Why I should have read the large print before biting

For no apparent reason today I am depressed. It could be fall-out from Younger Son's depression (funding and problems with lack of communication with supervisors in university) about which I can do nothing (although I have suggested that I travel to Plymouth and kick some butt) or more likely it's this grey wet and windy weather. I feel I should do something practical to combat my lethargy but I feel too lethargic to bother. Hey ho. All things will pass.

So, anyway, this afternoon to relieve my misery I rummaged in the pantry for something yummy to eat being rather desperate as I finished the very last of my Christmas Maltesers yesterday. My eyes alighted upon Amaretti, Italian specialist biscuits, a Christmas gift. 'If only they weren't almond-flavoured,' I thought seeing as how I don't like almond. 'But are they?' I further thought.  

I was desperate. I took them in the study and studied the small print.

No mention of almonds there, just apricot kernels. 'That's odd but ...' I opened the box and unwrapped one of the delightfully packaged sweetmeats. I bit into it.

'Urgh!!!! Almonds! they lied to me!'

That was when I noticed in big writing on the front of the box:

A little googling however shows that both almonds and apricots are from the same genus, prunus, and that their poisonous seeds contain cyanide. Except for the originally rare few that didn't and which have been cloned by budding and grafting to provide the almond-growers of the world with a source that won't kill people. 

So I guess in some cases that apricot kernels are used in place of almonds. Indeed in China there has even been a court case about the misleading naming of products. Who'd have thought it? 

Paddington in the Grand Budapest Hotel

It seems we are ahead of the crowd for once!

Today we've learned that The Grand Budapest Hotel won Best Comedy Golden Globe; on Saturday we watched the dvd, it being one of Husband's meticulously researched choices for Christmas presents for me.

And it was jolly good. Gentle, entertaining, intriguing, wonderful scenery and the feeling that no-one is taking themselves too awfully seriously. And all at a relaxed pace. It had the feel of the Coen Brothers about it I felt.

Then on Sunday I took GrandDaughter to the cinema to see Paddington. Another lovely film. And Paddington is so real! You just accept him as a talking bear that it's nothing especially out of the ordinary for him to be wandering around London.

The music in it was also brilliant. Every now and then the scene includes a calypso busker band. I can't find a clip including them unfortunately but enjoy this trailer anyway.



At one point all was quiet in the cinema and all that could be heard was Granddaughter's little voice shouting, 'No, no!' as Paddington was going with the baddie (although he didn't know that at the time).

P.S. I haven't been to the cinema for a long time so was shocked to find that 2 tickets plus 2 ice creams cost me over £20.

Fifty shades of grey

After our walk I showered, put on my pyjamas and settled down ... another drum roll if you please ... to write. Or rather to edit my novel.

One of the long-time friends whom we hadn't seen for a long time asked how the writing was going. I shrugged and um-ed and ah-ed. Truth is I'd been putting it off. Having finished novel4 at the end of October I'm at the editing stage. That isn't too bad in itself but it's the thought that once it's edited - or the first few chapters at least are at a stage fit to be seen - I have to start sending it off to agents. And that means rejection.

'Not necessarily,' long-time friend said.

And it's true. And, as I've said before, I do think this is 'the one'. But I thought that about the others. But I must think it's good because if I don't there's not really much point writing and I do but if I start to say and act on that then hope will pop its cheerful little head above the parapets and we all know where that will lead.

But this afternoon I did. Do some editing that is. And I remember that I do like my story and I do find it entertaining and surely there must be an agent out there who's looking for something just like this. At this very moment she's glancing through yet another manuscript with the old boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy finds girl and all is well theme in one context or another and she's desperate to find the next Harry Potter (mine's not about boy wizards or even girl wizards) or Fifty Shades of Grey (the most erotic bit in my novel is ... well, you'll have to read it to find out). 

All I have to do is find her.

An embarrassing incident at the Post Office

Nuora's father in Italy likes British tea and Nuora and Younger Son took some over with them when they went but asked me if I could send some more. I duly bought two 1kg bags of teabags (that were on special offer).

I didn't have any brown paper so, taking sealing tape, a scissors, the address and a pen with me, I headed off for the PO to but some wrapping paper. Instead I saw a flat-pack box that was an ideal size. Putting out of my head all those boxes that arrived and that we threw away before Christmas I waved it at the woman behind the counter to explain I intended to pay for it all together. She nodded and watched as I set about putting the box together. (It was a quiet time.)

First put on glasses. Next study pictorial instructions on side. 'Okay, that looks ... straightforward-ish. First I put B here. No wait, where's A? There isn't an A in the picture. What am I supposed to do with A? Oh flip. well, how does that stay together then? ... No, that's E. ... But if that's E, where's C?'

And so on. And, yes, I am, I realise, saying these things aloud. Not that woman behind counter rushes to my aid. 

Eventually ... drum roll, trumpet call ... I have a box. I pack it, seal it with extra tape, write on the address and take it to the counter.
'What's in the parcel?' the woman asks - even though she watched me fill it.
'Teabags.'
'Where's it going?'
'Italy.'
'That'll be £35.'
'Pardon?'

And that's the cheap option. I don't bother. I'll suggest to YS that Father-in-law goes to St Mark's Square in Venice (allegedly the most expensive cafes in the world). Even with the travel costs for him it would be cheaper.

So I leave the Post Office still laden and £1.99 (being the cost of the box) worse off .

I pass an elderly gentleman going in the opposite direction. As I walk on I hear a rustling noise and glance back to see he has dropped a piece of paper. I look again and see it's a £10 note. I turn around, hurry before the wind takes it into the traffic - I might be a saint but I don't want to be a dead one - and pick it up - not an easy job with parcel in hand and legs that hurt like crazy when I bend, then hurry after the gentleman who is proving to be surprisingly fast on his feet. 

He is grateful leaving me with a nice warm feeling, proving that Random Acts of Kindness are good for you.

Husband does it again

Circuit training on Thursday morning for the first time since the end of November meant I can barely walk or sit down in comfort but today I struggled up the side of Clyne hill. My legs ached but more than that I panted even more than usual.

I'm always aware that I seem to pant more heavily and loudly and sooner than most people do. I mentioned this to Husband who blamed my slow metabolism. 
'It means it doesn't take much exercise for your lungs to go into over-drive,' he said, adding, 'you'll be like Auntie Joan and live to a grand old age with an alert mind.'
I smiled and preened myself.
'After all,' he continued, 'neither your body or brain have been used very much.'

Should you take a pushchair on a bike ramp?

'Shall we go over this bike ramp?'
No answer from GrandSon2 in pushchair so I take that as a yes and wheel him up. It's only when I need to climb on to the ramp in order to keep control of the pushchair that I discover it's very slippery. 
'Whoops ... hang on ... I'll have to think about this ... okay I've got it ... now let's just ... oo-er ... hang on! ... let me just ... phew we made it. That was scary, wasn't it?'
'Again!'
'Do you think we should? Oh all right!'

Granny shouldn't be left alone with a grandchild and a pushchair.

Before that we'd had great fun on the beach making a super daleky sandcastle (so cross I didn't have my camera with me) and afterwards more fun at the playground. 

It is wonderful having grandchildren living within impromptu baby-sitting distance.

P.S. After two days and night of wind and rain sandcastle is still standing.

What your best friend won't tell you

Sorting out a bag of food for a guy in Zac's on Tuesday I hesitated as I left the store-room. 'Actually,' I thought, 'he needs ...' And I went back in and dug out some shower gel and deodorant.

Subtle as a brick, that's me.

Je suis Charlie

I know very little about Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism or any of the many religions; I don't even know that much about many aspects of Christianity, certainly when it comes to the Old Testament. But I do know what Jesus, when asked, said is the most important commandment:
"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbour as yourself."

Love. Nothing there about hate or kill or fight God's battles for him. God doesn't need us to do that; what he wants us to do is love each other. As we love ourselves. And maybe that's where the problem arises for so many.

We struggle to live up to ideals, to reach a level at which we will be considered successful or even acceptable. We don't like, let alone love, ourselves. Yet it's as we are now that God loves us. With all our imperfections and weaknesses.

There are crazy - I was going to say fundamentalists but it occurred to me that the most basic fundamental is that of loving although it's something that those termed fundamentalists seem to forget - people in every religion. Don't blame God; blame those who do evil in whatever name.

cartoonchurch.com

Good etiquette for pelicans

Every time I find myself behind a VW Touareg I find myself trying to work out what it is an anagram of. I mean, no-one would really call a car a Touareg would they? Not unless it was a cunning joke, understood only by those in the know, who cover their mouths with their hands and snigger every time they see one on the road.

It's not even a proper word.


(Bother, I just blew my nose with the tissue I used to mop up tea.)

And talking of roads, what is the correct etiquette for pelican crossings?

If you've pressed the button and are waiting patiently when a gap in the traffic appears while the man is still red, do you:
a) ignore it and wait for the green man;
b) cross in the gap with never a second thought for the cars who will soon have to stop for no-one;
c) cross guiltily in the gap and then hide so none of the drivers realises it's you who pressed the button?

Old friends, new friends

A good couple of days.

Yesterday a young Afghan who comes to Zac's was granted asylum. He has been in this country for 7 years after fleeing his homeland where his brother and father were murdered. Since then he's become a Christian (because of his experiences with Christians on his journey here).

Two years ago he was arrested and sent to a Reading deportation centre. An appeal and campaign resulted in him coming back to Swansea but a few months ago his latest appeal - on the grounds that his life would be in danger if he returned, especially as he is now a Christian - was turned down and he was given one last chance to prove his case. A massive campaign was mounted and letters of support gathered ready for the hearing yesterday. He was told that the best he could hope for was a 3-hour hearing resulting in the judge saying that he would give his decision in 3 or 4 weeks. He was in court for 10 minutes, the only question he was asked was his name and then the judge declared himself satisfied and granted asylum. We celebrated in Zac's last night.

Tam with Mike and Cath Sheehan who have been leading the campaign.

Then today we met up for coffee with 'old' friends. Husband was best man at their wedding, which was a few years before ours, and over recent years, apart from Christmas cards, we've not had much contact. So it was time to catch up. And it was just like we'd seen each other yesterday. We all looked positively youthful of course, even though we  were discussing bus passes, grown-up children, the joys of retirement (especially staying in bed in the mornings) and motorhomes.

By the way I've put the old in quotes because Steve objected to it on my Facebook post!

Destined to eat Weetabix for ever

I have two Weetabix for breakfast. Over the Christmas period someone had one Weetabix (or possibly three) leaving me with an odd number in the box. So I can never finish the box without starting a new one. Unless I have one (not enough) or three (which I could easily eat but really really shouldn't).

It is a dilemma. It's a good job I like Weetabix.

The difference between being 62 and 89

On New Year's Eve Husband and I had steak and salad for dinner then were in bed by 10.30 pm.

My uncle, who is 89, went to a friend's for a dinner party, arrived home just after midnight, was invited in for a drink by his neighbours and got to bed by about 2.00 am.

I am looking forward to being 89.

"I thought about buying you ..."

a) A camera. That was the first thing Husband suggested as my Christmas present and I turned it down! Much as I would like a fancy camera with a proper view-finder so I can see what I'm taking a photo of, I figured that a clever camera wouldn't actually improve my photography and that the one I have is adequate for my needs. 

b) A new food processor/mixer. I've had my current one almost as long as we've been married and the bowl is starting to crack. (Make up your own jokes here.) 'But I thought you'd want to be involved in choosing it so I didn't,' he said.

c) A small furry pet. (Again, insert own jokes.) My great-aunt asked me to call in and collect 'the hamster,' (my word not hers) leading Husband to tell me of his thinking-outside-the-box present ideas. Sadly he discarded this one as it 'would be too much of a bind.'

So resorting to more usual present ideas he did some meticulous research into films 'Liz might like' and came up with five dvds, one of which we watched last night. 

Last Vegas stars Robert de Niro, Michael Douglas, Morgan Freeman and Kevin Kline as old friends who take a trip to Las Vegas for the bachelor party for the only remaining bachelor, Billy (Michael Douglas), who is marrying a girl less than half his age. It's not a huge dramatic tale nor are there any especially hilarious scenes, but the characters are lovely, the humour is gentle - and funny. I very much enjoyed it. So it's a tick for the first one on the list; I'll let you know how I fare with his other choices.

I'm not ill

But neither am I 100% either. Since the end of November I've not been on top of my game - had I game on top of which I would ever be unless dog-walking counts or possibly jelly splash - and I am FED UP of it. 

It's only sniffles, dry throat, occasional coughs and frequent weariness but it's driving me mad. I have even greater respect for people will long-term conditions when I struggle so much with petty ailments like these. 

What can I do to fight the bugs? Do you have any old wives' - or old husbands' if it comes to that - advice to give me? What's your favourite pick-me-up? And don't say gin, please, because I don't drink.

Right now I'm off for a dose of extra-strong vitamin C, although I find that tends to make things bearable rather than getting rid of them altogether. And then maybe curl up with a book. Or sleep.

Qualms, runcible spoons and being ept

Miranda, in the penultimate episode ever of her marvellous sitcom, had qualms about marrying Gary. Or did she think he had qualms? Anyway, she used one of her signature devices and played with the word, qualm. When you think about it you would expect it to have an r where the l is (unless I am pronouncing it wrongly, which I don't think I am.) But what can you expect of a language where a word is spelled y-a-c-h-t and pronounced ye-ot?

Fast-forward to yesterday, New Year's Day. Daughter and family came to lunch. (How wonderful that they can now do this! And go home afterwards!) After eating, GrandDaughter and GrandSon2 put on a performance of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves for us. Somehow GrandDad and Granny got roped in as all seven dwarves and the wicked queen respectively while Mummy and Daddy sat back and relaxed. Apart from a spectacular performance from the old hag, 'Come eat my beautiful apple, my precious,'  there seemed to be a lot of GrandDaughter pretending to be asleep and needing a kiss from the handsome prince (or Ninja Turtle as he preferred to think of himself). Then having taken their bows GrandDaughter insisted it was my turn to 'put on a show'. 

So I recited - with actions - The Owl and the Pussycat, which leads us to the runcible spoon. Since I first heard the poem I have pondered what a runcible spoon is - but never thought to find out. Until today. And what do you know? It's a made-up word of Edward Lear's! Well, blow me down.

Reading back over this post I questioned my spelling of dwarves. Should it be dwarfs, I wondered. Having my trusty Chambers dictionary to hand I checked. Apparently dwarfs is the common plural; dwarves is acceptable but rare. Except in this house. 

And finally, continuing the wordy theme of this post, why can't you be ept? My young friend complained that she was socially inept (she's not although it would explain why she's friends with me) but how can you be inept if you can't first be ept? You have apt, inapt and aptitude so where is eptitude?

When I am a famous author I shall include ept in a novel and and people will say, 'I didn't know ept was a word but it must be if Liz Hinds uses it for she is a famous novelist so I shall use it too' and it will become a commonly-used word and my novel will go down in one of those books about 'earliest use of the word' and will feature in the Times crossword and be eligible for scrabble. Which means it will have to be included in the Chambers Dictionary and may even be credited to me so my name shall live in perpetuity as The Ept Woman.

And now I think I must cease this babbling. Forgive me: I am over-excited at the return of The Musketeers this evening. Chips on the beach and Aragon in one day. (Aragon? Or is he in Lord of the Rings?) Aramis! That's the one.

Chips on the beach!

You can tell I wasn't with Husband. He would never have suggested/agreed to having chips on the beach in the middle of the day; he is much too sensible. But I jumped up and down with glee, the experience being made even better by the fact that I got a little wooden fork too! 

And the company as well of course. My lovely young friend.

Our third attempt at a selfie. Number 1 exposed my wrinkled forehead and then Elin grumbled about number 2, so we changed direction using the claim that we'd get a better view of the beach this way and not that it meant that our faces were in the shade. (The best photos of me are taken in the shade, preferably darkness.)

The chips came at the end of our time together. It wasn't what we'd gone there to do although Elin was commenting from early on on the delicious smell of the chips so it was totally her fault. We began with tea and cake - a maple and pecan sort of flapjacky-but-not-really thing that would do rather nicely for Zac's if I'd found out what it was called and could have googled a recipe - followed by a stroll on the (over-crowded) beach followed by a selfie and sit-down followed by chips and another sit-down.

So by the time I got round to walking George (Husband has had a poorly stomach and has had to spend the day playing Civilisation on his laptop) it was getting late. 'Just a quick walk,' I told George - before I got carried away.

We started off along the beach.

And then cut back through the park.

I was a little worried, as the sun was setting, that we may get locked in the park. I was concerned, purely for George of course, as, unlike me obviously, he'd never be able to vault safely over tall pointy metal railings so I kept an eye open for gaps in the fence. And let me tell you: there aren't many. Which is strange considering its proximity to the university halls of residence. So it was a relief when we reached the other side safely even though it did mean walking quickly which in the cold evening air with a dodgy chest and throat isn't necessarily the wisest action.

Lemsip to bed I think tonight. 

Reflections on my 2014

Family
The year began brilliantly with the birth of GrandSon3 in Surrey, a second son for Elder Son and Daughter-in-law. Soon after this Younger Son and Nuora set off on the adventure of their lives when they left home to travel to the Perhentian Islands in Malaysia to set up Blue Temple Conservation, a volunteer and research project aimed at investigating and raising awareness of the potential damage done by tourists and in particular scuba divers to the marine environment (amongst other things). We are incredibly proud of them for their courage and enthusiasm but we do miss them very much.

Then we went through a long lull, including a holiday in Fuerteventura followed by a lovely seemingly never-ending summer at home, enjoying the peace before the ... return of both Younger Son and Daughter to the family nest. YS and Nuora were with us for about six weeks before flying off to Italy for Christmas before they return to their island paradise for the second year of the project. Daughter, who had delightedly announced that she was pregnant again, and family moved back in with us when Son-in-law changed jobs and returned to Swansea's Morriston Hospital to work. As they haven't been able to sell their house but had found a tenant, they stayed with us for a couple of weeks before moving into a rented house.

And then it was Christmas.

"Work"

I was officially due to retire in July 2015 but, this year, when I told the trustees of Linden that I was taking some time out from church they suggested to me, in that case, they didn't think it would 'be feasible' for me to continue to work for the church; they suggested I go away and think about it. I did the gracious thing and opted to take early retirement. I think I was the only one surprised by the reaction of the trustees; the more cynical of my acquaintances asked me what I'd expected.

So, I admit, it was with some slight - pain is too strong a word - maybe hurt is better - that I left in the summer. But I have to say that it was the best thing and I am so happy now not to be working. I don't think I'd realised how much resentment about all sorts of stuff had built up within me. How much of that affected my original decision to take time out from church I'm not sure but I am at peace with both decisions.

Gathering for my farewell ice cream at Verdi's

Writing

Three rejections for both novels 2 and 3 this year: it has seemed like more than that! Must get back to submitting again. On the positive side, just before the beginning of November, I finally finished novel 4, which I began during the 2013 NaNoWriMo. As I've said before, this is definitely THE ONE that will make my fame and fortune! So I'd better get on with editing and perfecting the first three chapters so I can begin the submission ritual.

I have continued to blog though less frequently and Facebook and tweet. I must start to take the self promotion more seriously if I am to network and do the sorts of things people tell me I must if I am to succeed.

Zac's

I decided to take time out from Linden to concentrate on Zac's and I don't regret that decision for a moment. However when people ask me how it's going I have to shrug and say, 'Okay you know.' In truth I - and my hopes and dreams - don't seemed to have moved on but that has partly been through circumstances.

By its very nature it is almost impossible for a year to go by at Zac's without tragedy. During the year I attended three funerals and there were other deaths from the Thursday night coffee bar too. Of the funerals  I attended two were suicides, young men who couldn't take any more. 

But there was good news too. In the summer we had a double baptism in the sea and, as I wrote at the time, though none of the bikers were in attendance there were still enough of the Zac's family to substantiate the claim we make to be church. We have a small band of regulars, very different in many ways, yet each individual being accepted and loved as he or she is. It would be good to see the group grow, for some of the occasionals to become regulars, but what is important is that Zac's is a living breathing community that is changing and developing healthily.

Through Zac's I agreed to help support a single mum with a year-old son. That support became more of a commitment when she fell pregnant again, and even more so when Baby was suspected of being Downs (he is) and having a heart condition (it seems to be all right). I've seen enough of the inside of hospitals this year to keep me going for a while, thank you very much. But as of now, Mum, Big Brother and Baby are all doing well. She is coping admirably and just gets on with life, putting her children first in all things. 

So in 2015 I hope to be able to really get going on plans to begin a day-time bible study for vulnerable women as well as reaching out into the massage parlours that are on Zac's doorstep.

All in all, 2014 was a pretty good year and my prayer for us all is that 2015 will be a time of wonderful blessing, good health - and fun!

So before Christmas we had Christmas

On Sunday we had a roast rib of beef for our pre-Christmas Christmas dinner with Younger Son and Nuora before they left for Italy. From there they'll be going straight back to the Perhentian Islands so the next time we'll see them is when we visit, probably in September. And Husband wore his Christmas t-shirt (to avoid having to wear it on Christmas day).

I have to say that dinner was perfectly cooked - unlike my Christmas day disaster with the sprouts. I put them in to steam with the pudding but they were not only hard but also bitter and vile. Even Husband - who is the only person who actually likes sprouts - said so.

Christmas goodies

GrandSon1's influence can be seen in the decoration on the very last-minute cake. Cake made on Monday, iced on Wednesday. GrandSon1 pointed out that Peter Rabbit should have white inside his ears and he told me how I could do it and so we did. He also pointed out that I had only given him 2 buttons on his coat when there should be three.

The old familiar Christmas Day starter of fish parcel with beetroot and rocket salad.

But a different choice of dessert. Lemon posset and shortbread as an alternative to pudding or cake or chocolate brownie.

We made it!

'I think I'm going to have a heart attack.'
'I'm feeling faint,' Husband replied.
'Heart attack trumps fainting.'
'Not if you have a heart attack when I faint.'

True. Good job I didn't and nor did he. It was my first walk/exercise for at least a month, what with the lurgies, busyness and life of pre-Christmas, and it showed in the panting as I climbed the hill. But we made it to the top and home again - and before a hail shower - so we're back on track. Now all we have to do is eat all the leftover food and chocolates ...

It was a lovely Christmas season with two Christmas dinners - one before Younger Son and Nuora left for Italy and one on the day itself - plus loads of other yummy food including Elder Son's now traditional Christmas Eve festive lasagne.

And it was just wonderful to be together in various patterns although with everyone gone now the house does seem a bit empty and I'm wandering around like a little lost sheep. A Boxing day jigsaw was a great antidote though as was today's walk and later on the traditional local rugby derby between Ospreys and Scarlets. We'll be watching it on television because the only tickets left when I checked were corner ones, and they were just too expensive.

And I mustn't forget to mention my Christmas present from Husband who kept asking me what I wanted and when I didn't give him an answer came up with this:

A sonic screwdriver! The proper David Tennant one of course. (Universal remote control that takes a day to set up but then can be gesture or voice operated. Oh this is going to be fun!)

Not that I hold a grudge, you understand

Magazines and nowadays television programmes too are always telling us that nothing beats a home-made gift but I'm not convinced. Let's face it, on the creativity scoreboard I fall near the bottom bottom. Except for cooking. I'm a good cook and my brownies are, though I say it myself, world class.

I also used to make a pretty good shortbread biscuit too but I haven't made them for years. (Heinke from Linden makes THE best actual shortbread in the world.) As a young married I believed in all this home-made is best stuff plus I wanted to prove to my in-laws that I was looking after their son well so, for our Christmas visit, I made a batch of shortbread cookies and took them with us as an offering. (With 'proper' Christmas presents as well.)

On Christmas day when tea was laid out for all the family there on the table was a plate of shortbread biscuits - of the shop-bought variety. Of my home-made version there was no sign. In fact they didn't appear until we were about to leave when Mother-in-law gave them to me saying, 'You might as well take these home with you.'

I didn't bother again.

Better than frankincense any day

So happy to be feeling better today that I sang and danced my way around Sainsburys. Strangely enough the other shoppers didn't share my joy. Until I inadvertently made one laugh when she spotted the look of horror on my face on being told the total cost of my shopping. 

And now I've cleaned the lounge and moved the furniture ready for the tree - and now I'm beginning to fade fast. Time for a little lie down I think. Don't want to overdo it.

* * * * * * * 
Yesterday in true Blue Peter style I fashioned two ... um, not sure what you'd call them ... sort of packaging out of two perfectly good boxes. Good but not big enough for my purposes boxes that is. I proudly handed them over to the Post Office assistant and she said I wouldn't get a Blue Peter badge as they didn't meet the criteria i.e. they were too big to be small packages. But that was her criterion and it could be said that I wasn't trying to meet it although I would have tried if I'd bothered to find out. Or even thought about it.

You may compliment me on my creativity of you wish.

* * * * * * * * * 
The old bible college next door to us has been taken over by a church from Singapore to use as a missionary college I think. They're in the process of doing it up and in the meantime they have a growing congregation. Yesterday two of that congregation knocked on our door and presented us with a Christmas gift.

Better than frankincense any day.

Lying in bed fantasising

On the rare occasions - they are rare in spite of the fact that I always seem to be grumbling - that I have to take to my bed I can tell when I'm beginning to feel better because I start to fantasise. 

About fried breakfasts. In particular fried egg and proper fried bread.

When I was a little girl I would go to church on a Sunday morning with my mum. We attended the 8 o'clock service and would be home in time for Alistair Cook's Letter from America followed by the Archers omnibus on the home service. And my gran would do us all a fried breakfast.

I don't remember what else we had but my favourite thing was the bread, warm, crisp and oozing with bacon fat. Mmm, I'm salivating as I remember. 

But then as I grew up, got married, and had my own children, every day the media found new evidence to persuade us that we'd live longer if we changed our diet to exclude, well, most tasty things but especially animal fat. So fried bread became a thing of the past.

Strangely enough, my gran, grandfather, and both great-grans lived into their 80/90s in spite of their diets. In fact one great-gran reputedly responded to a neighbour commenting on the size of her grocery bill by saying, 'I'd rather pay the grocer than the doctor.'

A little of what you fancy and not too much of anything. Except maybe Maltesers.

Stop dancing, Granny

I have two new Christmas cds this years: Michael Buble and the Puppini Sisters (a bit like the Andrews Sisters according to the blurb - I wouldn't know being far too young to remember them).

We were listening to Mr Buble while GrandDaughter was having lunch yesterday and, naturally, I began to dance around the kitchen. GrandDaughter did not approve and told me in no uncertain terms to stop. I laughed and carried on and she said, 'I'm serious. This isn't funny,' which of course made me laugh and dance even more. But she really really meant it.

I didn't think my dancing was that bad ...

Remember I said ...

better busy than ill? Let's rewrite that to say just busy and ill.

A routine examination for Baby on Monday turned into emergency admission when he went blue. You can tell things are serious when there are a lot of staff working quietly and efficiently and smiling sympathetically and asking solicitously, 'Would you like to sit down?'

Baby's still in hospital and on oxygen but improving. I thank God he was in the right place when it happened.

The sore throat I had has gone ... but is now reappearing as a chesty cough. Not really advisable for me to breathe over sick babies right now.

* * * * * * * * 
Some time has elapsed since I began this post mainly because I've been bed-ridden and proper poorly. And now, just as I'm starting to feel better although still coughing, Daughter, GrandSon2 and Husband are all ill again. 

Husband went to the doctor this morning as it's going onto his chest. The doctor said, 'This is going to spoil a lot of people's Christmasses' and I know Husband can be grumpy but that's still not a nice way to talk about him. 

So we're all trying to avoid each other, which when you live in the same house is a trifle awkward. Although Daughter and co will be moving out soon. Younger Son and Son-in-law have spent the weekend traipsing between Devon and Swansea, packing and unloading a furniture van so they'll soon be off to their rented house - just in time for Elder Son and family to arrive for Christmas. 

Baby meanwhile was released from hospital on Thursday evening. I haven't seen them since - for reasons already explained - but I've not heard of any emergencies so I'm guessing he's much improved.

With a bit of luck Younger Son, Nuora and I will collect a tree tomorrow and it may start to feel a bit like Christmas.

We WILL all be better for Christmas; I am determined. I have bought several bottles of anti-bacterial spray and and aerosol and am busy zapping anything that is still long enough.

But right now I need a little lie down ...

The plague cloud passes over

We are finally emerging from underneath the plague cloud that has been hovering over our house for the last week or so. It all began when Daughter and her family moved in with us last Sunday ...

First it was GrandSon2 with an ear infection then Daughter with tonsillitis and then me with tonsillitis too. Oh yes and Husband had a poorly stomach on his birthday (Monday) and even George joined in being very unpleasantly sick.

You know how it is sometimes: you can go for ages without seeing a doctor then you find yourself a daily visitor to waiting-rooms. 

The good news is that George and GrandSon2 are better and I am almost. Daughter is still suffering but mostly with back-ache, a side effect of pregnancy I think. Husband was better but has had a recurrence of stomach problems today - so much so that he did wonder if it were a repeat of last year's trouble i.e. an intestinal blockage, but now thinks it's probably not.

What else apart from sickness has been happening in our household? As I say, Daughter and family have moved in but are probably moving out again next weekend as they're renting a house (as their house in Devon didn't sell in time they're renting that out to give them time to look around). As we also have Younger Son and Nuora with us for another couple of weeks that means there are six adults, two children, two dogs, one cat and two fish currently in residence. Such fun!

On the plus side it's a good excuse to go and have Verdi's ice cream plus Daughter is a big Christmasaphile so I get to watch Christmas movies with her. Last night we enjoyed (well, she and I did) Christmas with the Cranks - and she has a whole box of dvds!

I'm sure there's more but the week has been a bit of a blur and this week with a variety of hospital and other appointments (not for me but the baby I've been helping to support) it doesn't look as if it's going to clear any time soon. But better busy than ill any day!

The toilet seat's in the sink

On Friday evening at about 10.10 the phone rang. I am old enough to dread late night (late for me) phone calls so I answered it tentatively. It was Elder Son.
'Oh hello.'
'My train gets in at 11.20.'
'... what?'
'Did you get my message?'
'No.'
'Oh right, well, the train gets in at 11.20.'
'... tomorrow morning? Or tomorrow evening?'
'Tonight.'

Elder Son had asked earlier in the week if there'd be a bed for him if he came down (he was going to the rugby in Cardiff on Saturday with friends) and I'd replied yes but hadn't heard from him so assumed he was staying in Cardiff. I really should learn not to make assumptions where my children are concerned. 

Husband had already gone to bed while I'd stayed up late (10.00 pm) to watch Not Going Out so I tiptoed upstairs to tell him. 
'Does he want us to pick him up?'
'I said I would.'
'Do you want me to?'
'No, it's all right; I'll do it.'
'Are you sure?'
'Yes,' I shrugged nobly. So he turned over and went to sleep. And I went back downstairs muttering to myself, 'He was supposed to insist.'

Not the best game of rugby (Wales v South Africa) but finally the right result. And Husband volunteered to pick him up when Elder Son rang later in the evening to say he was on the train back to Swansea. (after being put right by me, 'You should have insisted,' and by Younger Son's shock, 'You didn't let Mum go to the station on her own at that time of night, did you?')

This morning it was back to the station again for Husband and Elder Son and then home to continue to prepare for the arrival of Daughter and family and the start of their live-in. Husband's main job was to repair the sparkly downstairs toilet seat. This involved taking it apart and scrubbing it - in my washing-up bowl.

Elder Son remarked that daughter-in-law would have had a fit if he'd done that at home. I shrugged again. I have become immune both to Husband's actions and germs.

But I will buy a new washing-up bowl. Today.

The trouble with lies

I grew up believing my parents were married but separated and that my father worked in India. At some point, quite late on, my early teens I think, my mother told me in a roundabout way that, in fact, she had never been married. I was a naive child and had never thought to question the things I was told, a situation that I suspect today's children would find hard to believe.

Discovering that lie, which had been the basis of my life up till then, threw everything into doubt. The Indian doll allegedly from my father, the £5 note my mother said my father had sent for me when I passed my 11+, how could I see them as anything but fabrication put into place to help maintain the story?

But now I wonder.

Husband's family history research has shown that my father did indeed spend time in India so it is possible he brought home a doll for me. And he might have sent me a reward for my first academic success: he was a barrister after all; maybe he thought I had inherited his brains.

He might actually have thought about me once or twice in his lifetime, not as a nuisance that shouldn't have happened but as a child of his. Not enough to want to meet me but maybe a little more than one of his neatly filed and finished-with legal cases. I'll never know. He, my mother and my grandparents, the only people who could have told me, are dead.

That's the trouble with lies: they undermine truth.

Good and bad service

Today I returned a £9 t-shirt to Sainsburys. As I didn't have the receipt I couldn't have my money back but had to exchange it. In its place I bought a £22 jumper.

Then, when I'd finished shopping I discovered that 'my 'branded shop today was £10.74 cheaper than Asda,' meaning I'd saved £10.74, which when added to the original £9 almost makes £22. Which means, if I'd bought and saved just a little bit more, I could have had my jumper for nothing.

That is what it means, isn't it?

Sainsburys is, like most reputable shops, good when it comes to exchanging items. Not so The Range as I discovered when I tried to swap a curtain track that was too short for a longer one.
'Do you have the receipt?'
'No, I'm afraid I couldn't find it.'
'Then you can't exchange it.'
'But I only want to exchange it for a longer one. I'll pay the difference.'
'Without the receipt you can't.'

The only way I could make the exchange was if I took in a copy of my bank statement proving my purchase. For goodness sake! 

I got home and penned an angry email to The Range. That was last Friday and I've not had a reply from them.

Then I found the receipt.

Once again I drove across town and presented the curtain track and receipt to Customer Services at The Range. 
'I'd like to return this, please.'
'Is there anything wrong with it?'
'No.'

I had a full refund and I will go elsewhere to buy a replacement track. And I will write another email to the Head Office telling them I won't be using their shop again.

A celebratory day!

Yesterday morning Husband said, 'As it's your birthday I'll put on some deodorant.' What more could a girl ask for?

Anyway I had a lovely day. The rain kept off long enough for us to enjoy a walk - and the odd jump - on the beach and then Husband cooked me a super dinner. I received lots of cards and lovely presents - including 4 boxes of Maltesers - and Younger Son and Nuora made me a Malteser and chocolate finger cake.

On being a single mother (for a week)

One of the women in Zac's went into labour in the early hours of last Monday (3rd). I'd agreed to go and look after her 18-month-old while she was in hospital so at 2.30 am - when Husband had finally heard the phone ringing and woken me - off I trotted. I thought I'd be there 24 hours, 48 at the most. I came home yesterday evening - 8 days later.

I'd forgotten how wearing it is to have a constant shadow especially when that shadow didn't like to go to bed in the evening until past my bed-time. But even worse than caring for a toddler was coping with a coal fire. My granny, who kept our home fire burning until she was in her 80s,  would have been ashamed of me. I'm afraid my language deteriorated slightly. I fear Toddler's first word may be 'crap', in which case I shall deny all knowledge. 

It is pleasing to know that, though I may have let down my granny, Great-auntie Vi, who could swear like a trooper, would have been proud of me.

With no internet access and mobile reception intermittent at best and seeming to depend on which way the wind was blowing I felt cut off and in danger of being swallowed up by the world of Mr Bloom, Mr Tumble, Mike the Knight and the inhabitants of 64 Zoo Lane.

Over on Facebook I listed a number of firsts for this last week; the list included burning my finger with a cigarette lighter. I hope that is now explained. Next on the list was being chased by a gang of swans, geese, ducks, seagulls and coots. It had seemed a good idea to take Toddler and the old bread to feed the birds on a nearby lake. How was I to know they would surround me and try to take the bread out of my hands? No amount of squeaking or saying, 'Shoo! Shoo!' while backing away deterred them so I ended up flinging slices of bread in the air and running. (By the way, Toddler was parked in his pushchair at a safe distance away in case anyone from Social Services is reading this.) 

Next came shopping at Lidl. It seemed appropriate, given that I was living on the east side, to pay a visit to the supersaver store. I managed to resist the cheap Belgian seashell choccies but gave in to the freshly-baked Tiger loaf, which was delicious.

Taking Toddler back and for to hospital (on the west side of town) to see his mum gave me plenty of opportunity to call into home for an occasional shower and brief respite when Husband took Toddler out in the pushchair. I could not have survived this week without Husband who is a truly wonderful and generous man. I'm also very grateful to Wendy and Vincent who stopped by on Saturday evening to give me a break.

On my forays home I usually remembered to pick up clean underwear but, at the end, had to wear the same knickers for two days. Shudder. I thought about taking Toddler to playgroup but couldn't face it knowing I was wearing old knickers. 

That was the final thing on my list but I should have added 'driven around with a banana on the roof of the car.' 

And as for being a single mum, especially those without family support, well, I don't know how they do it. 

I had a car, which at least allowed me to get around but, and here I'm going into rant mode, the number of parent and child parking spaces is woefully inadequate. Without wishing to sound disablist, if you're disabled there are plenty of reserved parking spaces everywhere and I'm sure there are more parent and children than disabled. In the whole of the hospital car park - the inadequacy of which is another rant in itself - there are just three spaces for parent and child parking. If you've ever tried to get a baby in or out of a car parked in a normal space you'll know how hard it is. And I know they don't encourage child visitors in hospitals but there must be times when it's important or unavoidable. When I was sitting in the queue slowly moving around the full car park I saw three families struggle getting out of cars.

If I had any energy left I'd start a campaign.

And in the midst of all this Younger Son and Nuora came home from Malaysia (good) and Wales lost to Australia (bad).

Still now things should return to normalish as I only have to visit Mum and children most days for the next two weeks and that'll be a doddle!