Uneventful.
I know i should be greatful. Pleased that it has gone without a hitch.....but life has taught me too well....and I am waiting for the sting!
To be honest i think this Xmas has probably gone down as the most boring so far...no kids having to be sprung or pleaded for at the local police station, no serenity with her inventful stories designed for pity and the bank of mum. Even Jamie, the most perfect one has got himself a girlfriend and is hence busy.
The aga played havoc with dinner, but a bit of inventiveness and a smidge of ingenuity payed that one out.
Mr H and I are being nice to each other...the poor bastard is scared to open his phone infront of me and even the computer is bored of playing solitaire and that ubiquitous strategy game. We've chopped the wood and theres bugger all on the telly.
I have no appetite for alcohol, chocolate or money for shopping and i don't even want to buy anything!
I've just logged on to my yahoo groups....One rather dubious dyke wants to know me better, my sister isn't talking to me and the fostering lot.....enough said!
I know by writing this i'm jinxing things but even a bad thing might liven my life up....I AM BORED OUT OF MY SKULL!!!!!
I have never in my life been this bored and i'm scared to death I'll do something to liven the world up.
I'M BORED. BORED, BORED!
Thursday, 27 December 2007
Wednesday, 12 December 2007
Legerdemain the art of deception
Children are probably the best at this art, creeping up the stairs with a packet of biscuites stuffed up the sleeve of their pyjamas...you of course are supposed to ignore the crinkle crinkle of the wrappers.
One of my children hid in a cardboard box....I can't see you so you can't see me. The logic went slightly awry when the box started moving, apparently all by itself along the corridor and through the living room. Now you and I know boxes don't move by themselves......sadly this bit of knowledge had passed young son by.
We let him get away with it....well he was having so much fun!
Teenagers can be quite good in the art of deception league, although it usually involves lots of other people ........and that is probably its achiles heal. The more people who are in on the deceiving, the more likely it is someone will dob you in. Teenagers-keep it simple!
Men on the other hand are generally totally useless at deception-it is often only by the apparent collusion of women that men believe they have got away with their trickery.
One of my favourites is "well i would have told you but you didn't ask the right question"....ergo its your stupidity as a woman. You should be intelligent enough to ask correctly.
Let me tell you busters we usually know the answer but are trying to deceive ourselves.
Where men go wrong is they deviate from the norm e.g.....shut the computer lid right down....instant give away.
One of my children hid in a cardboard box....I can't see you so you can't see me. The logic went slightly awry when the box started moving, apparently all by itself along the corridor and through the living room. Now you and I know boxes don't move by themselves......sadly this bit of knowledge had passed young son by.
We let him get away with it....well he was having so much fun!
Teenagers can be quite good in the art of deception league, although it usually involves lots of other people ........and that is probably its achiles heal. The more people who are in on the deceiving, the more likely it is someone will dob you in. Teenagers-keep it simple!
Men on the other hand are generally totally useless at deception-it is often only by the apparent collusion of women that men believe they have got away with their trickery.
One of my favourites is "well i would have told you but you didn't ask the right question"....ergo its your stupidity as a woman. You should be intelligent enough to ask correctly.
Let me tell you busters we usually know the answer but are trying to deceive ourselves.
Where men go wrong is they deviate from the norm e.g.....shut the computer lid right down....instant give away.
Tuesday, 11 December 2007
SAME MISTAKES?
My darling eldest daughter, better known in some literery circles as serenity the calm one has found herself a boyfriend....one, it looks as if, she is moving into her home.
Personally i can't understand all this "have to have a man" lark. If Mr Hughes were to disappear off the radar I might consider a man for Fridays....probably less fattening than a crunchie!
The last great intellectual thinker was sent packing back to the seaside town he came from, sadly he emptied the bank account,leaving the children hungry.
This new bloke, however, seems on the face of it an alright bloke....so why does my sixth sense bullshit radar keep bleeping and waking me up in the night?
He's a self employed builder so why does he need to sign on the dole?
Surely he just relocates his work up here.
The last job he did was a roofing job and he's owed £2500 from that....didn't mention any other jobs.
Strange he didn't say why he hadn't been paid.....and he didn't seem all that keen on retrieving it via the courts.
Didn't mention cashflow, accounts or even the old inland revenue.
He did however say he'd been a labourer.
He's lost his lisence for speeding......lets hope thats for the fast form not the pharmacuetical type!
He's a computer programmer....well, ok he's a little nerdy.
Everyone else seemed to like him.
Am i being misanthropic ?
I don't think so.
My bullshit radar says he's a doggiedoo!
Personally i can't understand all this "have to have a man" lark. If Mr Hughes were to disappear off the radar I might consider a man for Fridays....probably less fattening than a crunchie!
The last great intellectual thinker was sent packing back to the seaside town he came from, sadly he emptied the bank account,leaving the children hungry.
This new bloke, however, seems on the face of it an alright bloke....so why does my sixth sense bullshit radar keep bleeping and waking me up in the night?
He's a self employed builder so why does he need to sign on the dole?
Surely he just relocates his work up here.
The last job he did was a roofing job and he's owed £2500 from that....didn't mention any other jobs.
Strange he didn't say why he hadn't been paid.....and he didn't seem all that keen on retrieving it via the courts.
Didn't mention cashflow, accounts or even the old inland revenue.
He did however say he'd been a labourer.
He's lost his lisence for speeding......lets hope thats for the fast form not the pharmacuetical type!
He's a computer programmer....well, ok he's a little nerdy.
Everyone else seemed to like him.
Am i being misanthropic ?
I don't think so.
My bullshit radar says he's a doggiedoo!
Monday, 3 December 2007
A herd of SHEEP
I'm a foster carer. I work for a local authority not a private agency.....Not that, thats a problem for me...Children need to be looked after in a variety of places and situations.
There is no boot that fits all needs!
I work 110 miles away from the authority who kindly support me in my work. I know in America and in Africa this is less of a probl;em, where people travel many miles a day.
For me and the children i look after, however, it can seem a million miles or just down the road.
Our government, in Britain, have quite rightly identified that children should be looked after closer to their roots. This helps with continuity of friendships, schooling and contact with family. It helps build resilience, an ability to cope with lifes struggles and strife and to have better outcomes in life.
Like sheep, the authority follow their leaders, baahing and bleating to their callers dance.
Children, settled for many years, schooled well, with many friends and contacts locally are being pulled back, drawn by the buzz of the city, if they are older, and if younger by diverse and devious means.
A tick in the box for the inspectors, for each child brought back in. A tick in the box for the government and the local authority.
It wasn't right, perhaps to move some of these children so far away from their home grown environments. I wonder after so much time if it is right to move them back.
Do two wrongs make a right?
But....they almost certainly make a tick in the box!
Baaa Baaa Bleat Bleat
Perhaps we are so locked into evidencing our practice that we've lost sight of the values that underpin it.
There is no boot that fits all needs!
I work 110 miles away from the authority who kindly support me in my work. I know in America and in Africa this is less of a probl;em, where people travel many miles a day.
For me and the children i look after, however, it can seem a million miles or just down the road.
Our government, in Britain, have quite rightly identified that children should be looked after closer to their roots. This helps with continuity of friendships, schooling and contact with family. It helps build resilience, an ability to cope with lifes struggles and strife and to have better outcomes in life.
Like sheep, the authority follow their leaders, baahing and bleating to their callers dance.
Children, settled for many years, schooled well, with many friends and contacts locally are being pulled back, drawn by the buzz of the city, if they are older, and if younger by diverse and devious means.
A tick in the box for the inspectors, for each child brought back in. A tick in the box for the government and the local authority.
It wasn't right, perhaps to move some of these children so far away from their home grown environments. I wonder after so much time if it is right to move them back.
Do two wrongs make a right?
But....they almost certainly make a tick in the box!
Baaa Baaa Bleat Bleat
Perhaps we are so locked into evidencing our practice that we've lost sight of the values that underpin it.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Xmas Presents
That season is upon us once again.....of good will to all men.
Not in my house!
For several years now i have received tokens of love at Christmas. Well thats what he calls them.
Effort of thought has gone lovingly into each choice gift....Rotovator, electric Jigsaw, workbench, felling axe, ride on lawnmower and a fossil fish in a bit of stone.
Is he hard of thinking you may wonder.
Now you may think that perhaps these are presies he would have liked for himself. Not at all is the garden for him, nor carpentery or D.I.Y and where the fish comes in is totally beyond me.
Perhaps he desired to bring an element of suprise to our relationship.
He has, however, benefitted from each gift....well apart from the fish. He has enjoyed the spuds and home grown, peas and onions, not to mention the goosegogs. He delighted in the boxes made for his green goddess engine heads and has had endless laughs at the thought of me chopping down trees.
Not for him this year, his annual supply of pants and socks (mainly because he tries to make them last a whole year without washing them) One pair a month....told you he was romantic.
Not for him the annual documentary of his life...an only fools and horses dvd or a thought provoking book by Mr Mortimer. Not for him the smellies....lets face it nothing can cover up the smell of infused pants and rigid socks.
No, not for him, a brass bell for his G.G. or a sign writing token.
A shaver, a toothbrush, a grooming set would be wasted on this virtuous vagabond and clothes would soon benefit from an oily dip....Man at C&A....more like man from greasy garage.
This year, i plan to seek my revenge.
A notable gadget has come to my attention, a robotic mop! The blurb says it will clean your floors and wait for it...difficult to reach places! It can do this with 98% accuracy!!!
Lego have a mindstorm programmable robot.....I thought i could get older son to programme it as a surrogate mother type and make it follow him, reminding him to wash his hands, brush his teeth and change his pants and socks, pick up his clothes and pack him off to work.
Dream on i suspect!
Not in my house!
For several years now i have received tokens of love at Christmas. Well thats what he calls them.
Effort of thought has gone lovingly into each choice gift....Rotovator, electric Jigsaw, workbench, felling axe, ride on lawnmower and a fossil fish in a bit of stone.
Is he hard of thinking you may wonder.
Now you may think that perhaps these are presies he would have liked for himself. Not at all is the garden for him, nor carpentery or D.I.Y and where the fish comes in is totally beyond me.
Perhaps he desired to bring an element of suprise to our relationship.
He has, however, benefitted from each gift....well apart from the fish. He has enjoyed the spuds and home grown, peas and onions, not to mention the goosegogs. He delighted in the boxes made for his green goddess engine heads and has had endless laughs at the thought of me chopping down trees.
Not for him this year, his annual supply of pants and socks (mainly because he tries to make them last a whole year without washing them) One pair a month....told you he was romantic.
Not for him the annual documentary of his life...an only fools and horses dvd or a thought provoking book by Mr Mortimer. Not for him the smellies....lets face it nothing can cover up the smell of infused pants and rigid socks.
No, not for him, a brass bell for his G.G. or a sign writing token.
A shaver, a toothbrush, a grooming set would be wasted on this virtuous vagabond and clothes would soon benefit from an oily dip....Man at C&A....more like man from greasy garage.
This year, i plan to seek my revenge.
A notable gadget has come to my attention, a robotic mop! The blurb says it will clean your floors and wait for it...difficult to reach places! It can do this with 98% accuracy!!!
Lego have a mindstorm programmable robot.....I thought i could get older son to programme it as a surrogate mother type and make it follow him, reminding him to wash his hands, brush his teeth and change his pants and socks, pick up his clothes and pack him off to work.
Dream on i suspect!
Saturday, 24 November 2007
Education in Britain ....a parents perspective.
Private versus public has been the usual debate.
Right to choose a school versus available spaces at popular schools.
Academy schools, grammar schools, religeous educational establishments. Opting in and opting out, not to mention home schooling. O'levels, CSE's, GCSE's, A levels and AS.
A veritable quarry, a mine of material to argue over at home, in the school, in government and in the work place.
Whats best for my children may not be best for yours, indeed whats productive for one of my children is likely to be disastrous for their sibling.
I guess we try to establish an educational system that performs and produces the best results for the majority of children.
What do we do for the minority?
Those children who do not fit in, do not behave, cannot perform the tasks given, or attain targets set.
What do we do for them?
I've listened to both Gordan Brown and David Cameron recently talking about education. Both have said that disruptive behaviour in school cannot be tolerated and indeed the 'new tories' have already given greater powers to head teachers to remove children from school, to exclude them.
Lets look at that word 'exclude' It's synonyms include bar, eject, chuck out, expel, leave out, shut out, throw out, omit.
Isn't it rubbish, unwanted things we throw out, eject, expel, chuck out?
Isn't it things or people who don't come up to our values that we bar, leave out, omit?
What sort of message are we sending to these children? Is it I wonder, the one we mean to send?
Right to choose a school versus available spaces at popular schools.
Academy schools, grammar schools, religeous educational establishments. Opting in and opting out, not to mention home schooling. O'levels, CSE's, GCSE's, A levels and AS.
A veritable quarry, a mine of material to argue over at home, in the school, in government and in the work place.
Whats best for my children may not be best for yours, indeed whats productive for one of my children is likely to be disastrous for their sibling.
I guess we try to establish an educational system that performs and produces the best results for the majority of children.
What do we do for the minority?
Those children who do not fit in, do not behave, cannot perform the tasks given, or attain targets set.
What do we do for them?
I've listened to both Gordan Brown and David Cameron recently talking about education. Both have said that disruptive behaviour in school cannot be tolerated and indeed the 'new tories' have already given greater powers to head teachers to remove children from school, to exclude them.
Lets look at that word 'exclude' It's synonyms include bar, eject, chuck out, expel, leave out, shut out, throw out, omit.
Isn't it rubbish, unwanted things we throw out, eject, expel, chuck out?
Isn't it things or people who don't come up to our values that we bar, leave out, omit?
What sort of message are we sending to these children? Is it I wonder, the one we mean to send?
Monday, 19 November 2007
DONT MOAN GET EVEN
I have enjoyed immensely the grumpy old men series on the telly, identifying with the frustration, exasperation and illogic. I have laughed and moaned with the presenters of the programme. I have identified and admitted my own intolerance.
Attitudes have been fed endless morsels of stupidity and like a gigantic monster it has threatened to consume me.
Emulate the Chilean immigration service. Every time a Chilean returns to their homeland with tales of having been singled out for special consideration at Heathrow they crack open the box of latex gloves and invite a hapless British tourist to bend over.
Don’t moan…. get even!
In order to contain this hungry giant I have devised some rules.
Do not groan on about anything you have no power, control or influence over. … Like the weather. No amount of moaning, complaining or action on your part will stop it raining.
Do not delude yourself when he says he loves you and chats endlessly on msn to his soul mate.
You are over with. Pick yourself up and get on with life.
Laugh at incongruous signs such as “Please use all windows when purchasing tickets” Seen at a railway station ticket booth.
How about “Beware heavy plant crossing”
Attitudes have been fed endless morsels of stupidity and like a gigantic monster it has threatened to consume me.
Emulate the Chilean immigration service. Every time a Chilean returns to their homeland with tales of having been singled out for special consideration at Heathrow they crack open the box of latex gloves and invite a hapless British tourist to bend over.
Don’t moan…. get even!
In order to contain this hungry giant I have devised some rules.
Do not groan on about anything you have no power, control or influence over. … Like the weather. No amount of moaning, complaining or action on your part will stop it raining.
Do not delude yourself when he says he loves you and chats endlessly on msn to his soul mate.
You are over with. Pick yourself up and get on with life.
Laugh at incongruous signs such as “Please use all windows when purchasing tickets” Seen at a railway station ticket booth.
How about “Beware heavy plant crossing”
Tuesday, 13 November 2007
Prison
Prison.
I guess it's not supposed to be a pleasant place, not one you want to return to, like a holiday place...or is it?
Had a phone call from a socialwork proffessional, big V was missing, had we seen her?
We hadn't seen her since the last time she'd been in the doggiedoo and had needed to run away.
She had of course phoned to tell us she was being evicted, but that had been two months previously. and we had had her back home thirteen months earlier.
She had stayed for only as long as the heat was on...as soon as things had calmed down, and other people had moved on to hit on other silly, vulnerable, not so bright kids, she had calmly said thanks, she loved seeing us, indeed she loved all of us but she had to face her demons. She was gone.
Gone, probably not far enough, but certainly not forgotten.
Two weeks went by and then another phonecall, she was still missing, but big L, the druggie dope dealer, who was particularly good with his fists, was lookin after little LJ well.
Another two weeks went by and lo she had been found by the law.
Well, aprehended, drunk as a skunk, wielding a meat cleaver and threatening to kill big L, who luckily for him was at least fifty miles away.
This seemed to me to be a perfectly logical decision, one i probably would have entertained the last time he beat her up.
Sober, i think she might have stood a better chance of finding him.
Verbosity and the law are not always a good idea either.....she had obviously not heard of staying quiet until her mouth piece appeared!
She was bailed.......
One week later and the law are once again called to see to big V. This time passers by had been worried for her.
The law found her in a shop doorway with a rather large carving knife. She threw it away , learning at last, curled herself up in a foetal ball and was quiet.....well until they got her in the nick and then motormouth poured forth her venom.
Another phonecall from a professional.
Would we be willing for her to be bailed to us?
We were soon on our way to visit her in prison. She had been denied bail, and her case was to be heard in crown court at the end of the month.
Prison. I guess it's not supposed to be a pleasant place......
A modern building, large and airy. No bars for these windows. A tall, sturdy fence, coils of barbed wire on top.
A smart, no nonsense warder behind a reinforced, locked gate, looked at her watch, and we waited in anxious anticipation.
Smack on two o'clock we were let in only after we had shown our I.D. and visiting order. I thought of border controls and the germans in the second world war.
We walked past the flower beds and deposited our worlds into a cream locker, retaining only loose change to purchase coffee or chocolates.
We went and stood at the next gate, making small talk with the warder, who told us he wasn't allowed to talk about prisons. Looking up at the fence and the coils of razor wire, we waited and were then let through, across a courtyard to a building.
Another warder and forms to fill in, before a waiting room, cameras and young briefs with files, pen tapping.
People, ordinary people. People who could have been transported from the highstreet, queing for veg, or waiting for a stamp at the post office, now waited, to put their coins in a paperbag.
Arms and legs outstretched frisked for contraband and forbiddens they waited quietly.
We were let in, wardens on a raised dias and others watching captured images on screens behind screens.
Coffee tables and chairs, and at each one an orange tabarded woman sat.
She looked happily around for us, waved over we hugged her and sat.
We talked and listened to what had happened to her, and listened to what had not been said....and were sad.
It struck me as we were leaving, she was secure. She knew what would happen next, life ordered and predictable. Few responsibilities, structure and safety.....bit like a holiday from a chaotic lifestyle.
I guess it's not supposed to be a pleasant place, not one you want to return to, like a holiday place...or is it?
Had a phone call from a socialwork proffessional, big V was missing, had we seen her?
We hadn't seen her since the last time she'd been in the doggiedoo and had needed to run away.
She had of course phoned to tell us she was being evicted, but that had been two months previously. and we had had her back home thirteen months earlier.
She had stayed for only as long as the heat was on...as soon as things had calmed down, and other people had moved on to hit on other silly, vulnerable, not so bright kids, she had calmly said thanks, she loved seeing us, indeed she loved all of us but she had to face her demons. She was gone.
Gone, probably not far enough, but certainly not forgotten.
Two weeks went by and then another phonecall, she was still missing, but big L, the druggie dope dealer, who was particularly good with his fists, was lookin after little LJ well.
Another two weeks went by and lo she had been found by the law.
Well, aprehended, drunk as a skunk, wielding a meat cleaver and threatening to kill big L, who luckily for him was at least fifty miles away.
This seemed to me to be a perfectly logical decision, one i probably would have entertained the last time he beat her up.
Sober, i think she might have stood a better chance of finding him.
Verbosity and the law are not always a good idea either.....she had obviously not heard of staying quiet until her mouth piece appeared!
She was bailed.......
One week later and the law are once again called to see to big V. This time passers by had been worried for her.
The law found her in a shop doorway with a rather large carving knife. She threw it away , learning at last, curled herself up in a foetal ball and was quiet.....well until they got her in the nick and then motormouth poured forth her venom.
Another phonecall from a professional.
Would we be willing for her to be bailed to us?
We were soon on our way to visit her in prison. She had been denied bail, and her case was to be heard in crown court at the end of the month.
Prison. I guess it's not supposed to be a pleasant place......
A modern building, large and airy. No bars for these windows. A tall, sturdy fence, coils of barbed wire on top.
A smart, no nonsense warder behind a reinforced, locked gate, looked at her watch, and we waited in anxious anticipation.
Smack on two o'clock we were let in only after we had shown our I.D. and visiting order. I thought of border controls and the germans in the second world war.
We walked past the flower beds and deposited our worlds into a cream locker, retaining only loose change to purchase coffee or chocolates.
We went and stood at the next gate, making small talk with the warder, who told us he wasn't allowed to talk about prisons. Looking up at the fence and the coils of razor wire, we waited and were then let through, across a courtyard to a building.
Another warder and forms to fill in, before a waiting room, cameras and young briefs with files, pen tapping.
People, ordinary people. People who could have been transported from the highstreet, queing for veg, or waiting for a stamp at the post office, now waited, to put their coins in a paperbag.
Arms and legs outstretched frisked for contraband and forbiddens they waited quietly.
We were let in, wardens on a raised dias and others watching captured images on screens behind screens.
Coffee tables and chairs, and at each one an orange tabarded woman sat.
She looked happily around for us, waved over we hugged her and sat.
We talked and listened to what had happened to her, and listened to what had not been said....and were sad.
It struck me as we were leaving, she was secure. She knew what would happen next, life ordered and predictable. Few responsibilities, structure and safety.....bit like a holiday from a chaotic lifestyle.
Sunday, 11 November 2007
fear and trust
Funny i thought the opposite of trust was distrust, and to some degree thats true.
Fear is the opposite of trust.....it's what drives distrust.
Face your fears is often advised....and that is actually what i'm going to do.
Firstly i think i need to catalogue what it is i fear. It maybe one thing or many.
Aloneness. ...I can never be truly alone so I think for me its being without that special person i
love.
Lost. .............Lost in the sense of not knowing what to do.
I. ...................Insecurity, emotionally and physically. Not being able to support oneself.
S. ...................Social integration. people are bewildering and scary to me.
I'd rather be on the periphery, observing than really interacting or would I?
O. ..................Opportunities not taken. Of being marked by failure. Unrealized potential.
N. ..................Not having anything worth remembering from now on. Nothingness.
So I'm going to do something about this/these fears.
Fear is the opposite of trust.....it's what drives distrust.
Face your fears is often advised....and that is actually what i'm going to do.
Firstly i think i need to catalogue what it is i fear. It maybe one thing or many.
Aloneness. ...I can never be truly alone so I think for me its being without that special person i
love.
Lost. .............Lost in the sense of not knowing what to do.
I. ...................Insecurity, emotionally and physically. Not being able to support oneself.
S. ...................Social integration. people are bewildering and scary to me.
I'd rather be on the periphery, observing than really interacting or would I?
O. ..................Opportunities not taken. Of being marked by failure. Unrealized potential.
N. ..................Not having anything worth remembering from now on. Nothingness.
So I'm going to do something about this/these fears.
Sunday, 28 October 2007
Psychosocio doggiedoo
I feel a proper rant coming on.
This glass thing... You know the half empty/half full thing.
What a load of doggiedoo.
Only from the person who has a full glass can you expect "Never mind, look on the bright side, your glass is half full.
Well lookie here "I'd rather have his glass, the one thats full.....and so would you!"
I remember my father saying " yOU'VE MADE YOUR BED NOW LIE IN IT"
That was doggiedoo too!
I promptly decided that I'd made a mistake so I'd remake the bed differently or I'd make another one. Either way I was not going to lie in the first.
Well if my glass is half empty thats because some other bugger has drunk it.....or because I have......Top it up or drink the rest!
......and if your lucky get another one in, or luckier still get the so and so who half drank yours to get another one in.
Totally daft this half full/half empty lark.....any realist will tell you it's just half way....neither full nor empty.....and the chances are you've already reaped the benefits of the one half.
This glass thing... You know the half empty/half full thing.
What a load of doggiedoo.
Only from the person who has a full glass can you expect "Never mind, look on the bright side, your glass is half full.
Well lookie here "I'd rather have his glass, the one thats full.....and so would you!"
I remember my father saying " yOU'VE MADE YOUR BED NOW LIE IN IT"
That was doggiedoo too!
I promptly decided that I'd made a mistake so I'd remake the bed differently or I'd make another one. Either way I was not going to lie in the first.
Well if my glass is half empty thats because some other bugger has drunk it.....or because I have......Top it up or drink the rest!
......and if your lucky get another one in, or luckier still get the so and so who half drank yours to get another one in.
Totally daft this half full/half empty lark.....any realist will tell you it's just half way....neither full nor empty.....and the chances are you've already reaped the benefits of the one half.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
This house lark
This house lark is really getting to me, especially as I'm not the greatest homeworker.
I love cooking and my ancient aga rarely lets me down. It slow cooks meat that just falls apart when you show it the cutlery and never overcooks the fish. Keeps everything moist, warms the plates; is rescue remedy for kittens, dries out trainers and is hugely comforting in the middle of a stormy night. Best of all, being a short arse, it warms my bum !
I quite like ironing too. It gives me a chance to hog the telly. Don't get me wrong. I'm really ,truly abysmally awful at ironing, putting more creases in than there were originally but i like the mindless turning and folding and smoothing and the hiss of the steam and the smell.
The rest of it.......especially bathrooms and we've got three is just utterly boring, endlessly tedious and quite frankly a waste of time. Well ok, perhaps not the bathrooms. I just hate doing them!
Tidying up, clearing away.......can't find a dam thing and to be honest with 7 kids in the house it,s pointless. Have you seen that advert...I think it's for a loan ...The woman has this perfectly clean tidy living room, a fixed smile of happiness and contentment. She is on the phone arranging a loan or insurance and her children ask her for something, try in the garage darling she interjects with her happy sing song voice and then her beloved falls over it....."I think he's found it"
It's so unreal!
People coming to view the house again today. Hoovering, dusting, polishing.......I'm not cleaning the bloody windows!
I wiped down the lamp shade...please note i only said one lampshade. That's because it's the only one we've got. Thank god.
I wiped down the lampshade and rediscovered it's colour so that should tell you something about my attitude to housework.
I have hoovered the whole house twice this week.....the carpets will be worn out, nevermind me. Hoovering, what sort of idiot invented that?
My friend Debbie is a compulsive hooverer, she has to do it twice a day, the whole house, and sometimes inbetween times.....her husband has put in laminate flooring but she still has to do it.
We were on a course together run by a psychologist who at lunch firmly told her she should seek help.....OOw no she couldn't possibly get someone else to do it. They might not do it well enough!
Don't think that was quite what he meant.
It was a great relief to me to read in New Scientist some 20 years ago a possible connection with the overuse of cleaning chemicals and leukemia and i have exploited this possibility ever since.
Have you ever looked at the ingredients of some polishes, air freshners, surface cleaners?
Bet you havn't and if you have you're probably a greenie.
As i Mr Sheened the surfaces I thought to look.....
aliphatic hydrocarbons.....can this be good?
non ionic surfactant......is it better than ionic ?
methylchloroisothiazolinone....... not going to name your son that are you?
Benzisothiazolinone.......say no more
What the hell is glutaral?
The most important question of all is..Why are we spreading all this gunk in our homes when we don't know what it is?
We know not to inhale cigarette smoke or if we do we are taking on the risks associated with it.
We tell our kids not to inject, smoke, snort drugs. They are chemicals too, probably half of them are in the products we use daily.....well not me!
Going to live in a yurt is starting to look very attractive.
Do people who live in yurts hoover?
I wonder if they use glutural to clean their surfaces.
I love cooking and my ancient aga rarely lets me down. It slow cooks meat that just falls apart when you show it the cutlery and never overcooks the fish. Keeps everything moist, warms the plates; is rescue remedy for kittens, dries out trainers and is hugely comforting in the middle of a stormy night. Best of all, being a short arse, it warms my bum !
I quite like ironing too. It gives me a chance to hog the telly. Don't get me wrong. I'm really ,truly abysmally awful at ironing, putting more creases in than there were originally but i like the mindless turning and folding and smoothing and the hiss of the steam and the smell.
The rest of it.......especially bathrooms and we've got three is just utterly boring, endlessly tedious and quite frankly a waste of time. Well ok, perhaps not the bathrooms. I just hate doing them!
Tidying up, clearing away.......can't find a dam thing and to be honest with 7 kids in the house it,s pointless. Have you seen that advert...I think it's for a loan ...The woman has this perfectly clean tidy living room, a fixed smile of happiness and contentment. She is on the phone arranging a loan or insurance and her children ask her for something, try in the garage darling she interjects with her happy sing song voice and then her beloved falls over it....."I think he's found it"
It's so unreal!
People coming to view the house again today. Hoovering, dusting, polishing.......I'm not cleaning the bloody windows!
I wiped down the lamp shade...please note i only said one lampshade. That's because it's the only one we've got. Thank god.
I wiped down the lampshade and rediscovered it's colour so that should tell you something about my attitude to housework.
I have hoovered the whole house twice this week.....the carpets will be worn out, nevermind me. Hoovering, what sort of idiot invented that?
My friend Debbie is a compulsive hooverer, she has to do it twice a day, the whole house, and sometimes inbetween times.....her husband has put in laminate flooring but she still has to do it.
We were on a course together run by a psychologist who at lunch firmly told her she should seek help.....OOw no she couldn't possibly get someone else to do it. They might not do it well enough!
Don't think that was quite what he meant.
It was a great relief to me to read in New Scientist some 20 years ago a possible connection with the overuse of cleaning chemicals and leukemia and i have exploited this possibility ever since.
Have you ever looked at the ingredients of some polishes, air freshners, surface cleaners?
Bet you havn't and if you have you're probably a greenie.
As i Mr Sheened the surfaces I thought to look.....
aliphatic hydrocarbons.....can this be good?
non ionic surfactant......is it better than ionic ?
methylchloroisothiazolinone....... not going to name your son that are you?
Benzisothiazolinone.......say no more
What the hell is glutaral?
The most important question of all is..Why are we spreading all this gunk in our homes when we don't know what it is?
We know not to inhale cigarette smoke or if we do we are taking on the risks associated with it.
We tell our kids not to inject, smoke, snort drugs. They are chemicals too, probably half of them are in the products we use daily.....well not me!
Going to live in a yurt is starting to look very attractive.
Do people who live in yurts hoover?
I wonder if they use glutural to clean their surfaces.
Sunday, 23 September 2007
Rooms that mean something
When choosing a new house my wonderful father gave me some advice.
If you walk into a house and you look around and it feels happy then it's a good house....avoid all other houses.
I've always done that and it's served me well.
Lately I've been thinking about rooms, well actually.....spaces.
There are some very special places to me.
One of my first places was under a round tea table which sat on the landing presiding over the stairs. It was a very small space, draped with a crocheted table cloth. Katy and I squashed into it and hid when the coalmen came.....I don't know why but I was petrefied of the coalmen. Luckily they only came twice a year, unless it was an unusually cold winter or that my mother had less money than she would have liked and could only purchase small ammounts of coal. We only had best Welsh anthracite.
My dad made me a treehouse in the old cooking apple tree. It didn't have any walls or a roof. It was more of a look out platform, reached by the steps from our old boat, Sundowner. I played there for many summers...mummys and daddies, pirates and secret 7's. It was the enchanted tree, a way into many other worlds. Looking back, it was probably my area of safety where I could avoid everything else.
I had a den on a building site across the road, where I stashed all my secret possessions , and also my home made rose petal perfume (which stank horribly) and my lemon cordial....which left for a fortnight turned into fizzy lemonade. Jimmy Brown and Paul Allen were my buddies (mostly I suspect because of the lemonade) and Lynda Webley, a sworn enemy. My father found us one day hidden in a nest at the top of a shed and was very cross. The nest turned out to be asbestos. He made us promise we wouldn't go there again.......sucker!
The local cinema was my next favoured space. It had not been renovated for years and told a story of bygone times. I loved the colors and the rich swags, the smell of oranges and toffee popcorn, the thirtees staircase. Very art deco!
When I was a little older, the summers were glorious and I was often in love with one dirt bag or another.....as you are when your a teenager!
Theres a special field.....probably got houses on now, above the 100 fairy steps at Porthkerry where we sunbathed naked and the earth first moved for me......still can smell the grass and hear the bees buzzing from one wild flower to another, the scanty white clouds crossing an endlessly blue backdrop and the seagulls calling to each other.
I'm older now , much older and oh so responsible, so boringly responsible.
The next very special place was my flat. It represented my freedom, independance,
standing alone, just me......trouble was I'm human and although I'm not that keen on people...well I'm not that good at being on my own either. Most of all I loved my fouton but he didn't.
I'm a little out of time and probably more than a little out of order but I went on holiday to Brittany. Actually I was supposed to be working there. I was astounded by it's beauty, it's friendliness. The smells, coffee, cheese and tarte aux fraise, good cider , crepes and simple food.
So much had been happening in my life, mostly very unfavourable things. I'd been stupid and confused and made my situation at home so much more complicated, as you do.
Brittany represented a haven, a safe place, a quietude where I could recenter and the people around me I think understood that need and aided and encouraged that, consciously or not.
I fell deeply in love and still am with one of them .
The house we live in now had a bedroom that had once been used as an art studio. It had lots of light from the many draughty windows and an en suite bathroom, pine clad. In the winter it was so very cold there. We had 3 duvets with a combined tog of abot 33 and still clung to each other all night to keep warm.......well Couldn't tell him I loved him , too much! The bathroom was wonderful if not a bit disconserting. In the wind and believe me we get wind up here on the mountain the pitched pine ceiling would move up and down and rattle ominously. It was wild and scary and comforting and I loved it.
Strange posting I know but something today triggered it.
The upstairs bathroom door is frequently closed and the tap tap of phone keys can be heared and the toilet unused.........think I'm going to need the quietude of Brittany once more after all.
If you walk into a house and you look around and it feels happy then it's a good house....avoid all other houses.
I've always done that and it's served me well.
Lately I've been thinking about rooms, well actually.....spaces.
There are some very special places to me.
One of my first places was under a round tea table which sat on the landing presiding over the stairs. It was a very small space, draped with a crocheted table cloth. Katy and I squashed into it and hid when the coalmen came.....I don't know why but I was petrefied of the coalmen. Luckily they only came twice a year, unless it was an unusually cold winter or that my mother had less money than she would have liked and could only purchase small ammounts of coal. We only had best Welsh anthracite.
My dad made me a treehouse in the old cooking apple tree. It didn't have any walls or a roof. It was more of a look out platform, reached by the steps from our old boat, Sundowner. I played there for many summers...mummys and daddies, pirates and secret 7's. It was the enchanted tree, a way into many other worlds. Looking back, it was probably my area of safety where I could avoid everything else.
I had a den on a building site across the road, where I stashed all my secret possessions , and also my home made rose petal perfume (which stank horribly) and my lemon cordial....which left for a fortnight turned into fizzy lemonade. Jimmy Brown and Paul Allen were my buddies (mostly I suspect because of the lemonade) and Lynda Webley, a sworn enemy. My father found us one day hidden in a nest at the top of a shed and was very cross. The nest turned out to be asbestos. He made us promise we wouldn't go there again.......sucker!
The local cinema was my next favoured space. It had not been renovated for years and told a story of bygone times. I loved the colors and the rich swags, the smell of oranges and toffee popcorn, the thirtees staircase. Very art deco!
When I was a little older, the summers were glorious and I was often in love with one dirt bag or another.....as you are when your a teenager!
Theres a special field.....probably got houses on now, above the 100 fairy steps at Porthkerry where we sunbathed naked and the earth first moved for me......still can smell the grass and hear the bees buzzing from one wild flower to another, the scanty white clouds crossing an endlessly blue backdrop and the seagulls calling to each other.
I'm older now , much older and oh so responsible, so boringly responsible.
The next very special place was my flat. It represented my freedom, independance,
standing alone, just me......trouble was I'm human and although I'm not that keen on people...well I'm not that good at being on my own either. Most of all I loved my fouton but he didn't.
I'm a little out of time and probably more than a little out of order but I went on holiday to Brittany. Actually I was supposed to be working there. I was astounded by it's beauty, it's friendliness. The smells, coffee, cheese and tarte aux fraise, good cider , crepes and simple food.
So much had been happening in my life, mostly very unfavourable things. I'd been stupid and confused and made my situation at home so much more complicated, as you do.
Brittany represented a haven, a safe place, a quietude where I could recenter and the people around me I think understood that need and aided and encouraged that, consciously or not.
I fell deeply in love and still am with one of them .
The house we live in now had a bedroom that had once been used as an art studio. It had lots of light from the many draughty windows and an en suite bathroom, pine clad. In the winter it was so very cold there. We had 3 duvets with a combined tog of abot 33 and still clung to each other all night to keep warm.......well Couldn't tell him I loved him , too much! The bathroom was wonderful if not a bit disconserting. In the wind and believe me we get wind up here on the mountain the pitched pine ceiling would move up and down and rattle ominously. It was wild and scary and comforting and I loved it.
Strange posting I know but something today triggered it.
The upstairs bathroom door is frequently closed and the tap tap of phone keys can be heared and the toilet unused.........think I'm going to need the quietude of Brittany once more after all.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
telesales
My friends son has just got himself a job in telesales.
He's been out of work for a few months so it was cause for celebration and she invited me out to lunch and a bottle of champagne.
"What we partying for, anything specific or just because we can?"
She whispered something unintelligable behind her hand whilst fervently looking around.
Good grief, surely she couldn't be pregnant! New lover, perhaps a toyboy? A mega win on the lottery?.....no. It couldn't be that or we'd be in a much more salubrious establishment and the bubbly would be kosha!
I looked quizically at her and waited.
Rabbit in the headlights moment. She looked around once more, leaned forward so we were almost nose to nose, fixed me with one of those don't you dare comment stares. You probably recognise the one.... that one, usually reserved by the darling teenage daughter when she asks "Do you think this is ok to wear to the party"
You think ****** wheres my little girl gone. Her father needs a shotgun , and some poor guy is going to end up in the nick.......but you swallow and say lovely!
"Jez has got a job in .......( looks around again) T.e.l.e.s.a.l.e.s
Now my mind is full of possibilities, and by this time I'm on the second glass...so spelling things out is not high on my ability levels.
By this time she's making movements with her left hand, like a quacking duck whilst holding a pretend telephone to her ear with her right.
Looks like lunch is going to be a really long one, possibly moving through afternoon tea and into dinner.......I'm crap at charades!
"TELESALES" she desperately blurts out rather too loudly for my liking.
I order another bottle of the fizzy stuff.....she's definately going to need it.
That has got to be the most loathed and detested of all jobs. No one likes telesales people.
Well what I mean is the people are probably very nice...it's the bothering that's the problem.
Usually the tax man only bothers you once a year, but telesales, lets face it are a dam nuisance!
Accountants are dull but you can always send the old man.
I did know a surveyor once who designed carparks and insisted on telling you about every aspect of his job........bored everyone to bed.
I digress, back to the subject ...telesales.
I don't know what a look of horror and sympathy looks like .......she does!
Since I work from home I am regularly interupted and hounded by persistant telesales staff and consequently they have become a target of my anger, jocularity and drama.
He's been out of work for a few months so it was cause for celebration and she invited me out to lunch and a bottle of champagne.
"What we partying for, anything specific or just because we can?"
She whispered something unintelligable behind her hand whilst fervently looking around.
Good grief, surely she couldn't be pregnant! New lover, perhaps a toyboy? A mega win on the lottery?.....no. It couldn't be that or we'd be in a much more salubrious establishment and the bubbly would be kosha!
I looked quizically at her and waited.
Rabbit in the headlights moment. She looked around once more, leaned forward so we were almost nose to nose, fixed me with one of those don't you dare comment stares. You probably recognise the one.... that one, usually reserved by the darling teenage daughter when she asks "Do you think this is ok to wear to the party"
You think ****** wheres my little girl gone. Her father needs a shotgun , and some poor guy is going to end up in the nick.......but you swallow and say lovely!
"Jez has got a job in .......( looks around again) T.e.l.e.s.a.l.e.s
Now my mind is full of possibilities, and by this time I'm on the second glass...so spelling things out is not high on my ability levels.
By this time she's making movements with her left hand, like a quacking duck whilst holding a pretend telephone to her ear with her right.
Looks like lunch is going to be a really long one, possibly moving through afternoon tea and into dinner.......I'm crap at charades!
"TELESALES" she desperately blurts out rather too loudly for my liking.
I order another bottle of the fizzy stuff.....she's definately going to need it.
That has got to be the most loathed and detested of all jobs. No one likes telesales people.
Well what I mean is the people are probably very nice...it's the bothering that's the problem.
Usually the tax man only bothers you once a year, but telesales, lets face it are a dam nuisance!
Accountants are dull but you can always send the old man.
I did know a surveyor once who designed carparks and insisted on telling you about every aspect of his job........bored everyone to bed.
I digress, back to the subject ...telesales.
I don't know what a look of horror and sympathy looks like .......she does!
Since I work from home I am regularly interupted and hounded by persistant telesales staff and consequently they have become a target of my anger, jocularity and drama.
Friday, 21 September 2007
Aliens
I was born in Wales.....I'm Welsh. I moved to Pembrokeshire in my mid 30's.
It's great living here on top of the mountain , fantastic views over the mountains, sea and valley.
In the spring we can be in brilliant sunshine and watch the sea mist creep into the harbour and wind it's way sinuously up the valley until everything is shrouded except the mountain tops.
It's like being in another world, mystical. Alien but supremely beautiful.
Sometimes it's very lonely and wild and it's easy to imagine your the only person in the world......thats usually when i start shouting at the sheep!
I did say in my profile I was a little on the edge!
We only moved 100miles and even though my partners parents come from this area and he and all the children are bi-lingual we are still regarded as aliens, incomers.
The bloke 2 farms away moved less than 20miles into this area and even he isn't thought of as a local.
Having said that we've been made very welcome and when our house caught fire a few years ago, the local people rallied round and offered great support.
The locals are a little odd. Well I guess we must be the odd ones really been as we're in the minority.
It's joked that all the brains moved out and everyone else interbred. It's certainly the case that practically everyone is related.
Theres evidence for this in the local pub which hasn't changed much since the first world war.
Well it's been redecorated, paint and wallpaper but all the furnitures the same and also the pictures, which have been occasionally added to.
On one wall is the picture of the Queen, a very young queen; on another is a picture of the Duke of Windsor (the one who abdicated) and a lovely picture of a soldier with his beloved that must date from the great war.
Through the hatch in the wall, an older lady of indeterminate age (somewhere between 65 and 80) will serve you beer from a jug, with hands in fingerless gloves. Her blue and white check nylon apron covering a dull skirt and jumper and her wrinkly brown woollen stockings end in a pair of sturdy shoes.
Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she barks at you " YES" This should be translated as what would you like to drink? or how can I help you?
She's a woman of few words you might think and you'd be wrong. For as soon as you have settled with your pint, she's in through the door and seated in her comfey armchair rattling off questions like a bren gun firing bullets.
Astute and knowledgable she will dish out advice on every conceivable subject whether you require it or not.
It's like someplace out of the film deliverance!
It's great living here on top of the mountain , fantastic views over the mountains, sea and valley.
In the spring we can be in brilliant sunshine and watch the sea mist creep into the harbour and wind it's way sinuously up the valley until everything is shrouded except the mountain tops.
It's like being in another world, mystical. Alien but supremely beautiful.
Sometimes it's very lonely and wild and it's easy to imagine your the only person in the world......thats usually when i start shouting at the sheep!
I did say in my profile I was a little on the edge!
We only moved 100miles and even though my partners parents come from this area and he and all the children are bi-lingual we are still regarded as aliens, incomers.
The bloke 2 farms away moved less than 20miles into this area and even he isn't thought of as a local.
Having said that we've been made very welcome and when our house caught fire a few years ago, the local people rallied round and offered great support.
The locals are a little odd. Well I guess we must be the odd ones really been as we're in the minority.
It's joked that all the brains moved out and everyone else interbred. It's certainly the case that practically everyone is related.
Theres evidence for this in the local pub which hasn't changed much since the first world war.
Well it's been redecorated, paint and wallpaper but all the furnitures the same and also the pictures, which have been occasionally added to.
On one wall is the picture of the Queen, a very young queen; on another is a picture of the Duke of Windsor (the one who abdicated) and a lovely picture of a soldier with his beloved that must date from the great war.
Through the hatch in the wall, an older lady of indeterminate age (somewhere between 65 and 80) will serve you beer from a jug, with hands in fingerless gloves. Her blue and white check nylon apron covering a dull skirt and jumper and her wrinkly brown woollen stockings end in a pair of sturdy shoes.
Her eyes twinkle with amusement as she barks at you " YES" This should be translated as what would you like to drink? or how can I help you?
She's a woman of few words you might think and you'd be wrong. For as soon as you have settled with your pint, she's in through the door and seated in her comfey armchair rattling off questions like a bren gun firing bullets.
Astute and knowledgable she will dish out advice on every conceivable subject whether you require it or not.
It's like someplace out of the film deliverance!
Selling a house
Here are the viewees.
They'll probably survive the viewing as long as they don't open any cupboards, wardrobes or look behind doors.
I wonder if I should get public liability insurance?
I can just see it now, the headlines in the local press
Man painted, assaulted by a jigsaw and feathered by odd socks.
Funny thing about socks, there are probably around three hundred pairs of socks in this household and none of them are real pairs.
When I buy new ones i depair them , mix the colours up and the sizes, roll them up in twos and distribute them to the kids.
This is a sort of reverse psychology....oops sorry reverse sockology......
Sadly socks, unlike humans are not that susceptable nor suggestable.
Having said that i wonder what would happen if i did a cohort study. What percentage of socks would suddenly find themselves correctly paired in the washing machine?
If it is taken that socks mysteriously disappear down a washing machine portal and that the under the bed monster is partial to a supper dish of sock ragu . Then surely the laws of physics and biology might suggest that socks could appear in the washing machine and that the bed monster might receive presents of socks on his birthday been as he's so fond of them.
This is getting silly.
Looks like rainy day syndrome, oh what can we do in the coutryside that will satisfy our curiosity?
Oh I know lets pretend we're house hunting. It's jolly good fun, and think of all the effort time and work they've put in to tidy up.!
Personally it might be fun if they opened the cupboard under the stairs.
They'll probably survive the viewing as long as they don't open any cupboards, wardrobes or look behind doors.
I wonder if I should get public liability insurance?
I can just see it now, the headlines in the local press
Man painted, assaulted by a jigsaw and feathered by odd socks.
Funny thing about socks, there are probably around three hundred pairs of socks in this household and none of them are real pairs.
When I buy new ones i depair them , mix the colours up and the sizes, roll them up in twos and distribute them to the kids.
This is a sort of reverse psychology....oops sorry reverse sockology......
Sadly socks, unlike humans are not that susceptable nor suggestable.
Having said that i wonder what would happen if i did a cohort study. What percentage of socks would suddenly find themselves correctly paired in the washing machine?
If it is taken that socks mysteriously disappear down a washing machine portal and that the under the bed monster is partial to a supper dish of sock ragu . Then surely the laws of physics and biology might suggest that socks could appear in the washing machine and that the bed monster might receive presents of socks on his birthday been as he's so fond of them.
This is getting silly.
Looks like rainy day syndrome, oh what can we do in the coutryside that will satisfy our curiosity?
Oh I know lets pretend we're house hunting. It's jolly good fun, and think of all the effort time and work they've put in to tidy up.!
Personally it might be fun if they opened the cupboard under the stairs.
Thursday, 20 September 2007
small roads and cachi
Living in the coutryside can be pretty wonderful. You certainly know what the weather is.
Driving on the otherhand can be a bit unpredictable. It rained last night, just a bit...and it was a tad breazy with the wind, so there was a fair ammount of fallen leaves.
Drive a bit slower you'd think.....not at all.
The locals especially the one with the green golf gti, fearlessly carreer around the narrow bendy roads as if they are competitors in a rally.
At the other end of the spectum theres Mr Jones....10miles per hour up to 15 if he's speeding.
Driven an old Fergi all his life (no not an ex royal) thinks he's dangerous at 20 mph.
I'm sure you can imagine the potential for car carnage at every trip. Then to top it all theres the tourists. Usually lived in cities or large towns. Oh yes they've mastered lane dicipline and the middle finger salute, brilliant at traffic lights, speed calming measures and duel carriageways but the last time they used reverse was on the driving test. I think they must believe the R on the gear shift is for Rest.
Rest and stare....rest and stare....wildly gesticulate.......rest and stare...... shout....rest and stare and panic.
All of this can be endlessly entertaining, the school run an instant adrenaline hit. The shopping trip a veritable rollercoaster screamer.......but this pales into insignificance compared to a small stretch of road alongside a dairy farm I came across today.
A small square sign said MUD ....I slowed, not a lot, not nearly enough because I'm a local....
Feet off everything... well it wasn't going to matter what i did.
MUD , liquid mud and cachi (cow shit for the unwelsh of you).
I wasn't actually aquaplaning...more like skidding in the skiddies.....brown trouser moment as i manouvered round the bend. I got round it but the shit was in control. It slew me first one way then another, precariously close to the bridge, over the bridge and into the next bend.
Closing your eyes does nothing to alleviate the fear. The shit did nothing except delude me into thinking I had traction, and then it coallesed and hurtled me towards the bank.
I live to tell the tale and so did the other bloke coming the other way.
Driving on the otherhand can be a bit unpredictable. It rained last night, just a bit...and it was a tad breazy with the wind, so there was a fair ammount of fallen leaves.
Drive a bit slower you'd think.....not at all.
The locals especially the one with the green golf gti, fearlessly carreer around the narrow bendy roads as if they are competitors in a rally.
At the other end of the spectum theres Mr Jones....10miles per hour up to 15 if he's speeding.
Driven an old Fergi all his life (no not an ex royal) thinks he's dangerous at 20 mph.
I'm sure you can imagine the potential for car carnage at every trip. Then to top it all theres the tourists. Usually lived in cities or large towns. Oh yes they've mastered lane dicipline and the middle finger salute, brilliant at traffic lights, speed calming measures and duel carriageways but the last time they used reverse was on the driving test. I think they must believe the R on the gear shift is for Rest.
Rest and stare....rest and stare....wildly gesticulate.......rest and stare...... shout....rest and stare and panic.
All of this can be endlessly entertaining, the school run an instant adrenaline hit. The shopping trip a veritable rollercoaster screamer.......but this pales into insignificance compared to a small stretch of road alongside a dairy farm I came across today.
A small square sign said MUD ....I slowed, not a lot, not nearly enough because I'm a local....
Feet off everything... well it wasn't going to matter what i did.
MUD , liquid mud and cachi (cow shit for the unwelsh of you).
I wasn't actually aquaplaning...more like skidding in the skiddies.....brown trouser moment as i manouvered round the bend. I got round it but the shit was in control. It slew me first one way then another, precariously close to the bridge, over the bridge and into the next bend.
Closing your eyes does nothing to alleviate the fear. The shit did nothing except delude me into thinking I had traction, and then it coallesed and hurtled me towards the bank.
I live to tell the tale and so did the other bloke coming the other way.
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