Well here I am again, turning up like a bad penny, as my Mother used to say! It's New Year's Eve and I've decided not to go out to yet another party. Frankly, I'd rather gaze at my log fire, and occasionally glance at the TV. The nearest party is downstairs (again) but I don't want to risk getting dressed up and falling down the stairs (again), so they will have to do without me. Apparently Terry Wogan is staying in tonight too, so I'm in good company. He and Lady Helen are looking after some of their grandchildren - sadly I'm not doing that though. Daughter, the Boyfriend and Grandson are staying at home in Dorking, because Daughter had her latest Colposcopy yesterday and is feeling pretty awful today. I went with her to the hospital (and Grandson came too). The procedure didn't take long, but it was pretty painful and she was white as a sheet when she came out, and couldn't stop shaking for quite a while. We were given cups of tea by the nurses, and then I took her back home to rest. She will probably feel like shite for a couple of weeks, and of course we have to wait for the results. I do hope it will all be OK.
Before I came home we had another panic when Grandson was in the bath - lots of red spots appeared on his upper body and Daughter decided we had better take him to the Doctor. So we did: him in his pyjamas, dressing gown and slippers, Daughter wrapped in a rug, and me trying not to have hysterics. In the end it wasn't too serious - we came back with cream for the spots and some special Calpol. He had a slight temperature, the spots of course, and the Doc. could hear a slight wheeze on his chest. If he is sickening for something, it should appear in the next couple of days. And then of course he has his Grommits operation next Monday! Anything else? I drove home at about 7pm, feeling shattered, and could hardly get out of bed this morning. No surprise there!
I hope you all had a lovely Christmas, and I'm sorry that I wasn't around to join in all the Christmas Blogging. We did have a lovely time: Son, Daughter, the Boyfriend and Grandson were all staying here. We all enjoyed our presents, food and bubbly, and went for a walk by the sea in glorious sunshine on Boxing Day. I had my fireplaces sorted the week before, so we had lovely log fires to sit by and it was very cosy indeed.
At the end of his very first term at Big School, Grandson appeared in his first Nativity Play as the King who brings Gold! He looked wonderful in his costume and crown, and said his words perfectly: "I have got Gold." And then he turned to the audience and gave a triumphant thumbs up! It was a delight to behold, and we felt very proud. Come to think of it, that was one of the best moments of our Christmas.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
The End.
The best laid schemes and all that.. I couldn't have guessed how it would all end, but it was both surprising and, I suppose, inevitable. I should have known that I wasn't going to get out of that 10 week stint without some damage - and that's what happened. Are you sitting comfortably?
On Thursday morning I went into the en-suite bathroom that the Wee Git was using (as a favour and a privilege, since it is attached to the double bedroom and he was in the single bedroom) and noticed at once that a large crack had appeared on the base of the toilet. I examined it closely, and saw that the crack had come from an impact point just above it (where the outside of the toilet bowl curves out) and had spread down to the floor. Quite some damage, and probably unfixable, though it hasn't yet affected the toilet bowl, and isn't leaking. I wasn't best pleased, because that bathroom is (was) perfect, and immediately went downstairs and 'phoned the Language School to speak to the woman in charge of Host Families. I told her what I had found, and that I wasn't at all happy. She suggested that I should talk to the Wee Git about it when he came in. I went back upstairs and looked around for the piece of porcelain which had been chipped off - no sign - so I eventually emptied the small waste bin onto the carpet and there, nestling at the bottom, was the missing chip. It fitted perfectly. I now had a piece of evidence to the effect that whoever had done the damage had obviously decided to hide the evidence! I replaced all the rest of the rubbish in the bin and (luckily) kept the white chip in a safe place. I 'phoned back to the School and gave them the latest info. I had already called my plumber, only to be told that to supply and fix a new toilet (and remove the old one) would probably cost about £300. I was bloody furious by this time, and decided to go out and clear my head a bit.
When I came home, the Wee Git was already back from School, I asked him if he knew anything about the broken toilet. I was calm and perfectly polite. He denied all knowledge, and first of all said that it had been done when he arrived. Absolutely not. I knew this because I always clean the bathrooms to within an inch of their lives when I have guests or students. Then he said "Perhaps your Daughter?". That was as far as he got. Next " Perhaps your Friend?" I was livid that he should immediately seek to blame someone else. I told him that I was absolutely sure that it hadn't been cracked before HIS Friend stayed for one night a couple of weeks ago. He still denied all knowledge. Next I went to show him the contents of the bin - only to find, to my astonishment that he had emptied it!! This was the first time in 9 weeks that he had done any such thing! I asked him why he had done it and he blustered that surely I wanted him to empty it since he was going next week (?). I then showed him the perfectly-fitting chip which I had happily saved. He looked pale, but still denied all knowledge. I refused to speak to him for the rest of the evening, and over breakfast next day, told him that the woman from the School was coming to examine the damage. I could go on indefinitely, but suffice it to say that for two days he denied what was perfectly obvious, until I had had enough. And the opinion from the School was that he had pretty obviously done it, or knew how it had been done, and just wasn't telling. He kept on changing his story, and yet insisted that he was telling the truth. I won't bore you with all the details and the conversations, but in the end, yesterday, I'd had enough, and told him to go. He cried. And then, finally, offered to pay for the damage. I told the loathsome little creep that it was too late for that. He couldn't believe that I was actually throwing him out. He went off to spend the weekend in a Student House. This Student House is crowded, grubby, and he will have to cook for himself. He will also have to share a bathroom. He will hate it and, who knows, it may teach him something. Goodbye and good riddance. It will cost me probably £300 to fix the bathroom, and I'll lose this week's rent. I don't care - some things are more important than money. The End.
On Thursday morning I went into the en-suite bathroom that the Wee Git was using (as a favour and a privilege, since it is attached to the double bedroom and he was in the single bedroom) and noticed at once that a large crack had appeared on the base of the toilet. I examined it closely, and saw that the crack had come from an impact point just above it (where the outside of the toilet bowl curves out) and had spread down to the floor. Quite some damage, and probably unfixable, though it hasn't yet affected the toilet bowl, and isn't leaking. I wasn't best pleased, because that bathroom is (was) perfect, and immediately went downstairs and 'phoned the Language School to speak to the woman in charge of Host Families. I told her what I had found, and that I wasn't at all happy. She suggested that I should talk to the Wee Git about it when he came in. I went back upstairs and looked around for the piece of porcelain which had been chipped off - no sign - so I eventually emptied the small waste bin onto the carpet and there, nestling at the bottom, was the missing chip. It fitted perfectly. I now had a piece of evidence to the effect that whoever had done the damage had obviously decided to hide the evidence! I replaced all the rest of the rubbish in the bin and (luckily) kept the white chip in a safe place. I 'phoned back to the School and gave them the latest info. I had already called my plumber, only to be told that to supply and fix a new toilet (and remove the old one) would probably cost about £300. I was bloody furious by this time, and decided to go out and clear my head a bit.
When I came home, the Wee Git was already back from School, I asked him if he knew anything about the broken toilet. I was calm and perfectly polite. He denied all knowledge, and first of all said that it had been done when he arrived. Absolutely not. I knew this because I always clean the bathrooms to within an inch of their lives when I have guests or students. Then he said "Perhaps your Daughter?". That was as far as he got. Next " Perhaps your Friend?" I was livid that he should immediately seek to blame someone else. I told him that I was absolutely sure that it hadn't been cracked before HIS Friend stayed for one night a couple of weeks ago. He still denied all knowledge. Next I went to show him the contents of the bin - only to find, to my astonishment that he had emptied it!! This was the first time in 9 weeks that he had done any such thing! I asked him why he had done it and he blustered that surely I wanted him to empty it since he was going next week (?). I then showed him the perfectly-fitting chip which I had happily saved. He looked pale, but still denied all knowledge. I refused to speak to him for the rest of the evening, and over breakfast next day, told him that the woman from the School was coming to examine the damage. I could go on indefinitely, but suffice it to say that for two days he denied what was perfectly obvious, until I had had enough. And the opinion from the School was that he had pretty obviously done it, or knew how it had been done, and just wasn't telling. He kept on changing his story, and yet insisted that he was telling the truth. I won't bore you with all the details and the conversations, but in the end, yesterday, I'd had enough, and told him to go. He cried. And then, finally, offered to pay for the damage. I told the loathsome little creep that it was too late for that. He couldn't believe that I was actually throwing him out. He went off to spend the weekend in a Student House. This Student House is crowded, grubby, and he will have to cook for himself. He will also have to share a bathroom. He will hate it and, who knows, it may teach him something. Goodbye and good riddance. It will cost me probably £300 to fix the bathroom, and I'll lose this week's rent. I don't care - some things are more important than money. The End.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Crutchless Knickers Anyone?
Oh how naughty, but don't blame me, it's all down to my friend MOB and her suggestion for getting my own back on The Wee Git. I think it's a great idea, but it has just occurred to me that I'll have to go out and buy some if I want to stuff them in his unsuspecting suitcase! Now this would be fine for some of my younger Blogging friends, whose intentions might be said to be thoroughly naughty, but I'm a Grandmother.. What do I say? "Oh, I'm just buying them for my Daughter." Or do I just stuff them in my bag and try to get out of the shop without getting caught? (This brings vivid images of Grandma Giles, if any of you can remember that cartoon, she would definitely have been up for it.) I know there are some saucy ads in even the Hove local paper for "older ladies" who are prepared to offer a "good time", but come on, that's not me. (Sorry, Billy, not even for you :-)
So now I need more suggestions. How on earth do I get hold of the crutchless knickers without getting into a really embarrassing situation? In fact, where do I find them? It's rather a long time since I was out there, if you know what I mean, and I'm not telling you how long it is since I last had sex. This is turning into a rather more complicated exercise than I had imagined. That Wee Git has a lot to answer for...
So now I need more suggestions. How on earth do I get hold of the crutchless knickers without getting into a really embarrassing situation? In fact, where do I find them? It's rather a long time since I was out there, if you know what I mean, and I'm not telling you how long it is since I last had sex. This is turning into a rather more complicated exercise than I had imagined. That Wee Git has a lot to answer for...
Sunday, November 30, 2008
A Parting Shot...
I've had a strange week. I don't seem to have done much, so haven't had anything to write about really. I'm being slowly but surely brought down by the continuing presence of The Wee Git. He never goes out, he doesn't have any friends, he just chips away at me all the time, and sometimes it's hard to laugh about it. I'll just give you one example. About a month ago he started asking me if I would wash his scarf at the weekend. I said "No. I do one load of washing for you once a week (that's the deal) but not at weekends." He kept on at me so I agreed, eventually, and he brought down not just a scarf, but a whole bag full of washing. I emptied out this bag to see what was in it and, guess what, no scarf! I called up the stairs: "Arif, I thought you wanted me to wash your scarf - it's not in the bag ." He stood there and said "No, I have changed my mind." What did I answer? "Funnily enough, so have I." OK, it's funny, and he isn't getting his own way all the time, but I have to say it's getting me down, and he doesn't give up - he has asked me the same question every weekend since.
Anyway, he'll be gone in two weeks, and I have to think of a parting comment when he does go. Perhaps we could have a little competition? Please help me to think up something really good to say when he's leaving. So far, my best thought is "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure having you here." I'm sure you'll have some much better suggestions. Bear in mind that his English isn't very good, and hasn't really improved, because of his steadfast refusal to either take a job or go out and talk to any real English people (we're lower-class and all that). Help me, please. I feel that after my 10 weeks of endurance, I need to have the last word.
Anyway, he'll be gone in two weeks, and I have to think of a parting comment when he does go. Perhaps we could have a little competition? Please help me to think up something really good to say when he's leaving. So far, my best thought is "I wish I could say it's been a pleasure having you here." I'm sure you'll have some much better suggestions. Bear in mind that his English isn't very good, and hasn't really improved, because of his steadfast refusal to either take a job or go out and talk to any real English people (we're lower-class and all that). Help me, please. I feel that after my 10 weeks of endurance, I need to have the last word.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A Day in the Life...
As I walked up the hill towards Hove Station yesterday, I had no idea what was in store for me. I was planning a quick trip to East Croydon and then on to West Croydon, to find Lidl and collect some items that were waiting for me. This trip would normally mean a half hour or so on the train and some pleasant shopping, before returning home in time for tea. Huh!
12.15. It all looked fine. The train arrived on time and I climbed aboard. Five minutes later, when the train hadn't moved, we passengers began to wonder why. There came an announcement to the effect that the train could not proceed to London and would have to go back to Littlehampton (where it came from in the first place) and then approach London on a different line, through the Arun Valley. There didn't seem to be any choice, so we sat as the train trundled towards Littlehampton. This took about half an hour, and then it sat. And sat. Then we had another announcement. "There has been a fatality on the line in the Burgess Hill area. All services will now be diverted and delayed." Shock. Relief. At least we knew what was happening. I spotted a woman who was obviously deaf, and was desperately trying to find out what was happening. (The announcements were no use to her, and the destinations on the in-train display hadn't changed.) I gathered that she was going to Gatwick, so assured her that we were all in the same boat (or train), and hoped to get there, or thereabouts, shortly. Next we had to change trains, and trundled back, past Arundel, on the other line. All this had taken about two hours so far. Our next stop was Three Bridges (unscheduled of course), where we were told that the train would now go direct to Victoria without stopping. This meant hopping off and making for the opposite side of the platform for another train which would take me to East Croydon. As I stood there, I looked back and saw that the deaf woman was still sitting, all unaware, in the previous train. I nipped back across the platform and knocked on the train window, mouthing "You Gatwick" and motioning her to get to the door. Sadly, as soon as she moved, so did the train. I didn't have a chance to get the door open, and had to watch her being carried away on the fast train to Victoria! Back on my train, which stopped at every stop, we finally reached East Croydon, where I had to catch a tram to West Croydon. Daughter had told me it was easy, but she hadn't told me what to expect in Croydon. It's HUGE, and very confusing. It's also like being in an African country - not sure which one - because there were very few white, or even white-ish faces. After I jumped on the wrong tram twice, and jumped off again, I was pointed in the right direction and managed to find West Croydon. It was now 3.15 pm and I had been travelling for three hours. It was also freezing cold and trying to snow.
At West Croydon Station, I walked into what I first thought was a Police/Terrorist scenario. There were at least six Policemen wearing what I assumed to be "Flak Jackets" ( bright yellow and padded), and they seemed to be armed! There was also what looked like a portable detector (the kind you have to go through in Airports) with flashing lights and obviously at the ready for any incident! It was rather like a weird and very different Christmas display!
I had been expecting the Lidl store to be opposite the station, but it clearly wasn't. So I approached one of the Policemen (my Mum always told me to ask a Policeman) and asked him if he knew where Lidl was. He looked rather surprised, but was very pleasant and called another young Policeman over. Between them they pointed me in the right direction - another half mile walk against a freezing wind - and there it was. The Holy Grail. Lidl. And the Ski Watches which I had been told would be waiting for me. The Manager of Lidl was lovely - very polite and kind. In fact everyone I encountered was just the same. But I did have the feeling that I was in a foreign land - not an unpleasant foreign land by any means, but nevertheless, very foreign.
I scuttled back up the freezing street with my booty, waving my Lidl bag at the two Policemen as I passed. (Which could have been a really wrong move, come to think of it.) And headed for the sanctuary of Marks and Spencer, which I had spotted on the way down. Oh Bliss. A cup of tea and a turkey sandwich before the trek back home. I phoned my Aristocratic BF from M & S (since I had embarked on this Odyssey mainly for her benefit) and giggled hysterically as I told her what had happened. Then I embarked on the return journey. I was pointed in several wrong directions, but finally found a bus going the right way, and then a train at East Croydon. On the way back the train stopped at every station again (I guess they were still trying to catch up on the day's disasters and delays). And the quickest part of my journey was the one-stop train from Brighton to Hove. Home at 7pm - just in time to cook supper for The Wee Git, Oh Joy - and after 7 hours of travelling (if you can call it that).
Actually, I'm not complaining - at least I was sitting warm and safe on a train for most of the time. And I lived to tell the tale, which sadly was not the case for one unfortunate person that day. I do wonder what happened to my deaf lady (not that she was mine, but you know what I mean), and hope she finally got to Gatwick in one piece, if rather late. It's a complete mystery, but perhaps we were all meant to be sitting on that train for three hours, in a kind of limbo! Who knows what might have befallen us otherwise?
12.15. It all looked fine. The train arrived on time and I climbed aboard. Five minutes later, when the train hadn't moved, we passengers began to wonder why. There came an announcement to the effect that the train could not proceed to London and would have to go back to Littlehampton (where it came from in the first place) and then approach London on a different line, through the Arun Valley. There didn't seem to be any choice, so we sat as the train trundled towards Littlehampton. This took about half an hour, and then it sat. And sat. Then we had another announcement. "There has been a fatality on the line in the Burgess Hill area. All services will now be diverted and delayed." Shock. Relief. At least we knew what was happening. I spotted a woman who was obviously deaf, and was desperately trying to find out what was happening. (The announcements were no use to her, and the destinations on the in-train display hadn't changed.) I gathered that she was going to Gatwick, so assured her that we were all in the same boat (or train), and hoped to get there, or thereabouts, shortly. Next we had to change trains, and trundled back, past Arundel, on the other line. All this had taken about two hours so far. Our next stop was Three Bridges (unscheduled of course), where we were told that the train would now go direct to Victoria without stopping. This meant hopping off and making for the opposite side of the platform for another train which would take me to East Croydon. As I stood there, I looked back and saw that the deaf woman was still sitting, all unaware, in the previous train. I nipped back across the platform and knocked on the train window, mouthing "You Gatwick" and motioning her to get to the door. Sadly, as soon as she moved, so did the train. I didn't have a chance to get the door open, and had to watch her being carried away on the fast train to Victoria! Back on my train, which stopped at every stop, we finally reached East Croydon, where I had to catch a tram to West Croydon. Daughter had told me it was easy, but she hadn't told me what to expect in Croydon. It's HUGE, and very confusing. It's also like being in an African country - not sure which one - because there were very few white, or even white-ish faces. After I jumped on the wrong tram twice, and jumped off again, I was pointed in the right direction and managed to find West Croydon. It was now 3.15 pm and I had been travelling for three hours. It was also freezing cold and trying to snow.
At West Croydon Station, I walked into what I first thought was a Police/Terrorist scenario. There were at least six Policemen wearing what I assumed to be "Flak Jackets" ( bright yellow and padded), and they seemed to be armed! There was also what looked like a portable detector (the kind you have to go through in Airports) with flashing lights and obviously at the ready for any incident! It was rather like a weird and very different Christmas display!
I had been expecting the Lidl store to be opposite the station, but it clearly wasn't. So I approached one of the Policemen (my Mum always told me to ask a Policeman) and asked him if he knew where Lidl was. He looked rather surprised, but was very pleasant and called another young Policeman over. Between them they pointed me in the right direction - another half mile walk against a freezing wind - and there it was. The Holy Grail. Lidl. And the Ski Watches which I had been told would be waiting for me. The Manager of Lidl was lovely - very polite and kind. In fact everyone I encountered was just the same. But I did have the feeling that I was in a foreign land - not an unpleasant foreign land by any means, but nevertheless, very foreign.
I scuttled back up the freezing street with my booty, waving my Lidl bag at the two Policemen as I passed. (Which could have been a really wrong move, come to think of it.) And headed for the sanctuary of Marks and Spencer, which I had spotted on the way down. Oh Bliss. A cup of tea and a turkey sandwich before the trek back home. I phoned my Aristocratic BF from M & S (since I had embarked on this Odyssey mainly for her benefit) and giggled hysterically as I told her what had happened. Then I embarked on the return journey. I was pointed in several wrong directions, but finally found a bus going the right way, and then a train at East Croydon. On the way back the train stopped at every station again (I guess they were still trying to catch up on the day's disasters and delays). And the quickest part of my journey was the one-stop train from Brighton to Hove. Home at 7pm - just in time to cook supper for The Wee Git, Oh Joy - and after 7 hours of travelling (if you can call it that).
Actually, I'm not complaining - at least I was sitting warm and safe on a train for most of the time. And I lived to tell the tale, which sadly was not the case for one unfortunate person that day. I do wonder what happened to my deaf lady (not that she was mine, but you know what I mean), and hope she finally got to Gatwick in one piece, if rather late. It's a complete mystery, but perhaps we were all meant to be sitting on that train for three hours, in a kind of limbo! Who knows what might have befallen us otherwise?
Monday, November 17, 2008
Three for the Water Pistol.
My lovely Grandson has been to the WaterPistol again - Hospital to you and me. Actually he can say Hospital now, but WaterPistol makes it sound much more fun. The reason he's been is to have those gorgeous little ears checked - and his Teacher was right, he has a lot of fluid tucked away in there which is damaging his hearing. The Consultant thinks he should have gromits - and though Daughter was dreading hearing that, I think she knows it will help him. As I've mentioned before, she had three lots of gromits between the ages of 6 and 18, and in the end her hearing was (and is) fine. So let's hope it will do the trick for Grandson. I can't bear the thought that he will have to have an anaesthetic, but there's no alternative.
No. 2 for the WaterPistol was Daughter, who had to go last Tuesday to have another biopsy procedure for more pre-cancerous cells. These showed up in her Smear Test a year ago, for which she had a Colposcopy, and have now reappeared. I'm worried about this, of course, but she is taking it in her stride. And at least they are on to it quickly (within two weeks of her test). They have taken samples from three areas apparently, and she will have the results in about two weeks. In the meantime it's the same routine: no lifting, no sex and no-one smoking around her, and she has to rest. I had Grandson here for the weekend so that she could take it easy, and she did look better when she came to collect him yesterday. Of course she is working more or less full time now, so resting isn't quite as easy as it was last year. She does finish work early on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so I'm hoping that will be enough.
No 3 is my Sister, who is having investigations into some white stuff which has appeared under her skin near the joints of her fingers. Strange, but these white "strings" (they may be called nodules) sort of move under the surface - not while you're looking apparently- and aren't painful all the time, but can be when they are very close to the joints. They could be precursors to rheumatism or arthritis, She is waiting for the results of blood tests too. All in all, that's plenty to be going on with, I feel.
On a more cheerful note, Christmas is coming! It looks as if we will have all the usual suspects here again this year - Son and maybe a few of his friends, plus Daughter, Grandson and the Boyfriend. Plus anyone else who fancies turning up - I like to have lots of people around to help eat all the food and drink all the drink. I haven't started Christmas Shopping yet - that joy is yet to come, but I did go into John Lewis in Oxford Street last week (I went up to have lunch with Son and tea with Sister) and their Christmas stuff does look very tempting.I expect I'll go back again when I've written my Christmas List.
Like India Knight, who writes in the Sunday Times, I've been avoiding the news and the papers for a week now because I can't bear to hear or read about poor little Baby P. I feel I should be apologizing for all humanity that tragedies like these should happen at all. That little innocent didn't have a life, or any love, in his all-too-brief existence. Nor did he have a chance in this procedure-ridden society. Why someone didn't just walk into that house and remove him, I simply can't understand. Those who killed that little boy will surely go to Hell - if there is such a place. I'm not religious at all, but in this instance I sincerely hope that there is a Hell. Perhaps the most frightening statistic that came out of this was that, on average, two children are killed every week by their parents, family or step-parents. This is too horrible for me to contemplate. WHY? HOW? Is there no way we can protect these children? Save the Children? the NSPCC?
Children in Need? It's obviously not about money - just look at the amazing amount raised last week by Terry Wogan and the Children in Need Appeal. But WHY can't it prevent this terrible, terrible situation? I don't have the answers. But I carry the guilt - as we all must to some degree. Surely there must be something we can do to save our children?
No. 2 for the WaterPistol was Daughter, who had to go last Tuesday to have another biopsy procedure for more pre-cancerous cells. These showed up in her Smear Test a year ago, for which she had a Colposcopy, and have now reappeared. I'm worried about this, of course, but she is taking it in her stride. And at least they are on to it quickly (within two weeks of her test). They have taken samples from three areas apparently, and she will have the results in about two weeks. In the meantime it's the same routine: no lifting, no sex and no-one smoking around her, and she has to rest. I had Grandson here for the weekend so that she could take it easy, and she did look better when she came to collect him yesterday. Of course she is working more or less full time now, so resting isn't quite as easy as it was last year. She does finish work early on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so I'm hoping that will be enough.
No 3 is my Sister, who is having investigations into some white stuff which has appeared under her skin near the joints of her fingers. Strange, but these white "strings" (they may be called nodules) sort of move under the surface - not while you're looking apparently- and aren't painful all the time, but can be when they are very close to the joints. They could be precursors to rheumatism or arthritis, She is waiting for the results of blood tests too. All in all, that's plenty to be going on with, I feel.
On a more cheerful note, Christmas is coming! It looks as if we will have all the usual suspects here again this year - Son and maybe a few of his friends, plus Daughter, Grandson and the Boyfriend. Plus anyone else who fancies turning up - I like to have lots of people around to help eat all the food and drink all the drink. I haven't started Christmas Shopping yet - that joy is yet to come, but I did go into John Lewis in Oxford Street last week (I went up to have lunch with Son and tea with Sister) and their Christmas stuff does look very tempting.I expect I'll go back again when I've written my Christmas List.
Like India Knight, who writes in the Sunday Times, I've been avoiding the news and the papers for a week now because I can't bear to hear or read about poor little Baby P. I feel I should be apologizing for all humanity that tragedies like these should happen at all. That little innocent didn't have a life, or any love, in his all-too-brief existence. Nor did he have a chance in this procedure-ridden society. Why someone didn't just walk into that house and remove him, I simply can't understand. Those who killed that little boy will surely go to Hell - if there is such a place. I'm not religious at all, but in this instance I sincerely hope that there is a Hell. Perhaps the most frightening statistic that came out of this was that, on average, two children are killed every week by their parents, family or step-parents. This is too horrible for me to contemplate. WHY? HOW? Is there no way we can protect these children? Save the Children? the NSPCC?
Children in Need? It's obviously not about money - just look at the amazing amount raised last week by Terry Wogan and the Children in Need Appeal. But WHY can't it prevent this terrible, terrible situation? I don't have the answers. But I carry the guilt - as we all must to some degree. Surely there must be something we can do to save our children?
Thursday, November 13, 2008
My Meme is late..
Sorry Suzysoo, it has taken me ages to do this, and I'm not sure it will be any good anyway:
7 Things I plan to do before I die:
Go to Vancouver - I once read a book about it and have wanted to go ever since.
See my Children happy and settled.
Get something published.
Visit my old friend in Sydney - though I'm not keen on 24hr flights.
Live in a house with a verandah.
See the Egyptian Pyramids and the Valley of the Kings.
Win the Lottery (shallow I know, but I could make so many people happy).
7 things I do now:
Eat too much, worry too much, count the pennies, cook every day, walk by the sea, sit up late Blogging, talk for hours on the phone.
7 things I can't do:
Ignore a crying child.
Drink whisky (because my Father was an alcoholic).
Eat jellied eels (ugh).
Run like I used to.
Stay up all night dancing (as I used to).
Drink coffee after lunch (it keeps me awake all night).
Handstands.
Bette Midler (wonderful voice and sense of humour),
Twiggy (she's a survivor),
Biba (the original fashion queen of my youth),
Steve McQueen (he was so gorgeous),
The Beatles (my all-time favourite band),
David Beckham (great footballer, and I love football)
Katharine Hepburn (style incorporated).
7 favourite foods:
Fish and Chips,
Rabbit cooked with prunes,
Roasted Parsnip soup with Garlic Bread,
Toffee Ice Cream,
Good Olives,
Almond Croissants,
Sauteed Potatoes.
7 Things I plan to do before I die:
Go to Vancouver - I once read a book about it and have wanted to go ever since.
See my Children happy and settled.
Get something published.
Visit my old friend in Sydney - though I'm not keen on 24hr flights.
Live in a house with a verandah.
See the Egyptian Pyramids and the Valley of the Kings.
Win the Lottery (shallow I know, but I could make so many people happy).
7 things I do now:
Eat too much, worry too much, count the pennies, cook every day, walk by the sea, sit up late Blogging, talk for hours on the phone.
7 things I can't do:
Ignore a crying child.
Drink whisky (because my Father was an alcoholic).
Eat jellied eels (ugh).
Run like I used to.
Stay up all night dancing (as I used to).
Drink coffee after lunch (it keeps me awake all night).
Handstands.
7 things that attract me to the oppposite sex: Well, if I can remember,
Nice hands, intelligence and wit, a love of music, generosity, a nice smile, a good body (of course) and a sense of style.
7 things I say most often:
"Bugger", "Oops, sorry", "Lots of love, Darling", "What do I know", "How's my precious boy?", "I'd love to" and " Night, Night, Sleep Tight"
7 Celebrities I admire: this is hard because I'm not much into celebrities.Bette Midler (wonderful voice and sense of humour),
Twiggy (she's a survivor),
Biba (the original fashion queen of my youth),
Steve McQueen (he was so gorgeous),
The Beatles (my all-time favourite band),
David Beckham (great footballer, and I love football)
Katharine Hepburn (style incorporated).
7 favourite foods:
Fish and Chips,
Rabbit cooked with prunes,
Roasted Parsnip soup with Garlic Bread,
Toffee Ice Cream,
Good Olives,
Almond Croissants,
Sauteed Potatoes.
7 Bloggers who need to do this Meme: this is hard too, because lots of you have done it already, but here goes.. Dem Bones, Dem Bones: Dusty Spider: Family Affairs (though she may have done it): Made in Heaven (sorry Donna): Retired and Crazy: The Dotterel: Tea and Cake..
Of course, anyone who wants to do this one is welcome to take it on - come on you lot, we all want to know more about you. And if you don't want to do it, that's fine too. This is a Democracy.
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