Who's a failure?

I copied this from Neil's blog.

Go to Google, type in 'failure', then click on 'I'm feeling lucky'.

It cheered me up but now back to the cleaning.

Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrgggghhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A day of cleaning planned today. Elder son, his fiancee and her parents are coming down this weekend and I want to create a good impression.

I rise, pull on scruffy trousers and holey jumper and set to work.

Younger Son has his regular wound dressing at the surgery at 10.45 and, as Betty's gears aren't engaging, he asks me if I will take him in Alfie. I think about washing my face or brushing my hair and teeth but decide that as I'm only going to be in the car, I don't need to bother.

I park in the surgery car park and wait for YS. He returns to the car, I switch on engine and 'uuuuuurrrr'. YS and I look at each other. I try again. 'uuu.'

I walk to payphone a short distance away and call rescue. They say someone should be with us within the hour.

YS and I play I Spy but he is much better at it than me so I refuse to play. We discuss Harry Potter and YS's theories for what will happen in Book 7. We have both always been convinced that Snape is not a baddie.

One and a half hours later I call rescue again.

It seems the breakdown van came but couldn't find us so went away again. The lad on the phone is defensive. 'They tried both car parks. And you didn't give us a mobile number to contact you on.'

The car park we are in is only big enough for 8 cars. If the breakdown man had come in we would have seen him; he would have seen us.

Lad on phone seems to think that it was my fault. He will call them again but this is another call-out and we will have to wait - up to an hour.

Half an hour later a breakdown van arrives. He is not the one sent before; he found us without any difficulty.

He is very nice and gets us started. He says the battery has plenty of charge and if it happens again we might have a faulty battery. I think, 'If it happens again, I might divorce Husband.' For no real reason other than I have to take out my frustration on someone.

We get home nearly three hours after we left.

That's three hours of lost cleaning time.

On the plus side, while we were out an Amazon parcel, containing a birthday present I had ordered for Husband, arrived and was left in the toilet. I didn't think it would get here on time so it's not all bad.

Ship ahoy!

While tidying (please note) this morning I came across this photo. A few years ago a ship got into trouble and was deliberately grounded in the bay down the road from our house. For a day or two, when the tide went out, it was a great visitor attraction.


I could have got a bit closer but I was afraid it might fall on me.

The future and the past

Driving home from PC World this morning (where they gave me a brand-new super-duper-printer - I'm not sure what sort of exchange I was expecting from them - maybe something more in the John Bull line seeing as the printer was almost a year old) I made myself go through town.

Road-works go on apace in order to convert the city centre into a one-way system. It's getting there but it still feels odd to be driving down the wrong side opf the road. I make sure I am following someone - preferably not a council workman who might have the authority to go where we mere mortals can't - and stick in one lane. If that means a slightly longer and more roundabout route than I had intended, well, so be it.

One thing I did notice was signs pointing to the Metro. I know these roadworks have taken some time and I haven't been following their progress closely but surely I would know if they were building an underground system? Apart from anything else, I mean, where would it go? It's only a small city centre really.

So taking this unexpected route home I passed a memorial chapel at the bottom of a block of flats. When I was in school there was a church on this site and the wife of the minister there taught us history.

I can't remember any history she taught us - or even what periods in history we covered - but I do remember the first few sentences she spoke to her new class of eleven-year-old girls.
'My name is Mrs Brynmor-Jones. That's Brynmor, not Bryn-y-mor, which is the road. And you needn't tell me I still have my hat on as I know: I don't take it off.'

Is it a bird? Is it a plane? Is it an angel?

If you've read any of my previous posts about Zac's Place you'll have got the picture that there are one or two characters there. The core of the Tribal Gathering (as the Tuesday night Bible study is called) consists of members of the Welsh chapter of the God Squad, Christian motor-bikers. Along with bikers from all over Wales they recently posed for a calendar to be sold in aid of the MS Society. Said calendar was launched last week and our boys are April. For copyright reasons I can't show you the whole photo (and possibly also for reasons of good taste) but I can give you this little taster.

Look away now if easily shocked.

Blossom at the piano.

This week continuing the look at the Christmas story we examined the role of angels in it, and in other places where they crop up. Sean asked if anyone had had any angelic experiences. Blossom (above) recalled a time he'd run out of petrol on a motorway, a man in a car had stopped, picked him up, taken him to the nearest garage and then returned him to his bike. The Bible says we won't always recognise angels; maybe that was one. It sounded slightly more likely to my ears than the angel who crept up on Blossom when he was folding blankets - but maybe I'm too cynical.

A few years ago I ghost-wrote the autobiography of a New York cop who worked the Harlem beat. He reckoned he had met angels.

"When I arrived at the subway station, I ran down the steps to the platform. I heard the trouble before I saw it, the sounds of raised voices echoing up the steps. Ahead of me I saw a crowd of people jostling and pushing each other. In the midst of them was a cop. He was injured and I could see he was struggling to handcuff one guy who was mouthing off and resisting arrest. At that time of night, some of the people you find on subways aren't the type to be very helpful to the police, and this crowd was no different. They were insulting and harassing the cop, trying to prevent the arrest. They didn't notice me arrive so, with the element of surprise on my side, I burst through the crowd and took hold of the prisoner before they could stop me. This made them really mad and they turned on me. I heard someone shout, 'Throw the cop onto the tracks.' Arms grabbed me and pushed me towards the edge of the platform. I had to let go of the prisoner as I struggled to resist but there were too many of them and I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the train tracks. Coming from inside the tunnel I could see two enormous yellow headlights bearing down the tracks and I could hear the roar of the train getting louder as it got closer. Just as I was on the edge of the platform, about to be pushed onto the tracks, I cried out, 'Jesus, help me!'
Suddenly two big black guys appeared out of the crowd, pushing people aside. 'Officer, follow us,' one of them said. 'Sure, I'll follow you anywhere,' I said, gratefully. Because the crowd was caught by surprise, I was able to get hold of the prisoner again before we made our way up out of the subway. The two black guys went in front, clearing the way, and the injured cop came behind me, his hand on my shoulder. Up on the street I pushed the prisoner into the back of the waiting patrol car, and turned round to thank the guys who had saved us, but there were crowds of people milling around and I couldn't see them anywhere. I didn't want to hang around so I shouted out, 'Thanks for your help, guys,' and climbed into the back seat next to the prisoner. 'C'mon, let's go,' I said.
The wounded cop was sitting up front next to the driver and as we left the scene he turned around to me and said, 'Mike, that was some job you did getting the prisoner through the crowd.'
'Yeah, I thought we were done for,' I said. 'Thank God for those two guys going ahead of us pushing people aside.'
'What two guys?'
'The two black guys who were pushing the crowds out of the way.'
'I didn't see no black guys helping us.'
'You must have seen them. They were talking to us, told us to follow them.'
'I didn't hear nothing.'I was puzzled. I'd definitely seen and heard these two guys who had saved us. If it hadn't been for them, I figured I'd have been dead by now. But why hadn't the other cop seen them? Just then some words from the Bible came into my head. 'Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to help believers?' (Hebrews 1:14)
'Naah,' I thought, 'it can't have been.'
But I couldn't get the possibility out of my mind. I was a believer and I had certainly needed help. I stored the memory in my head and in my heart but I didn't tell many people about it. It's not a smart thing to do, telling New York people that you're a cop who sees angels!"

Can't blog yet

I'm not letting myself blog until I've done some cleaning, showered, been to the Post Office and PC World (again), and bought some presents for husband's birthday on Friday.

So I won't.

One for the girls' eyes only

The most comments I've ever received came when I wrote about bras so this time I'm dealing with knickers.

Does anyone else choose their knickers based on what they're planning to do that day?

There's a variety in the drawer to choose from. There are the comfy ones, the sexy ones, the sporty ones, and the ones to wear when there're absolutely no other clean ones in the house. Choose the wrong one and I'm in trouble.

Choose the comfy ones when I'll be doing circuits later and I'm destined to spend the class trying - and failing - to surreptitiously pull them back up my bottom from where they've sidled down to my thighs. It's impossible to be surreptitious in shorts.

Choose sporty, close-fitting ones for an evening (three hours) sitting in a hot theatre and it's hard to remain focused on the production, however good it is.

Choose the no-choice ones at any time and I'd better be planning to spend the day alone indoors.

And who are the sexy ones for? Husband? I'm pleased to say he doesn't really need them. Me? Yes, they make me feel good. And that gives me confidence. Perhaps I should go and buy some more!

But I'm not even going to consider the manifestly-male-designed comfort-free thong.

A rather trying day

Betty has decided she doesn't like first gear.

However her dislike of that gear pales into latte froth when compared to her newly-found hatred of reverse. I had to sit in the car park outside PC World for some time until the car in front of me moved so I could drive straight out.

And why was I in PC World? I know you're longing to know.

Our printer in the office has been playing up for months. Well, since we had it back in January actually but we kept putting it down to teething troubles until it got beyond a joke. Then Alun took it back to the shop. That was about two months ago. They kept it (or sent it away they said) and forgot to return it until we nagged them. When we eventually got it back it came without its little plastic cover bit - but that didn't really matter. What did matter was that it still wasn't working properly.

At first it was moderately well-behaved but it soon showed its true colours - and they weren't orange. I started nagging Alun to take it back; he kept phoning them instead.

This afternoon I decided it needed an angry woman to deal with them so I returned it (which is when I discovered that Betty had taken this dislike to various gears).
{Why is it Bette (Bet) Midler but Bette (Betty) Davis?}

This was after I had tried to print one full sheet of writing. The top and bottom lines were printed but nothing in-between. And they were printed 9 times (that was before I pulled the plug on it as it refused to listen to any of my Cancel instructions) in between 9 blank sheets.

On restart I tried to print something different: the printer decided to routinely maintain itself. And continued to maintain itself for 15 minutes. When I tried to push the off switch, it said, 'Maintenance cannot be interrupted'. Memories of Hal and Space Odyssey.

It was a pretty mad woman who marched into PC World and then stood and waited for 10 minutes to be seen to. I explained the problem to an assistant who disappeared, promising to return straightaway. Five minutes later he came back with the manager. He wanted to check the machine so he disappeared for ten minutes. He briefly appeared and said, 'won't be a minute,' before disappearing for another five.

They will exchange it for me but only when I bring in the disc and the cable. 'Will you be back this afternoon?' he asked.
'No, I flipping will not. I will be lucky if I get home this afternoon let alone anywhere else.'

Then guess what was waiting for me when I arrived home? Yes, a rejection letter.

There is only way to deal with a day like this. Eat half a packet of chocolate biscuits.

Christmas decorations with a difference

Found this photo on - whose blog was it? I'll have to check and report back. Spot the pizza slice and the Harley.

Thrive circuit training was hard tonight but I was pleased that it included boxing. That meant that I was able to restrain myself from going and slapping a certain person. Hard. With a baseball bat.

I'm not usually a violent person you understand but some people's actions would make Ghandi pick up a gun.

Listen!

Can you hear it?

There's a custard slice calling me.

What colour blue am I?

You Are Royal Blue

People find you difficult to understand. In fact, you often find it hard to understand yourself.You think so much that sometimes you get lost in your own thoughts!

What Color Blue Are You?

P.S. That should say at the top that I am Royal Blue!

Still going strong

A few posts ago I made the comment that it is a shame that German cars aren't as reliable as German washing-machines (are alleged to be). I'm surprised no-one picked me up on that!

When I planned that post I intended to add a postscript at the end (or possibly the beginning) but I forgot and it's been bothering me so I shall put it right now.

Alfie Porsche is 16 years old; Betty Beetle is 34. If a bit of battery trouble is all that worries them then I think that's probably testament to their quality.

That's all. Just wanted to set the record straight.

Spot the difference

Clown's nose

My nose

Yes, it's cold sore time again.

I'm so glad I'm not an Emperor Penguin

We were in the gym yesterday afternoon; Husband has said he will not go with me again.

On the treadmill I was plugged into the game between Scotland and Australia, and you know what it's like when you have headphones on: you forget there is another world outside your head. I knew I squeaked a few times, either with excitement or disbelief, but I didn't realise I was talking to myself - out loud - as well.

Husband wasn't close enough to hear what I was saying, which is a shame as I would have been interested.

I won't talk any more about rugby except to say that it's more important for Wales to peak next autumn, when the World Cup is on. That's what really counts, not friendly internationals where the score isn't important.

I can say that now some time has elapsed. Last night I was supposed to be cooking a Cambodian noodle dish but English husband and I were both in need of comfort food so we had bread and cheese instead.

Still on a sporting theme though, head-teachers in Swansea have axed inter-school sports matches. There is a fear that parents who volunteer to drive children to matches may not have the necessary insurance, or they may have criminal records. I am speechless.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I bought some glasses yesterday. Off the peg glasses from a supermarket. I am a bit concerned about it. Should you buy glasses from anyone other than a qualified opto-whatever-it-is? Do you risk damaging your eyesight?

Or is it like when you took the children to have their feet measured for shoes? A clever electronic device says your child is size 2C; size 2C shoes don't fit. 'Try 1E; they might be better,' the assistant says.

But these glasses are only for the toilet; I don't think Garfield and Snoopy will do much harm to my eyes.

P.S. I haven't forgotten that I've been tagged and will respond soon!

80 minutes to change a record

My stomach has had a little knot in it for most of the day.

It's a mixture of hope and dread.

In less than half hour the game between Wales and the All Blacks kicks off. For a long time Wales hasn't had a team as good as the one fielded tonight. But this match will be the test of how far we've come or how far we have to go.

Joe Rococoko, one of the try-scorers in the All Blacks record win over England the other week, isn't even on the substitutes bench tonight, such is the strength of the New Zealand team. They are being widely acclaimed as the next (2007) World Cup winners

It's been 55 years since Wales beat the All Blacks. One NZ journalists referred to Wales as the 'village idiots of world rugby'. I hope that newspaper cutting is pinned up on the Welsh changing -room wall.

To captain Stephen and the team: we're all behind you. Come on, Wales!

Heaven is a washing-machine

Even as I write my new washing-machine is busy washing away.

After much research Husband decided the German makes were best for reliability (shame the same can't be said for their cars!) so we invested in a bottom of the range Miele and here it is. Pretty as a picture.

It looks as though it has lots of buttons but it's very simple to use and I only use the basic settings so I am a very happy and soon-to-be-clean bunnykins.

Unlike Harvey who was not happy when the washing-machine was brought into the kitchen by Husband with scant regard for dog's personal space.

Harvey has mastered the art of 'Don't you feel sorry for me, having such a dog's life?'
In case you're not convinced!

Persephone

Persephone Books reprints forgotten classics by twentieth-century (mostly women) writers. Their titles include novels, short stories, diaries and cookery books. And they're delicious. To look at as well as read.

I'm putting A London Child of the 1870s on my Christmas list, but you might prefer Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day by Winifred Watson or Flush by Virginia Woolf.

Take a look at their website www.persephonebooks.co.uk

How weird am I?

I've been tagged for this game by Serena. The rules are as follows:
1. Write six weird things about yourself.
2. Post this confession of the absurd on your blog.
3. Tag six other bloggers to do the same challenge.
4. Leave a comment on each of their blogs to inform them they have been chosen.

Six weird things about me? I can't think of anything weird. Ho hum, think, think.

Okay, I've got three.

1. Serena talks about clocks. For years I have wanted a clock that ticks for my living-room. A clock ticking in an otherwise silent room is incredibly peaceful and soothing. As long as it is the right speed. Finding a clock that ticks, let alone at the right speed and rhythm and loudness, is very hard to do. It doesn't have to tell the right time, just tick.

2. I hate the number 7. The sound and spelling of it. I will avoid it wherever possible.

3. There are other numbers, mainly odd ones, I don't like so when I write a post, rather than put the right time on it, I will put the nearest time that I like the look of. For instance, I wouldn't post a post at 2.27 but would call it 2.25. However I don't mind 7 o'clock. 7.17 though - urgh!

What else?

I have consulted Daughter. She suggested that eating cold baked beans could be considered weird but I don't think so. However ...

4. I have six toes and a bent little finger.

5. The Guinness Book of Records turned down my request to be recognised as recipient of the fastest manuscript rejection in history (ten minutes).

6. At one time I was the only girl in a surf club and I won the prize draw of a new surfboard.

Now I tag: Holly, Hershey, Bailey, Simi, Frieda, Clare.

My new washing-machine has arrived!

Although it nearly didn't!

The delivery van pulled up outside. There was a long pause. Then the phone rang. 'Mrs Hinds, this is Currys delivery; we've got your washing-machine.'
'Good.'
'We're outside 209 and we can't find 208.'
'There isn't a 209; you're outside 208.'
'No, we're outside 209.'
'You're outside 208, with the white Beetle.'
'Oh.'

They were not happy men. We have steep steps up to our front door. 'This is the heaviest make of washing-machine there is,' they grumbled.
'That's because they're built to be reliable - so you won't need to come back here again in a hurry.' My attempt at consoling words didn't seem to console them.

Now I just have to wait for the weekend and for husband to be home to plumb it in for me. Then I'll be able to start on the mountain of washing that has built up. Oh goody. How three of us create so much washing is beyond my understanding.

Links across the ocean

The eight grand murals adorning the walls of the Herbst Theatre in San Francisco were painted by Frank Brangwyn as commissioned works for the Panama-Pacific International Exposition of 1915.

In 1924 the House of Lords in London commissioned Frank Brangwyn to produce panels for the Royal Gallery in the Palace of Westminster. Five were completed and when displayed in the Royal Gallery were the subject of public controversy and criticism. They were turned down as being too colourful and lively, and now have a home in Swansea, in the Brangwyn Hall.

The image on the left is in San Francisco and, on the right, in Swansea.

Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends!