ABC Wednesday Z is for . . .

Zéphirine Drouhin

This beautiful old Bourbon rose is a constant reminder of my parents. It was one of their favourite roses and they gave Barry and me our first plant.

It is a good rose for beginners as it is easy to grow, is virtually thornless and has a sweet, mouth-watering fragrance. It will also grow in poor soils. It likes to climb but is not rampant, not growing much beyond 10’. Since its introduction in 1868 it has become a firm favourite both with ‘proper’ gardeners and those who dabble. It’s a rewarding rose and when it’s regularly dead-headed will flower continuously until November. It’s fully hardy so needs no special winter coddling. It is prone to mildew unless there is plenty of air circulating around it and is also a favourite with aphids – what isn’t?

The last photo could be called ‘The A-Z of Gardening’ – Aphids on Zéphirine Drouhin.

Zonal pelargonium  (Pelargonium x hortorum)

The Free Dictionary gives this definition: zonal pelargonium - an upright geranium having scalloped leaves with a broad colour zone inside the margin and white or pink or red flowers.

Pelargoniums are often erroneously called geraniums. Geraniums are hardy, herbaceous perennials. Pelargoniums are evergreen perennials native to southern Africa and are tolerant of heat and drought. In temperate climates they are grown as tender annuals, a favourite in summer gardens.

To see more Zs please click here.

Poetry Jam Laugh in the Face of Everything

The photo shows a Polish farming couple in Connecticut, 1940

Photo credit:

Public Domain Photograph from the Farm Security Administration – Office of War Information Photograph Collection in the Library of Congress; Jack Delano, photographer.

The challenge from Poetry Jam is to respond to this photo of a Polish farmer and his wife in Connecticut in 1940. Times were hard but they found something to laugh about.

He wasn’t much to look at but

She’d loved him all her life,

He was a caring husband

And she a doting wife.

When people asked the secret

That kept their love alive

They smiled and said that hard work

And laughter made it thrive.

So when the days seem darkest

And things are at their worst

Remember this old couple

And put each other first.

Every little helps!

I had my first Tesco delivery of 2012 today.  Normally I have the items delivered in bags that I recycle.

The driver told me that Tesco had run out of carrier bags. That’s not a big problem for me but for the customer who had fourteen trays of groceries delivered and no time to unpack each tray individually it was a headache as she had an appointment to keep. The driver was running behind time too so he left the trays with her. He was not a happy man.

An employee was despatched to another store six miles away but that store was also facing a problem and couldn’t spare many bags. I have a mental image of customers throughout Berkshire reaching the checkouts with overflowing trolleys to discover that there are no bags for their groceries. Some, of course, will have taken their own bags with them. Others will have forgotten as I do, frequently.

Is it a desperate ploy by Tesco to force customers to carry their own bags - or was it an ‘oversight’ on someone’s behalf? Heads will roll, I fear, almost as many as other spherical objects that customers will be attempting to stuff into pockets. 


The following clip is of Tesco in happier times, just before Christmas. Kerching!

For music-loving dogs and dog-loving musicians everywhere!

Susannah just sent this clip to us. I love the way the dog pants and nods its head in time to the music!

Could I be a one-woman band?

As I tossed and turned last night, sleepless and hot, I wondered whether I should get up and go downstairs or turn on the light and read for another hour or two. All the animals were asleep, including Barry, and I could identify each one by the sounds they made.

Winston Ocicat, curled up next to me was wheeze-grunting, on my other side Barry was snoring and next to him Gus was breathing deeply and evenly in his bed on the floor. In her bed Jenna was whimpering as she followed dream deer and Bertie was rattling his claws on the chest of drawers as he stretched. Frodo was puffing out his cheeks as he slept, pfffffrrrrh, pfffffrrrrh. Somebody’s stomach was gurgling quite musically. How could I encourage sleep to come to me?

Suddenly I recalled the video clip of KT Tunstall that I had watched earlier in the day. I love her voice and the way she builds up sounds into a backing chorus for her singing. Why could I not do the same using the noises in my bedroom? Granted, it would not have the mesmeric power of KT’s music but the more I thought about it and tried to fit the different ‘notes’ in my bedroom into a harmony the greater became my enthusiasm. I could do this! I even started to incorporate other sounds from the night-time house, the noises that are always there but only heard in the wee, small hours – the hum of the freezer, the creaking of the stairs, the settling of the floors.

It was as I was listening for the wild scream of a lovelorn fox and a tawny owl’s soft, haunting call, and finally hoping for the guttural ‘kaark’ of a visiting grey heron in the early light of dawn that I fell asleep. It wouldn’t have been as good KT, though.

Washing my hands

I used to joke that my hands were twenty years older than the rest of me because I washed them so often. Now I think they’re more like fifty years older. 

Apart from the usual handwashing rituals following ‘comfort breaks’ or ‘bathroom visits’ (quaint expressions, eh?) I’ve always washed my hands after handling animals, including small children. Working with young humans sharpens one’s observational acuity and it’s hard to avoid noticing where their fingers are going and what they’re doing. You can’t see dirt, right? Well, obviously, sometimes you can but you know what I mean.

I wash my hands before preparing food and again afterwards. I wash my hands after blowing my nose (I wish doctors would!) and I’m doing a lot of that now since Barry kindly shared his cold with me. After I’ve loaded washing in the washing machine or filled the dishwasher I wash my hands. Just put out the rubbish? Wash your hands! If I handle money (filthy lucre!) time to wash. Travelling on public transport or opening doors to public buildings – shops, for example – causes an outbreak of hand-washing. Naturally I can’t always access soap and water so I carry hand wipes for those occasions. Sometimes I avoid the problem by using my elbows.

In the last couple of months I’ve developed a worrying habit. Since we do most of our shopping online we have a lot of deliveries. When I go to the door to accept the parcel, frequently I’m asked to ‘sign for it’. This makes me think I should be performing some elaborate ritual mimicry involving fingers in unusual combinations but actually involves grasping a pen attached to a clipboard or more usually a miniature screen display and scrawling an unintelligible signature. Then I have to wash my hands. I know it’s illogical but I can’t stop myself.

When I was teaching I used to encourage the children to wash their hands at appropriate intervals. Then I would remind them to ‘wash the soap.’ Some of them understood immediately the reason for that – maybe their mothers had the same rule. The rest looked incredulous but obeyed anyway. (Oh, the power!)

More tales from the Land of Clean can be found here and here

What foibles or compulsions do you have and are you willing to share them?

Untitled Post?

Untitled Post?

?

Looking through my list of posts I came across one for 4^th January which said ‘untitled post’ so I opened it to have a look and add an appropriate title and labels. As I had apparently forgotten to title it I had probably forgotten labels, too.

To my surprise the post was empty, rather like my brain, but what really astonished me was that two people had commented on it! BragonDorn said, ‘Very interesting’ and SquirrelQueen wrote, ‘Your post reminds me of one I did a few months ago. I do love your header photo.’

My goodness! Is telepathy alive and well? Are my innermost thoughts and intentions so readily broadcast and received that words are no longer necessary? (I do hope not.)

Incidentally and completely irrelevantly, I really don’t care much for Blogger’s new ‘interface’ but I see there’s no alternative now . . .

How Not to Write a Novel

‘How Not to Write a Novel’ by Sandra Newman and Howard Mittelmark

I was given this book for Christmas and read it very quickly, laughing long and loud at many of the things the authors wrote. Even if the reader has no intention of attempting to write a novel it is so wittily written that it is a joy to read. Few books have the power to make me laugh aloud at every page and want to read out bits. This book is one of the few.

I recognised some of the mistakes as being quite pertinent to my own ‘writing’. I know I have a bad habit of airing my (limited) knowledge but after reading this . . . ‘The glories of the Calvin cycle, and the further intricacies of the Krebs cycle . . . were little comfort now that her husband, Hugh, had bonked that secretary, in an act of sexual congress whose origins lay in a reproductive innovation evolved in algae 2-7 million years ago!’  I shall be more circumspect in future.

However, some research is necessary in order to avoid writing like this: ‘The architect admired the way the building was crafted; it was all stone with curvy arches like an old church.’

How many ways can you say ‘said’? Like so many would-be authors I have fallen into the trap of trying to replace ‘said’ with another verb. The following exchange will remain in my memory:

‘Funny?’ she interrogated.

‘Hilarious!’ he expostulated.

‘Surely not?’ she doubted.

‘But how little you know!’ he exclaimed.

‘Says you!’ she objected.

‘That’s the last I am willing to say,’ he concluded.

‘Some listener you turned out to be!’ he snorted.

I could go on and quote more but would be in danger of reproducing the entire book. That would be plagiarism, wouldn’t it? 

SkyWatch Friday Fisheye sky

Using a fisheye lens offers a different perspective.

To see more skies around the world please click here

Having a conversation on an escalator

Barry said, ‘Talking to N. is like having a conversation on an escalator.’

 I said, ‘Do you mean it’s uphill work?’

‘No, I just get the impression that N. thinks the conversation has gone on long enough.’

Some people are constantly in transmit mode, unable or unwilling to receive. It is almost impossible to have a dialogue with such people as they are only interested in their view of the world and their experiences in it. A monologue is acceptable if it is delivered wittily from a stage or is a talk from an expert in a lecture hall; otherwise it kills conversation stone dead.

A monologue like the following is priceless.

My word, you do look queer (Bob Weston/Bert Lee) Monologue delivered by Stanley Holloway

I’ve been very poorly but now I feel prime,

I’ve been out today for the very first time.

I felt like a lad as I walked down the road,

Then I met Old Jones and he said, ‘Well, I’m blowed!

My word, you do look queer!

 My word, you do look queer!

Oh, dear! You look dreadful: you’ve had a near shave,

You look like a man with one foot in the grave.’

I said, ‘Bosh! I’m better: it’s true I’ve been ill.’

He said, ‘I’m delighted you’re better, but still,

I wish you’d a thousand for me in your will.

My word, you do look queer!’

That didn’t improve me, it quite put me back,

Still, I walked farther on, and I met Cousin Jack.

He looked at me hard and he murmured, ‘Gee whiz!

It’s like him! It can’t be! It isn’t! It is!

By gosh! Who’d have thought it? Well, well, I declare!

I’d never have known you except for your hair.

My word, you do look queer!

My word, you do look queer!

Your cheeks are all sunk and your colour’s all gone,

Your neck’s very scraggy, still, you’re getting on.

How old are you now? About fifty, that’s true.

Your father died that age, your mother did too.

Well, the black clothes I wore then’ll come in for you.

My word, you do look queer!

That really upset me; I felt quite cast down,

But I tried to buck up, and then up came old Brown.

He stared at me hard, then he solemnly said,

‘You shouldn’t be out, you should be home in bed.

I heard you were bad, well, I heard you were gone.

You look like a corpse with an overcoat on.

My word, you do look queer!

My word, you do look queer!

You’d best have a brandy before you drop dead.’

So, pale as a sheet, I crawled in the ‘King’s Head,’

The barmaid sobbed, ‘Oh, you poor fellow,’ and then

She said, ‘On the slate you owe just one pound ten,

You’d better pay up, we shan’t see you again.

My word, you do look queer!

My knees started knocking, I did feel so sad,

Then Brown said, ‘Don’t die in a pub, it looks bad.’

He said, ‘Come with me, I’ll show you what to do,

Now I’ve got a friend who’ll be useful to you.’

He led me to Black’s Undertaking Depot,

And Black, with some crepe round his hat said, ‘Hello.

My word, you do look queer!

My word, you do look queer!

Now we’ll fix you up for a trifling amount,

Now what do you say to a bit on account?’

I said, ‘I’m not dying!’ He said, ‘Don’t say that!

My business of late has been terribly flat,

But I’m telling my wife she can have that new hat!

My word, you do look queer!

I crawled in the street and I murmured, ‘I’m done.’

Then up came Old Jenkins and shouted, ‘Oh, son!’

My word, you do look well!

My word, you do look well!

You’re looking fine and in the pink!’

I shouted, ‘Am I? Come and have a drink!

You’ve put new life in me, I’m sounder than a bell.

By gad! There’s life in the old dog yet.

My word, I do feel well.’

Stop and Shop at the Co-op Shop

Reading Denise’s post here reminded me of the Gracie Fields song.

• There's a shop called the co-op (cwop) on the high street

  By gum it's a great idea

  For out of what you spend

  You get a dividend

  Three times every year

  When Ma takes two shillins for a share

  She shouts feelin like a millionaire!

  (She does)

  
  
• Stop an shop at the cwop the Co-op shop

  What the shop! It's the Cwop - the Co-op shop!

  You can buy from a chop to a prop or a mop

  Or a bottle of ginger pop at the Co-op shop!

  As the pop shop is next to the Cwop shop

  When you've done your popping in the pop shop

  You hop out of the pop shop and hop into the Cwop shop

  And promise you'll go shopping in the pop shop

  
  
• They have tripe, nice and ripe at the Co-op shop

  Pink pills, powder puffs pork pies

  Paraffin and jam, carbolic soap and ham

  ?loads per pan pink pies? (not sure about this line)

  And pigs heads all grinning in a row!

  Wont you join in this chorus sweet and low

  Sweet and low, Sweet and low!

From Wikipedia:

A Co-operative Wholesale Society, or CWS, is a form of Co-operative Federation (that is, a Co-operative in which all the members are Co-operatives), in this case, the members are usually Consumers' Co-operatives. According to Co-operative economist Charles Gide, the aim of a Co-operative Wholesale Society is to arrange “bulk purchases, and, if possible, organise production.” In other words, a Co-operative Wholesale Society is a form of Federal Co-operative through which Consumers' Co-operatives can collectively purchase goods at wholesale prices, and in some cases collectively own factories or farms.

The best historical examples of this are the (English) CWS and the Scottish CWS, which are the predecessors of the 21st century Co-operative Group. Indeed, in Britain, the terms Co-operative Wholesale Society or CWS are used to refer to this specific organisation rather than the organisational form. However, the English CWS has inspired many imitations around the world (including, for example, the New South Wales Co-operative Wholesale Society who have also described themselves as Co-operative Wholesale Societies or 'CWS'.

The Co-op is still going strong but has to contend with other supermarket chains that offer ‘rewards’ to faithful customers.

Smooth . . .

I’ve watched this a few times now and am very impressed by the movement of these dancers. Do you think they’re on roller skates?

Watch the second clip and you may find outJ