At a visit to an Aunts house last year, I found a large black and white photograph of my first communion. I was standing in line, outside the church, in my white shirt and blue tie along with the rest of my class, many whose names I could no longer remember. Some I did remember and it was brilliant seeing myself so young and innocent waiting nervously for the promised great event to follow.
For reasons only known to one person, I have been unable to get hold of a copy of the photo, despite numerous attempts and I fear it will be destroyed when my Aunt finally shakes off her mortal coil. I have no idea why the person I suspect of withholding it wants to be so malevolent. I only know her through word of mouth and have met her fleetingly at family funerals. I have no idea what her motivation is either. This is not, however, the point of this post.
My 14 year old Granddaughter goes to Killington in the US in just over a week on a school ski trip. Not like me, a trip to Belle Vue Zoo in Manchester. Times have changed and expectations have moved on. We reminded her that she had ski'd before, when she was four on a holiday with us in France. We also had the proof on video so, last night I got out the old camcorder and waded through dozens of old tapes, looking for the footage. It was a fantastic job. There was Holly being held in my arms when she was less than a day old. There was every Christmas until she was seven. I used to tape our conversations. She was animal mad from being a baby and we used to play at vets. Twelve years later her heart is still firmly set on becoming a vet.
She sat with us with a sometimes bemused look on her face. She hardly recognised herself and could, of course, not remember any of the events that were showing on screen. I really miss the little girl that lived with us until she was over three years old. Because she lived with us, she had four parents and never has distinguished between us. We are all her Mum and Dad even now. Lucy came along six years after Holly and it was a big enough gap for her to get the attention she also deserved and got, despite never having lived with us. Her face lights up when she is told she is "sleeping over" She has her own room with her own bed and toys so she has not missed out in any way.
I envy the fact that, when they are old, they will be able to look back on crystal clear films of themselves growing up. They will be able to show their own children these and they will be a permanent record of the lives of two little girls who grew up to be two beautiful women. They will not have to scrat around to find old grainy photos of themselves. Everything they could want will be there and available on demand. Modern technology has brought some wonderful things to peoples lives and the camera is one that will be appreciated as much as any.
Tuesday 31 January 2012
Monday 23 January 2012
Is there anybody there.
At just after 2.00am this morning Jan and I were awakened by the sound of footsteps walking across the loft above our heads. It sounded to be just two footed, not scurrying, and went from one side of the house to the other. There was then silence. Nothing else, no gnawing, no repeat.
This has gone on for weeks now. We have had mice before and the loft is baited with poison but it is untouched. We have lifted the lagging to see if there is any evidence of an animal but found nothing. The footsteps are loud and sound to be on the plaster board which forms the ceiling of our bedroom. The plaster board is full of fibreglass lagging so we can't see how it is possible. It never lasts for longer than a couple of minutes, normally much less, twenty seconds or so.
Tomorrow, a friend is going to install a camera and recorder to see if we can capture on film what the hell it is. We have traps but I would like to know what we are dealing with before I set them. My best guess is that it may be a large squirrel. A rat isn't big enough in my opinion and the cats decimated the local rat population when we moved in years ago. it was a delight coming down to dead rats on the floor when we got up each morning. It could be a stoat or weasel but the footsteps don't seem to support this.
If I suddenly disappear from Twitter, look out in the press for a family suddenly disappearing and shades of the exorcist. I am only pleased to be quite certain that it is not Albanian immigrants hiding out..
This has gone on for weeks now. We have had mice before and the loft is baited with poison but it is untouched. We have lifted the lagging to see if there is any evidence of an animal but found nothing. The footsteps are loud and sound to be on the plaster board which forms the ceiling of our bedroom. The plaster board is full of fibreglass lagging so we can't see how it is possible. It never lasts for longer than a couple of minutes, normally much less, twenty seconds or so.
Tomorrow, a friend is going to install a camera and recorder to see if we can capture on film what the hell it is. We have traps but I would like to know what we are dealing with before I set them. My best guess is that it may be a large squirrel. A rat isn't big enough in my opinion and the cats decimated the local rat population when we moved in years ago. it was a delight coming down to dead rats on the floor when we got up each morning. It could be a stoat or weasel but the footsteps don't seem to support this.
If I suddenly disappear from Twitter, look out in the press for a family suddenly disappearing and shades of the exorcist. I am only pleased to be quite certain that it is not Albanian immigrants hiding out..
Monday 16 January 2012
Bums, Boobs and a stiff upper lip
Never is British reserve more on show than in the Wellness Centres in foreign Countries. The etiquette is almost entirely dependant on whether Brits are in the majority in the hotel.
We have just come back from Austria having stayed at a hotel with very few Brits. The complex has a superb pool and a separate, closed off area for the sauna and steam room. A sign on the door quite clearly stated that no clothing was to be worn in this area. We had no problem with that. In such circumstances you tend to feel a bit of a dick (no pun intended) if you are sat clothed, amongst naked people, so we complied on each visit.
These are such strange places. For every naked Angelina Jolie there are fourteen naked Anne Widdicombes with similar levels for the Brad Pitt versus Arthur Mullard section. There are the fairly discreet people (we include ourselves in this category) as well as the flaunters. One particular Turkish man only needed a neon sign on his groin to make it more visible. Another, who based his look on the scousers from Harry Enfield, stationed himself everyday so he could see everyone that went in and out of the rooms.
Our only worry was Gladys Pugh. That wasn't her real name. She was Welsh and had no intention of sticking to the rules. She used the facilities every day along with her 14 year old progeny, totally ignoring the undress code. She was a laugh but we made sure we were in and out every day before she arrived. One hint of anyone whistling "Land of our Fathers" and we would be off like our arses were on fire.
All this has to be taken in the context of the era we were brought up in. At school, we though a woman was almost naked if she didn't wear a hat. It was so different then compared to now. Two of the funniest episodes I have ever witnessed were on nudist beaches. The first was a shock. There is always a certain noise level on beaches that you don't notice unless it alters radically. One day it did. It was a mixed beach in France with both nude and attired bathers. I was reading when I became conscious of the place going quiet. I looked up to see everyone staring at a man running along the waters edge. He was naked and something was banging each leg, just below the knee. I have never seen so many men put on trunks in a hurry.
The second was on the same beach. An elderly couple set up shop in front of us. I guessed they were around late 60's, early 70's. I was only in my early 20's so anyone over 40 was old back then. Both were naked. He wore a little white tash and they sat on fold away chairs eating lunch on a table they had brought with them. It was all very English and civilised. As they were eating we heard a voice. It was male, with a strong Scottish accent. "Och Noooo, ah dinna believe it" the voice exclaimed. I looked up to see a man, wearing shorts below the knee, sandals and socks and, a Tam O Shanter. A few yards behind him walked a woman, presumably his wife, wearing a full pinafore dress with sunhat and huge shopping bag. She looked as if she was on her way to Tesco.
The naked couple looked up in alarm as they got nearer but it was too late. By the time they reached their clothes, they had arrived. The Scotsman immediately put his arm around the naked woman exclaiming" Is it really you? Ye look marvellous". The next few minutes were excruciating as the poor old buggers tried their best to look relaxed and cover what they could. They failed. The Scots couple stayed for about five minutes, catching up on old times before giving their address and phone numbers "so you can keep in touch when we get home".
As soon as they were out of sight, the elderly couple dressed and beat a hasty retreat. I am sure they assumed that over 700 miles from home, in a foreign country, they would be safe. They weren't.
We have just come back from Austria having stayed at a hotel with very few Brits. The complex has a superb pool and a separate, closed off area for the sauna and steam room. A sign on the door quite clearly stated that no clothing was to be worn in this area. We had no problem with that. In such circumstances you tend to feel a bit of a dick (no pun intended) if you are sat clothed, amongst naked people, so we complied on each visit.
These are such strange places. For every naked Angelina Jolie there are fourteen naked Anne Widdicombes with similar levels for the Brad Pitt versus Arthur Mullard section. There are the fairly discreet people (we include ourselves in this category) as well as the flaunters. One particular Turkish man only needed a neon sign on his groin to make it more visible. Another, who based his look on the scousers from Harry Enfield, stationed himself everyday so he could see everyone that went in and out of the rooms.
Our only worry was Gladys Pugh. That wasn't her real name. She was Welsh and had no intention of sticking to the rules. She used the facilities every day along with her 14 year old progeny, totally ignoring the undress code. She was a laugh but we made sure we were in and out every day before she arrived. One hint of anyone whistling "Land of our Fathers" and we would be off like our arses were on fire.
All this has to be taken in the context of the era we were brought up in. At school, we though a woman was almost naked if she didn't wear a hat. It was so different then compared to now. Two of the funniest episodes I have ever witnessed were on nudist beaches. The first was a shock. There is always a certain noise level on beaches that you don't notice unless it alters radically. One day it did. It was a mixed beach in France with both nude and attired bathers. I was reading when I became conscious of the place going quiet. I looked up to see everyone staring at a man running along the waters edge. He was naked and something was banging each leg, just below the knee. I have never seen so many men put on trunks in a hurry.
The second was on the same beach. An elderly couple set up shop in front of us. I guessed they were around late 60's, early 70's. I was only in my early 20's so anyone over 40 was old back then. Both were naked. He wore a little white tash and they sat on fold away chairs eating lunch on a table they had brought with them. It was all very English and civilised. As they were eating we heard a voice. It was male, with a strong Scottish accent. "Och Noooo, ah dinna believe it" the voice exclaimed. I looked up to see a man, wearing shorts below the knee, sandals and socks and, a Tam O Shanter. A few yards behind him walked a woman, presumably his wife, wearing a full pinafore dress with sunhat and huge shopping bag. She looked as if she was on her way to Tesco.
The naked couple looked up in alarm as they got nearer but it was too late. By the time they reached their clothes, they had arrived. The Scotsman immediately put his arm around the naked woman exclaiming" Is it really you? Ye look marvellous". The next few minutes were excruciating as the poor old buggers tried their best to look relaxed and cover what they could. They failed. The Scots couple stayed for about five minutes, catching up on old times before giving their address and phone numbers "so you can keep in touch when we get home".
As soon as they were out of sight, the elderly couple dressed and beat a hasty retreat. I am sure they assumed that over 700 miles from home, in a foreign country, they would be safe. They weren't.
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