Tony Blair's bad sex

Tony Blair has been nominated for a Bad Sex Award. In writing I should add.

'I needed that love Cherie gave me, selfishly. I devoured it to give me strength. I was an animal following my instinct.'

The award is normally only for fiction but an exception has been made in Tony's case. Possibly.

(I reaped this little nugget from Writers' News magazine.)

Me and My Girl

'Do you remember that television series with Robin wotsit and his daughter when there was a shot of Three Cliffs in the opening sequence?'

I stared at husband. 'That rings absolutely no bells whatsoever.'

'You know, he was in Man About the House.'

'Yes, I know who you mean but I think Robin was his character's name because he had a restaurant called Robin's Nest.'

'You could be right. He died young.'

'Are you thinking of whatisname?'

'Yes, Godber. I could be.'

The worrying thing is that this conversation made perfect sense to both of us. (We spent a lot of time in the seventies watching television as we had children and no babysitters.)

P.S. The television series was called Me and My Girl and here's the opening sequence, which was indeed filmed on Three Cliffs beach. And I still don't remember it. I put it down to lack of sleep.

First catch your cow

China China closed down and has been replaced by Peachy Keens whose slogan is 'Live Buffet'. There's a bit of me that wants to go there just to find out how live the buffet is.

But most of me thinks, 'Nooooo.'

George and the pouffe

Younger Son brought me a pouffe home from Turkey a few years ago. I like to sit on it to watch television but I have to fight for it.

George got Husband up in the night. And again early this morning. Possibly because of the mouldy cabbage he stole from the compost heap. Or the two pieces of apple cake he stole from Husband's plate.

We are going to have to rethink our food composting. Half a watermelon disappeared as well but I don't think we can blame George for that as he's not keen on melon.

Don't you ever feel the need to gallop?

'No.'

'Not even when you were little?'

'I may have ridden my horse but then it was my horse that was galloping and not me.'

After a morning cleaning I needed some sea air so we took George to Pobbles. I was struggling to gallop to the top of a hill and I said, 'I bet real horses don't have this problem.'

'No,' said Husband, 'but they don't have to hold their trousers up while they're galloping.'

'True. And they don't have to waste vital breath clip-clopping.'

Sometimes you just have to gallop.

But I'll be glad when GrandDaughter is old enough to gallop with me then I won't look quite so foolish when we suddenly come across people. (Although I might have been galloping but they were digging up sods of soil so who was smarter?)
It wasn't as dark as it looks; that's just because I was taking the photo into the sunlight. If that makes sense.

Last year ... and next

This photo appeared on my screen saver when I popped into the study just now. It made me smile remembering our Corsica holiday 2009.

Continuing with his economy drive Husband worked out that the swimming pool pump cost us £500 to run this summer. You remember this summer? No, I don't blame you if you don't; there wasn't one as such. Maybe twice we went in the pool?

I can see me next year being forced to go swimming five times a day come hell or high water just to get our money's worth.

A right stroppy cow

These are the apple cakes I made to take to Zac's last night.They didn't make it: they're still sitting on my kitchen worktop. Up until 7.30 I was going but then I just couldn't do it. I'd been in a funny mood all day and, if I'm honest, I probably had doubts about going earlier but I kept thinking, 'I'll enjoy it when I'm there.' And I would have but ...

I have absolutely no reason to be depressed so I think it was probably the combination of not taking my happy pill for a couple of days and putting on one pound in weight.

Now I know 1lb is nothing but it's what it says:

a) Look how easy it is to put on weight. Fat cells are like balloons and get easier to fill each consecutive time.

b) This isn't a diet; it's a life change.

I made two further mistakes.

1) I browsed through the recipes in a magazine. Every single one contained more calories than I am allowed in my lifestyle-changed eating regime. I love cooking; I love eating. I know I can adapt them to be lower fat and just not eat such big portions but the mood I was in, I wasn't going to consider something as sensible as that.

2) Disgusted with the recipes I picked up my writing magazine - and read about all the competitions I won't win and the publishers who'll reject me.

Oh, yes, I was a miserable moo.

Then I went into the kitchen where the not-slow-cooked meat in the oven was still as tough as horse hide. Aaaarrrggghhhh!

So I spent the evening cwtched on the sofa with Husband falling asleep in front of an old Midsomer Murders.

But today the sun is shining, I'm feeling dynamic and all is right with the world. And I've remembered to take my happy pill.

A tortoise sort of day

Inspired by ideas in slimming class this morning - and Husband's economy drive - I decided to dig out my slow cooker and make a stew.

What I forgot is that slow cooking is ... well, slow. Dinner could be a bit late tonight.

The slow cooker was one of Husband's Christmas presents to me many years ago. I was surprised to receive it as I hadn't requested or indicated any interest in one. It turned out he'd won it in a raffle in work.

My life is a little disorganised at the moment so this morning I did what any sensible woman does at such times: I made a list.

Progress through it is about as speedy as the slow cooker. Although I have posted two birthday cards - both of which are at least 2 weeks late. Are you spotting a trend here?

I suppose I should be doing something now rather than blogging. I know: I'll add some more things to my list.

Postscript

The Domestic Goddess strikes again: I gave up and put the slow cooker in the oven.

Husband has a new toy

It's called an Energy Saving Eco Friendly Wireless Power Electricity Smart Monitor Meter and it tells you by the minute how much electricity you're using in your home and how much it costs. So I got home this afternoon, made a cup of tea and Husband said, 'Look how the usage shot up when you made tea!' Goodness knows what it will do when I use the washing machine.

He's wandering around turning off lights and switching off anything that stands still long enough. It's all part of his newly-retired-so-we-must-economise drive. I'm all in favour of saving both money and the environment but I fear this is going to get slightly silly. Already his newly installed timer switches have meant the digibox didn't record the programmes we wanted it to over the weekend.

In their new house Daughter and Son-in-law have an electricity meter and Saturday evening we'd just sat down to watch the England rugby highlights when the house was thrown into darkness - and I walked nose-first into a wall.

I predict a few black eyes and bruises if Husband gets too carried away. And that will just be what I do to him.

In which I set off an alarm in Tesco's

Really I shouldn't have gone there. And having gone there I should have known better than to use the self service checkout. But I do love pretending I'm a checkout girl. (And there's a brill Springsteen song called 'I'm in love with the Queen of the supermarket'.)

Having screamed at my computer in work this morning - paypal I hate you, have I told you this? And I mean really hate you - I should have realised I wasn't technologically on the ball.

But really if the scale is not precise enough to recognise a packet of tags then it should know that and allow for it. It's not rocket science. And if it's going to allow you to put through a tagged item it should simultaneously call the assistant to remove the tag or at least warn you - before you set off the alarm on the door.

Having gone there straight from prison I had visions of being back in prison before the day was out. The security guard - young, bored - looked at me suspiciously: I admit I was having a very bad hair day. Or maybe he thought I was just another menopausal woman who'd 'forgotten' to pay.

Moving and shaking

We've been in Devon this weekend helping Daughter and Son-in-law move from one end of the village to the other, and look what we found in one of the boxes! (It's a rubbish photo as my camera had been in the car all night and was cold and condensated but she looks so cute I couldn't resist it.)

Looking out from the back garden gate.

"Look, granddad, if I put this over my head mummy won't notice if you pack me in the suitcase and take me home."

"I'm coming with you too!"

The plan was that the television would be set up by 3 o'clock on Saturday afternoon so we could watch the Wales Australia rugby game. At 3.15 pm the search was still underway for a television cable. As a result I had to settle for cleaning kitchen cupboards while listening to the ... wait for it ... England All Blacks game on the radio. Greater love hath no mother ...

A cable was finally patched together and we could watch the last 20 minutes of the Wales game. It's quite depressing when the best the commentators can say about each of the rugby games (Ireland also played South Africa) this weekend is, 'It wasn't a bad loss for the home team.'

The southern hemisphere teams continue to show us how it's done and with the world cup coming up next year we need to learn some lessons pretty quickly.

Prison today, Devon tomorrow

On my way home from prison this afternoon there was a report on the radio news about the latest report into re-offending. Apparently it was the largest investigation ever done into numbers and there was some amazement at the high proportion of prisoners who re-offend.

I imagine a lot of money was spent on this research. I could have told them the same thing. I spend more time in prison than the average person but it's still only a tiny amount yet I know that you'd have to speak to an awful lot of inmates before you found one who hadn't been in prison before. The majority of the men I have had any dealings with are repeat offenders.

Like the 19-year-old who's spent the last 9 Christmases away from home in secure accommodation of some sort. Or the 40-year-old who's been in and out of prison for the last 25 years.

Maybe it would be more useful of they spent some of the money on preventing the men - young boys - from getting into trouble to begin with. Or funding the work of more people like the community chaplain at Swansea.

The community chaplaincy was piloted at HMP Swansea and has gone on to be copied at other prisons. The chaplain tries to help those men who want help when they get out of prison. Many of them leave with very little money, no job and often nowhere to live. Little surprise they end up going to the pub, meeting up with old friends who offer a floor to sleep on, a bottle to share and drugs to help take away the pain. And in return want help to get the money to pay for the drugs.

The chaplain meets the man outside prison when he's released, takes him to accommodation that's been organised and puts him in touch with people who will support him and help him. While not an infallible system it has been getting good results.

This afternoon we were preparing for the Christmas carol service and there was a touching moment: one of the men in our group expressed his gratitude to one of the others who had helped to teach him to read when he'd been in in 2008.

And tomorrow we're off to Devon at the crack of dawn: Daughter is moving house. Only to the other side of the village but we're going down to help. At least it means they'll have a spare bedroom and we'll be able to sleep over!

See you when we get back.

Purple mash?

Purple mash, sausages and red wine and onion gravy.

Is the bible relevant today?

We are continuing, still, with the book of Acts, and last night we looked at Paul's imminent return to Jerusalem from what is now Turkey (I think).

Before he left Ephesus he called the leaders of the church together and said they'd never see him again. When he got to Israel (as it is now) everybody - his friends, church leaders, prophets - said, 'Don't go to Jerusalem. There's trouble brewing; it will be dangerous. Please don't go.'

But Paul believed it was God's will that he should go so he said, 'Sorry, I'm going even though it could be to my death.'

1. I can't imagine ever being in the sort of situation where my life could be endangered if I chose to do something but if I were and all my friends, including people I respect - such as Sean and the God Squadders - told me not to go, I very much doubt that my conviction that I knew what God wanted of me better than anyone else did would be strong enough to resist the pressure.

I was a little worried about this perceived lack of faith on my part but then I thought: God knows me, he knows what a weeble I am. He either wouldn't put me in this position or he would give me such conviction that I'd be convinced. And I suspect it would be the former. I can imagine God raising his eyebrows, shaking his head and saying, 'What am I going to do with you, you dippy girl?'

2. S was with us last night. A few months ago this young man left us to go and work in an area of the Middle East currently very much in the news. He had to return home because of visa problems. He very much wants to go back as it's been his dream for a long time. He earnestly wants to serve God. He is trying to decide what to do at the moment, whether to take another option or to hang on and try to get back there.

If I were his mother I'd be saying, 'You don't want to go there. Not right now. It's dangerous.' Does he listen to others or to God? Or is it God? How do you know? How does he know? He doesn't have what could be seen as the arrogance of Paul to assume he knows best. He wants to know clearly and definitely what God wants him to do.

P.S. Actually S may be safer going to that country rather than staying here as they're the ones sending the bombs out. Unless America decides to bomb them of course ...

New cake

Tried out a new recipe for Zac's last night: lemon tray bake cake. I made double quantities and did half with lemon and half with lime and coconut.

It was a really easy recipe and tasted delicious. A nice light sponge-type cake with a sharp sweet slightly crunchy topping.

Mm, yum.

A snippet

Gerry excelled himself at the bible study in Zac's last night.

'Why do you keep talking about Jews? I don't come here to listen to you talking about Jews all the time.'

On his hands and knees

Poor Husband has spent the last three days on his hands and knees.

Step 1

Using expensive Heavy Duty Stone Tile Cleaner and scouring pads, scrub the kitchen floor. Leave to dry.

Step 2

When that doesn't work, go over it again with Cif cream cleanser and a scrubbing brush. Leave to dry.

Step 3

Apply Tile Sealer. Leave to dry.

Step 4

Apply 2nd coat of Tile Sealer. Leave to dry.

Step 5

Apply polish. Leave to dry.

Step 6

Apply 2nd coat of polish. Leave to dry.

Step 7

Pray.

Will it work? Will it, if not stop the floor getting dirty, make it easier to clean? We can only wait and see.

For the time being no-one's allowed to use the back door and George is banned from the kitchen.

drunkards and carousers

How to look sexy when exercising

In today's world the fitness enthusiast has a wide choice of clothing with whole ranges dedicated to exercise in its every form.

You might like to choose tight and skimpy or if that's too revealing you can opt for close-fitting head-to-toe.

Or you can go for the Eric Morecambe look.Husband pointed out that my shorts looked even sillier now I'd lost weight so I dug around in my drawers until I found a pair of shorts from my previous slimmer incarnation days. Hmmm, George isn't convinced.And, as I noticed when hugging my knee to my chest, it means I'm gong to have shave the tops of my legs as well.

When Younger Son saw me this morning he said, 'What are you doing?! Are you going jogging?'

'Jogging? Me? Do I look that stupid?'

He looked me up and down. Before he could speak I said, 'That was a rhetorical question meaning how likely do you think that would be rather than do I look stupid.'

I drowned a spider!

Accidentally of course.

I felt something tickling my back during the evening. I scratched around and it stopped. Then later on, when I was in the bathroom getting ready for bed, my ear started itching. I glanced in the mirror and there was a huge SPIDER! Panic! I flung my arm and flapped around and was vaguely aware of a black body flying away from me. I leapt up and down in case he was making his way back to crawl up my leg but there was no sign of him on the floor.

Puzzled I turned to the sink to wash my face, and there, at the bottom of the basin was the poor little spider.

The monster that had scrambled over my ear had shrunk - it must have been the effect of the hot water - to the size of a baby's fingernail.

He was still kicking his little legs too.

But I figured, even if I rescued him, he'd die so it would probably be quicker and less painful for him if I just left him in the water.

I know, I know - I should have given him the kiss of life. You don't have to tell me; I feel guilty enough as it is.