Steel toe caps?

 

Steel toe caps?

My son-in-law, Paul, husband to my eldest daughter, is a plumber. He is also an electrician, a decorator, and an imaginative designer.

 He is a fair-minded man and doesn’t charge over the odds for a job, reasoning that his reputation will speak for itself and ensure that he always has work. Too often, he is called in to rectify someone else’s botched and usually overpriced work.

We often tell him that he doesn’t charge enough but he continues in the way he always has, and it suits him and his conscience. He’ll never be rich, but he will always be able to live with his decisions.

He meets some very interesting people and treats them all with the same courtesy and respect, whether they are lords or commoners, wealthy or poor, living in mansions or small cottages. He has a marked sense of humour and is a naturally amusing raconteur.

Until his father retired, Paul worked with him. One day, they were invited to give an estimate for fitting a new bathroom. Paul arrived at the house first, removed his boots as requested, and went inside to start the assessment. When Dave, his father, arrived a little later, the lady of the house asked him to take off his boots before he went in, but he politely refused.

‘What size shoes do you take?’ she said.

Not unnaturally, Dave asked, ‘Why?’

She replied, ‘I shall have to ask you to wear slippers if you come to work here.’

Dave responded, ‘These work boots are an essential part of our safety clothing.’

Somewhat tartly, she retorted, ‘Nonetheless, you must wear slippers if you come to work for me.’

He replied, ‘That’s fine; if you can find slippers with steel toe caps, then we’ll wear them.’

With that, Paul and Dave left, having decided that they wouldn’t take the job.

It was quite apparent that such a fussy woman would find all sorts of things to complain about and finally probably avoid paying the bill until forced to. She could have offered overshoes, after all. I wonder whether she found any workmen who agreed to abide by her rules.

Someone else’s expense

 

Someone else’s expense

I am not posting a photograph of Barry’s face – it’s not a pretty sight. The swelling is going down and the bruising is going through the usual repertoire of interesting colours.

He had to have the dressing replaced on Wednesday and came home with a huge plaster covering half his face. That’s a slight exaggeration, but he was more aware of it than the original, as it was clearly visible in his peripheral vision. It reminded me of Cyrano de Bergerac, for no plausible reason. It fell off in the night!

On Thursday, we made a Heath Robinson attempt to cover the developing scar. It’s stayed put, with additional plasters to keep various wandering ends in place, and now he looks as though he could take the lead rôle in The Phantom of the Opera.

Another plaster was added today, at right angles to the Thursday dressings. Talk about using a sledgehammer to crack a nut! At this rate, his entire face will be obscured. 

As it is, strangers are commenting on it when he’s walking the dogs, showing great sympathy. It’s more acceptable than the rude remarks coming from me! It’s not good form to laugh at someone else’s expense . . .

This morning, the padding of a fresh plaster was peeping out annoyingly and Barry appeared with scissors and asked me to trim it. He had tried to do it himself, but he's a southpaw, so sometimes finds scissors awkward. It was funny, because as I advanced with the scissors, I sensed him backing off nervously. That made me laugh, which caused even more tension. He muttered something about not wishing to have his nose further adapted. 

We find our entertainment where we can!

Seeking the limelight?

 

Seeking the limelight?

Herschel is an undemanding cat, most of the time. He responds to the Alexa alarm for food four times a day, but he’s not a greedy cat and it wouldn’t bother him to miss a meal or two, unlike his gluttonous brother. Occasionally, he seems hungrier than usual and creates a cacophony and then he has extra rations. He will always appear if cheese is in the offing, but generally he doesn’t attempt to steal from our plates or hands – he’s much too polite.

We have two butter dishes – one made of china with an illustration of friendly, gentle black and white cows,  Friesian perhaps, and the other a stainless steel affair, a no-nonsense kind of dish. The one in current use is the metal dish. At present, we have no need to keep the butter in the fridge – it’s quite cold enough in the kitchen for it to remain so hard that it’s impossible to spread.

As we sat watching ‘Vera’ last evening, I heard the unmistakeable sound of the butter dish being moved, but didn’t think much of it. Gilbert and Roxy were in the sitting room with us, and anyway the dish is too far back on the worktop for them to reach, so I wasn’t unduly concerned. Often, Jellicoe will sniff around the outside of the lid, but he can’t move it, so the butter is safe. The clinking went on sporadically and I should have gone into the kitchen to investigate, but didn’t.

The seven o’clock alarm sounded, and the cats raced into the kitchen, expectantly, Herschel bringing up the rear, as usual. Jellicoe tore into his food, but Herschel didn’t finish his, which is unusual, and the leavings provided an unexpected little treat for the dogs.

We resumed our evening, accompanied by occasional metallic notes. Later, I noticed that dish lid and base had parted company, and Jellicoe was having a wonderful time licking what was left of the butter. I scolded him, which is about as effective as reprimanding spiders for having the effrontery to invade the house, and gave the remaining small amount of butter to a surprised but grateful Roxy, watched by a disappointed Gilbert, who arrived too late to share the spoils.

Suddenly, I remembered Herschel leaving his supper and realised he was the culprit. He had never removed the dish lid before, but is capable of doing so. He is always fed in the conservatory and opens the sliding door to the kitchen when he has finished. It’s a heavy door but he works away at it until it glides open enough to allow him through, unless I have locked it.

I apologised to Jellicoe, who accepted my contrition with good grace, and then I spent a few minutes online checking on cats and butter and the consumption thereof. It’s fine as an occasional treat for cats, but can upset their digestion.

Today, Herschel has responded to the meal alarms, but turned up his nose at breakfast and elevenses. I don’t know whether he’s so full of butter that he has no appetite for anything else or if something is amiss. We shall keep an eye on him. He’s still keeping company with us and hasn’t gone into hiding, so hopefully all will be well.

Threeses, the three o'clock meal, occurred and Herschel decided to eat. He didn't finish his meal, which made a welcome little snack for Gilbert, but I'm thankful that he has eaten something.

 

Out of ideas

 

Out of ideas

 . . . so I’m reposting a post from nine years ago. It was a response to a prompt from a meme that is no longer active.

 

Tell me a story

 

Tell me a story

Of once upon a time,

When magic ruled the earth.

 

Tell it short or tell it long,

Make it trivial or sublime,

Write it sad or full of mirth. 

 

Knit a fabric of surprise,

Blend in truth and dreams or lies,

But make it real somewise.

 

Make me laugh or make me cry,

Tell me tales that make me sigh,

Bid me always question, ‘Why?’

 

Create for me delicious fright

Or make me gasp in sheer delight,

And make sure wrong is never right.

 

Catch a child’s mind when you can,

Always make your stories fun,

Then, storytellers, you have won!

 

Anchovies

 

Anchovies

Shoal of anchovies

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Samuel Pepys (1633-1703) enjoyed anchovies (engraulidae) as a tasty dish accompanied by wine. Anchovies are small forage fish found in the Atlantic, Indian, and Pacific Oceans, as well as the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. They thrive in temperate waters.

They are considered one of the healthiest fish to eat as they have a high concentration of essential omega-3, so important for good health and brain development.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

Forage fish are filter feeders, swimming with open mouths to feed on plankton and krill. They form huge shoals, which give (some of) them a measure of protection from their predators. They are an important food source for fish like shark, California halibut and yellowtail, as well as for marine mammals. Many sea birds feast on them and the brown pelicans and elegant terns of California need them in their diet so that they can breed successfully.

Anchovies are green and blue fish, smaller than sardines. 

Wikipedia says: 

“They range from 2 to 40 centimetres (1 to 15½ inches) in adult length, and their body shapes are variable with more slender fish in northern populations.“

Anchovies eaten fresh in Italy are called ‘alici’ and have a mild flavour. 

   When they are processed, they are first beheaded then packed in drums and covered with salt,which draws out the moisture, preserving them.  

The curing process can take anything from three to twelve months. 

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons

After that, they are washed several times to remove excess salt and then dried. Following that, they are filleted by hand and packaged in oil in glass jars or tins.

Processing them intensifies their umami or ‘savouriness.’ Used in moderation, they can enhance other dishes.

Patum Peperium

 

Patum Peperium

Once opened, it must be refrigerated and consumed within four weeks, so I have written the date of opening on the lid. Four weeks passes awfully quickly!

’ Patum peperium’ also known as ‘The Gentleman’s Relish, means ‘pepper paste’ and was created in 1828 in Paris by John Osborn. It is a secret recipe, said to be known to only one employee at the manufacturer, Elsenham Quality Foods, in England. (Presumably, the secret is passed on - I can't believe there are any employees aged almost two hundred!)  

It is created from anchovies, which have a well-defined taste, butter, herbs and spices and is consumed, very sparingly spread, on hot buttered toast. It can also be added to cottage pies or fish dishes or indeed any recipe that might benefit from extra flavour.

It is an important ingredient in Scotch woodcock, which bears no relation to the bird of that name, in similar vein to Welsh rarebit (rabbit) which contains no meat. Scotch woodcock consists of scrambled eggs atop toast that has been thinly spread with Gentlemen’s Relish, and is often garnished with chopped herbs and black pepper.

'In internum mare’ on the lid refers to the Latin phrase ‘mare internum,’ a name used by the Romans for the 'great inland' or Mediterranean Sea.

Patum Peperium is very strongly flavoured and those who wish to try it should pay close attention to the advice, ‘To appreciate the fine flavour of this relish, it should be used VERY SPARINGLY.’

I would suggest that it is an acquired taste, much the same as Marmite, which is another spread that should be used with caution. A (very) little goes a (very) long way.

Resolutions

 

Resolutions

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions, but there are things I have decided for 2025; I have jigsaws waiting to be started, tapestries to finish and a baby sampler to start and finish before March, or possibly February, if this baby is like her sister and anxious to get on with life!

I’m twice the woman my husband married – not quite literally, but getting there, (though I was always ‘rangy’) so that has to be addressed, along with my ‘core strength’ – I feel so grown-up and knowledgeable using that expression! I have neglected my piano, and the music sits and sulks at me, waiting to be dusted off to exercise my fingers and brain.

There are also several story outlines waiting to be fleshed out.

In addition, I am determined to get out and walk again – I have missed the forest and its ever-changing face and the pleasure of seeing our dogs joyously appreciating all it has to offer, including the ponds and the mud, the poo and pee-mails, and occasional doggy pals to play with. They are having all that, of course, thanks to Barry, but they look at me as if to say, ‘Aren’t you coming, too?’

So, no resolutions as such, just resolve – I am stubborn.

punctuation do we need it

 

punctuation do we need it

i was intrigued by tiggers mums comment and also bobs that punctuation was overrated and not needed so i thought i would attempt to write a post without any im no e e cummings so dont expect too much or anything really

already i can see difficulties  full stops clarify where sentences finish  two spaces between sentences dont seem enough and contractions are unclear so i am going to leave four spaces between sentences and dispense with contractions    questions should seem fairly obvious do you not think  

i imagine that it requires more careful reading and it certainly feels stilted    in addition i am having to override words intelligence in capitalising and inserting apostrophes    maybe by the end of this brief passage it will have learned the new rules and cease such automatic and grammatical behaviour

the last time i remember having to think in a different way when writing was when i had to write an essay in ita the initial teaching alphabet which was intended to revolutionise the way children learnt to read    basically it required the use of a longer alphabet of 45 symbols which was meant to make learning to read easier    

enough of this tomfoolery    i cannot live without punctuation    im too long in the tooth for such escapades and in truth cannot express myself sufficiently without recourse to full stops exclamation marks commas colons semicolons inverted commas question marks en dashes em dashes ellipses hyphens and any others i may have neglected to mention

Full stop

 

Full stop

I’ve come to a full stop (period for Americans), but unfortunately, the full stop key has ceased working! I read that pressing the space bar twice will produce a full stop – it doesn’t! Thus, all my sentences are now being finished with alternative punctuation, mostly exclamation marks! Google has been less than helpful!

I could ask the tech guru but I’m trying to keep him quiet! He claims that he’s fine and not feeling any ill effects from yesterday’s procedure, but methinks he speaks with double tongue! However, he is developing a splendidly colourful bruise – not quite a black eye, though given time, it may spread that far!

The offending article was excised and sent off for analysis and existing skin was stretched and pulled over the ‘wound!’ Is that why it’s called plastic surgery? (Nice change of punctuation, there!) Incidentally, the process was supposed to be ‘urgent’ – well, it only took four months, or five, depending on when the clock started ticking!

He has been told to keep his head upright for three days, so, no bending over to pick up parcels or shovel coal or any of the other things one does without thinking about the position of one’s head; he also has to sleep on his back with his head elevated and that’s easily accomplished as we have an adjustable bed!  

Naturally, Herschel immediately disappeared into the cavern underneath the bed, causing come concern in case he should be caught and squashed in the lifting/lowering mechanism – highly unlikely; he didn’t stay there long – it was warmer on our bed than under it!

I’m now using semi-colons as an alternative to exclamation marks – the book I’m presently reading uses a lot of those; it’s ‘Prophecy’ by S J Parris, the second of a series of seven, set in the turbulent times of Queen Elizabeth I! I’ve already read the seventh book, ‘Alchemy’ but none of the others! There’s nothing quite so brain- stirring as reading things in the wrong order and having to organise them into a sensible sequence!

Anyway, I’ve tried cleaning the keyboard; that is to say, I removed a couple of the tiles to discover a wealth of detritus under them and then I used a toothpick to scour between the keys! It wouldn’t take a detective to determine that we have animals, quite apart from the fact that we also are animals! I’m sure we’ve got a can of compressed air somewhere, but tomorrow will do! All the Heath Robinson cleaning has not had the desired effect, and I’ve turned off the computer twice and recharged the keyboard, all to no avail! C’est la vie!

I’ll consult the expert when he’s feeling livelier!

I never thought I’d get tired of exclamation marks . . . Ooh, hang on, my full stops have returned . . . these marvels of modern technology have a mind of their own - and now they’ve disappeared again, the little teases!

Nose grafting

 

Nose grafting

It’s January 3^rd so it’s Dermatology Day. Barry has gone to have his nose grafted, apparently.

This prospect had us considering all sorts of possibilities. Will the nose be surgically removed and replaced upside down in roughly the same position, or next to an eye, perhaps? Should a Picasso artist (read that carefully!) be consulted? There must be some up and coming design student who could enlighten the dermatology department as to the most efficient and aesthetically pleasing placement.

Where should the nostrils be positioned and in what relation to the rest of the face? Indeed, should they be separated to enhance the olfactory experience – one either side of the chin, maybe, or one on the forehead and one on the chest? The possibilities are endless.

I await his return with bated breath. Will the man I have known and loved these many (many, many) years be utterly transformed?

It’s a nice nose. Let it live untrammelled and unaltered, doing the job it’s always done so faithfully.

 

I thought this poem by Maya Angelou rather amusing.

When I was in my younger days,

I weighed a few pounds less,

I needn’t hold my tummy in

To wear a belted dress.

 

But now that I am older,

I’ve set my body free;

There’s the comfort of elastic

Where once my waist would be.

 

Inventor of those high-heeled shoes

My feet have not forgiven;

I have to wear a nine now,

But used to wear a seven.

 

And how about those pantyhose –

They’re sized by weight, you see,

So how come when I put them on

The crotch is at my knee?

 

I need to wear these glasses

As the print’s been getting smaller;

And it wasn’t very long ago

I know that I was taller.

 

Though my hair has turned to gray

And my skin no longer fits,

On the inside, I’m the same old me,

It’s the outside’s changed a bit.

I would add that policemen and doctors are impossibly young, little more than school children, bottle tops are screwed on improbably tightly, pounds and kilos weigh twice as much as they used to, and distances have stretched.

Growing older is such fun!

Rise and shine!

 

Rise and shine!

On the Friday before Christmas, our alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. People rise early when they’re going on holiday, I understand, and a change is as good as a rest, and this was a change.

Herschel and Jellicoe were astonished but gratified to find their breakfast bowls filled. The dogs were alarmed to discover that no such treatment was offered them.

At 6:00 we set off for a dark, quiet trip to the hospital. By 7:00 we were sitting in the reception area waiting to be ‘collected.’ Several other people were similarly seated, then two extremely cheerful ladies appeared and wished everyone 'Good morning.’ My name was called and we proceeded to ‘my’ room – well, it was mine for the duration of my short stay. I thanked the lady for her cheerful, upbeat welcome and she said that some people actually don’t like the cheeriness. I suppose that’s understandable if you’re facing something really serious.

When I was wheeled into the theatre, feeling rather unnecessary because I could easily have walked, I was greeted with cheerful Christmas carols and suitably suited and booted medical staff. One of them said, ‘You’ve got a painful back, you should see someone about that,’ which made me laugh.

The next thing I knew, I was talking to a charming young Portuguese man and soon after was returned to my room.

I was home again by 3:00 p.m. Barry had driven the 45-minute journey four times, and between whiles had taken Roxy and Gilbert out for their walks, so he was feeling a little weary.

Now I wait to see if the procedure has been successful. At the moment, it’s a wandering pain, so I suppose that’s progress of a sort. Honestly, though, when I look around and see what other people have to cope with, I count myself fortunate indeed.

Archaic language

 

Archaic language

Yorkshire Pudding and Anvil Cloud drew attention to the archaic language in the Christmas carol ‘Ding dong merrily on high.’

English is a rich language, borrowing much from other languages. Just like the inhabitants of the British Isles, it is a mongrel. It is one of the Indo-European languages, which are spoken in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. Almost half the world’s populations speak one of its languages. 

English is basically a Germanic language, sharing much of its origin with German, Dutch and Swedish. It had its origins in mediaeval England in Great Britain. Within it can be found Celtic and Latin influences.

I think there is a melding of archaic language and dialect, which makes our colloquialisms and vocabulary colourful and interesting.

There is much emphasis in schools on ‘correct’ language and pronunciation and to some extent this is necessary if we are to understand one another, but there must be a place for individualism. We would be poorer if we could no longer hear the distinctive voices of the Black Country, Dorset, Norfolk, Ireland, Cumbria, and all points north, south, east, and west.

With so much influence from the media, we are in danger of slipping into a lazy accommodation, when we use the same expressions and pronunciation, simply because that is more convenient and saves us the effort of thinking of individual ways of speaking. So, we say ‘twenty-four seven’ when we mean constantly or exhaustively or ceaselessly. We say we are going to ‘regroup’ when what we intend to do is consider the path or the action we will take next, or simply stop and think. We are always ‘shattered’ rather than exhausted or fatigued. People are ‘stressed’ from the ‘traumas’ they experience, rather than unsettled by circumstances.

When was the last time you heard someone using ‘thee’ or ‘boughten bread’ or ‘home growen,’ or referring to a young girl as a ‘maid?’

 Have you heard, ‘Where’s he to?’ meaning ‘Where is he?’ or ‘Wait while’ rather than ‘Wait until?’

Once you start listening to people talking casually to each other, there are all sorts of colourful phrases that emerge that enrich language and vocabulary. I don’t think we’ll ever return to a time when we ‘thee’ and ‘thou’ each other, but ‘yea’ is still in use in official parliamentary language, including in the United States Congress.

I still use ‘wench’ for a young woman, though more humorously than seriously, and ‘trusty steed,’ again in a light-hearted manner.

However, I always say, ‘I’ll see you anon,’ when I take my leave of someone.

Do you use any expressions that others might find unusual?