Donkey fostering

There's a donkey sanctuary near Sidmouth in Devon and we went there yesterday. They have about 430 donkeys currently in residence and the ones in this field are looking for foster homes. If you have an acre of land and some hard-standing you could be foster-parent to a donkey!We don't, sadly, so we had to make do with stroking the ones out in the yard. These are specially chosen because they like people and they work on a rota. I think this one was called Jack. The collars they wear tell you their sex (red for boys and yellow for girls), their name and age. Jack is 34 and lots of them were in their 20s or 30s.
Poor Jack has an abscess on his foot hence the plastic bag. Apparently donkeys have sensitive feet and don't like standing in mud. The care they are given in the sanctuary is quite remarkable and it's all funded by voluntary contributions. There was no entrance fee but plenty of collecting boxes. And a cafe serving very delicious food.

There's also a maze but GrandDaughter was more interested in the gravel.
We saw the middle of the maze - through the hedge - but never did reach it. When we found we were back at the entrance we decided we'd got close enough.

The Donkey Sanctuary began in Sidmouth but now the charity supports sanctuaries all over the world.

What did Marilyn Monroe do with her bra straps?

I am feeling incredibly virtuous.

Okay, first of all I'll admit I didn't go to slimming class because I'd put on 2lbs (I weighed at home) but I did 2,000 calories worth of Wii dancing followed by 30 lengths of the pool. (Yes, it's a titchy pool so I probably only swam 200 metres all together.) I feel slimmer already.

My halo is shining so brightly the Aviation Authority has asked me to stay indoors as the glare is blinding pilots.

Now I've showered and dressed and ready for the world - except I don't know what Marilyn Monroe did with her bra straps.

I'm wearing a new t-shirt and it's called a Monroe style because it has off-the-shoulder ... um ... shoulders. But if I wear it off the shoulders then you can see my bra straps - and Trinny and Suzannah (may their names be praised) say that is a definite no-no. So did Marilyn wear a strapless bra? She was a shapely lady and couldn't have gone without. But I don't understand how strapless bras work. They must have the metal underpinnings of a suspension bridge and can't be very comfortable.

So the question is: do I want comfort or glamour? No choice; I just won't let Trinny and Suzannah see me.

Monday's Odd Shots

Spotted this in the Fisherman's Cot pub in Devon last week.

For Katney's Odd Shots.

Splash!

Younger Son and Girlfriend took their first dip in the pool today. The temperature of the water was 21 degrees. When Girlfriend spoke to her dad in Italy earlier today the temperature of the water in their pool was 29. You've got to be hardy to swim in this country.

The Egyptian and the one-armed man

So, prison went well this morning. Everything fitted together so well you'd have thought we'd spent days planning it instead of 10 minutes. Jez, our musician, played one of his own songs, which went down extremely well. So well that they asked for a replay at the end of the morning and several of the men asked for copies of the words. It was a very thoughtful and honest song.

The only what-could-have-been-a-hiccup came to my attention at the end so I didn't stress about it at the time. We began by looking at the story of the Israelites leaving Egypt, being chased by the Egyptians, the parting of the Red Sea, and the drowning of the Egyptians. Carolyn who read out the story told me afterwards that when she'd sat down the man sitting next to her and leaned in and whispered, 'I'm Egyptian.'

Could have been tricky but wasn't quite as bad as the time when we told the story of the Ragman. It involved a one-armed man and who should be sitting in the congregation but a one-armed man. The story wasn't derogatory about disability or anything like that but Debbie who was telling it did feel a little uncomfortable.

In those days we had to take the service twice for different groups of men so, after the first service, Debbie asked the chaplain if there'd be a one-armed man in the next service too.

'No, no,' he'd assured her. 'How likely would that be to happen?'

And he was right; there wasn't a one-armed man in the next congregation. There was however a completely armless man.

Phew

What a weekend. And not just the miserable weather. Poor Husband has driven 1,100 miles in the last 4 days and he was exhausted when he got home this afternoon.

Meanwhile I've been having fun making a birthday cake - a special request! - for an 18-year-old. I was told she liked purple, the theatre and stars so this is what I came up.

It doesn't look as good as it did in my head. I think maybe I should have left the background, behind the 'curtains', white but it was a good opportunity to sprinkle glitter everywhere. Younger Son came in at one point and said, 'I think you should stop now, mother!'I wasn't sure if they'd get enough pieces from one cake so made a half-size one as well. I think I prefer that one too.

Having safely delivered the cake I took George out to the river. Husband wanted to come but I said, 'You can't: I have to practise my words.' I'm doing a talky bit in the prison presentation tomorrow and it's based on the old Negro spiritual - but made familiar to me by Bruce Springsteen - Oh, Mary, don't you weep no more.

Having practised - and perfected - it while walking I've written it out so all I have to do now is not wake up in the middle of the night and keep rehearsing the words in my head. Somebody tell my brain to sleep.

After prison I'm off shopping but that's another story ...

Happy anniversary ... to me

Today Husband and I celebrate our 33rd wedding anniversary and what do you know? I'm on my own.

'Twas ever thus.

Regular long-time readers of this blog may recall our 30th anniversary when Husband was off enjoying himself on a works' jolly. That followed our 25th anniversary, similarly spent by Husband enjoying himself without me. Ah well, we were nearly together all day for this one. And at least he's not off enjoying himself.

Husband collected Father-in-law from Derby yesterday to bring him to stay for a few days as both Sisters-in-law who live close to Pop had gone on holiday. So far so good ... until this afternoon when Pop got very weepy and said he wanted to go home. We thought after a nap he may feel better but he didn't. So Husband is currently driving him back to Derby.

It was probably a bit soon after Mother-in-law's death to bring him away from familiar surroundings and we wouldn't have suggested it if the circumstances had been different.

It's so hard. What can you say to an 85-year-old who feels life isn't worth living?

Getting back into the saddle

After my unfortunate experience with the duck yesterday I was a little wary when a horse in the field came trotting over to the fence when he saw us.

I decided the best way to 'get back into the saddle' would be to stroke him so I gently reached out and patted his nose. He seemed to like it. In fact he liked it so much that when I left he followed me to the end of the field.

Then I felt guilty about leaving so I went back and gave him the only thing I had, which was a doggy treat.

I continued on my way feeling rather pleased with myself when a horrid thought struck me: are horses vegetarian? Had I just fed him a gravy-flavoured bone? Would he become carnivorous and eat me next time he saw me?

It's amazing the way I can turn a walk in the woods into a scene from a horror film.

P.S. It was a milky bone.

The last to know

I didn't get to Zac's on Tuesday until about 25 to 8 and when I arrived Baz said, 'Martin's here.'

I looked at him blankly. Martin is usually there so I wasn't sure of the relevance of his comment. Baz clarified for me, 'You're leading tonight with him.'

'No, I'm not.'

'Yes, you are. Sean's not here'

Then Martin appeared. 'Ah, good, come here,' he said.

I followed him into the next room where he gave me a sheet of notes. 'Sean gave me these,' he said. 'We're to carry on the discussion about baptism.'

'Oh.'

So we were well prepared ...

'I told Sean I 'ate doing this,' Martin said, 'but Sean said "it's good for you".'

I don't mind leading the study at all; in fact I love it. I am thrilled that Sean trusts me and gives me the responsibility. They don't do that at Linden; they all know I'm stupid there. Actually Sean has known for me long enough now; he must have an idea what I'm like ...

But it was fine because everyone is very supportive. Lots of people chipped in the discussion and we didn't go off the point too much. One of the most-asked questions seemed to be, 'Can you get baptised more than once?'

I think the answer is: it depends.

If, like a couple of people said, they felt they were pressurised into being baptised and they didn't really understand the first time then I'm sure it's fine to be dunked again. On the other hand if someone wants to be baptised again because he sees it as a washing away of sins then I'd suggest he needs to refocus. It's Christ who takes away our sins not baptism.

But it looks like, in a few weeks' time, we'll be tripping down to the sea front for some baptisms and a barbecue. Sean will be meeting with people who want to be baptised (for first or second time) and making sure they understand its meaning, and then what a great party we'll have.

And I'm going to have to have a serious word with Sean: five minutes' notice is pushing it!

Remember that lump I had in my neck?

It's benign.

I had an ultrasound scan today and I thought I'd have to wait to see my own GP who sent me for it to find out the results but the doctor told me when he was doing it. (I wonder if he'd have told me if it had been bad?) It turns out it's a benign thyroid tumour and I have a matching one on the other side too - although that's smaller.

I have to go and see my own GP but the doctor seemed to think that if it wasn't giving me any problems nothing would have to be done about it - which suits me fine. I'm much too busy to have an operation or anything!

Thanks, God!

Ernie Wise legs

Just added 'walk George' to my to-do list so I could cross something off.

As we were setting off I said to George, 'I bet you're proud to be seen with me with my walking boots, little white hairy legs and Eric Morecambe shorts. Not to mention unwashed.'

'I wasn't going to mention unwashed,' George said as he shrugged in a sort of 'so what's new?' manner.

Huh, he should talk anyway, big fairy, hiding on the bank when two Jack Russells went by. 'That's George, isn't it?' the owner said. 'We know him: he's scared of our dogs.'

And today had to be the day when I meet the sexy French girl walking her dog ... how on earth can anyone look good in an anorak?

A day of firsts

Yesterday was a day of firsts. Not only did I get bitten by a toothless duck but Husband got his first speeding ticket in 43 years of driving.

He was caught last Wednesday but the letter arrived yesterday. He has an option: he can pay the £80 and get points on his licence or take a Speed Awareness course. He hasn't had time yet to think about what to do as he's off again today to Derby to pick up Father-in-law to bring him to stay for a few days.

When I saw the letter I was just so relieved it wasn't me who got it. Husband laughed when he opened the letter - after swearing mildly - but I imagine I would have got the full 'driving carefully and sensibly' lecture.

* * * * * * * * *

The phone rang this morning before Husband set off. He answered him and I heard him say, 'Today,' and my heart flipped out of my ear. 'Is Daughter-in-law in labour?' I yelled.

She wasn't. It was Pop checking if it was today Husband was collecting him. But Due Date is next Wednesday so every time the phone rings now I'm on it like an expectant father.

Vicious ducks

A flying visit to Devon yesterday. Daughter and Son-law are off work for a couple of weeks so we went down to spend the day with them. Younger Son and Girlfriend are in Plymouth for the week so they came up and joined us and we all went out to the pub for lunch.

After some very nice food I took GrandDaughter outside to feed the ducks with my leftover bread.
Which was all well and good but a few minutes later, when I was walking past, one of them bit me on my ankle! How ungrateful is that?

When we were going to bed tonight I said to Husband, 'Have you noticed how these things only seem to happen to me?'

He nodded and sighed deeply.

Do you like GrandDaughter's new Charlie and Lola welly boots?

Such clever children

My children are not only beautiful and wonderful, they are clever too. Younger Son found out today that he got a 2:1 adding to the 1st and 2:1 his sister and brother have.

Well done, Younger Son: you've worked hard and deserve this. Who'd have thought it when you dropped out of uni the first time round?!!

(When my camera battery has recharged I'll post a bigger photo!)

The unique Liz School of Charm

Back to circuit training tonight after missing the last two weeks. Ffion took great pleasure in telling me that Pat, my usual partner for boxing, has broken her wrist so 'you'll have to box me.'

Pat is a lady of my age and very genteel. (And she always smells lovely.) Ffion is a teenager who punches like Henry Cooper. I feel all weak and feeble already.

Pat wears bracelets and necklaces even to training; if I wore my bracelet I would either:

break it;

scratch somebody;

or get tangled up in the equipment.

I sometimes wonder how I came to be so inept. But I've come to the conclusion that my stupidity is part of what I like to think of as 'my charm'.

As long as I can keep believing that, I won't be overcome by inadequacy. Maybe.

Lanzarote or Tenby?

We nearly booked a holiday yesterday. It's the story of our lives.

After reading about Lanzarote's undiscovered gems - well, not totally undiscovered obviously - we thought we'd have a look at hotels there. After a great deal of research Husband got it down to three and I was called in to pick one. You know what it's like: each one has its good and bad points. My selection's top top point was the fact that it was practically next to this huge and untouristy beach. (I can't imagine that it will stay unspoiled for long.)

We settled for a week in September. And then the problems started.

First of all our flight dates clashed with two of wales' fixtures in the World Cup. 'Can't we go later?'

'There's rugby on for several weeks after that.'

'Yes, but Wales won't be in it for long ...'

At last I submitted and Husband went to book. Next problem: the site went down. Okay, try again later. He tried again later and found that paying by credit card involved a £31 surcharge. He gave up.

Then he woke up in the night with a sunburned head and thought, 'I don't like the sun so much any more; I don't want to go anywhere too hot. And it's all inclusive so we'll eat too much.'

So he's now looking at holidays for January. And I'm saying, 'I'd quite like a nice quiet week walking, eating and reading in west Wales, round about my birthday time in November.'

Watch this space for the next gripping instalment of 'Holidays 2011'!

In the wars

My shoe slipped on a wet leaf as I was coming down the garden steps and I crashed down. The fall itself wasn't too bad but I happened to be carrying a plate, which shattered and cut three of my fingers.

I was very brave though and didn't faint. Actually I don't usually faint at the sight of my own cuts bleeding. It's only blood tests or blood donoring or thinking about cutting flesh or listening to someone talking about it that make me faint.

One of my most embarrassing times was when I visited a friend in a high dependency ward in hospital. There wasn't even any blood on show; I blame it on the heat in the ward. And you wouldn't believe the fuss the nurse made: you'd have thought they weren't used to people fainting.

The other really embarrassing and quite shameful incident was when Younger Son was a toddler. He must have been about two and was carrying a full milk bottle in from the front door when he tripped. When I think of it now I wonder what on earth possessed me letting him carry it at all.

As soon as I saw the blood spouting from his hand I picked him up and rushed him in to the neighbour who was a doctor; she took one look and told me to go to hospital A&E. I got him in the car and drove him there, gave all the details in and was waiting to be seen when I could feel myself going woozy. I don't remember if it was to a nurse or a complete stranger that I said, 'Please hold my baby; I think I'm about to faint.'

Another friend who also happened to be a doctor and who was in the hospital that afternoon walked past to see me stretched out on a bed. 'What's happened to you?' she said, and I had to admit the terrible truth. 'Nothing.'

The only thing to my credit in this shameful story is that I did get him to a safe place before my affliction got the better of me.

The first friend later admitted that she'd worried that YS had done some serious damage cutting ... something - ligament, tendon? - but he was fine except for some impressive stitches and a scar. In fact, I was probably more damaged by the incident!

Husband is such a romantic

'I've got something for you' he said, rummaging in his jumper pocket.

'If you leave it in a drawer it will go red,' he said.

A mish mash of a post this because I haven't written on here for a couple of days but really I don't have anything to say. I've come home from work feeling very dopey - even more so than usual.

So this is a Persian Ironwood tree so named because its timber is allegedly as hard as iron. Growing in Clyne Gardens.

And this is an unusual photo of George, sleeping on rather than humping his pillow.

I did warn you this wouldn't be the most gripping of posts.

Post funeral

Three generations of Hinds men - plus George - on Pop's 85th birthday.It was Father-in-law's birthday on Monday, the day before Mother-in-law's funeral. He coped admirably with everything, shedding tears every now and again as to be expected, but overall much better than may have been anticipated.

The funeral went as well as funerals can with some lovely memories from two of the grandchildren. I was complimented on my prayer by the vicar who handled the service well being neither too fulsome nor evangelistic. When I'd spoken to him on the phone prior to the service I hadn't been impressed so I learned once again not to judge people. (Or rather I still haven't learned not to judge people!)

And the party, as everyone kept calling it, afterwards was a jolly affair. I left before 3, because I was driving home, when it was still in full swing and showed no signs of stopping.

Husband comes home today and it will be good to have him here after his long stay away from us. He'll have to continue to spend occasional days and nights with his father until Pop's state and situation are assessed and it's determined if he can manage on his own or if he'll come to harm. But that's a problem for another day.

P.S. If you're interested my prayer is here.

Off on my travels again

This time it's to Derby ready for the funeral on Tuesday.

We're going via the library so I can pick up an audiobook. The theory is that it will keep me awake; the reality may be that I get so engrossed it'll be, 'Edinburgh Castle? When did they move that to Derby?'

I'm taking lemon cake and maple and pecan cookies with me plus sausage rolls Younger Son made so if we do get lost at least we can have a party.

I say 'we' meaning George and me again. Younger Son is coming up on the train on Monday.

Right-ho. Switch off now ...