Once more unto the Beach

I love Whitstable, it has an old world charm that relaxes me and takes me back to my childhood. I grew up in a seaside town, whilst there was some fishing it had nothing like the oyster industry that Whitstable has been forever famous for.

What we did have locally however was huge winkle beds. The best could be found at the base of the cliff at low-tide. There you would find hundreds of thousands of black shiny winkles firmly latched onto the huge rocks that were slick with bright green sea moss and there was a perfusion of other plant and shelled life. I could lose myself for hours picking the right sized winkles, too big and they get chewy like whelks, too small and the old musical hall song “I can’t get my winkle out….” begins to make sense., but just the right size and they cook evenly are plump enough to remove easily from their shells and make a good hearty winkle sandwich… just add vinegar and pepper!

The only problem about it was that the only way down to the shore at the base of the cliff was a vertical iron ladder set into the side of the cliff. Now I am somewhat concerned about heights, OK so scared stiff probably sums it up a little more accurately, I was dropped on my head as a small child…what can I say….I know it hurts when you fall from a height!!!!

The only way to get me down was for Dad to get onto the ladder and then for me to approach it wriggling backwards on the ground, I couldn’t look over the cliff or stand anywhere near the edge or I would become a jelly mess, I am a bit better these days and can use a small step ladder but it is NEVER fun.

So wriggle back and then onto the ladder so that Dad’s body formed a cage around me and we would go down slowly one rung at a time, me just looking at the cliff face or Dad’s hands and he would talk or sing to distract me. He of course had no fear of heights having been a steeplejack in his youth so although I was scared I trusted and felt safe with him.

However lost we got in collecting the winkles, prodding about in the rock pools and exploring the caves we always kept an eye on the tide and never let it cut us off from the ladder because other than swimming miles around the headland the ladder was the only way off the shoreline as high tide would come in fast and rise up the side of the cliff!

Going back up was always easier I would get onto the ladder and Dad would surround me again and up we would go, at the top I would scramble onto my hands and knees and move as far and fast as I could away from the edge.

If I have to do anything involving heights I still find going up easier than coming back down, because unless you look back when ascending you don’t realise how high you are.

Oh, and one final fashion tip of the time, once removed the round winkle “door” could be used as a beauty spot, a little bit racy and wicked just like Margaret Lockwood!!!!

Material Girl

So the furniture was built, the final set of drawers having eventually arrived, the shelves were up and re-packed, obviously in genre and alphabetical order…please!!!

I even managed to build a small bedside table from some off cuts of white conti, the left-over curtain rail and edging….very Blue Peter.

For the final push all that was needed was to re-cover the headboard and make a new bed–runner……definitely the home stretch….Christmas here we come!

Took a day off work to track down some material for the aforesaid headboard and runner and luck for once was on side and the exact colour was located early in the day…leaving plenty of time for a quick meal and a beer or two! It is incredibly thirsty work looking for material, if you haven’t done it you just don’t understand how dehydrating it can be…..this is my excuse and I’m sticking with it!!

Couple of days work and the headboard was covered and the runner completed, even threw in a couple of sequins for good measure.

Well obviously it didn’t go completely smoothly, whilst sewing in the fast lane the machine needle broke, it happens, actually quite often to me, it is probably a good thing there isn’t a sewing machine speed limit I would have lost my license for sure years ago!!!

Broken needle is normally no big deal but this time the broken needle slipped when I was removing it and fell into the machine so I had to take off the footplate, remove the bobbin case and ensure that the broken piece was not caught up in the machine. On the bright side I gave it a very good clean while I was in there, O’Seedy definitely approved of that!!!

Overall outcome room now completed except for a couple of drawer dividers to fashion from upvc or ply, haven’t made up my mind yet       and still a couple of months ‘til Christmas………..result.

Recalling Recall

I’m always a bit sceptical about re-makes, I mean look what they did to the classic Italian job!!!And as a big sci-fi fan I have not totally recovered from replacing Michael Rennie with Keanu Reeves but I always give it a go, so off I went to see what they had done to Total Recall.

In all honesty I have never been a big Arnie fan but Running Man and Total Recall were good Sci-Fi and I wondered how Recall would hold up under a more modern treatment.

It was really good, if you have never seen the original then it is definitely a film for today and you have no need to reference the original, a lot of things are different and it is reflective of current sci-fi.

If you have seen the original then there are some nice little homages to the original, the transport scene has been nicely re-worked with a great little “red herring” for those who remember the original “disguise”.

They have lost the mutants except for a certain “lady” with extra in the bosom department and thank goodness they have lost the wet towel, the nose extraction and the eye popping vacuum scenes.

I enjoyed the Star Wars looking troops, the atmosphere of the settings, some of which had blade runner echoes, the earth based rather than Mars premise, a solid cast and overall the whole flavour of the film……personally I recommend it as one to watch if you are an action sci-fi fan….it will probably go on my Christmas list!

The Conti Mental Shelf.

Did I mention the bedroom decorating saga?

Of course I did, we were up to the painting and papering, which thanks to the newly plastered wall actually went extremely well, very pleased with the grey and white effect and the feature wallpaper actually looks exactly how I visualised it.

The furniture got ordered and delivered and whilst the building of it was not particularly fraught…..only one missing piece from one flat pack….it was somewhat of a slow process but eventually completed.

Now usually I make my own curtains but whilst we were out on a new net curtain buying mission, my trusty side-kick wandered over to the ready-made section and discovered a perfect pair of grey curtains.

Obviously it wasn’t completely straightforward, the curtains were the ready ringed type and so a new curtain pole was required, which naturally resulted in having new holes and filling and repainting over where the old fitment was.

So on to the last stretch some new shelving, now being sneaky and wanting to save myself some unnecessary labour I had retained the brackets and supports from the previous shelving, given them a fresh coat of white paint so they were good to go, just needed new shelving….easy…peasy… yer think??

Into the local D.I.Y superstore where us oldies get discount on a Wednesday, locate the correct size conti board, having bought some a couple of years back I had remembered that they do a cutting service.

However, and this is where it all started to go downhill, I only wanted a 6inch shelf they don’t cut less than 9 inches because it doesn’t safely fit the machine!

Naturally the uncut length was far too long for my car, so had to get my son to come and get it in his big car. This worked well because I then didn’t have to do any lifting and I thought OK so a bit of sawing to do but we are still on track for Christmas, no not Christmas 2013 I do mean this year!

But guess what, whilst with my trusty electric saw, (Arthur doesn’t allow me to do much manual sawing these days, no strength left in hands and wrists) I soon whipped the shelves down to size and set about re-edging the cuts. Naturally the edging strip comes about 5mm wider than the shelf, why would they make it to fit the shelving they sell, that may be tooooo easy for the customer, so every piece had to be cut to size.

Stay tuned for  Material Girl the final Instalment!

Race for Life

Well I clocked up my eighth Race for Life last week-end, obviously it rained for some of it, but frankly I thought I cut quite a dash in my jacket in a packet, with the hood up and my pink cowboy hat perched on top…Thank goodness no-one had a camera, I can carry on believing it didn’t look too bad.

To be fair there were some interesting outfits to be found on the heath that day, a young friend of mine went in a Dalek outfit, complete with a pink feather boa, the outfit completely covered her from head to toe…it was also a bit long so she had to hold it up to walk.

Okay since you ask, we did set out from the starting gate at the same time and yes she exterminated the field disappearing out of my view in the first few minutes and I didn’t see her again until we were back at my place for a little light refreshment!

Anyway a good day was had by all and some money was raised for a very good cause.

God willing I will be back there again next year.

The Woman in Grey.

So I couldn’t resist it, I got my two taster chapters and dove straight in!

What did I expect? Honestly I don’t know, what I feel I got was a 21^st century Barbara Cartland!!!

Uber handsome, well-toned young millionaire, incredibly confident and sophisticated with the world at his feet, to say nothing of several leggy blondes who work in his office and do his bidding.

Along comes Little Miss Awkward, who is sent on a 150 mile trip to interview said Prince Conglomerate by her flatmate who is conveniently too ill to do the interview she set up, Miss Trips Over Her Words and Her Feet, was of course not at all interested in The Prince.

However, when she sees him Cinders interest is aroused and naturally when inadvertently they touch, she feels sensations she has never felt before in places that she didn’t know she had!!!!

He is at first distant and disdainful of the questions she is asking until she confesses they are not her questions and she was railroaded into covering the interview. In a surprising twist he does the unheard of and cancels his next appointment, offering to show her around the company.

Flustered, flummoxed and metaphorically a shoe short of a pair she flees the ball, I mean building.

Once home she thinks of him but tries to move past the encounter, concentrating on her studies and her job at the hardware store.

When out of the blue he turns up at the shop, because of course he was in the neighbourhood and desperately needed some ties and masking tape…..

So that was the end of the taster, what do I do,

·         do I buy it and see if it gets better

·         do I read it to prove it is Mills and Boon so that I can deride it further

·         have I got time to spare when I could be reading my own kind of drivel

I really don’t know, however what seriously worries me is how much of the detail I have remembered as I write this!!!!

Shades of Grey

At a wet, but highly enjoyable BBQ recently, there was talk about a book that everyone, well at least 4 people in the room had read, was reading or wanted to read.

Fifty Shades of Grey is apparently a bit on the saucy side, so it may offend my delicate sensibilities. Actually it is very rude to laugh like that, okay, maybe I’m more feisty than fragile but I’m not keen on the gratuitous stuff.

Anyway I’ve sent for the taster for my kindle and I’ll let you know if I decide to read it.

In the meantime the only Grey I’m interested in is the newly painted walls in my bedroom!

Quirky Qwerty

So in the Bank this morning, no the Bank Manager hadn’t called me in to speak sternly to me, just doing a little bit of money laundering, no don’t phone the authorities that was a joke!

Anyway, the personal banker, who was a nice young man, was typing away on the computer keyboard and I was both amazed and fascinated to see that he was typing with just a couple of fingers on one hand and only one finger on the other. No I am not being disablist, he did actually have the full compliment, just wasn't using them! 

Now I did have some touch typing lessons, about 40 years ago, but I am very bad and, although I do use more than two fingers to type, I move my hands far too much and use the wrong fingers for the keys, unless I really concentrate, but it is slow and harder work, so I don’t stick at it.

However I am genuinely surprised, given the fact that the kids these days are put on computers at school from about three, that they are not taught to touch type, the old quicker qwerty way.

Given the angle this young man was holding his hands as he typed I’ll give him another few years and he will be well on the way to repetitive strain injury, to say nothing of carpal tunnel and arthritis.

We definitely need a campaign to teach children to type correctly and safely

Paint it White.

So the decorating is progressing at an incredible rate, incredibly slow that is.

Well a decision was made about the probable new room layout and where, how the furniture may best be located. Nothing massive you understand just enough to necessitate re-running socket extension leads, moving the phone socket, oh yes and clambering up in the loft to drop the TV aerial back into the room on the other side.

We also needed a bit of plastering, now I don’t do that, the only plastered I know about comes out of a bottle, current favourite a bit of Belgium Beer, but I know a man who does and does it extremely well…so that is sorted.

So on the home straight now, just the painting and wallpapering to do, yep will definitely be done by Christmas this year.

Oh, did I mention we haven’t actually got any furniture yet!

The Glass Imaginary

As a small child, before I was of the age to go out and about by myself or with friends, I used to pester my parents to take me on the pier. It was not an easy ask as entrance had to be paid for and of course there was the expectation of an ice-cream, I mean how can you stroll along the pier without an ice-cream, it would be like going to Ascot without a hat!

I loved walking the length of it, the salt tang of the spray as it hit the supports, the wind blowing your hair about and your skirt up.

Not overly keen on the very bit at the end where the anglers would cast their lines, as I knew a girl who knew a boy who had been caught in the face by a hook as an angler was casting his line. So I thought it sensible not to go too close!!

Whilst the penny arcades were always popular, and so many upgraded versions can still be found in classic seaside towns, they were not really what drew me to the pier.

I had two favourite activities, climbing up to the top and looking at the town on the Camera Obscura. The image of the town was displayed in full living colour and real time onto this absolutely huge concave  white plaster bowl and I thought it was miraculous and never tired of walking around the outside of the huge dish watching the  people,  going about their day, down below us along the seafront. If you have never seen one you have missed an incredible bit of science.

My other stopping place was the booth where the glass man made the all the animals, fish, flowers, and all sorts of glass models. He would do it all by hand using straw like lengths of glass that he would heat on a kind of Bunsen burner until it softened, sometimes melting two together and pulling into strands, sometimes blowing to balloon the glass. He used very simple tools like scissors and tweezers or tongs. I would watch fascinated for hours as these strands were bent and shaped into wonderful, colourful, exotic and fragile works of art. I never ceased to be amazed how someone could create such beauty so quickly and how someone could have that vision and imagination.

It is in these precious childhood moments that we first begin to learn the joy of the world around us and the appreciation of the beauty that mankind can create.

The Mirror Hacked

Due to the whole decorating debacle things are a little disorganised at the moment and blow drying the hair now has to be done in one mirror whilst balancing on one foot, well not really but it does feel a bit like that.

Prior to the disorganisation caused by the decorating and the whole moving everything around and piling things up like a junk shop, there were two mirrors set so that hair could be blow dried whilst back and front could be viewed.

Now I was never that good with mental transposition and always struggled with the reflection where I had to move in the opposite direction to what it looks like in the mirror and it always took a lot of concentration.

Never was any good at that patting your head and rubbing your tummy thing and throughout years of piano lessons always really struggled with doing completely different things with each hand.

That said I am really missing the mental struggle of trying to straighten the back of my hair in the double reflection….

Lord alone, well and everyone who sees me, knows what the back of my hair looks like these days!!!!

The Blogger Returns.

Been incredibly busy lately, yes obviously, as much time as possible with the baby who is now 4months, but also been decorating.

Now I quite enjoy decorating, except for painting the ceilings, as it always makes my neck ache. Usually ceilings only need one quick coat of white to freshen them up, and here comes another except, except when someone, yes it was me, thought it was a cool idea to paint ceilings with a colour, like what we did in the 70’s; then of course it needs 2 coats to get it back to white, even using ‘one coat’ paint!

Moving on to the walls, another good tip is NOT to layer wallpaper, yes me again, even if you think you will not go back to painted walls, the day does come when you do want to and then you have 4 layers of paper to strip off, ahh the joys of scraping.

Anyway we are on schedule, the promise I made was that the first room would be done by Christmas and I am pretty certain that I am going to pull that in on time.

I’ll keep you posted.

Quark Quark

OK, so I've not been around for a bit but I'll be back properly soon.
In the meantime for those tempted to eat cream when they shouldn't.

Take a Tub of Quark and add a little good quality Vanilla essence, makes a great topping subsitute and won't blow your arteries!!

Sherbet Dreams

So doing a special birthday cake at the week-end with a spring theme and using some rice paper daisies for decoration, it was obviously important to taste the aforesaid daisies, quality control is paramount!

As the rice paper melted on my tongue I was instantly transported to the little sweet shop that I used to go to when I was at infant and junior school.

The rice paper had evoked the initial salivation and anticipation of sherbet, the memory of the amazing flying saucers that were one of my favourite treats.

The shop was a sweet shop, it sold nothing but sweets, jars of pineapple chunks, cola cubes, aniseed balls, humbugs, fruit salad, black jacks, fireman’s hose, chocolate honeycomb and so much more, a veritable paradise and for me a place to anguish over what to choose!

In the sherbet department not only were there flying saucers and sherbet lemons but dabs, a packet of sherbet with a lolly to lick and dip, the sherbet tubes with a liquorice straw that you bit the end of and then sucked up the white powder (obviously an early precursor for those who now inhale up another white powder through a straw). Then there was the farthing or even a ha’penny worth of sherbet crystals in a white paper bag, orange, lemon or strawberry. There was only two ways of eating it, to tip the bag up and try to gently shake the crystals into your mouth, not always a safe option as you could get too much and choke or miss your mouth and lose some, or to use your finger as a tool, lick it and dip it so the sherbet stuck and then lick it off, by the time the bag was empty it was falling apart and your finger was either bright yellow, orange or pink.

You could of course take the crystal home and put it in a glass and mix with water to make a sherbet drink, but quite frankly even as a small child I thought that was disgusting!!!

Swimmin’ in the Rain

Why it happens no-one knows, but it is almost a certainty that if we have had a bit of reasonable weather, which we did, that it will disappear the moment we hit a long week-end, especially Easter.

Easter has always marked the beginning of the season. I grew up  in a seaside holiday town and throughout the winter months everything was locked down tight, so other than the cinema and youth activities, like St Johns and Guides there was little going on for us natives, as I got a bit older there was the coffee bar, but that’s a whole other story!

But as soon as Easter arrived, whether rain or shine, the first of the hardy holiday makers would arrive by the coachload and spill out into the town.

Rain or shine the brave, or foolish, would swim in the sea, including us local kids, just to prove we were tough, and I could also run barefoot across the stony beach, strangely not a life skill that has proved to be of much use to me since then!

The hotels and B&B’s would open up at early season rates, the pier would take down the shutters, the theatres would gear up for the summer season entertainments anticipating packed houses, the aquarium would open up, the ice cream parlour’s restaurants and chip shops would start to open extended hours. Most would have either closed down for the winter or tailored their opening hours for the indigenous population, so maybe opening Friday and Saturday evenings and Sunday lunch only.

The exception was The Blue Moon Café, which was open all year and it was rumoured that if a gentleman (I use the term very loosely) asked for tea and two spoons, he would get his “afters” served upstairs.

So rain or shine the town would begin to come alive, as if emerging, like a living organism, from winter hibernation.

Things haven’t changed much in terms of the season, I have a caravan at a different seaside location and this Easter week-end the whole place was opened up and surging with people, especially Friday, which was the one really good day of this long week-end.

Well, actually yes, maybe one thing has definitely changed, I don’t do cold weather swimming these days, I may be daft but I’m not stupid!!

Colour me Green

Now I am quite eclectic in my tastes, I like a range of music, Rock, Country, Pop, Classic, Power Ballads, although not over keen on Jazz.

I like most food, obviously not sprouts or cabbage, but pretty much everything else, Italian, Indian, Chinese, Thai, African, West Indian and Fish and Chips.

I like most colours, of course the whole range of pinks, lilacs and purples are my favourites but I am not big on green. I quite like lime green but in reality it is more yellow than green.

I am in truth a little bit phobic about green, not how it appears naturally, I like it in grass, trees and plants, but the manufactured greens especially that horrible deep glossy green that they used to paint all the hospital corridors with when I was a child.

And therein probably lies the nub of the matter, it has for me unpleasant associations but even recognising that fact does not eliminate my aversion to the colour.

Green just makes me Blue!!!

Driving Miss Crazy

So in goes the car for it’s M.O.T. and annual service, couple of minor problems that I mentioned to the mechanic were the interior light, bulb blown, and a problem with the front passenger side electric window, which had rather suddenly stopped working.

Was advised that the window may be a problem, could be the motor, but hopefully just a broken wire, he said it was really unusual and that if they break it is usually the driver’s side as that gets much more usage.

Anyway away I went leaving “the Flash” in his capable hands.

On return at the end of the day, M.O.T. and service fine, just needed a couple of new wiper blades, new bulb in interior OK, and then he gave a little smirk!

Now at this point I had that sinking feeling that this was going to be a story to be added to my two other epic car fails:-

So I not long after I got “the Flash” I was in my local supermarket car park with a huge shopping trolley full of stuff, pressing the remote on the key to open the door and nothing was happening, well except for a lot of heavy duty swearing, my mother would definitely not have been proud!

Just as I was beginning to curse anew, as I also couldn’t get the key in the lock, my partner chimed in with, “actually I don’t think this is our car”.

And it wasn’t ours, it was the same make, model, colour, year and very closely matched number plate but it wasn’t our car. Our car was two spaces away the other side of a big van!!!!!

My best goof however is the one from way back when I owned  a saloon car and out of the blue I noticed this banging noise every time I turned right, it didn’t seem to happen all the time just on prolonged bends and cornering, all very mysterious.

So after checking the entire car for something loose, and looking at all the bits I knew how to look at I sought a professional opinion about the problem. Turned out to be a bent mudflap!!!!!

Back to the present, by the car, in the mechanics garage, with nowhere to hide from another embarrassment.

About the electric window, he said, thought I’d test it out before I disassembled the entire car door. It wouldn’t work, he said, because you had locked it!!!!!

How was I to know, that I had, at some point, inadvertently, pressed a window locking button, that I hadn’t even realised was there.

 

We will never speak of these things again!!

A Fridge too Far.

Time for a wipe out of the fridge, whilst it was still relatively empty before the weekly shop.

What should have been a quick job turned into a mammoth task due to a previously undiscovered spillage of fresh coffee that had been put into the fridge in an ill-advised container.

Anyone remember the sticky gloop that was Camp Coffee? Yes, well you get the picture, the fresh coffee combined with the ambient moisture in the fridge produced lovely gluey grunge.

Of course it had worked its way between the glass shelves and the plastic edgings, making them extremely hard to prise off, but off they had to come in order to remove all trace of the offending substance.

O’Seedy popped in and had a field day, well at least someone was happy!!

Have Drill Will Travel

So, time for a bit of attention for the older members of the Grandchildren Clan and a bit of assistance with putting a blind up in the bedroom for one of the young men, one of two who will be hitting 21 this year!!!.

Now the decorating was done a long time ago, so long in fact that it really is ready for another coat, but he and I made a good job of it at the time and all the room needed was a blind to finish it off!

Not being one to rush into things it has taken himself the best part of two years to buy the blind but, at last, it was a tangible presence and needed installing.

So round I went with my trusty electric drill to drill the holes for the screws.

The whole thing was an interesting experience and took the pair of us basically the entire afternoon. The instructions were somewhat scanty, one was even the direct reverse of what we actually needed to do! The diagrams did not look like the parts we had and in order to get the brackets up we had to drill additional holes in the brackets.

There was much measuring, cutting and sawing and when at last the time came to actually fit the blind to the brackets, did it slide in like a hot knife through butter, did it heck as like, but after a bit of wiggling pushing and nudging it was up.

It also fitted pretty well into the window recess and almost completely blocked out the sunlight, so at least he can now put the light on in his bedroom without anyone seeing into his room.

However it is a roller blind with a sidewinder and clearly has a delicate disposition needing slow and measured winding up and down.

I’ll give it until himself, coming home after a couple or four bevies, gives the sidewinder a rather too firm a pull!!!!

A Stab in the Dark

Knives are dangerous and clearly one of the weapons of choice for the disturbed youth of today and if you are not worried and concerned about it then you really are not opening your eyes to the signs of discontent around us.

Yes, each generation has had its troublesome element, I would be the last to defend some of the violence wrought by the mods and rockers but they were distinct mass groupings and effectively territorial, like a lot of rutting males showing their virility.

From a very young age I can remember the call going round the neighbourhood that there was going to be “a bundle” down the rec. In those days the only weapons were words and fists.

Yes, sometimes it went too far and kids got injured, bloody noses, split lips and untold bruises, but it was incredibly rare for anyone to be hurt enough to need the Dr., let alone the hospital.

In fact it was more than likely that there would be a clip round the ear for the injured party when they got home as a punishment for fighting, or, depending on the parents, for not winning the fight!!

Things just seem to have escalated over the years moving through lumps of wood, bats, the occasional penknife or flick knife to the seriously heavy duty knives and guns that we see with far too much regularity on the news today.

But it was gang warfare from the get go back in the day when kids just shouted abuse at each other and wrestled or blooded each other’s noses through the clashes of the mods and rockers to the territorial gangs that grew up a few years ago. Whilst not to be condoned it is very easy to see the sociological parallels between countries fighting wars and groupings of young people fighting each other.

However many of stabbings and shootings that occur these days do not seem to be gang related, at least in the sense of occurring during a clash of gangs, they are not so much part of a big fight but more a picking off of people when either alone or in very small groups, some of it is clearly linked to prejudice or vengeance and it feels very different from the traditional overt hostilities.

Is it the fact that, in real terms, the young today have access to more money than ever before (however they come by it!), do they feel more hopeless and disempowered than previous generations, is it that they are bored senseless, have they been so de-sensitised by the barrage of violence on TV, in films and video games or is it fear and paranoia that fuels the anger and hatred.

Whatever the cause it is scary because so many truly innocent bystanders, including young children, seem to end up being victims of the sociopathic behaviour of these disaffected juveniles.

I fear for our youngsters when they are out and about in a way that would have never occurred to my parents.

Tommy.

Watching the birds feeding in the garden made me think back to the time I thought it was OK to keep a bird in captivity. Times were different, I was very young and the prevailing culture less concerned with the well-being or best interests of the animal kingdom.

I was about 4 or 5 and had been persistently asking for a doggie, but as we lived in at flat, with a no pets rule, at the time it wasn’t going to happen. I didn’t understand and even if I did it wasn’t going to stop me asking!

I had white mice for a while, when I was very little, that I remember playing with and having them run through my hands, I loved the furry feel and the way they squished themselves through tiny places, it didn’t work so well for me when I tried to fit through small gaps like bannisters, but we won’t go into that.

Anyway one day my Dad came home with a shoe box with holes punched into the lid and inside was this cute tiny, little green baby budgie. Obviously he and Mum had bought a cage and sand and bird seed for the new addition to the family.

I loved him instantly and named him Tommy, I have absolutely no idea why, I don’t remember anyone named Tommy at school or anywhere else but I must have heard the name somewhere and liked the sound of it. I remember Mum and Dad were surprised at how definite I was about what the bird should be called.

He was a friend for many years, he would be allowed out of his cage to fly around the flat, windows closed of course. I would go to the pet shop with Mum and buy him cuttlefish and millet and he had a mirror and budgie toys that I spent some of my pocket money on.

When I was little I would crawl along the floor and he would follow pecking at my slippers, I would play all sorts of games with him especially in winter when I couldn’t play out with my friends.

He learnt to talk and had a wealth of phrases, most of which you could determine from whom he had learnt them, my favourite was one he picked up from my Grandmother, who lived with us for quite a chunk of my childhood, “Bloody English weather, raining again!”

It taught me to nurture small creatures to be gentle with the vulnerable and helpless and gave me an understanding of power and how it can be used to be cruel or kind to those less able to protect themselves.

Mostly it gave me a love of small warm living things and yes, here we are again back to the gorgeous little baby grandson, who, to be fair, even though he is vulnerable and helpless, seems to already hold quite a bit of power over those around him!!!

The Right Knife.

I am waiting patiently for the Hunger Games to go on general release, really looking forward to seeing how it comes out on the big screen.

I am also hoping that the violence and killing is not too graphic, yes, I know it is not an 18 but neither was Zulu and I never could watch that!

When I was a youngster we had penknives, I was in the Girl Guides and it went along with my Lanyard and whistle, but they really were a tool not a weapon. Okay, so I never did use the thing for getting stones out of horse’s hooves, but to be fair there weren’t a lot of horses around the local rec!

I did use the screwdriver quite a lot and the knife for whittling and making play spears.

However probably the most dangerous thing I ever did with my penknife was to use the blade to ease off the cover of my watch to see how it worked!!

Not a good idea in those days when that tightly coiled spring and all those tiny little cogs and wheels were so delicately balanced in their rightful places!!!!!

Precipitation Descending.

When I was a little ‘un my Dad liked a good cowboy film, the old John Wayne, Roy Rogers, Robert Mitchum and the like. At times when we had a TV I would enjoy watching the cowboys and Indians as well especially with him, Hi Ho Silver, the Lone Ranger and Tonto was a particular favourite of mine.

I can remember one time when I was ill my mum made up a bed for me on top of the sideboard, to keep me warm and watch over me, and even though I was ill I thought it was amazing to be watching the Lone Ranger while I was technically in bed!

In those days it was acceptable to have toy guns and I had a cowboy gun and a red holster, I also had a home-made bow and arrow so I had some sense that the Indians were not really the Baddies they were made out to be. I had cowgirl dressing up clothes as well, very much influenced by Annie Get Your Gun!

Later years took cowboy films to a new level, films like The Good the Bad and the Ugly, which I remember seeing with my Aunt in Peckham, and this afternoon I was delighted to re-watch Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid on the TV, over 40 years on and it is still a brilliant film.

There are many good one liners, the banter between the two is still amusing and the bicycle scene to Raindrops still a lovely change of pace.

So I just did me some talkin' to the sun, and I said I didn't like the way he got things done, sleepin' on the job pretty much all day today!!!

Young Layers

Being somewhat focused on the joys that small babies and children bring into our lives I have been amazed over the past few years by the range of baby, toddler and children’s clothes that are available now.

It is also fascinating how caught up very young children are in their fashion awareness, obviously not in the self-conscious way adults think about their dress sense but in that endearing way little ones get really passionate about favourite clothes.

Whether it is jumper of a particular colour or pattern, a t-shirt with a special picture or design, a frilly party dress, a cosy coat, Superman pants or Disney princess knickers, it is always a struggle to explain why “it” has to be washed, or is not suitable to wear on a particular occasion, why pants cannot be worn over trousers and why sandals cannot be worn in snow.

I was told the other day about a small girl who is at the stage now of wanting to choose clothes and dress herself and came out wearing 3 skirts probably because she wanted to wear all her favourite ones!

Coot Canal

I love the lake and park at the bottom of our Road, its like a bit of countryside within very easy reach, for as long as I have lived here it has been a source of pleasure and peace to me.

When I was a lot younger I would go out very early in the morning and jog around it, cutting a dash in my red tracksuit!.

At times when the hustle and bustle and life in general is or has been too much it brings a sense of stillness and tranquillity. It’s a spot to contemplate nature, to be calmed by the gently ruffling water and watch the swans, geese, coots and moorhens swimming about their daily lives.

I have watched the park and lake over the years, even before I lived here I would come over and watch as the lake was dug out and constructed and the park took shape.

My view has been somewhat like a stop motion film, charting the construction, development, blossoming and now sadly some elements of decline of the area.

I watched it grow from a raw young thing with saplings and newly planted shrubs, the jarring edge of the lake dotted with new rushes and bright wood.

As it grew to maturity it blossomed into a special space, open vista’s and interesting places. It had lots of natural spaces but the paths were well maintained and it had a sense of being well kept and cared for in the places that clearly were not given over to nature to take its course.

In the early days, every year the dredger would come around and clear the canals that flow from each end of the lake, keeping the water free flowing.

Sadly that has not happened for a long time now and the canal at one end of the lake is completely blocked with overgrown rushes and a heap of human debris, supermarket trolleys, prams, bikes, wheelie rubbish bins to say nothing of the general litter, beer cans, plastic bags and the like.

Many of the paths now are not just pitted but have holes and sunken areas giving it an unkempt and unloved feel in some places, it would be better now if the paths were the more natural foot-trodden variety, as elsewhere in the area, rather than the neglected asphalt.

But it is still a breath of fresh air, a swath of green grass, bushes, trees and the glorious twinkling water, you just have to ignore the bits that nature has yet to fully reclaim from man!!!!

Swinging Sixties and Over!

I have been wanting to go and see Hotel Marigold since I saw the first trailer at the cinema.

Also , yes I will publicly admit it, I read the article about it in Saga Magazine, well it’s out there now, can’t take it back, I was a closet Saga Reader but now the truth is out there. No, I don’t feel free and liberated I feel a bit ashamed and totally convinced it has sullied my reputation!!!!

Anyway, said article made me even more interested to see the film, it has a magnificent all-star cast, that reads like a Who’s Who of British Thespians, with the ability to convey nuance in a glance, no hamming types or masters of wooden performance here..

But more importantly they are all quality actors, including the young leads and the bit part supports, a really well-rounded ensemble piece. It was good to see Maggie not playing the upper crust role but whatever social strata she always delivers brilliant characterisation. Celia was cheeky with at time almost an echo of Acorn Antiques. Tom and Ron were solid as they always are and it was good to see Bill playing gentle and self-effacing for a change.

Anyway if you have ever complained about the outsourcing of Bank helpline services to India, this film takes it to the next level, outsourcing retirement care and hip replacement surgery to India.

The film is hilarious in places and heart rending in others but I highly recommend it and will probably pick it up on DVD later in the year.

It does come with a racist warning, because it accurately portrays the attitude of some white people, I’ve met a few myself who have said exactly what’s in the script. What makes it OK is that there is a learning process and shows that, even in old age, change for the better is possible.

It also touches on the issue of arranged marriage and the Indian caste system.

It is in the end a feel good movie without being sugar sweet.

Grumpy moan from the cinema was that it was free seating and not many people, so lots of space, but a young couple came and sat one seat away from me and she was playing on facebook, yes, that how close she was I could see it. I was patient but when she was still doing it at the start of the main feature, yes, after the cinema had reminded everyone to turn off phones, I was forced to ask her to switch it off. No, of course she didn’t apologise, but she did put it away without comment.

Funniest moment before the film started , remember its free seating and an empty cinema, so voices carried, woman examining her ticket and telling her companion, possibly daughter, she was looking for seat 12A, embarrassed  companion, sotto voce, "12A is the film certification"!!!!

Three Wheels on my Wagon

So was lucky enough to get to push the pram to the park the other day. Nice modern bit of kit a three wheeled affair, obviously these smaller compact models don’t have the comfort suspension and bounce of the old silver cross but by golly do they win out on manoeuvrability.

So in my usual, there’s a song for everything and every occasion, I started singing Three Wheels on my Wagon, and then set myself the task of trying to remember as many of the those nonsense novelty songs as I could.

I’m no social historian but as a small child growing up in a seaside town I remember the Variety Bills, at the local theatre, that still very much echoed the Old Time Music Hall, a staple of which was the novelty song.

Who could forget “Brown Boots” a social commentary about the etiquette of going to a funeral in brown boots and then the reveal that he was in fact the better person because had given his black ones away, many of those comedic songs had a bit of a moral to them. “My Word! You do look Queer” was all about a bloke who had been ill and feeling worse and worse as people told him he looked queer (unwell) until someone came along with a bit of positive reinforcement told him he looked great and then he felt marvellous, a bit of basic psychology for the masses.

However I was wracking my brains for some of the other nonsense novelty songs that emerged every so often throughout  the late 50’s to the early 80’s and I’ll probably be thinking of this for days now, until I’ve got a longer list!

·         Three Wheels on my Wagon                         New Christy Minstrels

·         Oldest swinger in town                                Fred Wedlock

·         Funky Moped                                             Jasper Carrott

·         Beep Beep The Bubble Car Song                   The Playmates

Of course there were also the send up songs like "Tiptoe through the Tulips" by Tiny Tim, Hilda Baker and Arthur Mullard doing “Grease”, and who could forget Pete Sellars  doing the Beatles “A Hard Day's Night” in the style of Laurence Olivier's interpretation of Richard III.

It’s no wonder I can’t remember what I had for breakfast my head’s crammed full of nonsense lyrics!

Lost in Face

The recent arrival of my new grandson was a wondrous occasion, I may have mentioned it!

I have been very fortunate to have had a number of “Best Day Ever”s in my life and being the effusive verbal communicator that I am, yes, I do talk a lot, I am more than happy to elucidate at length about any one of them. Obviously his arrival was amazing and way, way up there on the list but I was over-whelmed, lost in his face and lost for words.

There is no denying that cradling the new born form of my son’s son and gazing into his face leapt me back in time, as I wondered how he would grow up and what excitement life would hold for him, to my emotions when I pondered the same things about my new born son.

I had had a major surgical excision for cancer a few weeks before my son was born and when I gazed into his big round eyes it was an amazing moment but touched with a poignancy as I truly didn’t know if I would live to see him grow up to a boy, a teenager, a man. The statistics were not in my favour, but I have always believed that you get a long way with sheer will power and determination and one step at a time is the only way to go.

When 15 years later my consultant discharged me and told me I was very lucky, I certainly didn’t argue with him, I had my life, of course, but even more important, because I had become so acutely aware of my mortality, I had learned to live it, to fill it with love, joy, family, friendship and lots of laughter, to recognise the importance of people and emotional wealth rather than money and things, mind if you’re offering a few bob I’ll not refuse, it would be rude!.

No, I don’t think I’m some sort of saint, I can be petty and small-minded, self-absorbed (especially over new babies!), self-opinionated and positively awful, just like everyone else but facing your own physical mortality and the fear that you may not see your child grown up really sharpens your focus, on what is most important in life, in a way that few other things can.

So, as I look at the face that holds the thread of my genetic immortality, I am again awestruck at the wonder of life and the promise of the future.