George, don't do that!

We're off to Devon tomorrow - which is also husband's 61st birthday. I'm taking him to Jack in the Green in Rockbeare in the evening. It's one of our favouritest restaurants and won the 09/10 title of Best Restaurant in the West.

Coincidentally the latest newsletter from the Rosemary Conley School of Slimming gives tips on surviving the Christmas season diet intact. They include:

not having butter with your bread;

opting for the less creamy dishes;

and not eating the chocolate mint at the end of the meal (thereby saving 35 calories).

I'll obviously be doing all of those ...

Then it's home on Thursday, work on Friday and up to Derby on Saturday to see the in-laws. With a family meal out on the Saturday. Coming home on Sunday in time for me to 'entertain' a group of elderly men and women.

Some people from Linden do a monthly tea for the elderly and, as it's the Christmas party tea on Sunday, they're making it a bit longer and providing entertainment in the form of someone reading poems and me reading ... something. I'm not yet decided.

I think it will be my Joyce Grenfell take-off, a monologue in a primary teacher's voice as she tries to explain Christmas to a group of young children. The good thing is that, as they're elderly, they will remember the original Joyce Grenfell monologues; the bad thing is that they have varying stages of deafness so may not hear it.

Now I'm wondering if it was prophetic giving George his name: did I 'know' when we named him that I would frequently be saying, 'George, don't do that!' (One of the best remembered lines from Ms Grenfell's schoolteacher monologues.)

Are drunks in Wales less worthwhile than abused children in Cambodia?

Chris and some others from Linden have just returned from visiting a family in Cambodia. The family lived in Swansea for four years while Glenn did his Ph.D. before returning to work with trafficked and abused children in Cambodia.

Chris was telling us about his trip and saying that the country had a very different feel, a bit like Africa but different again. He told us about the amazing people they met and the work going on there and said you can't imagine it unless you've been there.

A while ago I wrote about Chris returning from visiting the orphanage Linden helps support in Zambia and saying something along the lines of, 'Everyone should go there to get out of their comfort zone and see what real need is.' I wrote - and i spoke to him about it - that I felt it diminished the work done in this country e.g. in Zac's. My family and life commitments don't allow me to spend a couple of weeks experiencing what Chris sees as real life. More to the point, I have no desire to.

But that does mean anything I do here is less important?

Yes, sexually abused children have no say in their treatment and it's horrific; alcoholic grown men choose their way of life (to some extent). It's much easier to feel compassion for wide-eyed orphans.

I was talking to Husband about this when we were out walking George this afternoon. I always feel that he puts up with my do-gooding as it keeps me happy and wasn't sure what his response would be. What he said surprised me.

He pointed out that each individual is needy in their own way and, what's more, to suggest that someone isn't a good Christian because he doesn't go to Africa for example isn't very Christian. (Not that Chris was saying that.) And he said that he's very proud of me for what I do at Zac's and in prison. He's never said that to me before.

Some times I love my husband.

P.S. Then I think perhaps just by writing this I am showing my own prejudice, my guilt maybe, my need to be valued, my insecurities. Oh, phooey, a little therapy insight is a terrible thing.

A good funeral

It was the funeral of the 90-year-old mum of my friend today.

Maggi and I have been friends for almost 50 years since she moved to live just up the road from us. When we were teenagers and my mum had a brain haemorrhage it was Maggi who sat with me as we waited for news. Auntie Gay set us polishing the silver cutlery (which wasn't even silver) and we sat there quietly together, Maggi being a friend and support.

Our lives followed very different paths and now, in spite of living only a couple of miles apart, we see each other maybe once or twice a year. But when we do it's as if it were yesterday we last met.

It was good to be at the funeral today although I'd only seen Mrs T on rare occasions over the last few years. The church was packed, a tribute to her and her four daughters, and the words the vicar read about her were lovely. Not overwhelmingly sweet and unreal like the last funeral I attended but you knew from what was said that this was a good woman.

Girls can't get it

I should have explained more.

The proceeds from Sunday evening's unplugged acoustic music event (that i read at last month) were going to the prostate cancer charity and moustaches were the theme of the evening what with it being MOvember (grow a moustache for a month in aid of the charity).

I was behind the bar so naturally had to go moustachioed. There wasn't a lot of competition for the girls' title; just one other female had entered into the spirit and drawn on a moustache and she thought I should win. What could I say? I've never won a sash before.

My prize also included a lot of information about prostate cancer so if there's anything you want to know ...

P.S. Girls can't get it.

Miss Movember!!

My aristocratic moustache won me the title of Miss Movember last night. I'm seen here with Mr Movember aka Sam Brown.

Minus 6 and all's well

The temperature dropped to -6 in the night but it was a glorious morning and I stopped on my way to church to take these photos (making me late needless to say). The photos don't do justice to the beauty of the morning but they hint at it.

There is the thinnest film of ice on the edge of the sea: you can see where it finishes.
There's snow on tham thar hills.

Aria or aristocrat?

I had to go shopping today. There was something I needed but when it came to it I couldn't decide.

The operatic singer was rather debonair while it's hard to resist a Mexican bandit. In the end it had to be the aristocrat.

Guessed what it is yet?

All will be revealed tomorrow.

* * * * * * * * * *

It's nearly time for the Wales All Blacks kick off.

How bad can it be, I ask myself - and then wish I hadn't followed that path.

It's times like these that a girl needs chocolate - and doesn't have any.

Why do I feel it only could happen to me?

Some people say that they can't think what to blog about. They should be me for an hour; my life is one long blog post. I mean, who else could make a loaf of bread like this?Note the coin-shaped edge to the sticky-up bit where the dough has come up against the roof of the breadmaker. That's what happens when you buy a ready-mix packet. I thought, 'This sounds a nice and even simpler way of making a parmesan and sun-dried tomato loaf.' That'll learn me, as they say in this part of the world.

I don't think it's meant to have two inches of uncooked flour at the bottom either.
Let's hope my parsnip soup - invented by my own fair hand - is better.

(I can hear the bells of doom already ... anyone for fish and chips?)

Postscript

The bread was quite tasty though its texture was a bit chewy and crumpet-like. The soup - slightly spicy - was declared a hit and Younger Son scraped the pressure cooker clean.

Are you dead?

I am frightening myself.

How? I hear you ask.

I'm writing Christmas cards and it's not even December.

The trouble is that every year I get a recurring nightmare that it's Christmas Eve and I realise that I haven't sent any cards. Actually I'm not entirely sure that it isn't based on fact and that I did forget one year. But I can't remember.

So Husband said, 'Why don't you get them written and out of the way?'

So that's what I'm doing.

In a sort of half-hearted and disorganised way.

But what about all those people who didn't send me a card last year? Do I assume they're dead?

So I'm sitting here in Wales, writing cards made in China, with a picture of London on the front. I didn't realise it was London when I bought them or I wouldn't have. Not because I have anything against London - I love to visit - but because I should be sending a picture of Wales.

Which doesn't help with my dead dilemma.

Thanksgiving and blueberry muffins

In honour of America's Thanksgiving Day I made some blueberry muffins.

Okay, that's not strictly true: I was writing about blueberries, happened to have some in the fridge, and got a craving for them. I wasn't sure how they'd turn out as it was a slightly unusual muffin recipe but they're fine. Not quite as muffiny as you might expect but tasty enough.

So happy thanksgiving to America blog readers - who'll all be enjoying the festivities and not reading blogs. Have a wonderful family time.

I should get out more

We have a doorbell!

That might not sound like a big deal but it's the first time in my entire 58 years that I've had one.

And what do you think it plays?

It was a difficult decision - and don't tell Husband just yet but I've already changed my mind. I really wanted the dogs barking (as George doesn't) but he didn't like that. (George that is.)

It really should be Men of Harlech or Delilah but I've had to settle - at least for today - with Oh Suzannah.

I should get out more.

Fisherman's friends

When Elder Son and Daughter-in-law were down at the weekend they gave me my birthday presents one of which was Fisherman's Friends - not the throat sweet but the shanty singers from a small village in Cornwall.

Swapping shoes

A gave his right shoe to a man who'd had his left leg amputated.

Poignancy.

As if I'd say something stupid

I decided I'd go and visit A, he of the amputated leg, in hospital tonight.

In Zac's last night we read how Paul the apostle had seemingly lost his cool and verbally abused a hypocritical high priest. One theory is that it wasprophetic and God was speaking through Paul to denounce this baddy. The bible tells us that God will sometimes give us the words to say, although I find that when I've tried that I've ended up saying something silly or nothing at all.

When I get flustered or I don't know what to say I tend to make a joke or say something stupid. No, I know it's hard to believe that of me but it's true. So as I was driving to hospital tonight I was praying hard, 'Please, God, don't let me say anything inappropriate, stupid or fatuous. (Except I didn't say fatuous because I only just thought of that word.) Please, please, don't let me say anything stupid.'

So I got there, found the ward and ... he wasn't there.

This is often the story of my hospital visiting. the person I am planning on seeing has either been discharged already, sleeps through my visit or, as in this case, isn't to be found.

He turned up eventually though, after visiting had finished, so we sat in the corridor and chatted. I asked him how he was doing and he said, 'I'm hopping mad.' A good start. And it wasn't me that said it so that's a plus.

He was in a wheelchair and his stump was exposed and I was resolutely not looking at it when he began telling me about it and the technology they were using and blood and stuff, and I'm saying to myself, 'Just don't look and keep breathing. Keep breathing, that's it, nice and slowly and don't panic. You're not going to faint or be sick. You can do this.' (Remember I'm the woman who fainted in the optician's.)

Then we began talking about physio and exercise and muscle building and I could breathe easy again.

He's okay. Very tired but determined to walk into Zac's again one day. Please God.

How not to lead a bible study

So, as I was saying, I led the bible study in Zac's last night. (God answered my prayer and Gerry was reasonably quiet throughout.)

We continued looking at Acts and it was okay. I had 'the boys' behind me to chip in when I got stuck and, afterwards, lots of people said I'd done well. But they're nice people so they would, wouldn't they? But I don't know.

Things I got wrong:

I didn't thank people for reading - and I'd given lots of people extra verses to read;

I had prepared but hadn't been over it enough times so didn't feel confident and my lack of confidence showed;

one of the verses I'd given out to be read was completely the wrong one so that threw me as I didn't have my notes with the right verse on it;

my praying was stuttery and hesitant.

As I said, it went okay, but I need to learn from my mistakes.

If you're pray-ers, please remember these people:

J, wife of a Zac's person, had an operation today to remove a brain tumour;

A, a Zaccer, who's had his leg amputated;

M, an ex-Zaccer, who's waiting to find out if he's been infected with HIV.

Jesus not only wept he LOL too

Last Sunday I led the service in prison. Ric and Nigel from Zac's did most of the work (Ric the music and Nigel the talky bit) and they were brill so my bit was easy. Then last night I led the bible study in Zac's as Sean was away (more later).

So what I'm thinking is how did that happen?

I don't get to lead anything in Linden. I'm not in ... I was going to say the 'in crowd' but that's not fair so I'll say among 'the wise ones'. Nobody thinks of me if they need a speaker or good advice or sound theological knowledge; they only come to me if they want a twit. Which is fine as, after all, Paul said, '... he gave some to be apostles, some to be prophets, some to be evangelists, some to be pastors and teachers and some to be twits.'

(Editor's note: you may not find that in your bible as it's only in the very earliest scrolls and the last section was dropped when the early church fathers were deciding which bits were going to be in the bible.)

After all we are made in God's image and we laugh a lot so he must so therefore he would have decreed the need for twits. But those boring old early church fathers took out all the obvious humour deeming it inappropriate. They left in the verse 'Jesus wept' but deleted the verse 'Jesus LOL when Peter told him about the rabbi, the vicar and David Beckham.'

And now I seem to have lost the thread of this post. I can't remember what the point was. If there was one.

I have done some silly things in my life

I picked up my prescription for my happy pill last week and instead of taking it straight to the chemist I left it lying it around for ages. I did almost go to the chemist once but then couldn't park.

So, this afternoon, as I've run out of pills I really needed to get organised. And, of course, I couldn't find my prescription.

After much hunting and muttering I phoned to ask for a repeat repeat prescription.

'Because of the nature of your prescription you must report it to the police and then come back to us with an incident number before we can re-issue it.'

Nice police lady: where did you lose it to?

Me (biting my tongue to avoid saying if I knew where I'd lost it it wouldn't be lost): I might have posted it with some letters by mistake.

I have done some silly things in my life ...

P.S. On the plus side, while emptying my handbag in my search I came across a chocolate bar. Out of bad comes good.

There's no logic to it

I've had a terrible two weeks eating wise. What with my birthday, GrandDaughter's birthday, eating out, party food and Maltesers, my diet has gone to pot.

So how come I've lost 2 lbs and got Slimmer of the Week?!

It's beyond me. I can only assume it's the fact that I've hardly sat down at all for the last two weeks.

Taking this to its logical conclusion by the time Christmas has been and gone I should be waif-like.

I'm celebrating by eating fry-up for lunch. With cheese. Real cheese not Laughing Cow Extra Light.

Happy 1st birthday, GrandDaughter!

We love you so very much!

Before you were born we were happy: we had good health, a lovely home, a wonderful family, each other. Then you were born.

You are the chocolate flake in the ice cream, the refreshing breeze on a hot summer's day, the first violet of Spring on a cliff walk. You make life better than I would have believed possible.

Thank you, GrandDaughter, for the joy you brought with you!

We look forward to the years ahead with anticipation and delight.

May God bless you as he's blessed us with you.

Party games

Probably enjoyed more by the grown-ups than by the birthday girl herself!

A proper party tea with a jungle theme.