The drama this morning was that my gorgeous German girl lost her purse on Brighton beach last night. She had also lost her voice this morning, so could barely squeak to tell me the details. I telephoned the local police who were very helpful, but hadn't had the purse handed in. As it contained her identity card, a credit card and her driving licence, she had to phone her Mutti in Germany so that she could cancel the credit card. Mutti was obviously quite cross, which I gathered from the second-hand conversation. And I also learned from my student that a fellow student had lost a mobile phone last night (not his, but one on loan from his host family). Apparently he was so drunk that he couldn't explain to anyone how, or where, he had lost the phone. As I listen to this, I'm so glad that my children are not teenagers any more.
Today was my sister's birthday, and for the first time for years, I phoned to wish her a happy birthday and to have a chat. It was good to talk, and to feel that my family, though small, is still intact. I remember that years ago when we both lived in London (she still does, but I don't), we used to meet most days for lunch or a drink. Or we would meet up in Kensington High Street at the weekends, and pop into Biba to see if there was anything we fancied. Back then we both worked in Advertising, and didn't have families of our own to complicate matters. We were great girls, footloose and fancy-free.
Tonight I have been to a dinner party with friends who live around the corner. It was lovely to sit in their garden and drink champagne in the pink sunset. It was also great to eat food I hadn't cooked myself. I met a dramatic, strange and interesting Russian woman (who had a dense accent and was hard to understand), and her partner who was a completely ordinary English bloke. Her fingers were literally smothered with diamonds which I imagine were supplied by her partner. Fascinating. We ate and drank more than was strictly necessary, so I'm more than a bit pissed now. Tomorrow morning my gorgeous german girl is leaving at 5am - I won't be awake to wave her goodbye. And I will be making breakfast for my other German lady at 9 am. Time I was tucked up in bed.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Why are we blogging?
Having an online diary is a mixed blessing. I feel I should have something interesting to say, but what is interesting to me could be total frozen boredom to someone else. Courtesy of Sitemeter (which by some miracle I managed to install) I discovered this morning that four people in America have been reading my blog! Four completely unattached people, one in Texas, one in California and two in Nebraska! (I suppose the two in Nebraska could be friends.) How did they find it? This is a mystery, because I often can't find it myself..
Last night a lovely dinner with friends made me realize, yet again, how important
friends are in my life. When the children were growing up, we had very little in the way of family. All four grandparents died within 2 years of each other, and as I was an 'elderly primagravida' when Son was born, I was even more elderly when Daughter came along 2 years later, which meant that the usual cousins and relations were that much older too. I only have 1 sister, and my ex had only one brother, so it was 'slim pickens' as far as family parties were concerned. I'm sure it's true these
days, when many of us have separate and distant actual families, that our friends become our families.
Most of my friends are also single women - though most of them have been married once or twice and do have children. I have about half a dozen real friends: the sort who would drop everything to help if I needed it. But I did actually manage to lose a friend a couple of years ago, and still don't know why. She was someone I had been close to for thirty-odd years, and she simply dropped off my map. I have, of course, tried to discover why she doesn't speak to me any more, but she isn't letting on. At first I was really worried about what I might have done to cause this, but after a year or so of trying to find out and sending cards, letters and messages, I decided that it was actually her problem, not mine. Very sad though, because we worked together, and had fun, in advertising for years. Our friendship had outlived our marriages. Our children had grown up and spent seaside holidays together and I know my children really thought of hers as family. We used to spend Christmasses together and lovely London weekends. We have so few real friends in our lives, so I regret this loss. But sadly, I can do nothing more about it.
Describing my friends isn't easy, because I know them so well. We've had our ups and downs, our divorces and affairs, our husbands and boyfriends. They are as familiar to me as a comfy old jumper, and when I talk to them on the phone, I have this image of them which doesn't really change. We know each others secrets (and we keep them). We make each other laugh. All I know is that without them my life would be sad. When one of them goes away and we can't talk every day, I miss them terribly.
The saddest thing of all is really losing friends - and this happened to me three times last year. Two old friends, from twenty or thirty years ago, died most unexpectedly. One had been a smoker all her life, and had also been very beautiful. She was blissfully married to a lovely man who had literally dropped dead a couple of years before. I don't think she ever got over his death, and I hope they're still holding hands somewhere. The second friend had been a shit-hot Fund Manager in the City of London until her husband got very ill. He had one of those dreadful wasting diseases and she nursed him for years. When I got the phone call from her daughter, I assumed that her father had finally died. But no. It was my dear friend, whose strength and stamina had finally given out. The third friend was a famous writer whom I had the great good fortune to meet on a holiday on Skyros 7 years ago. She was so talented, so funny, and such a lovely friend. We enjoyed cocktails and lots of laughs together on that holiday, and kept in touch. She discovered that she had ovarian cancer five years ago, and battled with it - refusing to give in - but in the end it got her.
Three lovely ladies,three wonderful friends, have left us. Richer for having known and loved them, but so much poorer without them.
Last night a lovely dinner with friends made me realize, yet again, how important
friends are in my life. When the children were growing up, we had very little in the way of family. All four grandparents died within 2 years of each other, and as I was an 'elderly primagravida' when Son was born, I was even more elderly when Daughter came along 2 years later, which meant that the usual cousins and relations were that much older too. I only have 1 sister, and my ex had only one brother, so it was 'slim pickens' as far as family parties were concerned. I'm sure it's true these
days, when many of us have separate and distant actual families, that our friends become our families.
Most of my friends are also single women - though most of them have been married once or twice and do have children. I have about half a dozen real friends: the sort who would drop everything to help if I needed it. But I did actually manage to lose a friend a couple of years ago, and still don't know why. She was someone I had been close to for thirty-odd years, and she simply dropped off my map. I have, of course, tried to discover why she doesn't speak to me any more, but she isn't letting on. At first I was really worried about what I might have done to cause this, but after a year or so of trying to find out and sending cards, letters and messages, I decided that it was actually her problem, not mine. Very sad though, because we worked together, and had fun, in advertising for years. Our friendship had outlived our marriages. Our children had grown up and spent seaside holidays together and I know my children really thought of hers as family. We used to spend Christmasses together and lovely London weekends. We have so few real friends in our lives, so I regret this loss. But sadly, I can do nothing more about it.
Describing my friends isn't easy, because I know them so well. We've had our ups and downs, our divorces and affairs, our husbands and boyfriends. They are as familiar to me as a comfy old jumper, and when I talk to them on the phone, I have this image of them which doesn't really change. We know each others secrets (and we keep them). We make each other laugh. All I know is that without them my life would be sad. When one of them goes away and we can't talk every day, I miss them terribly.
The saddest thing of all is really losing friends - and this happened to me three times last year. Two old friends, from twenty or thirty years ago, died most unexpectedly. One had been a smoker all her life, and had also been very beautiful. She was blissfully married to a lovely man who had literally dropped dead a couple of years before. I don't think she ever got over his death, and I hope they're still holding hands somewhere. The second friend had been a shit-hot Fund Manager in the City of London until her husband got very ill. He had one of those dreadful wasting diseases and she nursed him for years. When I got the phone call from her daughter, I assumed that her father had finally died. But no. It was my dear friend, whose strength and stamina had finally given out. The third friend was a famous writer whom I had the great good fortune to meet on a holiday on Skyros 7 years ago. She was so talented, so funny, and such a lovely friend. We enjoyed cocktails and lots of laughs together on that holiday, and kept in touch. She discovered that she had ovarian cancer five years ago, and battled with it - refusing to give in - but in the end it got her.
Three lovely ladies,three wonderful friends, have left us. Richer for having known and loved them, but so much poorer without them.
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
That's another fine mess.
I had grandson here to stay last night, for various complicated reasons, and because I have two students at the moment, he can't sleep in his usual room. As he is just out of nappies, I put him in the travel cot first, and then in my bed. I did this amazing thing of lifting him up (still fast asleep) and holding him over the potty to do a wee. Which he did, and then was instantly fast asleep again. Bless the boy.
Sadly, it was I who couldn't sleep. I went to bed at 10pm, missing my "Life on Mars" repeat, thinking that would give me loads of sleep before he woke, which is usually at 5.30a.m! At 12.30, 1.30, 2.30 etc, etc, I checked the clock and grew ever more desperate for sleep. Alas, it eluded me, and I think I had about 2 hours max before he woke at 5.30 on the button.
So, by the time I was doing breakfast for two hungry Germans at 8 o'clock, I was past caring. Unwisely, I decided to continue with the crab-apple jelly making I had started the night before. It was just at the stage where you pour the mushy cooked crab-apples into a jelly bag which is hooked over a frame, poised over a large bowl. As I was deciding to pour the remaining mush into the bag, I had a moment's indecision, but poured anyway. Oh no! Too late. Too heavy! The bag dropped from the frame, plunged into the bowl, and splashed all the lovely, red juice everywhere. The language was terrible - and grandson retreated into the dining room with the students
who continued their breakfasts as if nothing had happened. The next hour was spent mopping up. Crab-apple juice coated the kitchen floor and gave it a lovely red sheen.
It was very difficult to mop up. And it had splashed everything in sight - including my laundry basket which was full of clean, fresh bedlinen ready to iron.
My darling grandson was an absolute trouper. At three, he is just getting to grips with polite conversation, and he entertained my two ladies superbly, chatting away and giving them a summary of the action next door in the kitchen. I was feeling so exhausted and so grumpy that I didn't care what they thought - but he kept the show going. After that, we sat (I collapsed) and built things with bricks for a bit. Then we watered the garden. By the time Daughter came to collect him at 11.30, I was so tired that I could barely put two words together to tell her what had happened. I had already washed the bedlinen again and hung it out in the sun, so as soon as they left, I dived back into bed and slept for a couple of hours. And I can't bear to even look at what's left of the crab-apples.
Son, fresh from the Big Chill yesterday, has gone to a Prince concert in London this evening. His life is one long round of pleasure, or so it seems from my perspective. I can't recall a time when I did stuff like that. My high point was a Stones concert at Olympia several centuries ago, after which his father and I drove down (or is it up?) to Gloucester for the weekend, singing all the way. It's a nice memory.
Sadly, it was I who couldn't sleep. I went to bed at 10pm, missing my "Life on Mars" repeat, thinking that would give me loads of sleep before he woke, which is usually at 5.30a.m! At 12.30, 1.30, 2.30 etc, etc, I checked the clock and grew ever more desperate for sleep. Alas, it eluded me, and I think I had about 2 hours max before he woke at 5.30 on the button.
So, by the time I was doing breakfast for two hungry Germans at 8 o'clock, I was past caring. Unwisely, I decided to continue with the crab-apple jelly making I had started the night before. It was just at the stage where you pour the mushy cooked crab-apples into a jelly bag which is hooked over a frame, poised over a large bowl. As I was deciding to pour the remaining mush into the bag, I had a moment's indecision, but poured anyway. Oh no! Too late. Too heavy! The bag dropped from the frame, plunged into the bowl, and splashed all the lovely, red juice everywhere. The language was terrible - and grandson retreated into the dining room with the students
who continued their breakfasts as if nothing had happened. The next hour was spent mopping up. Crab-apple juice coated the kitchen floor and gave it a lovely red sheen.
It was very difficult to mop up. And it had splashed everything in sight - including my laundry basket which was full of clean, fresh bedlinen ready to iron.
My darling grandson was an absolute trouper. At three, he is just getting to grips with polite conversation, and he entertained my two ladies superbly, chatting away and giving them a summary of the action next door in the kitchen. I was feeling so exhausted and so grumpy that I didn't care what they thought - but he kept the show going. After that, we sat (I collapsed) and built things with bricks for a bit. Then we watered the garden. By the time Daughter came to collect him at 11.30, I was so tired that I could barely put two words together to tell her what had happened. I had already washed the bedlinen again and hung it out in the sun, so as soon as they left, I dived back into bed and slept for a couple of hours. And I can't bear to even look at what's left of the crab-apples.
Son, fresh from the Big Chill yesterday, has gone to a Prince concert in London this evening. His life is one long round of pleasure, or so it seems from my perspective. I can't recall a time when I did stuff like that. My high point was a Stones concert at Olympia several centuries ago, after which his father and I drove down (or is it up?) to Gloucester for the weekend, singing all the way. It's a nice memory.
Monday, August 6, 2007
That old Deadwood Stage.
So lovely to have Terry Wogan back on radio 2. My mornings can get back to normal. I have been surfing the radio stations for the last two weeks to try and find anything that appeals at 8 am and there's nothing else really.
In the news this morning was the fact that students can now get their A Level and GCSE results either online or by text message. Surely this means that parents will have a job getting the information out of their children. It was bad enough getting A level results the normal way, but if the results are bad, they'll simply be buried I suspect.
It took me back to when Daughter was doing her A Levels. She got her own back on me wanting her to succeed by going out every single night of the two years that she was supposed to be studying. She had to drop one of her subjects (Psychology) because she was doing so badly at it. She managed to fail General Studies, and then ended up with two (just) passes. This, however, was enough to secure her a place at University. With hindsight (that trusty old friend) I should have said "Know what? Just forget it. You obviously don't enjoy studying, so why bother." That would have been the sensible thing. But because her brother was at Uni, and I felt that they should both have the same opportunities, I encouraged her to go ahead and take up the offered place. Given that time again, I wouldn't bother - because they were, and are, different people. As it was, Daughter struggled with Uni for 18 months and then walked out on her degree. She got a job, fell in love, moved in with the boyfriend and got pregnant.(That's the shorthand version.) So at 22 she was a mother and I was (surprise, surprise) a grandmother.
This morning's discussion over breakfast was also about schools and students, because my new German lady is actually a teacher. The two Germans were telling me about "Hauptschule", which is apparently the german equivalent of a "sink" school for the lowest level of students. Our discussion was about the fact that these students know that they have no hope of succeeding in life, getting good jobs etc, so
they opt out and end up either fathering or producing babies. They seem to see this as a way out of their no-hope existences. Of course we have similar parallels; teenage mothers (and fathers) are a problem here too. But it made me think, of course, about my daughter. Did she feel a failure? Was it my fault? Probably.
On a lighter note, the fact that someone called Debbie Reynolds is government spokesperson in the current foot and mouth crisis did not escape Terry Wogan this morning. He remarked that surely Doris Day would have been a better choice since, as she was a very convincing cowgirl in "Calamity Jane", she would have had more affinity with our bovine friends! It's that light touch that I love. And it reminded me that Daughter adored that film. She knew every word of the script, and every song, by heart. If only she could have done an exam on the subject...
In the news this morning was the fact that students can now get their A Level and GCSE results either online or by text message. Surely this means that parents will have a job getting the information out of their children. It was bad enough getting A level results the normal way, but if the results are bad, they'll simply be buried I suspect.
It took me back to when Daughter was doing her A Levels. She got her own back on me wanting her to succeed by going out every single night of the two years that she was supposed to be studying. She had to drop one of her subjects (Psychology) because she was doing so badly at it. She managed to fail General Studies, and then ended up with two (just) passes. This, however, was enough to secure her a place at University. With hindsight (that trusty old friend) I should have said "Know what? Just forget it. You obviously don't enjoy studying, so why bother." That would have been the sensible thing. But because her brother was at Uni, and I felt that they should both have the same opportunities, I encouraged her to go ahead and take up the offered place. Given that time again, I wouldn't bother - because they were, and are, different people. As it was, Daughter struggled with Uni for 18 months and then walked out on her degree. She got a job, fell in love, moved in with the boyfriend and got pregnant.(That's the shorthand version.) So at 22 she was a mother and I was (surprise, surprise) a grandmother.
This morning's discussion over breakfast was also about schools and students, because my new German lady is actually a teacher. The two Germans were telling me about "Hauptschule", which is apparently the german equivalent of a "sink" school for the lowest level of students. Our discussion was about the fact that these students know that they have no hope of succeeding in life, getting good jobs etc, so
they opt out and end up either fathering or producing babies. They seem to see this as a way out of their no-hope existences. Of course we have similar parallels; teenage mothers (and fathers) are a problem here too. But it made me think, of course, about my daughter. Did she feel a failure? Was it my fault? Probably.
On a lighter note, the fact that someone called Debbie Reynolds is government spokesperson in the current foot and mouth crisis did not escape Terry Wogan this morning. He remarked that surely Doris Day would have been a better choice since, as she was a very convincing cowgirl in "Calamity Jane", she would have had more affinity with our bovine friends! It's that light touch that I love. And it reminded me that Daughter adored that film. She knew every word of the script, and every song, by heart. If only she could have done an exam on the subject...
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Such sweet sorrow...
Yesterday morning one of my foreign students left. She has gone back to the Czech Republic in floods of tears. She had such a wonderful time here in Brighton that she really didn't want to go home. Three weeks was obviously not long enough. In the end I forgot to give her the recipe for Toad in the Hole, but we are going to email, so I can send it to her.
My other student, the gorgeous German girl, is also having a great time now. She has recovered from her home-sickness and is having fun. She spends her free time either on the beach or going out to pubs and clubs with her newfound friends. It was very touching to see the two girls saying goodbye - strangers only three weeks ago, and now bosom friends. Aah.
Daughter came over today with my grandson, and with her boyfriend, his daughter, another friend and her small son. It was quite a crowd. I somehow managed to barbecue enough food (on my balcony) to feed the five thousand. We all sat on rugs in the garden, under the shade of the cherry tree. The little ones had a great time eating sausages and pouring water over each other. And we grown-ups downed a couple of bottles of lovely cold rose wine with the chicken, lamb burgers, sausages and salads. On the whole, it was just what a family summer Sunday should be. My daughter's friend is also a single parent, and was so pleased to be included in the party. Of course she was welcome. I remembered that watching other families at weekends was very painful when my two were young. It was so hard because one imagined that everyone else was a complete and happy family. Probably not true, but that's how it looks when you're on your own. When I think of it, everyone who was here today could have been spending this lovely day on their own with a small child. And that, I know from experience, is a very lonely place to be. It was so much more fun for all of us to get together.
Anyway, in the middle of all this family jollity, my next Foreign student arrived.
She is a very different kettle of fish. German also, but a fifty-something school teacher on a course to improve her English. Poor woman, she walked into a garden full of strangers, naked children and the debris of a barbecue picnic. No wonder she looked nervous. She is now installed in her lovely clean room, and will no doubt relax a bit once she realizes that we are not all foreign monsters. Apparently her daughter warned her not to hang around at Heathrow, because it is very dangerous!
That can't have been a good start. And she is quite thrown by the hot weather - not what she was expecting either. I do hope that we won't be a complete disappointment to her. I shall hope for a bit of rain in the next few days to make her feel more comfortable.
Not a word from Son at the Big Chill. (Not that I really expected to hear from him.)I'm sure he will be having a great time. No news is good news.
My other student, the gorgeous German girl, is also having a great time now. She has recovered from her home-sickness and is having fun. She spends her free time either on the beach or going out to pubs and clubs with her newfound friends. It was very touching to see the two girls saying goodbye - strangers only three weeks ago, and now bosom friends. Aah.
Daughter came over today with my grandson, and with her boyfriend, his daughter, another friend and her small son. It was quite a crowd. I somehow managed to barbecue enough food (on my balcony) to feed the five thousand. We all sat on rugs in the garden, under the shade of the cherry tree. The little ones had a great time eating sausages and pouring water over each other. And we grown-ups downed a couple of bottles of lovely cold rose wine with the chicken, lamb burgers, sausages and salads. On the whole, it was just what a family summer Sunday should be. My daughter's friend is also a single parent, and was so pleased to be included in the party. Of course she was welcome. I remembered that watching other families at weekends was very painful when my two were young. It was so hard because one imagined that everyone else was a complete and happy family. Probably not true, but that's how it looks when you're on your own. When I think of it, everyone who was here today could have been spending this lovely day on their own with a small child. And that, I know from experience, is a very lonely place to be. It was so much more fun for all of us to get together.
Anyway, in the middle of all this family jollity, my next Foreign student arrived.
She is a very different kettle of fish. German also, but a fifty-something school teacher on a course to improve her English. Poor woman, she walked into a garden full of strangers, naked children and the debris of a barbecue picnic. No wonder she looked nervous. She is now installed in her lovely clean room, and will no doubt relax a bit once she realizes that we are not all foreign monsters. Apparently her daughter warned her not to hang around at Heathrow, because it is very dangerous!
That can't have been a good start. And she is quite thrown by the hot weather - not what she was expecting either. I do hope that we won't be a complete disappointment to her. I shall hope for a bit of rain in the next few days to make her feel more comfortable.
Not a word from Son at the Big Chill. (Not that I really expected to hear from him.)I'm sure he will be having a great time. No news is good news.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Computer illiterati
God above, I've just spent I don't know how long trying to add a list of my favourite blogs to my page. I must be a complete idiot, because I just don't understand the instructions. Whose name do they want (they already have mine), what is the url, and why oh why isn't it simple?? Please, someone, produce an idiot guide to what should be a simply process. How clever you all are to have done it already. I'm impressed.
Waved goodbye to Son this glorious morning as he set off with a friend for the Big Chill Festival. I had got the old picnic basket out and hosed it down, cooked a chicken, and bought wine and nice stuff for them to take. Of course, Son took one look at the totally uncool and ancient picnic basket and said "I'm not taking that!" Silly me - wrong again - of course he's not. Finally arranged food, wine and essentials in an acceptable bag, and off they drove. I was really envious. He told me that there is wonderful organic food, as well as good music, and he had booked a special camping area called something like the "Tangerine Tent", where everything is supplied for a luxurious camping experience. He had obviously booked the weather too.
This morning early I heard David Puttnam on the news talking about how we really have to change our energy-guzzling habits if we want to leave a half-decent world for our children and grandchildren to inherit. I'm allowed to call him David rather than Lord Puttnam because I knew him years ago when we worked for the same Advertising Agency. He was a rather scruffy, but definitely upwardly-mobile, bloke in those days, and I was a very junior creative person. He certainly has come up in the world. Alan Parker (sorry, Sir Alan Parker) also worked in the same Agency then, writing commercials, and I remember him saying that his mother-in-law at the time (I think he has a different one now) kept asking him when he was going to get a proper job. In those days, when Creatives were dogsbodies, no-one wore smart clothes (except the Account Execs), and she obviously thought that anyone who went to work in old jeans and holey jumpers couldn't be earning much. How wrong she was. And how she must have eaten her words. Alan used to let me write the odd trade ad. when he couldn't be arsed. It was great. Never a boring moment. I forget who said it, but it was certainly true that working in advertising was the most fun you could have with your clothes on.
Back then, we had ideas; we produced creative concepts that were often exciting, funny and relevant. That was what we were paid for. These days I believe that most advertising campaigns are produced on computer. I don't know how because a computer doesn't have ideas. It can't think. Which brings me back to that bloody list...
Waved goodbye to Son this glorious morning as he set off with a friend for the Big Chill Festival. I had got the old picnic basket out and hosed it down, cooked a chicken, and bought wine and nice stuff for them to take. Of course, Son took one look at the totally uncool and ancient picnic basket and said "I'm not taking that!" Silly me - wrong again - of course he's not. Finally arranged food, wine and essentials in an acceptable bag, and off they drove. I was really envious. He told me that there is wonderful organic food, as well as good music, and he had booked a special camping area called something like the "Tangerine Tent", where everything is supplied for a luxurious camping experience. He had obviously booked the weather too.
This morning early I heard David Puttnam on the news talking about how we really have to change our energy-guzzling habits if we want to leave a half-decent world for our children and grandchildren to inherit. I'm allowed to call him David rather than Lord Puttnam because I knew him years ago when we worked for the same Advertising Agency. He was a rather scruffy, but definitely upwardly-mobile, bloke in those days, and I was a very junior creative person. He certainly has come up in the world. Alan Parker (sorry, Sir Alan Parker) also worked in the same Agency then, writing commercials, and I remember him saying that his mother-in-law at the time (I think he has a different one now) kept asking him when he was going to get a proper job. In those days, when Creatives were dogsbodies, no-one wore smart clothes (except the Account Execs), and she obviously thought that anyone who went to work in old jeans and holey jumpers couldn't be earning much. How wrong she was. And how she must have eaten her words. Alan used to let me write the odd trade ad. when he couldn't be arsed. It was great. Never a boring moment. I forget who said it, but it was certainly true that working in advertising was the most fun you could have with your clothes on.
Back then, we had ideas; we produced creative concepts that were often exciting, funny and relevant. That was what we were paid for. These days I believe that most advertising campaigns are produced on computer. I don't know how because a computer doesn't have ideas. It can't think. Which brings me back to that bloody list...
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Terry Wogan and me...
My mornings are just not the same without Terry Wogan (who is on holiday at the moment). He has been making me laugh and playing good music, that is to say music I like, (the Beatles, the Eagles, Norah Jones etc..) for twenty-odd years. When my children were very small and I was very lonely, he made me feel cheerful even though I'd had broken nights and had been awake since 6 am most days. Without him, my days would have been very bleak. He's also very professional compared with the people who sit in for him. This week we have Johnny Walker, who is highly regarded by some people I'm sure, but I don't want to listen to him. Also, he doesn't seem to enjoy life on the radio in the same way as dear old Sir Tel. He plays two records in a row, presumably while drinking a cup of coffee, and then slips in the name of a tune and disappears again. It's just not the same. We know when Sir Terry is eating a bacon sarnie, or spluttering with laughter, because he shares it with us. Whatever it is, his listener feels included in life and the jokes. And he never plays two tunes in a row just to get a break.
At last, summer has arrived, so I have been either at the paddling pool or at the beach for the last two days. Odd, isn't it, that as soon as the weather changes for the better, it seems as if it has been hot forever? No-one is complaining yet, of course, but give it a couple of weeks and they will start saying that it's too hot!
Not me, I'll be lapping it up. I went in the sea twice today, and it was freezing cold, but wonderful because I had a chance to cool down.
I have tried to push the cannabis question to the back of my mind, but it surfaced again yesterday with a snippet from the news which told us that smoking just one joint causes five times more lung damage than one normal cigarette. Apparently the effects are five times more toxic because people who smoke cannabis tend to do so without using a filter. This is bad news indeed for all the young people who believe that smoking cannabis is perfectly harmless, because they won't discover the truth until their lungs collapse!
Is there ever any good news? I recalled that a friend of a friend, who was suffering from depression recently, was told by her doctor (quite seriously) not to buy a newspaper, watch television or listen to the news. He recommended this instead of prescribing anti-depressant drugs. This is a novel, positive and forward-thinking approach. Until "they" produce a "Good News" newspaper or programme, let's all boycott the bad news. After all, there's enough of the gritty reality stuff in our own lives and those of our friends and family. Maybe that's why I like Terry Wogan so much. When I listen to him, I start the day laughing, and laughter has been proved to be very good for you.
At last, summer has arrived, so I have been either at the paddling pool or at the beach for the last two days. Odd, isn't it, that as soon as the weather changes for the better, it seems as if it has been hot forever? No-one is complaining yet, of course, but give it a couple of weeks and they will start saying that it's too hot!
Not me, I'll be lapping it up. I went in the sea twice today, and it was freezing cold, but wonderful because I had a chance to cool down.
I have tried to push the cannabis question to the back of my mind, but it surfaced again yesterday with a snippet from the news which told us that smoking just one joint causes five times more lung damage than one normal cigarette. Apparently the effects are five times more toxic because people who smoke cannabis tend to do so without using a filter. This is bad news indeed for all the young people who believe that smoking cannabis is perfectly harmless, because they won't discover the truth until their lungs collapse!
Is there ever any good news? I recalled that a friend of a friend, who was suffering from depression recently, was told by her doctor (quite seriously) not to buy a newspaper, watch television or listen to the news. He recommended this instead of prescribing anti-depressant drugs. This is a novel, positive and forward-thinking approach. Until "they" produce a "Good News" newspaper or programme, let's all boycott the bad news. After all, there's enough of the gritty reality stuff in our own lives and those of our friends and family. Maybe that's why I like Terry Wogan so much. When I listen to him, I start the day laughing, and laughter has been proved to be very good for you.
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