Alas, this morning I felt rather mean when my departing German lady teacher presented me with a lovely miniature rose and a paperweight in coloured glass which she had carefully chosen to match the gorgeous African Violet on the dining table. These were very thoughtful presents, and she was very generous. I still felt a huge relief when she left, though. Probably because I have had a very heavy week, emotionally. The fact that I had Son and friend staying, and was looking after my grandson this afternoon didn't really count. Family and friends are easy because we all fit together comfortably on the whole, without too much effort. It's just a question of making space and feeding them at regular intervals - and this is something I enjoy, and always have. When they all left this afternoon I felt rather lonely. And since the weather has since turned foul (wet, wild and windy), Sister will probably not be coming to do the Car Boot Sale. This is a real disappointment, because although I hate getting up early, I was looking forward to the catching-up, and to the general camaraderie of a Car Boot. It's always a bonus to make some money, but I just enjoy the social interaction. Ah well, we'll have to save it for another (non-rainy) day.
Grandson managed to upset my cup of tea into my lap this afternoon. It was pretty hot and caused an exclamation, which alarmed him so much that I ended up comforting him rather than changing my clothes. Poor little scrap - he was devastated and kept asking me if I was alright. We were watching The Railway Children and playing the keyboard at the same time, so an accident was bound to happen!
Son and friend have headed off to London, Daughter has finished work for the day and gone home, and I'm here in solitary splendour. Having had a houseful, it feels odd to be on my own again.. sounds like a cue for a song!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Friday, August 17, 2007
Foot in Mouth
I read my horoscope far too late today. If only I had read it this morning, and paid attention, I wouldn't have reacted as I did to the woman who was looking at our flat, possibly to buy it. My horoscope said "Be diplomatic instead of blunt", and I was blunt, to say the least. Daughter said I was being defensive, probably right. Anyway, I only wish..
Selling this flat, which actually belongs to my son, has been a bit of a nightmare, when we all thought it would be easy. We 'refurbished' it to within an inch of its life and put it on the market too late in the autumn last year. Took it off again for Christmas and New Year, and then put it back in February. It finally sold in June, to a very nice lady who has now lost her buyer, so we are victims of a broken chain. This is my first experience of chains, and in particular broken ones. In the past I have bought and sold houses with dashing confidence and amazing speed. This time it's different, and I can't say I'm enjoying it at all. Poor Son is at the sharp end in London, watching prices go up (still) and unable to do anything about it. Here, the market seems to be at a standstill. So I should have been on the ball today, with this new possible buyer, instead of my old, blunt self. Talk about speak first and think later.
My German lecture this morning was about housing in Munich. Apparently there are very few flats or houses for sale there, and you have to be a millionaire to buy one. This is OK, however, because there are so many rich people in Munich that they can all afford either to buy somewhere, or to pay the exorbitant rents which are charged. She, of course, lives in a very nice part of Munich (is there any other sort?), and can afford to pay the high rent because she has a good job as a teacher. My German lady is quite astonished that there are so many flats and houses for sale in Brighton, and that they are so cheap!! (Try telling that to the local young people who can't afford to get on the housing ladder.) We then got onto the subject of how young people in Munich can afford these high rents. Of course, many of them can't, but these tend to be the feckless young women who choose to stay at home and look after their children, rather than working their balls off outside the home. It's very unfortunate if they don't have husbands rich enough to keep them. And often, of course, these young women don't look after their children anyway. This is said with a knowing, twisted sneer - and I really want to reach across the table and tweak that smug nose. But of course I don't - and there is no point in arguing, because she has that Margaret Thatcher habit of simply raising her voice and carrying on talking over anything the opposition might have to say. I am so pleased that she is going home to Munich tomorrow. And I am sure that the smug, self-satisfied burgers of Munich will welcome her back with open arms.
Another smile from Terry Wogan's programme this morning - and I really needed it.
Man in Indian restaurant (in Bradford) who feels he would like to identify with the Indian waiter says, conversationally, "I've been to Delhi." The waiter looks nonplussed and replies, in a thick Yorkshire accent, "Delhi?"..."Where's that?"
Selling this flat, which actually belongs to my son, has been a bit of a nightmare, when we all thought it would be easy. We 'refurbished' it to within an inch of its life and put it on the market too late in the autumn last year. Took it off again for Christmas and New Year, and then put it back in February. It finally sold in June, to a very nice lady who has now lost her buyer, so we are victims of a broken chain. This is my first experience of chains, and in particular broken ones. In the past I have bought and sold houses with dashing confidence and amazing speed. This time it's different, and I can't say I'm enjoying it at all. Poor Son is at the sharp end in London, watching prices go up (still) and unable to do anything about it. Here, the market seems to be at a standstill. So I should have been on the ball today, with this new possible buyer, instead of my old, blunt self. Talk about speak first and think later.
My German lecture this morning was about housing in Munich. Apparently there are very few flats or houses for sale there, and you have to be a millionaire to buy one. This is OK, however, because there are so many rich people in Munich that they can all afford either to buy somewhere, or to pay the exorbitant rents which are charged. She, of course, lives in a very nice part of Munich (is there any other sort?), and can afford to pay the high rent because she has a good job as a teacher. My German lady is quite astonished that there are so many flats and houses for sale in Brighton, and that they are so cheap!! (Try telling that to the local young people who can't afford to get on the housing ladder.) We then got onto the subject of how young people in Munich can afford these high rents. Of course, many of them can't, but these tend to be the feckless young women who choose to stay at home and look after their children, rather than working their balls off outside the home. It's very unfortunate if they don't have husbands rich enough to keep them. And often, of course, these young women don't look after their children anyway. This is said with a knowing, twisted sneer - and I really want to reach across the table and tweak that smug nose. But of course I don't - and there is no point in arguing, because she has that Margaret Thatcher habit of simply raising her voice and carrying on talking over anything the opposition might have to say. I am so pleased that she is going home to Munich tomorrow. And I am sure that the smug, self-satisfied burgers of Munich will welcome her back with open arms.
Another smile from Terry Wogan's programme this morning - and I really needed it.
Man in Indian restaurant (in Bradford) who feels he would like to identify with the Indian waiter says, conversationally, "I've been to Delhi." The waiter looks nonplussed and replies, in a thick Yorkshire accent, "Delhi?"..."Where's that?"
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Life is just a Bowl of Cherries.
Not sure how to put the words together today, because I have spent most of it feeling very sad for a friend who is having a very hard time. It does, however, put everything else into perspective. I feel very fortunate that I have a happy, healthy family, and that I don't rely on any other person for my well-being. It's often hard to be on one's own, but on the whole I think it's preferable to being in a dodgy relationship which isn't happy and requires endless compromises. And it's really quite unreasonable of me to moan about my foreign students, after all they do pay the bills.
I did actually turn down a student today, because I am going to have a house full of family and friends at the weekend, and it was just too much to think about yet another person to feed and water. In fact, she was another German lady, so perhaps it was wise. I have had a surfeit of Sauerkraut this last month! My lady from Munich is due to go home on Saturday, and has not really stopped lecturing me on the various superior aspects of German life. I did get my own back a bit by asking her why there were no famous German restaurants - to which there was no reply. And she devours my food with such gusto that I wonder if she ever has home-cooked food at home. I did ask her, but she replied that she is too lazy to cook when she is at home. She went today to the Brighton Pavilion and had to admit that it was stunning -and that there is nothing like it in Germany!
I was reading another Blog this evening, and couldn't help identifying with the writer, whose children are going on holiday with her ex-husband. I recall that my ex-husband was always reluctant to take my two away on holiday. (It cost money, and he liked to keep it all for himself.) He did, however, take them away once - to Butlin's - when they were about 7 and 9, I think. It was apparently the most awful place - damp mattresses, mice (if not rats) and terrible food. And the weather was awful. Thank god they were only there for one week. When they came home, they were so glad to be back that they didn't argue with each other, or me, for about a week. I had missed them so much, and a bit of free time was not really a compensation. The difference between me and the blog-writer I was reading, was that I didn't think lovingly about the past at all. By then I knew how mean and selfish my ex was, and I just felt a fool for not having realized it sooner.
Anyway, I was the lucky one. I got to see my children grow from little toads to big toads, with only a few hiccoughs on the way. We got through the dramas, the tears,
the scares, the exams, the first hangovers, the first loves (in that order) and all the stuff life throws at you. So what if we didn't have the money, the 'lifestyle', the cars and the posh holidays. As far as I'm concerned, we had the best of everything.
I did actually turn down a student today, because I am going to have a house full of family and friends at the weekend, and it was just too much to think about yet another person to feed and water. In fact, she was another German lady, so perhaps it was wise. I have had a surfeit of Sauerkraut this last month! My lady from Munich is due to go home on Saturday, and has not really stopped lecturing me on the various superior aspects of German life. I did get my own back a bit by asking her why there were no famous German restaurants - to which there was no reply. And she devours my food with such gusto that I wonder if she ever has home-cooked food at home. I did ask her, but she replied that she is too lazy to cook when she is at home. She went today to the Brighton Pavilion and had to admit that it was stunning -and that there is nothing like it in Germany!
I was reading another Blog this evening, and couldn't help identifying with the writer, whose children are going on holiday with her ex-husband. I recall that my ex-husband was always reluctant to take my two away on holiday. (It cost money, and he liked to keep it all for himself.) He did, however, take them away once - to Butlin's - when they were about 7 and 9, I think. It was apparently the most awful place - damp mattresses, mice (if not rats) and terrible food. And the weather was awful. Thank god they were only there for one week. When they came home, they were so glad to be back that they didn't argue with each other, or me, for about a week. I had missed them so much, and a bit of free time was not really a compensation. The difference between me and the blog-writer I was reading, was that I didn't think lovingly about the past at all. By then I knew how mean and selfish my ex was, and I just felt a fool for not having realized it sooner.
Anyway, I was the lucky one. I got to see my children grow from little toads to big toads, with only a few hiccoughs on the way. We got through the dramas, the tears,
the scares, the exams, the first hangovers, the first loves (in that order) and all the stuff life throws at you. So what if we didn't have the money, the 'lifestyle', the cars and the posh holidays. As far as I'm concerned, we had the best of everything.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
A Cruel Race.
Talking as we were yesterday about my German 'student' visitors, I was reminded of another fairly disastrous encounter, this time with a Japanese man. Before he arrived, he announced his forthcoming visit with a two page letter telling me his life history, with photo attached, and itemising his travels. None of this was terribly interesting, as he appeared to be a retired teacher with no children - only a wife who was also a retired teacher.
This was my first close encounter with anyone from Japan, especially someone who was old enough to have actually been alive in the War. He was, indeed, inscrutable. His face gave nothing away, but he obviously didn't think much of either me or my house. And his first act was to give me a sealed envelope which contained another two foolscap pages listing his infirmities and ailments. I am not a nurse, nor am I inclined to become a Nursing Home, so I queried this list. He insisted that he was, really, quite ill. So I asked, not unreasonably I thought, why he was travelling so far from home on his own, and for so long. (His proposed absence from Japan was 6 months!) This did not go down well. Neither did my food, which he picked at and finally left on the plate. (This was a first - usually my food disappears fast.)
After one night, and various complaints which I won't bore you with, he apparently asked at the Language School if he could be accommodated somewhere else. I learned,
some time later, that he had told the school Host Family co-ordinator that I 'frightened' him because I was an independent woman! Dear God. He was a 65 year old man, and I had scared him off, presumably because I'm not the subservient type he is used to. I was glad to see the back of him, and felt rather sorry for the wife. Though on second thoughts, she probably deserved him.
Speaking of the Japanese, part of my chat with my sister last week was about Japan, where she worked on a film a while ago. I said that I had no experience of the place, and had only seen it in the film "Lost in Translation", which had left me with the impression that Tokyo is clearly Hell on Earth. Sister agreed, and said that although it was a fascinating experience, she had not entirely enjoyed her time there. She told the tale of travelling on the underground where the crowds are unimaginable, and conductors with white gloves push people onto the trains. As she is 5'8" tall, she stood head and shoulders above the Japanese men, who all appeared to be reading comics. When she looked more closely, she saw that these comics all featured explicit porn. Huge penises and other unmentionable body parts were evidently the subject of great merriment to these specimens of manhood, because they all laughed hugely as they read their comics. God help the women of Japan. And god help us if they ever win a War! I'm with Bridget Jones's mother.
This was my first close encounter with anyone from Japan, especially someone who was old enough to have actually been alive in the War. He was, indeed, inscrutable. His face gave nothing away, but he obviously didn't think much of either me or my house. And his first act was to give me a sealed envelope which contained another two foolscap pages listing his infirmities and ailments. I am not a nurse, nor am I inclined to become a Nursing Home, so I queried this list. He insisted that he was, really, quite ill. So I asked, not unreasonably I thought, why he was travelling so far from home on his own, and for so long. (His proposed absence from Japan was 6 months!) This did not go down well. Neither did my food, which he picked at and finally left on the plate. (This was a first - usually my food disappears fast.)
After one night, and various complaints which I won't bore you with, he apparently asked at the Language School if he could be accommodated somewhere else. I learned,
some time later, that he had told the school Host Family co-ordinator that I 'frightened' him because I was an independent woman! Dear God. He was a 65 year old man, and I had scared him off, presumably because I'm not the subservient type he is used to. I was glad to see the back of him, and felt rather sorry for the wife. Though on second thoughts, she probably deserved him.
Speaking of the Japanese, part of my chat with my sister last week was about Japan, where she worked on a film a while ago. I said that I had no experience of the place, and had only seen it in the film "Lost in Translation", which had left me with the impression that Tokyo is clearly Hell on Earth. Sister agreed, and said that although it was a fascinating experience, she had not entirely enjoyed her time there. She told the tale of travelling on the underground where the crowds are unimaginable, and conductors with white gloves push people onto the trains. As she is 5'8" tall, she stood head and shoulders above the Japanese men, who all appeared to be reading comics. When she looked more closely, she saw that these comics all featured explicit porn. Huge penises and other unmentionable body parts were evidently the subject of great merriment to these specimens of manhood, because they all laughed hugely as they read their comics. God help the women of Japan. And god help us if they ever win a War! I'm with Bridget Jones's mother.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Don't mention the War.
I really have had it with the German invasion. To listen to my current lady, who is from Munich, Germany is the perfect place to live, with Munich taking first prize for perfect city. Apparently there is no crime in Munich! (I know, I found this hard to believe, but was assured that it's true!) There are no social problems, no gangs, and no poor people!! Everyone is rich in Munich, so that's OK. (And even if there are poor people, they get a lot of help from the state.) There was no point in arguing or disagreeing with her, she was unstoppable. After this lecture over breakfast, I had a severe case of indigestion. And the fact that she could see nothing untoward in this diatribe was very worrying indeed.
Let me describe this woman: she is a very solid, heavy-set woman of 59-ish.
Her face is set in downward lines which still turn down even when she cracks a smile - which isn't very often. She has a large appetite and absolutely no dress sense. (Bitch!) So, middle-aged, self-satisfied, German woman with minimal sense of humour? That is until yesterday evening when my lovely, gay male friend called round unexpectedly just as I was cooking supper. I invited him to stay and eat with us, and was astonished by the change in my German lady. She became positively flirtatious, using body language I certainly hadn't seen before, and twisting the granite face into never-before-seen contortions, which I took to be simpering smiles. It was horrible. I wanted to tell her not to bother, but I don't think she had ever encountered a gay man before (they certainly don't exist in Munich!), so I let her get on with it. It was very funny, and my gay friend was enjoying it too - though for different reasons, I suspect. Anyway, she got quite pink with the effort, and my friend's laughter grew louder and more uncontrolled. It was a pity to break it up, really.
This morning, I finally finished making the ill-fated crab apple jelly, which is a gorgeous dark pink colour, and tastes very good. It was worth the effort. And this evening I came home from a visit to an old friend with pounds of damsons, apples and plums from her garden. Lovely. I'll have to get busy making jam and stuff again - this time I'll try not to get it all over the floor.
Let me describe this woman: she is a very solid, heavy-set woman of 59-ish.
Her face is set in downward lines which still turn down even when she cracks a smile - which isn't very often. She has a large appetite and absolutely no dress sense. (Bitch!) So, middle-aged, self-satisfied, German woman with minimal sense of humour? That is until yesterday evening when my lovely, gay male friend called round unexpectedly just as I was cooking supper. I invited him to stay and eat with us, and was astonished by the change in my German lady. She became positively flirtatious, using body language I certainly hadn't seen before, and twisting the granite face into never-before-seen contortions, which I took to be simpering smiles. It was horrible. I wanted to tell her not to bother, but I don't think she had ever encountered a gay man before (they certainly don't exist in Munich!), so I let her get on with it. It was very funny, and my gay friend was enjoying it too - though for different reasons, I suspect. Anyway, she got quite pink with the effort, and my friend's laughter grew louder and more uncontrolled. It was a pity to break it up, really.
This morning, I finally finished making the ill-fated crab apple jelly, which is a gorgeous dark pink colour, and tastes very good. It was worth the effort. And this evening I came home from a visit to an old friend with pounds of damsons, apples and plums from her garden. Lovely. I'll have to get busy making jam and stuff again - this time I'll try not to get it all over the floor.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Payback Time
Bugger, this morning I have a burgeoning cold sore which has given me a top lip like one of the Simpsons. Thank heavens I don't have a blue rinse too. My Mum used to get these (not blue rinses, cold sores) and told me that when she was a girl they called it 'the kissing disease'. Now I don't get a lot of kisses (especially the full-on sort), except from Grandson, Daughter, and Son, when I see him,so I was racking my brains for the cause of this eruption. Then I remembered that my friend's husband had given me a real smacker when I arrived on Friday for dinner. This was surprising, because we usually exchange polite air kisses. I did wonder why at the time, but only fleetingly...
I also have a nasty, angry-looking red graze down my right leg (plus a number of bruises which will obviously turn blue, yellow and green in time) after falling into the paddling pool yesterday. Altogether,the look is not very attractive. Not my best.
Perhaps I'll put a brown paper bag over my head, or just stay indoors today. I do feel that this is probably cosmic (or is is karmic?) payback for my nefarious nocturnal activities with the hydrangeas. Someone up there was watching.
Speaking of bad language (see bugger, above) I have now managed to teach my grandson to say it. He cheerfully says "oh bugger" if he trips up, just like me. And if I ask
him "What did you say?", trying to look shocked, he just gives me the cheeky grin and says it again. I did this a few years ago with the daughter of one of Son's now distant girlfriends. The daughter was only two when I first met her, and is now nearly nine (she became part of the family, so I suppose she is an honorary grand daughter). She used to come and stay with me in Cambridge, where we had two cats. The elderly one, called Tigger, was so cantankerous that we used to call him the old Bugger. Well of course you can see how it happened. And now it's a family joke. Hon. grand daughter still comes to stay (she lives in Brighton with her Mum anyway), and she thought it very amusing that Grandson has now learned the family swear word. Sorry to impose this on you, especially on a Sunday morning. Perhaps I'll go to the Car Boot sale after all. Now where did I put that brown paper bag...
I also have a nasty, angry-looking red graze down my right leg (plus a number of bruises which will obviously turn blue, yellow and green in time) after falling into the paddling pool yesterday. Altogether,the look is not very attractive. Not my best.
Perhaps I'll put a brown paper bag over my head, or just stay indoors today. I do feel that this is probably cosmic (or is is karmic?) payback for my nefarious nocturnal activities with the hydrangeas. Someone up there was watching.
Speaking of bad language (see bugger, above) I have now managed to teach my grandson to say it. He cheerfully says "oh bugger" if he trips up, just like me. And if I ask
him "What did you say?", trying to look shocked, he just gives me the cheeky grin and says it again. I did this a few years ago with the daughter of one of Son's now distant girlfriends. The daughter was only two when I first met her, and is now nearly nine (she became part of the family, so I suppose she is an honorary grand daughter). She used to come and stay with me in Cambridge, where we had two cats. The elderly one, called Tigger, was so cantankerous that we used to call him the old Bugger. Well of course you can see how it happened. And now it's a family joke. Hon. grand daughter still comes to stay (she lives in Brighton with her Mum anyway), and she thought it very amusing that Grandson has now learned the family swear word. Sorry to impose this on you, especially on a Sunday morning. Perhaps I'll go to the Car Boot sale after all. Now where did I put that brown paper bag...
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Auf wiedersehen, Pet.
Goodbye to my gorgeous German girl, who left me a lovely note this morning. She said that she hopes we will keep in touch, and that it would be "jolly super". I'm ashamed to admit that she learned this phrase from me. Of course she appreciates that it's a joke, but it will probably spread around Frankfurt like hot cakes, or even berliners!
When I surfaced at 8.45 am, to do breakfast, I found that I had acquired some rather fabulous hydrangea blooms, which I must have arranged in a vase at around midnight last night. I suppose I must have picked them on the way home from my friends' house, but I have no recollection of this. I know that I had drunk rather a lot of champagne, followed by rather a lot of white wine. I staggered home, but must have stopped on the way to nick the flowers! Lord, what a terrible example I am. Later on, this evening, I was also reminded by another friend of some things I supposedly said at our dinner last week. I had to admit that I really couldn't remember the conversation! Either I am turning into a terrible drunk, or I am losing my memory. I can't decide which would be worse. Definitely more fun to grow old disgracefully, I suppose.
Today was another glorious, hot day, which I spent looking after my grandson while Daughter was working. We had a great time at the paddling pool, which was totally rammed with freefall children and stressed-out parents. We paddled, splashed, dug in the sand and ate our picnic. I managed to fall over on the edge of the pool and was helped up by a charming young man (who may have thought I was drunk, come to think of it!). Then we walked back home, stopping on the way for Grandson to have a game of football with a group of young men we happened to meet on the Lawns. He just barged in and got them to play with him - don't know how he does it, but he is just irresistible. He has blue eyes and blonde hair, and dribbles like a young Beckham. And as he is only just 3, this is pretty impressive.
After I delivered grandson back home, I cooked for my remaining German lady (who looks set to eat me out of house and home), and then collapsed into my armchair, only to see that Sir Terry Wogan was on Millionaire. I have to say that I like him best on the steam radio. When he's on TV, I'm confronted with the syrup question. Does he or doesn't he? And do we care?
When I surfaced at 8.45 am, to do breakfast, I found that I had acquired some rather fabulous hydrangea blooms, which I must have arranged in a vase at around midnight last night. I suppose I must have picked them on the way home from my friends' house, but I have no recollection of this. I know that I had drunk rather a lot of champagne, followed by rather a lot of white wine. I staggered home, but must have stopped on the way to nick the flowers! Lord, what a terrible example I am. Later on, this evening, I was also reminded by another friend of some things I supposedly said at our dinner last week. I had to admit that I really couldn't remember the conversation! Either I am turning into a terrible drunk, or I am losing my memory. I can't decide which would be worse. Definitely more fun to grow old disgracefully, I suppose.
Today was another glorious, hot day, which I spent looking after my grandson while Daughter was working. We had a great time at the paddling pool, which was totally rammed with freefall children and stressed-out parents. We paddled, splashed, dug in the sand and ate our picnic. I managed to fall over on the edge of the pool and was helped up by a charming young man (who may have thought I was drunk, come to think of it!). Then we walked back home, stopping on the way for Grandson to have a game of football with a group of young men we happened to meet on the Lawns. He just barged in and got them to play with him - don't know how he does it, but he is just irresistible. He has blue eyes and blonde hair, and dribbles like a young Beckham. And as he is only just 3, this is pretty impressive.
After I delivered grandson back home, I cooked for my remaining German lady (who looks set to eat me out of house and home), and then collapsed into my armchair, only to see that Sir Terry Wogan was on Millionaire. I have to say that I like him best on the steam radio. When he's on TV, I'm confronted with the syrup question. Does he or doesn't he? And do we care?
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