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.
Sunday, 11 December 2011
The Office Party
It's that time of year again, the office party. It's interesting to reflect on how mine have changed over the years. Two have lead to marriage and one to divorce whilst in between have been all manner of fun times and horror stories.
It's not easy to pick out the best one I can remember, as some have been memorable but I can certainly choose the worst quite easily. I don't drink much nowadays, not particularly through choice but simply because I don't enjoy it the way I used to. The Christmas office party in 1979 started well. We had a good meal, three men and fourteen women. We drank and made merry, flirted and did all the usual things that happen when freedom and alcohol mix. I drank too much, far too much and the alcohol progressed from groin to gob.
When I have had too much to drink I become ridiculously honest and life becomes very simple. A work colleague has B.O.? Difficult when sober to broach the subject but easy when alcohol fuelled. We had a large Jewish woman in the office who was unpleasant 99% of the time. She wore thick glasses, woolly cardigans and capped it all off with an appalling curly wig which I, at first, thought was a hat it was so bad. You could see the lining at the front as it jutted out from under the horse hair.
Late in the evening I found myself sitting next to her. She was being her usual unpleasant snarly self when I decided it was a good idea to try to change her life style for the better. I can still hear myself saying it to her now.
"Blanche, why are always such an obnoxious sod? If you lost two or three stones, got rid of those horrible glasses and bought a decent wig you'd be quite nice looking" I went on after that but what words were exchanged are a blur.
The following day was my last in the office as I had resigned to take a new job in January. I did think of taking the cowards way out and not going in as soon as I remembered what had happened the night before. I couldn't do that. I felt so bad I had to face up and give a heartfelt grovelling apology. I was in the office before her and prepared myself. She boomed in as usual, took off her coat and sat at her desk. I was about to get up when she beat me to it and lumbered down the office to me. I stood up to speak but she raised her hand to stop me. I ignored her and started to apologise. She took no notice and stared at me before saying "You said some awful things to me last night" "I know" I replied "and I am disgusted with myself".
There was a short pause before she looked into my eyes and I saw her tears welling. "You know what was the worst?" she asked. I shook my head, prepared to take my punishment. "Every word you said was true".
She could not have said anything to make me feel worse. I felt humbled and small. I never saw her after that other than when when I left that day and she came over, wished me well and gave me a kiss. She was a much bigger and better person than I am.
Which brings my on to last night. There were about 200 in this marquee, all separate office parties. Our table was actually in front of the stage on the dance floor so we were surrounded once the music started. It was brilliant. Lots of young people, determined to enjoy themselves and we enjoyed being in their company. One, rather lovely girl took a shine to us and kept sitting with us, finally ending up insisting on having her photo taken with one of us. The cynic might say she was taking the piss, but she wasn't. She found us as entertaining as we found her and her friends.
What a shame that the Christmas spirit which crosses generations, soon melts into the harsh realities of another years toil ahead.
It's not easy to pick out the best one I can remember, as some have been memorable but I can certainly choose the worst quite easily. I don't drink much nowadays, not particularly through choice but simply because I don't enjoy it the way I used to. The Christmas office party in 1979 started well. We had a good meal, three men and fourteen women. We drank and made merry, flirted and did all the usual things that happen when freedom and alcohol mix. I drank too much, far too much and the alcohol progressed from groin to gob.
When I have had too much to drink I become ridiculously honest and life becomes very simple. A work colleague has B.O.? Difficult when sober to broach the subject but easy when alcohol fuelled. We had a large Jewish woman in the office who was unpleasant 99% of the time. She wore thick glasses, woolly cardigans and capped it all off with an appalling curly wig which I, at first, thought was a hat it was so bad. You could see the lining at the front as it jutted out from under the horse hair.
Late in the evening I found myself sitting next to her. She was being her usual unpleasant snarly self when I decided it was a good idea to try to change her life style for the better. I can still hear myself saying it to her now.
"Blanche, why are always such an obnoxious sod? If you lost two or three stones, got rid of those horrible glasses and bought a decent wig you'd be quite nice looking" I went on after that but what words were exchanged are a blur.
The following day was my last in the office as I had resigned to take a new job in January. I did think of taking the cowards way out and not going in as soon as I remembered what had happened the night before. I couldn't do that. I felt so bad I had to face up and give a heartfelt grovelling apology. I was in the office before her and prepared myself. She boomed in as usual, took off her coat and sat at her desk. I was about to get up when she beat me to it and lumbered down the office to me. I stood up to speak but she raised her hand to stop me. I ignored her and started to apologise. She took no notice and stared at me before saying "You said some awful things to me last night" "I know" I replied "and I am disgusted with myself".
There was a short pause before she looked into my eyes and I saw her tears welling. "You know what was the worst?" she asked. I shook my head, prepared to take my punishment. "Every word you said was true".
She could not have said anything to make me feel worse. I felt humbled and small. I never saw her after that other than when when I left that day and she came over, wished me well and gave me a kiss. She was a much bigger and better person than I am.
Which brings my on to last night. There were about 200 in this marquee, all separate office parties. Our table was actually in front of the stage on the dance floor so we were surrounded once the music started. It was brilliant. Lots of young people, determined to enjoy themselves and we enjoyed being in their company. One, rather lovely girl took a shine to us and kept sitting with us, finally ending up insisting on having her photo taken with one of us. The cynic might say she was taking the piss, but she wasn't. She found us as entertaining as we found her and her friends.
What a shame that the Christmas spirit which crosses generations, soon melts into the harsh realities of another years toil ahead.
Monday, 21 November 2011
Nothing in particular
It's a while since I added anything to my blog so I have been racking my brains in the hope that something inspirational would come to the fore and give me something to write about. Alas, nothing has happened that has given me cause to write so I decided I would write about nothing at all. You would think that it should be easy to write about nothing. After all, we spend a great deal of time doing nothing (except the more exciting amongst us who probably spend time thinking about doing something whilst they are doing nothing) but, despite this, I have found it quite difficult to write about nothing.
I thought it might help if I set out a list of nothings to write about and I listed them from 1 to 10. I only got as far as 1 (which became the title of this blog) and then, I ran out of ideas. I did, at this point, wonder if it was possible to walk out of ideas as opposed to running. If you are going to dry up why would you want to hurry there and make yourself feel even more inadequate? Surely it makes mores sense to walk out of ideas and I have decided that this is the method I shall adopt in future projects.
In summary, writing about nothing did give me something to write about even though it amounted to nothing at the end of it. If you have persisted in reading this far, you are either terminally bored or wondering if there is, after all going to be a point to this and, perhaps a superbly witty punchline. I am sorry to say you are going to be very disappointed as, what better way to finish an article about nothing is there than
I thought it might help if I set out a list of nothings to write about and I listed them from 1 to 10. I only got as far as 1 (which became the title of this blog) and then, I ran out of ideas. I did, at this point, wonder if it was possible to walk out of ideas as opposed to running. If you are going to dry up why would you want to hurry there and make yourself feel even more inadequate? Surely it makes mores sense to walk out of ideas and I have decided that this is the method I shall adopt in future projects.
In summary, writing about nothing did give me something to write about even though it amounted to nothing at the end of it. If you have persisted in reading this far, you are either terminally bored or wondering if there is, after all going to be a point to this and, perhaps a superbly witty punchline. I am sorry to say you are going to be very disappointed as, what better way to finish an article about nothing is there than
Friday, 4 November 2011
Cialis
I did make a promise on my "erectile dysfunction" post that I wouldn't give regular updates on events as it is not something I particularly want to remind myself, or others about but, Mrs Bats had an on line conversation with the wife of a fellow post op that deserves repeating.
He had surgery three years ago and ever since, has not been able to raise even a smile. He had become resigned to the fact that his copulating days were over and at least he could still use it to pee out of and keep his redundant testicles company. He had been taking the drug "Cialis" all this time, on a daily basis, but it seemed to have no effect. Most male readers will have had spam email from people trying to sell them Cialis on line. It is from the same drug family as Viagra and is apparently much sought after by men wishing to sustain the action a little longer and on demand.
As I said, the drug had not done a thing until, suddenly, a couple of weeks ago, it happened. He felt movement whilst in a supermarket with his wife and "boom" he had an erection you could have hung a horses saddle on. The erection was so strong and unexpected he began to panic. It became painful. he had to sit down as he wasn't able to set it free in the Ladies Lingerie aisle. In some pain he managed to get into the car and free the beast as his wife drove home.
They had read the leaflets and waited for a half an hour or so to see if it stopped. It didn't. They rang the hospital. They asked them if they had anything like frozen peas in the freezer. They did. They packed his willy with the produce and he sat, like an advert for toad in the hole for, wait for it, FOUR and a Half Hours before it finally gave way.
I can't help thinking he missed a business opportunity. He could have invited local frustrated women over and seen to them all without batting an eyelid. He could have used it to make doughnuts or let the local Darby and Joan club use him as a temporary hoop la sideshow. Joking aside, it couldn't have been much fun. I hope, if I have the same reaction, I will be at home. Knowing my luck I will be in the local primary school playground picking my Granddaughter up. If and when, I will let you know.
He had surgery three years ago and ever since, has not been able to raise even a smile. He had become resigned to the fact that his copulating days were over and at least he could still use it to pee out of and keep his redundant testicles company. He had been taking the drug "Cialis" all this time, on a daily basis, but it seemed to have no effect. Most male readers will have had spam email from people trying to sell them Cialis on line. It is from the same drug family as Viagra and is apparently much sought after by men wishing to sustain the action a little longer and on demand.
As I said, the drug had not done a thing until, suddenly, a couple of weeks ago, it happened. He felt movement whilst in a supermarket with his wife and "boom" he had an erection you could have hung a horses saddle on. The erection was so strong and unexpected he began to panic. It became painful. he had to sit down as he wasn't able to set it free in the Ladies Lingerie aisle. In some pain he managed to get into the car and free the beast as his wife drove home.
They had read the leaflets and waited for a half an hour or so to see if it stopped. It didn't. They rang the hospital. They asked them if they had anything like frozen peas in the freezer. They did. They packed his willy with the produce and he sat, like an advert for toad in the hole for, wait for it, FOUR and a Half Hours before it finally gave way.
I can't help thinking he missed a business opportunity. He could have invited local frustrated women over and seen to them all without batting an eyelid. He could have used it to make doughnuts or let the local Darby and Joan club use him as a temporary hoop la sideshow. Joking aside, it couldn't have been much fun. I hope, if I have the same reaction, I will be at home. Knowing my luck I will be in the local primary school playground picking my Granddaughter up. If and when, I will let you know.
Thursday, 3 November 2011
Benidorm
I didn't go with high expectations. Truthfully, I went with very low expectations. My expectations were justified. I assume it was either Nicolae Ceausescu or Mao Tse Tung who did the original design for the place. Mao once decreed that the colour green was bad for the soul and he made thousands of forced labourers paint green grass another colour. Ceausescu on the other hand was a concrete fanatic and set about demolishing centuries old villages and replacing them with monolithic concrete tower blocks. Both men would have been at home in Benidorm. We walked the full length of both bays many times during the week and found only one square of grass (about 100mtrs x 30 mtrs) in the whole place. This was fenced off of course in case anyone had the mad idea of trying to walk on it.
We went because it was late in the year and the hotel had 100% good feedback from trip advisor. It would be churlish of me to criticise the hotel but we won't be going back. It was modern, clean, comfortable and the staff were excellent but it was full of brits. As we looked out of our seventh floor balcony we had marvellous views of the seventh floors of the hotels opposite and either side of us. These had the effect of blocking the sun for a good 50% of it's daily life.
We managed one evening ( I say evening it was about 90 minutes) in the lounge. Just as Germans must be sick of the war being mentioned, surely we Brits have moved beyond bingo? I was gobsmacked as the game unfurled and, when a line was won, everyone sang along with Cliff Richards singing "congratulations". After that on came "Mickey and Griff type singers (youngsters google them) which was our signal to go to bed. We didn't venture in at night again. Had there been a fancy dress night, I am sure there would have been dozens turning up as either Steven Hawking or Stavros from Dr. Who due to the number of people using mobility scooters.
I have looked up a meaning for "Benidorm" and I would suggest that "Fat tattooed Brit" would be an apt description. I have never seen so many old people with them and fat people too idle to walk, driving along the prom on scooters. A guy a year or two older than us was chatting in the hotel and remarked it was their fifth year in a row at the resort and hotel. I can only assume it was some sort of community service sentence he was carrying out.
One thing I was thankful for was topless sunbathing is no longer fashionable. The sight of elderly women throwing them over their shoulders or tucking them into bikini bottoms would be too much to bare in both senses of the word. It is still fashionable however for men with 60 inch waists to proudly exhibit them to an appreciative public.
I apologise if any of you are fans of the place. It just wasn't for us. If ever I want a similar experience I will sit under a sun lamp in the middle of Manchester for a few days. Manchester would also be a good choice as three of the days we were there it pissed it down all day.
We went because it was late in the year and the hotel had 100% good feedback from trip advisor. It would be churlish of me to criticise the hotel but we won't be going back. It was modern, clean, comfortable and the staff were excellent but it was full of brits. As we looked out of our seventh floor balcony we had marvellous views of the seventh floors of the hotels opposite and either side of us. These had the effect of blocking the sun for a good 50% of it's daily life.
We managed one evening ( I say evening it was about 90 minutes) in the lounge. Just as Germans must be sick of the war being mentioned, surely we Brits have moved beyond bingo? I was gobsmacked as the game unfurled and, when a line was won, everyone sang along with Cliff Richards singing "congratulations". After that on came "Mickey and Griff type singers (youngsters google them) which was our signal to go to bed. We didn't venture in at night again. Had there been a fancy dress night, I am sure there would have been dozens turning up as either Steven Hawking or Stavros from Dr. Who due to the number of people using mobility scooters.
I have looked up a meaning for "Benidorm" and I would suggest that "Fat tattooed Brit" would be an apt description. I have never seen so many old people with them and fat people too idle to walk, driving along the prom on scooters. A guy a year or two older than us was chatting in the hotel and remarked it was their fifth year in a row at the resort and hotel. I can only assume it was some sort of community service sentence he was carrying out.
One thing I was thankful for was topless sunbathing is no longer fashionable. The sight of elderly women throwing them over their shoulders or tucking them into bikini bottoms would be too much to bare in both senses of the word. It is still fashionable however for men with 60 inch waists to proudly exhibit them to an appreciative public.
I apologise if any of you are fans of the place. It just wasn't for us. If ever I want a similar experience I will sit under a sun lamp in the middle of Manchester for a few days. Manchester would also be a good choice as three of the days we were there it pissed it down all day.
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