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.