'll see the dragon on the Welsh flag that decorates the top left-hand corner of my blog. The dragon and the daffodil are both recognised symbols of Wales and daffodils are traditionally worn on March 1st when we celebrate the day of our national saint, David or Dewi Sant.

David lived in the sixth century. He was a monk and later Archbishop of Wales and was canonised in 1120. He travelled as a missionary through Wales - where he established several churches - as well as further afield. He is said to have been buried on the site of his sixth century monastery, where St. David's cathedral now stands in the city of the same name, the smallest city in Britain.

In Wales, St. David's Day is celebrated in schools, usually with an eisteddfod (musical and spoken word competitions), and children wear the traditional costume, which today for boys - and some girls - means a red rugby jersey. When I was in school we had the afternoon off but that is one tradition that has, sadly, died out.

This photo of me with blow-up daffodil (and George) was taken a few years ago. My t-shirt reads: '100% Welsh. Need I say more?'
And some real daffs in full bloom on the sea front.
On his deathbed David is said to have told his followers to, 'Do the little things' ('Gwnewch y pethau bychain'), advice we can still follow today.

Oh, I nearly forgot Delilah! The song has become a second national anthem always sung at rugby games, and here it is performed by the boy from the Welsh valleys, Tom, himself.

To take part in ABC Wednesday go here. As usual I'm posting early but won't be able to comment until late because we're away each Wednesday and Thursday.

Awww, pleeeaase.

George on my left

and Holly on my right.

'We're sitting here looking so appealing and you still don't give us any scraps. How can you be so heartless and cruel to us?'

Monday's Odd Shots

A scuba diving scarecrow in the kitchen garden at Knighthayes Court in Devon.For Katney's Odd Shots.

The trouble with barbecues ...

is the left-over food.

Not that there was much but Husband still managed to have cream sponge for breakfast, scone and jam and cream for mid-morning snack and scones and cream and raspberries for lunch.

And he wonders why he has indigestion.

He said he's not going to eat any more scones or cream today; I think by this evening he'll have forgotten that resolve.

Me, of course, I'm a model of restraint. I only just had my first cream scone and it's late afternoon.

Well, my theory is that they've got to be eaten and once they've gone they've gone and I'll stop thinking about them.

But you'd have been proud of me yesterday.

I made trifles on Saturday and there were some three left-over sponge fingers still lying about on Sunday morning. I tried to persuade Husband to eat them but he said, 'Nah, I don't like them.'

'Neither do I really but they're looking at me and I can't throw the box away until it's empty.'

So I compromised: I ate one and threw away two. Ooo, but it went against the grain throwing away food that was edible.

Somebody up there likes us!

The sun shone!
And then the thunder came! But not until much later.

I'm not worried

We're having a crowd of people round for a barbecue on Sunday. Last night the weatherman forecast hailstones and a maximum temperature of 16 degrees for Sunday.

The forecast has improved today: now it's heavy rain showers and 17 degrees.

And tomorrow Wales visits Twickenham to play England in a rugby World Cup warm-up game.

Nope, I'm not worried at all.

a prayer

As I lay me down to sleep I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

if I should die before I wake I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Words that take on an unbelievable poignancy when recited by a 49-year-old homeless alcoholic.

ABC Wednesday - C

This week for our look at Cymru, we're travelling to the north and coming a bit closer to home. But to set us off on our way what about a bowl of cawl?
Cawl's a traditional Welsh stew made with root vegetables and most importantly, lamb - Welsh lamb is the best in the world - and leeks.

Caernarfon castle stands proudly next to the Menai Straits. Edward 1 of England initiated its building in 1283 as a definitive part of his plan to control Wales. The first English Prince of Wales was born in the castle in 1284 and in 1969 the investiture of Charles as Prince of Wales took place there. It's a magnificent building and a recognised World Heritage Site.
Closer to home, one of George's favourite walks is in Clyne Woods.
To take part in ABC Wednesday, go here.

What's so funny?

I mentioned in a previous post that I'd been one of three people interviewed in church on Sunday morning. What I didn't say was that Ben as he called us up made a point of saying that he'd saved the difficult questions for the brains of Linden, and, when I was going up, he said about me, 'and I've saved the best brain till last.'

Which I thought was quite apt. So I couldn't understand why everyone was laughing so much ...

Abracadadra

I think I must be a magician.

Every night I have a glass of water on a mat on my bedside table. This morning I woke up to find the mat on the floor and the glass still standing on the table. True some water had been spilled but I have absolutely no recollection of drinking any in the night, let alone spilling it.

When I mentioned it to Husband he said, 'I did hear a thump in the night from your side but you seemed to be asleep.'

Spooky.

Good news!

I've just realised I haven't told you my good news: Daughter is pregnant again!

Yippee-aye-yay!

Grandchild number 3 is due in February.

Have I mentioned how good my life is?

Mr Sainsbury is worried about me

I'm trying to see how long we can last without me going to Sainsburys.

Younger Son and Girlfriend are in Italy for a month so it's just Husband and me. And we're both on diets. The fridge is - or was - full of leftover bits and pieces and we have a greenhouse full of tomatoes so we're having to be creative. Unfortunately you can't make Weightwatchers caramel bars (which are nicer than they sound and make a good evening treat) from tomatoes and we're down to our last one.

I was thinking of making my cookies for Zac's today but if I do that I'll not be able to resist them and it's weigh-day tomorrow.

I will be strong; I will be strong; I will be strong.

Monday's Odd Shots

A gardening film buff maybe?

For Katney's Odd Shots

Four years ago today

We said goodbye to Harvey ... and a few months later said hello to George.
A swim wasn't enough to keep him cool yesterday; he needed to dig a hole in the sand to lie in afterwards.

Cliff flora

Just a few of the flowers on our cliff walk yesterday.

Catch 22

1) What does it mean to you that Jesus needed to die to free you from the power of sin?

2) What does it mean to you that Jesus gladly did this?

3) What difference does this make in your daily life?

* * * * * * * * * *

Ben was speaking in church today, continuing the series on Philippians, looking at the bit about imitating Christ. As part of his talk he asked 3 people to answer the questions above. I was one of the three. He asked us ahead of time so we could prepare and he said he wanted short, sound-bytish replies.

I pondered for a long time and sought the opinions of others. I know what the expected answers are or what they should be but they don't sit easily with me. I finally came up with these answers:

1) Love isn't fair, thank God.

2) I don't think he went gladly but obediently. This tells me that God's way isn't always the easiest but it's the best. This says to me that I still have such a lot to learn and change.

3) Not enough. I want to really want to change. (I could have added another 'to want' in there because I don't yet want it enough to act.)

Not the most brilliant of answers but I hope they're honest.

But this brings me on to my next point: do I take too much pride in being humble?

I'm a well-educated middle class woman from a church that encourages counselling and therapy, that recommends learning to love yourself and to self-analyse. I've had my share of therapy and thus I find myself analysing my motives and finding them lacking.

I know what Blossum from God's Squad would say: don't be so stupid! Forget the navel-gazing and be who you are, who God created you to be. And let him worry about your flaws.

It's very Catch 22-ish: you're supposed to be humble but if you think you're being humble you're probably not.

My new prized possession

What day did you say it was?

We usually go to Devon on Wednesday and Thursday; this week we went on Sunday and Monday. We're going to Surrey today (Wednesday) until tomorrow; we'd normally visit Surrey on a weekend.

At any point this week don't try asking me what day it is or where we are - or even who I am; I won't have a clue.

But I am having a lovely time being Granny to my two beautiful grandchildren. It's just a shame one is in Devon and one in Surrey ...

ABC Wednesday - B

Brandy Cove is one of the less easily accessible beaches on the beautiful Gower Peninsula. Which is just as well as if more than 5 people were there when the tide's in it would be crowded.

North Wales has its mountains; South Wales has its hills. The Welsh for hill is bryn, by the way, to explain why hills are appropriate for week 2/B.

There are three hill ranges in southern Wales within the Brecon Beacons national park. They are, from east to west: the Black Mountains, the Brecon Beacons, and the Black Mountain. (No, not a mistake; and to confuse us even more there is a mountain in the Black Mountains called the Black Mountain!)

Last year Husband and I visited the Black Mountains and walked up - and pushed GrandDaughter in her pushchair up - Sugar Loaf, one of the highest.

Bara brith (literally speckled bread) is a fruity spicy traditional bread. Served spread generously with fresh Welsh butter it's delicious.

My version isn't really traditional but it is very very good! If you'd like to try it, first put 325 ml of hot water in a saucepan and add 50 g butter and 375 g sultanas. Bring to the boil and simmer for 4 minutes. Allow to cool slightly.

Sieve 375 g self-raising flour into a bowl with half a teaspoon of bicarbonate of soda and add 250 g sugar. Mix in the warm fruit mixture and 2 beaten eggs. Put in a large loaf tin and level a bit. Bake at 190 or 325 or gas 3 for up to an hour or until well-risen and a skewer stuck in comes out clean.

I check after 40 minutes and cover with foil if it's getting too brown.

George is in the doghouse ... again

In his attempt to get as close as he can to the fence behind which lives his mortal and barking enemy George has destroyed my lily. He's already broken the main stem off one of my new roses and has now dug up another one as well. He is asking to be rehomed.

Monday's Odd Shots

I'm posting my Odd Shot early because this week we're off to Devon today instead of Wednesday (when we're going to Surrey).

Unusual Uses for a Rowing Machine No. 34

Upright it makes a perfect base from which to raise and store a bicycle.
For Katney's Odd Shots.

It's not the healthy who need doctors

In Zac's on Tuesday we looked at the parable of the lost sheep. It's a great tale about the loving father heart of God but the thing which struck me on this reading was the short introductory paragraph.

The Pharisees were grumbling about Jesus because he was mixing with sinners so Jesus told the story to show how God seeks out the lost, the sinners.

The previous week someone had told me some things about a man who's been dropping into the bible study occasionally recently. They weren't very nice things - in fact they were very bad - but I believe and trust in the person who told me. As a result I found myself judging this man, condemning him, wanting him not to be welcome in Zac's or to be welcomed by God. 'How can you, God, want anything to do with this man?'

I was behaving just like the Pharisees.

Another lesson to be learned: my job isn't to judge but to pray. (To behave sensibly and not take risks obviously but in the safety of Zac's to act as Jesus would.)

* * * * * * * * * *

I've just read on Facebook that Amy Winehouse has died. (I wouldn't know anything if I didn't go on Facebook.) One of my blogging friends has commented that she's glad she's not a Christian after reading what some 'Christians' have said about Ms Winehouse's death.

I don't know what they've said but it must be horrid to make my friend say that and that saddens me. It also angers me.

Please don't judge us all by the words and actions of a few.

I feel naked without it

I haven't worn any perfume for several weeks. I usually wear it everyday but I've run out. It wasn't on my last year's birthday or Christmas list so I didn't get any but now I've had to gird my loins and buy my own. And my word how expensive is it?!

I like to wear Chanel No 5 in the day and Chanel Allure in the evening (if I'm going out). Allure is one perfume I can smell on me; I only get the benefit of No 5 when I'm doing dishes - no, I don't really understand that either but I guess it's to do with the temperature of my blood - but I do love it.

So I've dithered for ages over whether to buy some and which to buy. In the end I decided it had to be No 5 and I had to buy some: as the title of my post says, I feel naked without perfume.

Anyway perfume is my only expensive little luxury.

Oh and bras - but they're essential. And hair cuts - ditto.

What's your luxury? Or your scent?

What's your scent?

It wasn't my fault

It really wasn't. It's just a coincidence that Alfie's rear-view mirror only falls off when I happen to be driving. The fact that I banged it with my exercise mat only accelerated what was inevitable: it was already hanging off. So I'm not to blame. And when Husband starts to grumble I want you to tell him that for me!

* * * * * * * *

What do you think of this?

Milk in a bag. Sounds like a brilliant idea using 75% less plastic than a carton. And it was on special offer in Sainsburys. The milk is normally 98p and the jug would be £1.97 but today you could buy 2 packets of milk plus the jug for just 99p. How could I resist?

It was only when I got home that I remembered we have most of our milk delivered in glass bottles by the milkman. And that, although I do usually have to buy extra during the week, at the moment I've got loads of milk. Still ... it was a bargain.

If those are his doodahs where's his wotsit?

Son-in-law gets irritated when people look in his garden. I said, 'Oh dear, I always do that.'

'Yes but you don't stop and stare, do you?'

'Um ... well ... yes, I do. And sometimes I discuss its merits with George.'

Is this not acceptable behaviour? If charged I shall use the potty old woman and dog defence.

And speaking of potty dogs ...

Big White Bull was standing in the shade beneath the trees by the fence today so I decided to take a photo. This set off a chain of events.

I stopped.

George barked.

The bull jumped.

I yelped.

'George! Don't frighten the bull! There's only a thin fence between us. If he thinks he has to defend his herd it's every woman and dog for themselves!'

He is a white bull, honest, but it's a rubbish photo because a) I didn't want to push my luck by trying to get the light right, and b) my camera has a tiny scratch on the lens. It only has an effect in bright light then I get this white blurry bit in the middle of my photos. I shall have to put 'camera' on my Christmas list.

Without wanting to sound too naive I was a bit puzzled by the dangly bit between his legs. I think it was his doodahs but if that's the case where was his wotsit? I shall have to ask Husband; he knows about bulls.

I must be a careful driver

I discovered when I returned that I'd driven all the way to exercise class and back with this garden wire on the back of the car.

The slippery slope downhill

Just back from the theatre. The summer rep season has begun with Who Killed Agatha Christie? It's a two man play and very short. We were out by 9.15. As I said to Husband on the way home, 'That's the sort of evening out I like: we're home in time for Miranda, I don't have to dress up and I don't have to talk to people.'

I am turning into such an old person!

Driving to Zac's the other evening I saw a girl on one side of the road and three old ladies on the other. The girl was wearing a strappy t-shirt, shorts and sandals while the old ladies were in their thick winter coats. I was comfy in a jumper and woolly cardi. It is clear which side of the spectrum I'm rapidly heading for.

By the way the play was okay but I feel a bit uncomfortable with a play that ends with the baddie getting away with murder.

Our rare fossil find

Yesterday we visited Sidmouth, advertised as a Regency seaside town. It was a very gentle and tasteful sort of place, full of visitors, mostly elderly, and lacking any sort of amusement arcade. Instead the front street running opposite the promenade was full of hotels, mostly AA 3 and 4 star, and very genteel.

The most difficult thing I found was choosing which ice cream shop should benefit from my custom. All offered traditional, Devon or Cornish ice cream, all given names designed to trigger off pangs of sensual anticipation. Names like Bampton blackberry and Devonshire clotted cream. So good I'll have to go back and try another range.

The car park wall had an inbuilt flower bed running its length and it was overflowing with these fabulous pink and purple petunias. So vivid I had to take a photo. (Even though I can't see petunias without singing, 'Don't jump off the roof, dad, you'll make a hole in the yard; mother's just planted petunias, the weeding and seeding was hard.') (And I think Blogger has done something to the picture as it wasn't half faded as this is.)
It started off as a sandcastle but GrandDaughter added the stones and it became a sandbug from outer space.
Sidmouth and its sea front and cliffs form part of Devonshire's Jurassic coast.

Even though the coastline is renowned for the fossil finds I wasn't expecting to make this unique discovery. I showed it to GrandDaughter and she began meowing confirming my suspicion that what we had found was indeed a fossilised pussy cat.

Going to the toilet is much under-rated

Going to the toilet is a much under-rated activity. But, like any activity, it needs the right setting, a pleasing ambience.

I never went to the toilet in school. They were such horrid cold, smelly, wet places. Although I never told them about this habit of mine, my children inherited the trait and refused to go in school even though I impressed upon them how unhealthy it was to hold it in all day. (Do as I say not as I do.)

Now I find I'm avoiding the toilet in work. It's not that it's unpleasant in Linden; it's just that it's a typical 'institution' sort of toilet. So after work I rush home, dash through the door, yell, 'hello, I'll talk to you in a minute,' at everybody and scuttle into my beautiful blinging toilet.

And toilet, now that's another thing. It's very non-U to use that word. Lavatory is the preferred alternative I'm told.

And speaking of toilets, I wrote what I think is my best monologue on the theme of toilets without once mentioning the word.

But whatever you call it and whenever you go, do take time to enjoy the experience.

ABC Wednesday

I've decided I'll join in again with season 9 of ABC Wednesday, the brainchild of Denise Nesbitt. It starts this week and I've chosen my theme for the season: Wales. It's partly in response to the fact that Wales isn't known very much outside of this country - not even recognised as a country by many who imagine it's just part of England.

Wales has an acient history as well as its own language and culture so I hope my posts will help people discover its beauty and wamt to see more of it.

For A I've chosen Abertawe, which is the Welsh name for my home city of Swansea. Aber means 'mouth of' and you'll find lots of place names in Wales that begin with it. In our case it's the mouth of the river Tawe, which isn't quite visible in this photo but the dip in the hills in the centre of the photo is the Tawe valley.

To participate go here.

To motherhood

At one stage in my teenage years I wanted to be an engineer. My careers teacher at the time poured scorn on this as I showed no interest or aptitude for engineery type things. So then I decided to be a vet simply because I liked animals - except snakes and spiders - but television close-ups of the work involved put me off that.

My idea to own an oil rig I thought was a good one but grown-ups, as usual, saw only problems - where will you get the money to buy it? - where I saw opportunity - I'll borrow it from the bank.

In fact I don't ever remember the careers teacher giving me any helpful advice or suggestions. Maybe she realised what I didn't discover until later, but because it was the dawning of the age of feminist consciousness she wasn't allowed to say it. If she'd felt able I think she would have said, 'Find a man and have babies.'

Once I'd found the man and had the babies I knew without doubt what it was I was born to be - which was just as well because if I'd had to rely on talent and ability to get through life I'd have been screwed.

Motherhood - and now grannyhood - that's what it's about it. For me at least. It's where I've found my niche in life, my place. I don't claim to be good at it but I'm better at it than at anything else.

I was discussing with someone yesterday the fact that society has changed so much. When we were young parents mothers who went out to work were few; now it's the norm, a necessity in some cases if you want to pay the mortgage this month.

Some claim this is good and a woman's right and where a woman has a career or job she loves and wants to do, that's fair enough; but I'm sure there are plenty of others, like me, who only ever wanted to be mums. Which I happen to think is the most important job in the world.

Dog to rent

We've been asked if someone can borrow George.

Yes, I know that sounds unlikely but it's true. Husband met an old friend of mine in the woods and she has a friend whose husband has Alzheimer's. They used to have a retriever and she was looking for one to borrow on occasion to cheer up her husband. Husband said, yes, of course, and said to give them our number.

Meanwhile George and friend's dog were taking it in turns to hump each other.

'Borrow him? She can keep him.'

Monday's Odd Shots

Spot the deer!

Honestly at least four of them crossed the path in front of us.For Katney's Odd Shots.

Adventures of a newbie gardener

I am amazed that things I've planted haven't just died. This is my cottage garden bed - or will be next year when the plants have established and begin to flower. I hope. If you recall they didn't have any labels on them when they arrived so I didn't know what they were or how big they'd grow so my planting has been a bit hit and miss. But what matters is that they've survived and grown.But not as much as the plants that planted themselves. Like these poppies, which completely hide my French lavender and one of my new rose bushes. When they've finished I'll gather the seed pods and scatter them elsewhere - listen to me: I sound like a proper gardener!
To fill a space in the garden I scattered a pack of mixed annual seeds but I think I scattered them too closely together. There are supposed to be four different flowers in this patch but the cornflowers and one of the others - I only recall the name of the cornflower - seem to be doing best and overpowering the rest. I did try to thin them out but felt like a murderer.

This is one of the three plums on our Victoria plum tree that I planted two years ago. The tree is flourishing as you can see so, maybe, next year well get a better crop. That solitary one is quite low down so I live in dread of George discovering it. He already devours raspberries straight from the bush before we get a chance to enjoy them.

Meanwhile Husband's aubergine plants in the greenhouse are truly flourishing. Unfortunately they're all leaf and no fruit so Husband has taken a brush and buzzed around a bit to try to fertilise them and encourage some aubergines to form.
Earlier in the year I ordered from the gardening catalogue their bargain offer of 66 geranium plants. Trouble is I was a bit late ordering them and they were very little when they arrived so they're only just starting to flower but at least now I can walk past the shop displays that advertise one geranium for £1.99 and say, 'See how much I saved us!'

Wales is not in England

I was amazed to find out the Girlfriend's Italian parents didn't realise that Wales was a country and not part of England. On the other hand, Husband wasn't surprised as he thinks that is probably a common misapprehension.

To prove his point a letter arrived in work today.

Wouldn't you think that, if you were choosing a random church to ask for money you'd at least make sure you got the country right?

How to speak Italian in 5 hours

Last Monday Husband went to the library and came across a boxed CD set of 'Introductory Italian'. Five hours of basic conversation Italian. 'Just what we need,' he said to himself. Then he explained to me, 'It takes us two and a half hours to drive to Devon therefore by Thursday evening, when we get back, we'll have learned it all.'

Which would have been okay but for a couple of things.

As soon as we got on the motorway I started the CD. Half an hour later when we'd reached the end of lesson 1 I was a tense quivering wreck, who'd taken to asking the 'Voice' to repeat himself and panicking when a motorbike roared past, and Husband was blaming the rush hour traffic for his failure to concentrate. We repeated lesson 1 again after the Severn bridge.

On the return journey we couldn't face lesson 2 until after the bridge - by which time I'd had a little nap and pulled myself together.

The other problem was that we should have started learning Italian about a year ago and not the day before we're due to meet Girlfriend's parents and brother for the first time. There're only so many times you can ask, 'Lay com estar?' (my phonetic spelling of how are you) in the course of one conversation. Although 'Eo non capisco Italiano' (I don't understand Italian) was more useful.

Still all was well while Girlfriend was there to translate; there were awkward silences when she left the room ...

But we all enjoyed a meal at Topo Gigio's

on Saturday and my cheesecake went down very well as our Sunday dinner dessert. I'd planned to serve a traditional British Sunday dinner of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding except I forgot the Yorkshire pudding! I didn't remember until I was dishing up. How stupid is that? I couldn't believe it when I realised. Plonker.

I've also discovered my inability to speak Italian without gesticulating.

Lunch at Sam's

Because Girlfriend graduated in the morning and Younger Son was watching her ceremony before he had his in the afternoon he suggested that we meet him and take him for lunch. Girlfriend and her family were lunching with a group of Girlfriend's friends and their families, a mix of French, Norwegian and Turkish.

This time last year the in-laws visited and we took them to Morgan's, Swansea's only 5* hotel, for lunch. (Very posh place, terrible food, snooty staff.) We noticed then that the room was filled with proud parents and new graduates. It's obviously the thing that parents do on graduation day.

So we took Younger Son to Sam's. Sam's is where Swansea shoppers go when they can't afford Debenham's cafe prices and, anyway, they want a good roast dinner. Full of lots of old ladies, who seemed to be regulars having their weekly treat, who ooh-ed and aah-ed over Younger Son and his success - he was wearing his gown (but not his hat).

We would have gone somewhere proper for lunch had it not been for the fact that:

a) he had to collect his gown early;

b) there wasn't a lot of time;

c) we hadn't thought about it until he mentioned it on the morning.

But anyway at Sam's we found yummy baguettes, friendly staff and a proper pot of tea - and a little old lady called Doreen who proudly showed me her new photo ID. (She didn't pick me out for special treatment; she was showing everybody.)

Younger Son and Girlfriend both graduated today

but in different ceremonies so didn't have their gowns at the same time.

The balletic black swan at dawlish

An ethical dilemma

No, not whether Rupert Murdoch is a 'fit and proper' person to have control of BSkyB; I've already signed a petition saying I don't think so. And a petition to ask Mattel to stop destroying rain forests to make packaging for Barbie. And a petition asking various Caribbean countries to agree to a South Atlantic whale sanctuary.

Ooh, I've had an ethical day all right but here's my dilemma, which is much more serious: should we buy new GrandSon an England rugby shirt for this autumn's world cup?

He was, after all, born in England to an English mother. His father is resigned to the fact that he will grow up supporting the team that plays a few miles up the road at Twickers. But does that mean we too should capitulate?

I say 'we' meaning me obviously. Husband is a true blue Englishman who continues to insist that all of his children are English when they prefer to be Welsh.

I suppose I must consider how much teasing GrandSon could cope with should he choose to support Wales. But until he's in school and can make his own choice, I think a red jumper would be so much nicer. Plus the heart price I'd have to pay for an England jumper would be far too high.

Greaseproof paper is one of life's mysteries

I don't understand greaseproof paper. It doesn't let grease through, I guess, but you grease it anyway when you make a cake. And sometimes you flour it as well. It's one of life's mysteries to me. Like telephones.

Okay, maybe I can just get the principle that sound waves can travel down a wire but how on earth can they shoot up into space and then find the right mobile phone, which may be on the other side of the world?

And don't get me started on the internet. Or Google. Or television. Or George.

Cake, misbehaviour and gratitude

I'm trying out a new cake for Zac's tonight: Diane's apple cake. You noticed a bit missing? Well, Husband wanted some and I had to test it too.

It passed.

Sean's back from America tonight. I am going to tell him, too, that they've all been naughty while he was away. It was just as Lisa said, 'It's like when you get a supply teacher in school and you push her as far as you can.'

It gets very rowdy and silly when I'm leading it - nothing to do with me you understand! I am a model of decorum and good sense. Obviously.

Tonight will see the unveiling of the Zac's psalm of gratitude. Sean left us with the idea of writing a psalm similar to number 136 so I took my flipchart in last week and everyone contributed. When it's been premièred I'll publish it on my long bits blog but for now I'd better get back to cleaning ...

Postscript

The psalm is here now.