Arthur and the stick

Arthur and the stick

Arthur is a very easy dog to take walking. He is not interested in other dogs or people, though he greets them politely if required.  He returns immediately he is called. He becomes very excited if balls are involved, making the woods echo with his barking, so balls do not form part of his exercise.

Arthur enjoys picking up sticks, though he is not encouraged to carry small ones, in case they should catch in his mouth or throat.  This 'stick' outfoxed him and he soon abandoned thoughts ot carrying it home.

I know I did it!

 

I know I did it!

How sure we are of what we have said or done. Our conviction is unmoveable, our belief unassailable.

Recently, I packaged a couple of Advent calendars for my two youngest grandchildren and sent them to my daughter. Speaking to her a few days later, she thanked me for ‘it.’

I said, ‘There were two in the parcel, one for each of the boys.’ She said she’d go and check the package, as maybe she’d thrown one out, though that didn’t seem very likely.

I was cross, very cross. I would have stood in a court of law, under oath, and sworn I had sent her two calendars. I could visualise myself wrapping them.

A day later, Barry came out of the dining room with an Advent calendar in his hand. It had been on the table under one of his coats. (We don’t just have coat hooks and wardrobes – we have chairdrobes and tabledrobes, sofadrobes and top-of-the-dog-cratedrobes, and sometimes, floordrobes. If you have OCD, steer clear of our house!)

 I could have wept! I was upset that only one calendar had been delivered, and worried that I was losing my mind. After all, I haven’t much to occupy it these days, not like when I was working full-time, with a husband often far away on business, four children, elderly parents, and umpteen animals.

Life should be a doddle, and mostly it is, but somehow the Season of Lights and Advertisements and Pleas for Donations, combined with darker days and longer nights, make ordinary things extraordinary. Every year, I declare that Christmas will be welcomed calmly in a well-ordered house. Every year, it isn’t!

The end-of-term three-week headache is absent now, but the simplicity of ordering maybe a little more than usual develops into a marathon of wondering if x, y, and z have been accomplished. In my saner moments, I realise that the smaller details don’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

 

This amused me

To be pacific

Why do you always go off on a tandem,
say goodbye without further adieu?
It’s time you climbed down from your pedal stool -
this is not a phrase you’re going through,

when antidotal evidence suggests
you’ve been three-wheeling right from the start.
Or rather from the gecko, as you might say.
You’re always upsetting the apple tart.

Now I’m not saying I’m above approach:
it takes two to tangle, I won’t deny it,
But when push comes to shovel and all’s set and done,
I need rest bite, a little piece of quiet.

I’d love to curl up in the feeble position
but you pass me from pillow to post, you see,
with your Belgian whistles and semi-skilled milk -
they do not pass mustard with me.

I don’t regard you as a social leopard.
You’re no escape goat – just a hapless case,
But do be aware there may be reaper cushions
when you cut off your nose despite your face.

Brian Bilston

Brian Bilston (1970 – present) is a British poet and writer. His real name is Paul Millicheap. He started publishing short poems on Twitter and built up a following of 400,000. His work has been compared to that of Dorothy Parker and Ogden Nash.

Beautiful Ugly

 

Beautiful Ugly

I read this book by Alice Feeney recently. I found it initially interesting but ultimately unbelievable.

The obsessive writer, Grady Green, has lost his wife in peculiar circumstances. His faltering career – one best-seller published and another needed – is boosted by his agent advising him to go to a remote Scottish island to live in a cabin and concentrate on his writing. He finds the islanders difficult to understand and get to know, but he thinks his perception is affected by the gallons of bog myrtle tea he drinks and which he decides is causing him to hallucinate. (Bog myrtle tea is not hallucinogenic)

I read it very quickly because I wanted to get to the end and discover the solution. I was able to skim much of it because there was so much repetition. How many times does the reader need to be told that the main character, the writer, is tired, confused, sleepless, and drinking too much? Many, many times, it would seem. Perhaps the author was being paid by the word.

Switching the point of view from main character to missing wife made it a little more comprehensible, but I wondered why she had bothered to stay with a husband who had so little time for her and for whom she had little respect. All was revealed, unconvincingly, at the end.

I had no empathy with any of the characters, apart from the dog, whose fate worried me, though he seemed to survive without harm.

I understand that the author is British, so wondered at the American spellings and expressions.

It is a deeply unpleasant book.

The sweetest thing

 

The sweetest thing

We received a sweet Christmas card this morning from our youngest great-granddaughters, Melia and Hailey. It’s remarkably simple, and an example of how Nursery and Infant teachers (and parents) can help their charges effortlessly create a pleasing card.

The reindeer ‘head’ is a footprint decorated with ‘googly eyes,’ painted antlers, and a big red nose.

Our card is addressed to ‘Great Janice’ and ‘Great Barry’ – a compromise between Great-GrandMa/Pa and the parents’ wish to avoid what they may regard as overfamiliarity. I think it works, and it’s the only time we’ll ever be called ‘great.’

 

Christmas music

 Christmas music . . .

 . . . means different things to different people. In our house it’s usually classical and traditional. This morning, we had the Mormon Tabernacle choir belting out their repertoire. Barry remarked at one point, ‘It’s not quite King’s College, is it?’

The Tabernacle choir has a robust approach to music, exuberant and cheerful, but not subtle. It’s uplifting, though, and gets the blood pumping.

Black bin day

 

Black bin day

We have two bins, a brown one for garden waste, and a black bin for household, non-recyclable rubbish. Each is emptied fortnightly, though that may change. The trend to fewer collections is increasing. This week Tuesday is black bin day. Kitchen waste is collected every week.

It’s a relief when the rubbish leaves the house – that makes it sound as though it travels out under its own speed – if only!

For perhaps one or two days we can relax before the inevitable build-up resumes.

Refuse collectors have a smelly, unpleasant job, even with machines that lift the bins to empty them. Manoeuvring huge bin lorries along narrow streets, between badly-parked cars, or along rutted lanes is not a task for the faint-hearted. Out in all weathers, boiling in summer, wet and cold in winter, the men work week in, week out. I’ve never noticed any women doing the job, but I’m sure there must be some. (On looking it up, I found that women are increasingly involved in ’waste management,’ though still under-represented.)

We certainly notice if the dustmen go on strike. Over-filled bags split and deposit their contents on pavements. Rats are attracted, though it’s foxes that spread wrappers and containers far and wide.

The clanking, clanging progress along the road and the beeping of a reversing lorry all welcome the day. The men work efficiently and quickly, ferrying the bins from kerb-side to dust cart, and returning them, empty, to their starting point.

 We should appreciate our bin men more than we do. Life would be far less comfortable without their service.

 

Coffee

I love the smell of coffee but can’t stand the taste, so am never faced with the dilemma of which version to choose. I can just about understand ‘espresso,’ and ‘black,’ but things become a little trying when I see ‘ristretto,’ ‘red eye,’ or ‘lungo.’ They must mean something to someone, and indicate that there isn’t such a great difference between a barista and a barrister – both have to study and understand confusing terms.

I was astonished to come across mushroom coffee blends. I don’t know how they came to my attention, but delving further, I discovered that there is a subculture in the coffee business. Mushroom coffee blends laud physical, mental, and possibly emotional benefits. For example, Lion’s Mane is credited with supporting mental . . . oh, I’ll just copy and paste from the London Nootropics site: Lion’s mane, also known as the ‘brain mushroom’, has been valued for its potential role in supporting cognitive balance and overall mental wellness.

It's been said to be traditionally used by Buddhist monks during meditation and has been appreciated for centuries in spiritual practices and wellness traditions.

 

The additions are called ‘adaptogen extracts.’ There is a world of information ‘out there’ to be read, studied, and inwardly digested. Is mushroom coffee more expensive than the non-adapted stuff? The short answer is ‘Yes.’ It can be between two and five times as expensive as ordinary coffee.

 

I considered buying a few samples as unusual gifts for some of the coffee drinkers in my family, but decided against it. Some people find there’s little difference between mushroom and standard coffee, and are surprised to discover that it doesn’t taste like mushroom soup.

I often  wonder how much more ‘refinement’ can be added to the simple process of refreshment.

 

Rainbow carrots

 

Rainbow carrots

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I have noticed a recent trend towards rainbow carrots. They are being promoted as a ‘superfood,’ whatever that means.

I read that they were once found only at farmers’ markets and high-end greengroceries, at an appropriately inflated price. They are still more expensive than the usual carrot-coloured articles, but are now readily obtainable at most  well-known superstores in the UK.

I bought some to try, but found the muddy colours quite off-putting, and not a feast for the eyes. It’s a good thing I wasn’t born five thousand years ago, when carrots in central Asia were usually purple, or even black or white. In Ancient Rome they were regarded as an herbal medicine and an aphrodisiac.

When carrots began to be more widely cultivated, in the Middle East, they were introduced to mediaeval Europe by Arab traders and were available in purple, red, yellow, and white. The carrots we now consider traditional only began to appear in the seventeenth century. The legend was that the Dutch farmers cultivated the orange variety to honour William of Orange who fought to free the Dutch from Spain. More prosaically, orange carrots were probably selectively bred as sweeter alternatives to the more bitter yellow carrots.

All carrots are beneficial. They are low in calories but high in vitamins and minerals, tasty, crunchy, and good for overall health.

Girls and boys

 

Girls and boys come out to play

                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

I first published this post on my blog on 5th December 2009.

The brilliance of the moon has led my mind to the old Nursery rhyme 'Girls and boys come out to play' and I began to wonder about its origins.

There are regional variations of this rhyme, but the commonest one is as follows:

Girls and boys come out to play,
The moon doth shine as bright as day;
Leave your supper and leave your sleep
And come with your playfellows into the street.
Come with a whoop and come with a call,
Come with a good will or not at all.
Up the ladder and down the wall,
A halfpenny loaf will serve us all.

Some versions add the following:

You find milk and I'll find flour
And we'll have a pudding in half an hour.

Alternative renderings place boys before girls.

The rhyme has been in existence since at least 1708 when the first two lines were printed in dance books. The earliest known collection of nursery rhymes was published in London in 'Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book' in 1744 and contained the first six lines.

Why, though, would children be invited to play in the street by moonlight?

Prior to the beginning of the Industrial Revolution (c.1760-c.1840) children often worked alongside their parents when the workload was heavy, for example during harvest. Once the Revolution was under way they became essential to the domestic economy when all able-bodied members of poor working class families were expected to work to bring in money. Under the Poor Laws, failure to provide for the family often meant that its members were sent to the Workhouse, where husband and wife would be separated from each other and their children. Workhouse conditions were grim, and degrading and people did their very best to avoid the destitution that would force them to seek support from the parish.

Thus were children from a tender age put to work, often in appallingly dangerous conditions. Many employers preferred to hire children as they were cheaper to employ than adults, were nimbler and could be used in confined spaces. For example, in the coal mines a child might start work at 2 o'clock in the morning opening and shutting wooden doors to let air into the tunnels. He or she sat in the cold damp dark, alone, with a single candle until 8 o'clock in the evening. Other children pulled the heavy trucks of coal or worked on the surface sorting coal.

Some boys were employed as chimney sweeps, often climbing up inside the narrow branching chimneys of grand houses, scraping off soot. When they emerged, cut and bruised, their master would rub salt water on their elbows and knees before sending them up other chimneys. Charles Kingsley wrote 'The Water Babies' which gives an idea of the life of a young sweep before his escape.

In the textile factories children might work for 16 hours cleaning machines while they were still running. Workers lost fingers and some were crushed by the huge machines. The smallest children were sent under the machines to tie broken threads. It mattered little to the factory owners if their defenceless labourers died – children were cheap in all senses for a dead child was easily replaced from the many in orphanages.

So, the poverty-stricken, hard-working children had little time for leisure. Generally starting work at the age of five many of them were dead before they were twenty-five, killed in accidents or through ill-health caused by lack of fresh air, good food, exercise, poor working conditions.

However, children will play when they have opportunity and this nursery rhyme gives an indication of when they might have been able to forget the harshness of their lives and enjoy themselves for a short while.

                            Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

 

Strike - December 2025

Yet another UK doctors’ strike is scheduled from 17^th December to 22^nd December. The following repost from 2022 seemed appropriate, though it addressed an ambulance drivers’ strike.

Thank you for your concern, Minister

As we contemplate, or, rather, continue (another) winter of discontent, with strikes all around, one of our Health Ministers (*how many are there?) has uttered some sage advice, before a proposed ambulance strike scheduled for tomorrow, 21^st December. 

On television he said, “Where people are planning any risky activity, I would strongly encourage them not to not to do so because there will be disruption on the day.”

He didn’t specify what sorts of risky activities should be avoided.

Here’s my list:

1: Home decorating should be avoided. Ladders are dangerous and paint pots are heavy. A fall from one or a blow from the other if it is dropped from a height could be very injurious.

2: DIY is a hazardous exercise at the best of times. Saws, hammers, screwdrivers, wrenches, pliers all have the capacity to inflict pain and/or serious injury.

3: Gardening is not something to be undertaken in December in the UK, even on a beautiful, sunny day like today. The ground is soggy from recent heavy rain, leading to the possibility of a nasty slip and potential broken bones. Secateurs should not be used, though there is a balance to be struck between carving one’s fingers or being blinded by stray creepers, or possibly being tripped by low-growing vines.

4: Driving cars is always dangerous. Avoid!

5: Shopping should not be undertaken unless mandatory. (Online shopping is probably okay, but see below re: computers, lap tops, tablets) Shopping in person is best avoided. Think of the hazards:-

 a: travelling to the shopping area – driving: see #4 above

                                                        public transport: sitting or standing cheek by jowl, breathing in who knows what from fellow passengers, or infection by accidental contact with fellow travellers

b: entering and leaving shops – constant changes in temperature, leading to chills  which could escalate to pneumonia

                                                    mingling with crowds, or, more precisely, being barged with shopping trolleys or jostled by overwrought seekers after the perfect gift

c: carrying overloaded, heavy bags and awkwardly-shaped parcels. The dangers here are twofold, possibly threefold – 

                                                          i: pulling a muscle or several

                                                          ii: tripping over because unable to see

                                                          iii: hysteria/panic attack brought on by overtiredness, despite repeating, ‘It’s only one day, it’s only one day’

6: Taking an afternoon nap because it’s well-deserved – probability of falling off the bed because of disorientation or sheer exhaustion, resulting in concussion and/or broken limbs

7: Use of computer or similar: risk of dowager hump development, carpal tunnel syndrome, headache, neck ache, backache, eye strain, electrocution from drink spilled on electrical device/s

8: Cats/dogs/small children – all of these are trip hazards. Ignore at your peril.

9: Food preparation – sharp knives, hot ovens, boiling liquids. Make the decision to eat cold finger foods and drinks

All of this may seem very silly, but there are people in the world who will call an ambulance for many inane, insane reasons. It is incumbent upon sensible citizens to take responsibility for reducing risk and therefore limiting the requirement for ambulances.

Have a lovely Christmas, everyone!

* “As of October 2022 there are 6 ministerial posts at the DHSC (Department of Health and Social Care), including: the Secretary of State, two Ministers of State, and three Parliamentary Under-Secretaries of State.”

 

The ‘phone rang . . .

 

The ‘phone rang . . .

. . . but Barry couldn’t find it, He could have answered it on his watch, but that’s not very satisfactory. He found his ‘phone in the shower room. He’d taken it in there to clean his teeth, or, I should say, while he cleaned his teeth. He uses it to time the tooth-cleaning ritual. Technophile? Never!

Anyway, it was our grandson calling to say he’d just dropped his wife off at the railway station and was travelling on to see us. He would be with us shortly. We just had time to tidy the major muddles and put clean covers on the chairs before he arrived, one little girl in his arms and her older sister following.

The first thing Melia did was to remove her shoes. She’s such a competent little girl. Little children’s shoes just melt my heart.

Hailey sat on my lap and gazed at me, as if trying to memorise my face. It’s a toss-up with babies if they’re going to cry or smile. She smiled and then she giggled. Well, I’m enough to make a cat laugh!

Melia is an observant and helpful big sister, giving Hailey a toy to play with if she seemed to need something.

Roxy was delighted to see Callum. He’s her favourite person in the entire world and she stayed very close to him all the time he was with us.

Gilbert had seen the little girls before, but he was so careful, particularly with the baby, sniffing her cautiously, so worried about doing the wrong thing.

 Arthur had not experienced small humans until today, and he was excited to discover how tasty they smelt. Hailey enjoyed having her toes and fingers gently licked.

Herschel and Jellicoe were indifferent, as is their wont.

Young children are so photogenic. They know when they are being filmed or photographed but are unselfconscious, natural subjects.

All too soon, it was time for them to go home. Hailey fell asleep as soon as she settled in her car seat. She had missed her afternoon nap, but wasn’t grizzly, as some often are when tired. Callum had the unenviable task of preventing Melia falling asleep on the journey home. I hope he managed it!

It was an unexpected visit and so lovely to see them.

 The bonus was that they were able to take their Christmas presents home with them, plus a couple of other things. It wasn’t quite a garage clear-out, but a few things have gone to new homes. The most important was a small upstairs dog crate for the puppy they’re collecting on Friday. Their young dog died unexpectedly three months ago, and their older dog has been missing her. There will be much excitement!

Off to the vet

 

Off to the vet

Arthur cuddles his mistress

Jellicoe, our delicate diabetic cat, likes to keep us on our toes. Normally ravenous, any change in his approach to food is a hint that something is amiss. Last week he began to show signs of a diminishing interest in his elevenses. There were no other indications. Breakfast had been consumed with sufficient enthusiasm, but we have learnt not to ignore subtle changes. Cats can become ill very quickly - Jellicoe has proved that more than once

A visit to Selene-the-vet showed that he had an infection, so an antibiotic injection was administered, his ears were thoroughly cleaned, and his claws were clipped. The claws were nothing to do with his health, but more concerned with his method of attracting notice to his need for breakfast. After a twelve-hour fast, he is more than ready for a meal. He draws attention to his hunger with sharp-needled taps and gentle nips on any adjacent adult.

Having settled his requirements, we thought his brother Herschel really ought to have his teeth checked. He hasn’t shown any signs of discomfort, and his breath is as acceptable as any healthy cat’s, but he is thirteen now, so an appointment was made for Monday.

 He accepted his temporary imprisonment in the cat carrier nonchalantly, sniffing carefully because Jellicoe had recently been transported in it. The result was that he needs a couple of extractions. The vets will pre-authorise it with the insurance company and then Herschel will spend a day with them in the near future. It’s always worrying when pets have to have surgical interventions, particularly as they grow older. However, it’s better to do it before problems arise.

Roxy relaxes elegantly with Herschel

In the afternoon, Roxy had her annual medical. She’s nearly eleven years old, but behaves as though she’s eleven months old. She had a clean bill of health, and is just the right weight, though she’d love the opportunity to overeat and pile on the pounds.

We could have sung ‘In and out the dusty bluebells’ as first one animal was seen and then another and in between whiles, there was a refreshing walk in the rain.

 

Not a competition

 

Not a competition

We had our first Christmas card on November 29^th, a record for the sender. His is usually the first to arrive, but it has always at least been December before his card drops through the letter box. He is now a widower, in his second Christmas as such, but always wrote the cards every year, much as my brother-in-law did.

I haven’t even written our cards, though I have bought the Christmas stamps. I suppose there are several approaches to card posting. Some send early, to ensure they have completed the task, and maybe to try and guarantee a card in return. Some send as and when they think about it, perhaps adding recipients as they go. Some wait to see who will send them cards and respond accordingly. Some choose never to send cards.

Increasingly, with the cost of postage rising, some opt to publish a general Christmas greeting on social media. They usually claim to be spending the cost of cards and postage on charity donations instead, which is entirely commendable.

I love receiving cards, and know from the envelopes who has sent them. Handwriting is so distinctive, but even with those bearing efficiently printed address labels, it’s possible to discern from post marks where they’ve come from.

However, it is with some trepidation that we open the cards. Some enclose those oft-mocked ‘round robins.’ It’s true that they can be missives of self-congratulation on personal achievements or offsprings’ accomplishments, but mostly they’re amusing, chatty summaries of life. They do relieve the task of writing the same things over and over again to different people.

Other cards bring news of death or disability, which cause a pause for reflection and memory.

 Our list has dwindled a little across the years.

 It’s inevitable. It’s sad. It’s life.

But life goes on (never start a sentence with ‘but!’) and I will have to set aside some time soon to write Christmas greetings. December gathers speed hour by hour and I already have a sense of time running out when there’s still so much to do and learn.

Running to catch up, as usual.

                                      

A visitor

 

A visitor

Arthur is visiting us for a few days while his mistress is otherwise occupied. She cannot leave him alone overnight. Roxy and Gilbert were delighted to see their little friend again. Herschel and Jellicoe attained the heights and looked down until they remembered that Arthur is no threat to them whatsoever, and anyway, they’re cats, and lords of the manor.

On going into the bathroom, Susannah was startled to find syringes laid out neatly on the counter top. This was not a sight with which she was familiar in her family home.

However, she quickly realised that they are ink jet syringes, used for refilling printer cartridges. What a relief!

Contrast

 

Contrast

Two flyers arrived today, tucked inside a free magazine. The first was for Centrepoint, a charity providing shelter, highlighting the real struggles some young people face this Christmas. Actually, all homeless people of whatever age, experience difficulties all year round, but the ‘Festive Season’ is used, sometimes cynically, as a prod to the consciences of those whose lives are more ordered and comfortable.

Nonetheless, at a time of year when togetherness is promoted and perfection is touted as the ambition of all right-thinking folk (you’ve seen the advertisements, yes?) we are pricked into considering how we might help, in whatever small way we can. There are many calls for help for people in desperate plights in the affluent Western world. Their desperation may not measure up to that of others in less prosperous countries, but it’s not a competition. Suffering is suffering, no matter where or how or why. Suggested donations range from £12 to £100, although if people wish to give more, they may do so.

The second flyer was advertising luxury yacht cruises. ‘Save up to 25%,’ it said. ‘Flights included.’

If consumers wish to avail themselves of this generous offer, they can book a cruise for anything from £3,429 to £5,045 per person, depending on route, and location within the vessel. If a longer cruise is desired, the price rises accordingly.

Compare and contrast. It is a strange world!

 

 

Facebook memories

 

Facebook memories

The picture that popped up today was of Frankie when he was little. Frankie is my seventh grandchild, and he will be thirteen on December 1^st. My, how time flies!

He and his mother lived with us for five and a half years. It was just intended to be for a couple of months, while his mother sorted herself out, but she needed that time to rebuild her confidence. We were happy to have them, and it was a joy to watch the little boy grow up and develop.

Like many small boys, he was obsessed with cars. In this photograph he was sitting in his high chair, about to have his tea.

I couldn’t resist captioning the photograph with ‘Jam for tea??’

I advise all parents and grandparents to cherish such moments because the future is uncertain. It’s good to have sweet memories. Photographs are excellent for capturing them.

To brighten the day

 

To brighten the day

Off to the dentist again today. I seem to have spent a good deal of time there this year, The porcelain crown was fitted a few weeks ago– almost hammered into place, I felt – but today’s appointments were for the dentist and the hygienist.

I leave the dentist feeling somewhat chastened – my mouth is not as sparkling as it should be, would be if I paid more attention to the tooth-scrubbing ritual. Vishal is far too polite to say that, of course, but the criticism is implicit as he tells his dental nurse what to type into my record.

On the other hand, Emily, the hygienist, is positively complimentary as she sets to. She’s young and patient and charming, which is just as well as I now have to see her every four months instead of six, to increase the dental servicing.

It was bitterly cold this morning, a heavy frost battling with extremely bright sunshine in an azure sky. Outside the dental practice is a magnificent display of geraniums (actually pelargoniums) which must be very sheltered as they are still flaunting a dazzling spectacle.

The photographs, taken hastily with my iPhone, do not do them justice. They provide a wonderful welcome and a tender farewell to all who visit.