Bangled, tangled, spangled, and spaghettied

After the Boy’s failed attempt to wash his hair when he got back from Reading – he fell asleep in the bath and forgot he hadn’t done it – he tried again today. He had more luck getting it clean, but the brush broke when he and his girlfriend tried to get the tangles out. For some reason he was surprised that it got knotted after a week with no attention, though my oft-repeated suggestion that he brush or comb it every day has always been scorned. He’s informed me that he is so fed up with it that he is going to get it cut. I’ve asked him to save me a ringlet.

(Thanks Scott!)

And we dance to the masochism tango

With my arms aching so much they kept waking me last night, why did all today’s household tasks involve using them? Lawnmowing, ironing, pushing a shopping trolley, weeding … I repeat, ow, ow, ow.

PS. I forgot to say yesterday that I saw two kingfishers, the first I've seen since I was a little girl of 4 years old. It made it all worthwhile. :)

Anything you canoe, I canoe better

Ow, ow, ow. I don’t think there’s a single bit of me that isn’t aching. After a late night last night (bed after midnight – we were watching “100 scariest moments” and fell asleep at about number 15 – does anyone know what was supposedly the scariest?) we got up early to meet up with chums and take the canoe for a paddle. We put in at Bidford and paddled to Evesham, a distance of about 8 miles. We paused briefly for a picnic lunch, and were forced to adjourn to a handy riverside pub (free mooring for patrons) during a sudden sharp shower, but still got about 3 hours paddling in. My neck, back, shoulders, arms and tummy are all protesting strongly.

I know Henry the Thirst finds boaty people very friendly, and maybe they are down in his neck of the woods, but the first two we met, forever to be known as Bill (William Anker) and Tom (Thomas Osser) because of the speed at which they drove their powered craft past us, nearly capsizing a canoe containing children, were quite simply stupid and arrogant. We were quite fascinated (in a ghastly sort of way) by a woman in her narrowboat, when we stopped for our lunchtime picnic, who was concentrating deeply on her small hand-mirror, which was making her task of either squeezing her spots or plucking her beard easier. The remaining people we came across just tried to be awkward, but when we could prove that all the canoes were licenced with the BCU so we had a perfect right to be on the water and using the lock they shut up and mongoosed off.

And why do anglers do it? Yes, they are outside in the fresh air, but they’re not taking any exercise, about 80% of them smoke and they sit just far enough apart to make conversation impossible.

Curate's egg

Well, what a strange event that was; it was both better and worse than I’d been anticipating. For one thing we were in little compartments in the middle of an arena, with no shade or shelter from whatever weather came our way. There are about 120 Kennel Club recognised breeds, and all ‘parent’ breed clubs had been contacted and asked if they would participate. The sum total of attendees was 4 Shelties, a Cavalier King Charles spaniel, a Border terrier, a Hamiltonstovare and three dalmatians (of whom one was still (just) in season and Harry thought it was his birthday and Christmas rolled into one). So the ‘Parade of Breeds’ was a very sparse affair. Probably because it was the morning of the first day of the show, there seemed to be very few public about as well. When we’ve been there in previous years it’s been busy, busy, busy, but not today. Even the Guinness bar, which is usually bursting at the seams with customers, was rattling. It meant that, in the three hours we were sat there trying to look welcoming rather than lost we had almost a dozen people come up to talk to us. Bor-ring.

And I don’t quite know how it happened, but I find I’ve volunteered for Discover Dogs at Crufts next March ...

Apart from that Ned managed to buy 3 ammo cases for a fiver, Harry had a professional photo taken (cracking!) and we tried, for the first time, some yummy-looking barbecued tiger prawns. They aren’t really very nice, are they?

Julia says

Do you remember ages ago I told you I’d been volunteered for a couple of Breed Club events? The first was at the beginning of the month when I drove to Malvern and helped out in the kitchens – it was a great relief to know that was why the rubber gloves were needed! Tomorrow we take Harry to the Town and Country Festival at Stoneleigh to participate in their version of Discover Dogs – sick-makingly advertised as ‘Cuddle a Canine’. (Bring chairs and an umbrella.) We often do Discover Dogs at Crufts (Harry was on TV there one year and got to kiss Philippa Forrester), but I think tomorrow there will be more children trying to put sticky fingers on my nice clean dog. Our stint is from 10am till 1pm, and reading through the blurb that was posted to me I have discovered, to my horror, that I am expected to take part in the Parade of Breeds just before lunch. Oh. My. God.

CNPS: 139

Pounding away, pounding away ...

While we were walking back from the barbecue last weekend I spotted on the pavement a pound coin, which naturally went straight into my pocket to be forgotten about. When eventually I remembered it, it had vanished. It wasn’t in my pocket, nor on the floor from when I undressed, and closer examination revealed a pound-coin sized hole in the lining of the pocket. Drat! Oh well, I thought, c’est la vie. It’s obviously a coin with wanderlust, and I put it out of my mind. Until this morning when I was putting on the shoes I had last worn to the barbie. There was a stone or something in the toe of one – no! It was the pound! It must have fallen through the hole in my pocket, slithered down the leg of my jeans and plopped neatly into the side of my shoe. I’ve taken no more chances – I’ve invested it on a Lucky Dip for Saturday’s lottery. Fortune, here I come!

PS. Are the Olympics over yet? Is it safe to turn on the TV again?

CNPS: 136

Stand and deliver

There’s been a long discussion going today on another site where I spend a lot of time, which was sparked off first thing by someone (J) posting about what a silly thing she’d done. She had arranged for her son and herself to go to London for a couple of nights, stay in a hotel, and go to the theatre. She had the theatre tickets, train tickets and the hotel reservations all safe, but when she was packing this morning before they caught the train she noticed that the theatre tickets were for last night’s performance. We’ve all done stuff like that (classic TOGgery, Scotty!) and sympathy and cheer was duly offered, with suggestions of cheap alternative entertainment in the Big Smoke.

All went well until another person (H) suggested trying to get a refund from Visa by concocting a story about how they weren’t able to make it there. Now, I know it’s not just me (because several people also queried why one would lie like that) but to me that seems like fraud. The tickets had been received, the performance had gone ahead - every aspect of the contract had been fulfilled, at least from the point of view of the theatre company and Visa. Yes, we all make mistakes, and it’s unfortunate, but surely it’s wrong to try to get someone else to (literally) pay for them? Apparently I and the others are suckers who deserve all the shit that life throws at us – ‘H’ thinks it’s better to duck and let some innocent person cop the lot instead of you, no matter that it’s your fault. But if Visa paid up, then they would claim on their insurance, and their Insurance company would raise their premiums. To everybody. Just as every shoplifted item results in retail prices rising to cover the losses. Every single spurious insurance claim results in innocent people paying the bill. And I don't like being robbed - it gets me very angry.

*Has a beer to simmer down*

PS. Hurrah for Autorecovery! The computer crashed when I was drafting the blog in Word, but it was still there after I restarted!

Let the memory live again

Another day, another few quid off the mortgage. Actually it was quite productive apart from my moment of TOGness at lunchtime. I knew I had two things to do in town – go to the Post Office and Something Else. As I couldn’t remember what the second thing was (I was sure it involved Smiths) I went to the PO first then strolled up the Parade to the rest of the shops. I walked around Smiths, but nothing jogged my memory and I went back down the hill to the office. Almost the instant I got in I remembered that I had intended to buy the paper, so got the office manager to get it for me. Luckily she’s as TOGgy as me (I helped her remember several words today) so I didn’t feel too foolish.

CNPS: 135

When I'm calling you-oo-ooo-ooo

I had a terrific idea for some new puzzles for work - a topic with many variations on the same theme, so lots of output from very little input. It didn't work. :( The idea is still brilliant, but most bingo calls are just too long, and I could only just get one puzzle out instead of the three I'd imagined. Damn. Back to the drawing-board and more searching for novel topics.

CNPS: 132

I need a little time

Don't weekends pass quickly? The long list of chores that, in the old days before I restarted paid employment, could be spread over all the weekdays so that the weekend could be free for quality 'family time', now has to be crammed into the days 'off', and depend even more for success upon the weather. So today was concentrated on the washing, ironing and gardening, and fortunately the weather today has been perfect for all of these, and has been a positive, productive day; but crumbs! I'm weary! And tomorrow it starts all over again.

It's only words

Ned and I went to a barbecue at a chum's house tonight. Generally I detest barbecues - I hate the flavour of the badly-cooked food so tend to over-compensate by drinking, with the result that by the next day I have contracted a strange virus with the symptoms of nausea and headache. But tonight was different. Clever Lindsey had prepared lots of food in advance so that her husband's macho-cookery (why do men only cook out of doors? Is it a primeval memory of slaughtering mammoths and throwing the corpse onto a bonfire?) was appreciated by the men and ignored by the women. All tums were well lined and a good evening was had by all. Even me.

Anyway, in the interests of science, I have started an experiment in the village. When we girls were gathered around the brazier warming our particles I filled them in on the "plinth" theory. They have all promised to put the theory to the test tonight and report back. We do, however, all have our doubts, and have a side-bet going that the general reaction will be one of "You wha'?" In fact Liz got over-enthused with the idea and experimented early. We were right - her husband looked totally confused and said "Eh?"

I still reckon Mr Rankin is wrong.

CNPS: 131

Days of future past

Ned is having a rant. The cries of “Bushbabies! Where’s my gyrocopter? I want my silver suit!” are this evening echoing around Genie Towers. I have no idea what prompted this right now, but those of you of a certain age (Hello? Is anyone else there?) will recognise that those are items which, when we were at school, were promised to us by ‘The Year 2000’. It was True Fact that in that magical year all menial tasks would be performed by robots, everybody would wear silver space-suit type outfits and have jetpacks and personal flying machines so that traffic jams would be things of the past. It must be true. They told us that in school, and we all drew pictures of "Life In The Future".

Well, what happened then? And what toot are they filling children’s heads with for 2050 (apart from having to work till they’re 70 before they qualify for a pension, by which time they might just have paid off their student loans)?

Where did it all go so wrong? We have been cheated.

And if it's really true, oh lucky you

Happy Boy 

At last the waiting’s over and the results are in. I was right in that the teachers were not to be believed and AAC was not on the cards. Unfortunately neither was my prediction of ABD – the actual tally was BCE. His offer from Warwick required BBC, but they did say at the time that they might be willing to ‘stretch a point’ if he didn’t quite achieve those grades. However, none of us imagined for a moment that, when he phoned Warwick to tell them of his actual grades, that they would confirm his place! Quite how the jammy little bugger has swung that I don’t know – but he’s delighted, and we’re thrilled to bits. I do hope they haven’t made a mistake.

And congratulations to all the Blogring's exam-takers. In the immortal words of Young Mr Grace - "You've all done very well"!

Approaching doom

We’ve all seen the dreadful pictures on the news about the floods in Boscastle. Ned and I spent a lovely day in the village two years ago, and it’s very hard to imagine that beautiful place suffering such destruction. It was so well cared for, the sun was shining, the flowers were in full bloom and the walk along the harbour to the top of the cliffs at the end of the combe was lovely, and the views of the rocky Cornish coastline were stunning. This was the village where we started our ‘tea tour’ trying to find the perfect Cornish cream tea. (At Boscastle the scones and the cream were good, but the jam was disappointing.) There were several very ancient buildings, one of which, the ‘Harbour Lights’ gift shop, (shown in the pic) with its buttressed walls and wibbly roof, dated back to the 15th Century. It was totally destroyed by vehicles being hurled against it by the floodwater.


Harbour Lights 

Thankfully, it appears that nobody was killed, though they won’t know that for certain till the demolished buildings and wrecked cars (some out at sea) have been searched. Coincidentally it occurred 52 years to the day after the Lynmouth floods, which tragically happened during the night, and 34 people lost their lives. I’m sure that without the rescue helicopters at Boscastle there would have been many more casualties.

On another topic entirely, tomorrow is A-level results day, when we find out how much revision and digital extraction the Boy managed in the run-up to the exams. If his teachers are to be believed, he is capable of getting AAC, but I personally think ABD is the best we can hope for, and which I think is the points equivalent of the BBC the Uni has asked for. I would love for him to have done really well, but am consoling myself that, if the results are poor, then University would have been the wrong move for him, and we think about his future plans together. I don’t want him to go to Uni ‘because it’s expected’, or if it wouldn’t be of benefit to him. Watch this space ...

CNPS: 124 (ours)

Did you miss me? Yeah!

Mally and chums 

Hooray! The computator has been mendified and we’re back!

We've learned that next time we go away we'll have to take one of the dogs with us. Boy told us that Beattie had her tail between her legs most of the weekend, and the stress drove her to lick a patch of hair off one of her front legs. So she is going to have to become a Festival Girl. I shall practice getting her used to wearing a bandanna, because everybody wears silly clothes at festivals.


The Thinger 

I suppose this picture really ought to be posted in the Favourite Things forum, because it is evidence that Omally has successfully thung the Tilley T3. This picture was taken while we waited for Fairport to start their set, but Mallers still hadn’t imbibed quite enough to enjoy to the full being swept into an impromptu reel when a few bars of the “Dashing White Sergeant” were played. (If I recall, his words were along the lines of “You’re both wombatting mad”, but without the benefit of the filter.) He needs a few more lessons in hair-letting-downification. And I know just the people to do it!

Good time, feeling fine

The question of the day is; will I manage to get this blog completed? I'm having to scribble this at work because our home Peecee missed us so much it attempted suicide while we were carousing at Cropredy. The man is coming tomorrow to hopefully mendify it. I do hope so. With no computator we have had to watch TV and talk to each other.

Cropredy was fab. The musical highlights included the Family Mahone whose repertoire consisted mainly of drinking songs interspersed with the occasional toping song, and, for variety, the odd swigging song. It's a shame their spot was so early, but apparently it was their first Cropredy and they were very nervous. If their spot was too late they would have needed so much Dutch courage they would never have made it.

Richard Digance was good, despite having nearly electrocuted himself recently and so not able to play as many songs as normal without his arm dropping off. I was standing very close to Terry Pratchett at this time, and he seemed to be enjoying it too. Morris On were great - Ned and I had a lovely dance to some of the jigs, and watched in awe as the dancers on stage performed unusual acts with brooms.

A final afternoon getting sunburnt was followed by a great evening's entertainment from Fairport, and chatting to Omally and his chummingtons (nice guys - pictures to be posted when the PC is better!). I did feel very left out when they and Ned had 'quality boy-time' ogling the laydeez in their various states of undress and physical variations. Try as I might, there seemed to be a distinct lack of male eye-candy (present company excepted, of course).

Then home on Sunday to admire the Boy's new car that he collected on Saturday. It's a nice red VW Golf, J-reg, with only 78,000 miles on the clock. We've been taken out for a spin in it, and it seems to be a good deal; the engine runs smoothly and the only rust spots we can find aren't structural. The poor lad was a little crestfallen coming home to have a stone flung up on the motorway and his windscreen cracked. It seems harsh to have a prized possession damaged before you even get it home.

CNPS: 121

It's getting better all the time

Brief blog - popped back to have a bath (I'm a sissy) and empty the camping potty. Ned says driving with a gallon of wee in the back of the car concentrates the mind wonderfully.

Met up with Omally and his chummingtons - he texted us his co-ords so we cached him. I forgot to write in his logbook so I'll do that later. I claim a First-To-Find.

CNPS: 117 (as soon as we get 118 the campsite will have rich pickings - we've seen 119, 120 and 121 ...)

Steamy windows

No, not steamy in that sense, you smutty lot! What's happened is that, while we were putting up our tent at Cropredy (the usual camping field is flooded, so we're now next to the main railway line - this is going to be fun) there was a thunderstorm. So we busied ourselves pegging out the groundsheet and all that sort of stuff during the heaviest of the downburst (or cloudpour, I'm not sure which Ned called it). I was overjoyed (you may detect a note of irony here) to get back to the car to discover that Ned had left all the doors and windows open, so everything was sodden. The equipment, the seats, the contents of my handbag - everything. So I decided that, when Ned was having his post-nightshift sleep, I would go to Tesco, get the rest of the food supplies, pop home to see how the Boy was getting on, feed the dogs, then come back, when hopefully the heat of the car might have dried things out a bit. Which is where the 'steamy windows' reference comes in. I have successfully transformed the car into a mobile sauna.

Off I set. To wait in a queue to leave the campsite. The field is down a single-track lane and the police, in their wisdom and because of the hundreds of cars arriving, were refusing to let vehicles leave the site unless they were in a convoy. Three-quarters of an hour I waited there. I asked what would happen in an emergency, and was told "It'll have to wait, madam". I think that's appalling.

I'm off back there in a minute. I have got the shopping and returned for umbrellas and the camping potty, because I'm wombatted if I'm going to walk the half-mile to the portaloos (they're not near the railway line) in the middle of the night.

It's got to get better, surely?

Well, I woke up this morning ...

Which, although it’s a always a plus, it’s not really welcome at 4.30am, with cramp in one leg, a splitting headache and a throat that felt as though I’d been gargling with razor blades. It hasn’t really improved all day. Looks like I may not be camping as much as I could over the weekend, which will be disappointing.

The Boy, being a boy, is a master of inconsistency. For the past few days he’s been encouraging me not to pop back from Cropredy over the weekend (“I’ll be fine Mum, I’ll look after the dogs. They were all right last time you went away, weren’t they?”). Now he’s in a bit of a strop because we’re not going to be here over the weekend, when he wants to go car-hunting. Never mind, he’ll get over it!

CNPS: Still 115

Run, rabbit, run

It's been a very ordinary day today, so I thought I'd share a picture of Harry having fun.


Harry 

Down came the rain

D’you know, I don’t think it’s stopped raining all day? It started raining in the middle of last night, cos I heard it, and it’s been coming down steadily ever since. I’ll need to get the canoe out of the garage to get to work tomorrow at this rate.

The Internet is still down at work, and things are getting difficult. It means so many things are uncheckable, so we’re getting further and further behind. I foolishly forgot to take in any reading matter for lunchtime, so because there was no internet to play on either I worked straight through. And for some reason I’m still working.

And after all the trouble I went to, getting a new aerosol for my airbrush, I now find that the paint is too viscous to go through the tube. Bother. Brushwork is going to ruin the effect. I may have a new duster after all.

CNPS: 114

Among the fields of barley

When my granny was a girl (I think she was born in 1890) she spent her summer holidays on a farm in Kent. Her father had emigrated to South Africa to start a new life for his wife and daughters, but vanished without trace. Family history says he died in a hotel fire in Johannesburg, but who knows? Anyway, that's by the by. She used to tell us tales of her holidays haymaking, when she carried baskets of lunches out to the farmhands and would ride back to the farm on the wagons of hay that were drawn by horses.

I was reminded of this by the combine harvesters that have been driving down our lane at all hours for the past week; motorisation and headlights mean that there is no 'quiet time'. Make hay while the sun shines - and harvest when you can. Rural life still revolves around the weather, whatever New Labour would have us believe.

You'll always find me in the kitchen at parties

First thing this morning I was relieved to see my car back on the drive, indicating that the Boy had returned safely. He’s a good Boy, and hadn’t woken us when he got home.

My ‘volunteer’ day turned out rather better than I’d dreaded (and I’ve brought home two pairs of latex gloves), although because we still haven’t seen car number 110, the 111, 112 and 113 I saw in quick succession were wasted. Ned has been stuck indoors all day, juggling payslips, bank statements and a calculator, trying to work out how much backpay he’s owed (about £2,500, which would be very useful. If they pay up, especially all in one go rather than in dribs and drabs, we can replace our poor old car which is really on its last wheels. Not with a new car, obviously, but one less than 16 years old.)

He is now having fun being creative and artistic, working on a project which, if it’s successful, will be a nice (yes it will) present for someone. If it doesn’t, I’ll have a lovely new duster.

The Boy emerged from his room at 3pm and announced that he was going to buy a road atlas. His drive home had taken 7 hours instead of 5 because the A30 had been closed due to an accident, and he was diverted through Tavistock (I drove past your old school, Mum) so he’d had to navigate using only a small Tesco Store-finder map. Dartmoor is a big place in the dark, when you’re lost.

On the up

The company got their money’s worth from me today. I got in to discover that the internet connection has been down for the past two days, and won’t be back again before Monday morning. So instead of being able to have the occasional break on various sites in between tasks, I’ve had to w**k on the database all day. Concentrating for 7 hours solid has left me with a headache. Heaven knows what state our website’s in – we can’t get access behind the scenes. On the surface all looks to be well …

Tomorrow is going to be another busy day. It is one of the days I was volunteered to go and help out at a breed club event. I still don’t know what is involved, but I hope to be able to catch up with some gossip. Malvern, when the weather’s fine, is a real sun-trap, so it will no doubt be sweltering. I’ll be glad to get home and unwind. I think I’m looking forward to it about as much as Carol was the hen-night she attended!

Hooray! The Boy’s just phoned, and they’re coming home tonight instead of getting stuck in the motorway traffic tomorrow. They set off at about 9, so should be home in the early hours. And his quilt’s dry and back on his bed, so ner, hutters!

CNPS: 109

Storm in a teacup

Isn’t it odd, the way you can suddenly be hit by the blues? Life will be chugging along quite merrily then suddenly WHAM! - all you want to do is curl up in a small, dark space and pretend you don’t exist. It’s even worse when you know just what’s caused it, and there’s mongoose-all you can do about it, that it’s something you’ve got to live with for ever, and it’s never going to improve. It's nothing anyone's done, so don't worry about that. It's just an unfortunate set of circumstances.

So rather than write a self-pitying blog I shall leave you with some music. Leonard Cohen should do it.

I feel it in my toes

It’s taken several days, but I’ve nearly got the Boy’s room mucked out in preparation for his return on Saturday. Today I decided to wash his quilt, which of course won’t fit in the washing machine, so I filled the bath with warm water and washing powder and dumped it in there. After half an hour’s soaking it was time to start beating it into submission, so I got my current book (“Equal Rites” again), took off my sandals and proceeded to stomp up and down the bath in the fashion of a very confused French winemaker. It was disturbing but satisfying to see the water turn an unusual shade of brownish-grey. When I reckoned it was as clean as it was going to get the plug was pulled and the sludgy water encouraged to escape down the hole. A bit more trampling squeezed out most of the water, and then it was time to prepare for the rush. The bathroom is about as far from the back door as it is possible to get, so getting a sodden, dripping duvet out to the line was going to be a sploshy business.

Of course, because the quilt is too big to go in the machine, it is too big to spin. It is currently draped over the washing line, dripping in a way that looks like it can carry on for several days. It’s got 60 hours. I wonder ...

CNPS: 108

Riders on the storm

My drive home from work today was exhilarating. I left Leamington in bright sunshine, but to the south the sky was darker. The closer I got, the blacker it became, till I could see the lightning bolts flashing down, yet I was still in sunshine. Very strange. About a mile from home it suddenly became dark and the rain started just as I reached home. Poor Ned had to set off for work in a downpour.

I was thrilled to discover today that if you type “Jeangenie” into Google, this blog is the very first on the list. Hey! I’m famous! (Of course, not as famous as Mr “mildly surprised” who lurks in Images.)

My final thought for today is to wonder why some phrases lend themselves to Spoonerising better than others. Today I have been singing that famous song “Sailor for trail or rent” ...

CNPS: 105

The sun has gone to bed and so must I

Yaaaawwwwnnnn! Lord, I’m weary. After all the excitement and activity of last week’s holiday, I’m exhausted. It was back in at the deep end at work (they have just signed a £10,000 contract, and I’ll be personally responsible for a quarter of that, to be completed before the end of this month). No pressure there then!

With Ned at work tonight and the Boy away, I think I shall treat myself to a long relaxing bath and an early night. Night night everyone.

King of the Road

It’s been a long day today. The alarm was set for 5am to make sure the Boy was up in time to collect his chum from Stratford at 6am and drive to Newquay. Although he’s a good driver, and during the week completed his Pass Plus course, I always worry about him when he’s driving. I’d worry anyway, but because his two pals were killed last November, through no fault of theirs, it makes the possibility less remote. His driving is fine – it’s the other loonies on the road who will cause the problems. Anyway, he phoned at 11 am to say he’d got to the campsite safely, so I can breathe freely again.

The rest of the day was spent completing household chores before we went off to play with Ned’s GPS. The first two finds were easy-peasy, especially in comparison to what I was expecting, but the final one became very zoological because it had been placed by a person who is even worse at sums than I am. The recommended parking area turned out to be 7.85 miles from the cache. A bit of a long walk for a hot summer’s evening, methinks. Shetland pony.

Ned’s a bit fed up tonight because he’s just realised that, with the Boy and one car in Cornwall, and me and the other car in Leamington tomorrow (holiday over, back to w**k), he’s going to be limited to the village. Never mind. He can mow the lawn to pass the time. He’ll like that. :)

CNPS: 104