EL was two the other day: 10 Dec to be exact.
Don't worry if you didn't send a card: I only just realised myself.
Because many of us are missing the View, I was reminiscing and thought I'd take a look back at the first blog post wot I writ and over which we joshed several times.
Anyway, I'm really pleased to report that M&S heeded the advice of that first post. Rest assured though, I won't take all the credit. But the crucial thing is that the menswear is no long skulking behind the knickers and bras. I still don't go to M&S though. No fun anymore. I used to like the view. In fact I used to really really like the view. It's just not the same anymore.
Tuesday, January 8
Roly was 'ere
On New Years eve I announced that it would be a good idea to mark it with somerthing memorable. So why, I suggested, didn't we walk into Oxford. Hoorah they all shouted. Well all except the children. Who boo-ed and hissed, in appropriate panto stylee.
SWIA rang her friends. Yes, they cried, let's do it. And 'he's behind you' and so on.
Luckily for me (them) I came to my senses. It's ten miles plus and darkness was due in a matter of three hours. We'd never make it, I don't know the route (all right, I know, I just follow the river, but in the dark I didn't want to become too closely acquainted with it, let alone any teenage offspring of my or her loins. Mind you, teenagers and water: an unlikely a mix as you might find. Anyway I digress...). So we ummed and ahhed, we phoned a friend, asked the audience and decided to 'do' Port Meadow.
So you get to see some pictures of same: very wet. Yes, we got incredibly muddy and a bit of a mess in the pitch dark. We were fozen and gasping by the end, and madly trying to think of somewhere that would take under 18's. We ended up in Browns having beers and cocktails and dripping river mud onto their carpet. And after two or three of those, we decided to party until the wee small hours. Phones came out again and by the end of it we had our four, their three, her two and the various parents to make a party of several. One of whom is a professional and wonderful cook and writer thereon, so she made a pud and I lashed a chicken stew to the bottom of the pan with black gunge.
And then Roly Wicksteed appeared. At least, the rest is a blur as "I was, ver ver drunk". So going into Oxford in the morning to do voluntary work (yes, NY Day - there's dedication) was a bit haphazard (actually I sloped off as the last chime of midnight receded; the others stayed at it until 03:15. They were very Roly). Notwithstanding, we did OK that morning. Copious Kenyan coffee contributed.
And then lo and blooming well behold, if the self same perambulation didn't appear in the NY Day Times as one of the top ten walks. Port Meadow, Wolvercote and back. Our walk eggzackly. Can I claim off anyone? Get a royalty?
SWIA rang her friends. Yes, they cried, let's do it. And 'he's behind you' and so on.
Luckily for me (them) I came to my senses. It's ten miles plus and darkness was due in a matter of three hours. We'd never make it, I don't know the route (all right, I know, I just follow the river, but in the dark I didn't want to become too closely acquainted with it, let alone any teenage offspring of my or her loins. Mind you, teenagers and water: an unlikely a mix as you might find. Anyway I digress...). So we ummed and ahhed, we phoned a friend, asked the audience and decided to 'do' Port Meadow.
So you get to see some pictures of same: very wet. Yes, we got incredibly muddy and a bit of a mess in the pitch dark. We were fozen and gasping by the end, and madly trying to think of somewhere that would take under 18's. We ended up in Browns having beers and cocktails and dripping river mud onto their carpet. And after two or three of those, we decided to party until the wee small hours. Phones came out again and by the end of it we had our four, their three, her two and the various parents to make a party of several. One of whom is a professional and wonderful cook and writer thereon, so she made a pud and I lashed a chicken stew to the bottom of the pan with black gunge.
And then Roly Wicksteed appeared. At least, the rest is a blur as "I was, ver ver drunk". So going into Oxford in the morning to do voluntary work (yes, NY Day - there's dedication) was a bit haphazard (actually I sloped off as the last chime of midnight receded; the others stayed at it until 03:15. They were very Roly). Notwithstanding, we did OK that morning. Copious Kenyan coffee contributed.
And then lo and blooming well behold, if the self same perambulation didn't appear in the NY Day Times as one of the top ten walks. Port Meadow, Wolvercote and back. Our walk eggzackly. Can I claim off anyone? Get a royalty?
Friday, January 4
Instead of work
The choice before me is either empty the van - hard physical work - or paperwork. So instead here are some pictures of Oxford that I took on lovely day out with SheWhoIsAdored, and with every vista that opened up I cursed leaving my proper camera at home. Thus, this is Nokia's vision of my day in the backwaters of Christchurch.
Above - the Radclifffe Camera. A Camera in a Camera... etc
Below SWIA and Shy
And now... the Van. Grrrrrr.
Above - the Radclifffe Camera. A Camera in a Camera... etcBelow SWIA and Shy
And now... the Van. Grrrrrr.
A plea
A good friend has done a runner and I miss her. She knows who she is, and if she doesn't please tell her that a little thread of her stitching is tugging at my heart. Please please, just say hello, and if that's it then that's enough.
An Apology
Not here very much and this is my apology for that. I realise that in absentia my readership has dwindled to two or three old loyal friends. Not that you are old, it's your ... oh, you know.
Since Feb 07 when I moved from home into an office my computer time was cut drastically as the computer moved too. I'm only really in here two or three days a week and there is so much to do that blogging has had to go to the bottom of the list. More doesn't get done every day.
I took ten whole days off over Christmas,. No, I lie, 12 whole days. During these I had my mother to stay. It is as well I was not bloggable then. I had a stinking cold... can you see where I'm going with this? Too much negative and not enough positive to say.
I hope to get back to more positive ways as the year lengthens with the days. But frankly, Jan and Feb = head down and stay out of the wind.
That said, yesterday on the market was a stonkingly good day. Almost 50% up on the average take.
Since Feb 07 when I moved from home into an office my computer time was cut drastically as the computer moved too. I'm only really in here two or three days a week and there is so much to do that blogging has had to go to the bottom of the list. More doesn't get done every day.
I took ten whole days off over Christmas,. No, I lie, 12 whole days. During these I had my mother to stay. It is as well I was not bloggable then. I had a stinking cold... can you see where I'm going with this? Too much negative and not enough positive to say.
I hope to get back to more positive ways as the year lengthens with the days. But frankly, Jan and Feb = head down and stay out of the wind.
That said, yesterday on the market was a stonkingly good day. Almost 50% up on the average take.
Friday, December 14
In which I go topless
Overnight a layer of ice formed on the underside of the 'lid'. It was promising to drip later. So I decided to rip it off. Only the lid, no other kind of rip off occurred all day. Honest.
I quite enjoyed spending the day topless.
Ohh er.
Adieu
End of term today: he flies off to parts foreign with his rich mum at 6 tonight.
Leaves a big hole when he goes.
Never mind.
He'll be home to fill it soon, and then Christmas.....
Leaves a big hole when he goes.
Never mind.
He'll be home to fill it soon, and then Christmas.....
wet post 2
... the weather today was much worse: very cold (I nearly swore then, that's how fing cold it was), very wet and unbelievably windy - my brolly flew inside out. And still they ruggered on. Mine's the muddy one (in stripes):
the sun broke through in the end (make your own sun/son puns, ta)
the sun broke through in the end (make your own sun/son puns, ta)
Wet post 1
Friday, November 30
Monday, November 19
New tops
As for the market: we have new tops to celebrate its decline as it has less craft and antiques and more car boot dross.
Last week:
And the week before:
Last week:
Smug? Moi?
Re Fimpractical: Yes, I quite like our kitchen too. Here's another shot of it. Very Homes and Gardens.
The RSC is OPEN - it says so so it must be true
I felt a bit like that on Saturday; driving to Stratford, happy, parking happy, wandering around happy, walking towards theatre happy, seeing desolate destruction of old theatre of which I was very fond sad, seeing Henry V at courtyard happy happy happy.
Stratford means much to me. I've been a Shakespeare-ophile since very young and tender, seeing Henry V three or four times before my age hit double figures. Once, when we went to see MSND, which I had also seen a goodly number of times, we even found that on that night it was Henry V and we'd seen a different production just a few weeks before. Then there was the open air version in Regent's Park; three times in one summer. To us, in our family, it was simply obvious that Shakey was to be loved and so we did, from day one, almost.
I'm always a bit nervous about going to Stratford. Especially this time: I haven't been for ages. Divorce and Adrian Noble conspired to keep me at home. I still can't get the image of David Troughton as Richard III in a purple satin hot pant set out of my mind. Risible work - and the RSC had an extended period of presenting it, at phenomenal cost too. But I also remember many productions there with incredible fondness, yes, even Merry Wives once. And John Nettles in Winter's Tale.
And I loved the theatre itself. I could see nothing wrong with it, but gather the backstage area was problematic for cast and crews. So out it goes. The first important public building in this country to be designed by a woman. The replacement, due in 2010, is being designed by a husband and wife team. That doesn't quite fill me with the sense of respect I had for Elizabeth Scott.
Finger's crossed for the new one, and if they grace it with work as fine as the current Henry V, and keep the £20 prices, it'll be a place I really look forward to becoming friends with. And hopefully the new place will become as loved as the old place was.
And the Courtyard is superb. It's a bit of shame that the next thing we're off to see, "Noughts and Crosses" with the boys, isn't in the same place.
Friday, November 16
Giving me the eye
As some (part of) of my astute reader may know, for I kno yu are no fule, I have a modest range of vehicles from which to choose. Included in these is a white van
I detest the van: it's big, difficult to drive (heavy), and smokes a lot which makes me feel unbelievable guilty. But right now I can afford to do nothing about it as the cost of repair exceeds the value of the vehicle.
But there is one thing about this van, and reader, as a female you may kno this already, becos as I haf pointed out, yu are no fule, girls look into vans.
Just as a bloke can hardly resist looking at a girl in a nice tight pair of jeans, a girl, so it seems, of all ages, from 16 to 61 can not resist taking a peek into a van and having a good look at the driver. Bit of shock for them when they see fat middle-aged me. But I presume their expectations are of a swarthy, fit bloke with pecs oozing masculinity and .... well, let's draw a veil here over what their expectations might be. Especially as they are so thoroughly dashed in this instance.
Nonetheless, dashing notwithstanding, I beam back (usually) and get a surprisingly large number of smiles back.
And I like it when a pretty girl smiles at me. Vague notions of memory stir in an appealing way. So girls, please keep looking in vans,a nd smiel back if the driver smiles at you. You could be making my day.
I detest the van: it's big, difficult to drive (heavy), and smokes a lot which makes me feel unbelievable guilty. But right now I can afford to do nothing about it as the cost of repair exceeds the value of the vehicle.
But there is one thing about this van, and reader, as a female you may kno this already, becos as I haf pointed out, yu are no fule, girls look into vans.
Just as a bloke can hardly resist looking at a girl in a nice tight pair of jeans, a girl, so it seems, of all ages, from 16 to 61 can not resist taking a peek into a van and having a good look at the driver. Bit of shock for them when they see fat middle-aged me. But I presume their expectations are of a swarthy, fit bloke with pecs oozing masculinity and .... well, let's draw a veil here over what their expectations might be. Especially as they are so thoroughly dashed in this instance.
Nonetheless, dashing notwithstanding, I beam back (usually) and get a surprisingly large number of smiles back.
And I like it when a pretty girl smiles at me. Vague notions of memory stir in an appealing way. So girls, please keep looking in vans,a nd smiel back if the driver smiles at you. You could be making my day.
Tuesday, November 6
Last Thursday
Don't worry Mig, it was a(nother) poor day for trade.
But we're working on that. Some of us.
Fantastic colours in the trees, shame the phoneycamera doesn't do them anything like justice.
I am so behind, I haven't read any of my blogroll for almost a week. I will catch up, but not tomorrow (Leominster) or Thursday (market) - be great to see any of you at the market. Just look out for the nursery fender on the bottom row: I can't sell the damn thing.
Sickening behaviour
So on Sunday the cat takes sick. She was seriously unwell. I called the vet who said sure, they could see her in about 20 minutes. It was about 1:30 by this time. Surgery had ended half an hour before. A slightly embarrassed cough was followed by "you do know there is a minimum charge on a Sunday?" I didn't.
Take a moment here to think what you might reckon to be a reasonable charge. I've had guesses from friends and rellies, and they've all been in the £50 - £60 range. So what do you think? In total to examine her and decide she needed further treatment was about six or seven minutes of the vet's time. Once the decision is made to go on and administer further care as necessary, paying becomes no issue: cat is sick, needs professional care, even hospitalisation. That's fine, go for it, make her better. But to charge someone with a sick cat £140* just to see them, because it is Sunday, for six minutes or so is something that could give vets a bad name. It could have been a hair-ball.
Fifty quid I could understand; professional training etc, £60 I would gulp a bit, but £140. I damn near swallowed my tongue. It is nothing but blackmail, extracting money from people who are worried and distressed about their moggie, especially when they have a 13 and 14 years old in the house, worried sick.
I dislike vets as a profession: I know about a dozen. Worked with several for many years. Not nice people, not nice at all.
Remember, this is the profession that charges YOU upwards of £40 to take two or three minutes, usually by a Veterinary Nurse, to administer a vaccine that has cost them around £2 per dose. Even given that the Nurse may earn around £15,000 per annum and has an hourly cost that is some rip off, sorry mark-up
For those of you interested, the cat had necrotic fat, which the rip-off vet knew nothing about and so for all her learning and so on, she was as much in the dark about it as me. I emailed one of the above dozen ex-'colleagues' and it results, most likely, from another cat bite.
Final bill for operations, one night in 'hospital' and pills. £516.00. Insurance? Nah.
Take it from me; if moggy goes out, get it insured.
*There were people queuing: both before me and after me. So assume they do two an hour for 6 hours: £1680: that's an equivalent rate to more, much more, than half a million per annum.
Take a moment here to think what you might reckon to be a reasonable charge. I've had guesses from friends and rellies, and they've all been in the £50 - £60 range. So what do you think? In total to examine her and decide she needed further treatment was about six or seven minutes of the vet's time. Once the decision is made to go on and administer further care as necessary, paying becomes no issue: cat is sick, needs professional care, even hospitalisation. That's fine, go for it, make her better. But to charge someone with a sick cat £140* just to see them, because it is Sunday, for six minutes or so is something that could give vets a bad name. It could have been a hair-ball.
Fifty quid I could understand; professional training etc, £60 I would gulp a bit, but £140. I damn near swallowed my tongue. It is nothing but blackmail, extracting money from people who are worried and distressed about their moggie, especially when they have a 13 and 14 years old in the house, worried sick.
I dislike vets as a profession: I know about a dozen. Worked with several for many years. Not nice people, not nice at all.
Remember, this is the profession that charges YOU upwards of £40 to take two or three minutes, usually by a Veterinary Nurse, to administer a vaccine that has cost them around £2 per dose. Even given that the Nurse may earn around £15,000 per annum and has an hourly cost that is some rip off, sorry mark-up
For those of you interested, the cat had necrotic fat, which the rip-off vet knew nothing about and so for all her learning and so on, she was as much in the dark about it as me. I emailed one of the above dozen ex-'colleagues' and it results, most likely, from another cat bite.
Final bill for operations, one night in 'hospital' and pills. £516.00. Insurance? Nah.
Take it from me; if moggy goes out, get it insured.
*There were people queuing: both before me and after me. So assume they do two an hour for 6 hours: £1680: that's an equivalent rate to more, much more, than half a million per annum.
Wednesday, October 24
In which we enjoy an outing for Once.
All too rarely do we go out.
But yesterday we did. For Once.
The OOGF had rung earlier in the day. She was in the mood for a movie. I checked and decided we wanted to see Closer. But as soon as I mentioned Joy Division and 'that' hit (my mistake may have been that I crooned it more than mentioned it. Love may indeed tear us apart if I sing), and that Closer began at 6 and Once at 6:30, time seemed to move into a dimension all its own.
"Let's go" I call enthusiastically. A faint voice replies somewhere from deep in the bowels of makeupspace "just a tick".
Minutes yawn.
"Come on" I call hopefully.
"I'll be ready in second I've just got to ....(muffled sounds)".
More yawning minutes.
Then the breathless appearance, giving the impression of rushing but with no noticeable difference to make up or dress, and off we stride. Well I do. I find that unusually I am walking more quickly than she.
At her insistence we get on THIS bus. Turns out it is the slower one of the four on offer.
"Ooops. I always get that wrong"
Yeah, always when we're going to see a film about Joy Division.
No surprise then that we arrive at the cinema a few minutes after Closer has started and before Once begins. And the bar is open.
I confide I am dreading seeing Once.
A musical.
Low budget.
Buskers.
I mean.
Turns out I was wrong.
I am entirely satisfied by the experience.
On the way home to her (late teen) kidlets she walks noticeably faster than I.
Notwithstanding: recommended.
Once is enough.
Note: Girls may prefer it to boys, but there is enough in it for boys, including a boss Triumph.
But yesterday we did. For Once.
The OOGF had rung earlier in the day. She was in the mood for a movie. I checked and decided we wanted to see Closer. But as soon as I mentioned Joy Division and 'that' hit (my mistake may have been that I crooned it more than mentioned it. Love may indeed tear us apart if I sing), and that Closer began at 6 and Once at 6:30, time seemed to move into a dimension all its own.
"Let's go" I call enthusiastically. A faint voice replies somewhere from deep in the bowels of makeupspace "just a tick".
Minutes yawn.
"Come on" I call hopefully.
"I'll be ready in second I've just got to ....(muffled sounds)".
More yawning minutes.
Then the breathless appearance, giving the impression of rushing but with no noticeable difference to make up or dress, and off we stride. Well I do. I find that unusually I am walking more quickly than she.
At her insistence we get on THIS bus. Turns out it is the slower one of the four on offer.
"Ooops. I always get that wrong"
Yeah, always when we're going to see a film about Joy Division.
No surprise then that we arrive at the cinema a few minutes after Closer has started and before Once begins. And the bar is open.
I confide I am dreading seeing Once.
A musical.
Low budget.
Buskers.
I mean.
Turns out I was wrong.
I am entirely satisfied by the experience.
On the way home to her (late teen) kidlets she walks noticeably faster than I.
Notwithstanding: recommended.
Once is enough.
Note: Girls may prefer it to boys, but there is enough in it for boys, including a boss Triumph.
Tuesday, October 23
Skule run
Of a morning, on my drive to the office, I pass three schools. I see many mums driving their young. Not this morning, obviously, as it is half-term (and don't I bloody know it, mine own flesh and blood is in Kuwait with his mum and her fiance. Thank God for Skype).
Many of the cars drive past with a straight-faced mum and silent kids looking gloomily out of the window, But some cars go by and mum is talking, or the kids are, and mum is laughing, or there is singing. These cars have a kind of glow. They exude a warmth, and that warmth crosses into my car. It's enough to keep me tepid for weeks.
I love seeing the jolly, happy cars. I just wish the gloomy ones could see it too.
Many of the cars drive past with a straight-faced mum and silent kids looking gloomily out of the window, But some cars go by and mum is talking, or the kids are, and mum is laughing, or there is singing. These cars have a kind of glow. They exude a warmth, and that warmth crosses into my car. It's enough to keep me tepid for weeks.
I love seeing the jolly, happy cars. I just wish the gloomy ones could see it too.
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