* 28 Jan 2010 The First Housemoving Blog
subtitle : WHO WAS THERE, BEFORE ME?
This is not a "greater meaning of life" question. This should be read with the following locational emphasis:
"WHO was THERE? Before me." And not the esoteric, "Who WAS there before me?"
Someone was there before me. Someone lived in my new apartment before me. Don't be surprised - the building, is after all,a seventeenth century coaching barn and stable block, with clock-tower, that has been carved up into four apartments.
I'm not complaining about generations of legal tennants. I'm not complaining (yet) about any ghosts. I'm complaining about the tennant previous to me, who did a runner in the moonlight.
When he left he was connected on the telephone to "bt" (British telecom), and he was connected on the gas to "BritishGas." His broadband is connected, by satellite, to Skye. The elctricity and water are up to the landlord (the local farmer) and are included in the rent.
All I want to do is change the gas,broadband and satellite tv into my name, and to have a phone line installed.
When I move in, I want to know that I'll have heat and hot water (memories of the SofaNest days are still raw wounds, hardly any scabs at all). I want to know that I'll have a phone, an internet connection and satellite tv to watch.
Did you say, "Not difficult." Did you really say that?
Having spent the whole of yesterday afternoon on the phone, and most of this morning, my blood pressure is now meteoric. The casual mention of phone, gas, tv and internet has a nasty little twitch start up in my left eyelid. I expect it won't be long before I develop Tourettes and start shouting out rude words.
And the reason for this?
The reason is that everyone keeps treating me as some interloper who has invaded the mystery tennant's apartment. I can not get anything done, or installed, or transferred, into my name unless:
a) The mystery tennant advises them that he no longer needs their services, or
b) agrees to transfer the agreement into my name, or
c) I phone some ombudsman's organisation for British Gas and get various references and meter passwords,and
d) in the case of bt, I take out an 18 months contract (instead of 12 months) for line rental. (If ever there's a fat con, that's bt.)
So, my move has been delayed by 10 days because the bt and Skye workmen can not come around until the 3rd, which means that the removals van is next free on the 8th Feb.
It has taken a total of 18 phone calls to get this far. Each phone call is accompanied by the same, automated phonecall push-button syncopation that brings me one step nearer to being the dishevelled old woman who pushes a supermarket trolley around and talks to lamposts and bus-shelters.
PV = Phone voice. The disinterested, disembodied voice on the other end of the phone line.
TB = My Thought Bubble. What I am thinking.
PV "You can access your account by going to www. xxyz." Pause.
TB "No thank you, been there, no help. I'll hold."
PV "Press 1 if you have a pre-paid account. Press 2 if you wish to give us a meter reading. Press 3 if you wish to hear more of our delightful muzak."
TB "None of the above, any other options?"
PV "Use the phone keypad to put in your account number"
TB "Thanks, but I don't have an account number. I am trying to get one though, so I'll keep holding. Maybe I'll get lucky, cos I really don't know what else to do."
The slight tic in the left eyelid turns to a definite twitch
TB "I wish they'd play a new song."
PV "If you do not have an account number, please press the star key twice."
TB "And then I shall pluck a blue duck's egg at the start of the new moon, turn it around twice and sing the first verse of Land of Hope and Glory. And then maybe I'll get a real live, person to talk to."
An eternity of the same muzak (WHO chooses the muzak. How are they qualified to choose? Do they really hear muzak or just voices inside their heads? That, in itself would be grist for another whole blog.)
PV "We are currently experiencing high call volumes. Your call IS important to us. Please keep holding and you will be transferred to our first available operator."
TB "Oh! Fie! But do I have any choice? Nope. So I WILL keep holding."
Repeat that at least five times.
Finally having whittled out the impatient callers, the easily-discouraged, the faint-of-heart, and those whose pace-makers needed a service, one gets to talk to a real live person.
WHO chooses the people at the call centres? And are they chosen by most difficult to understand accent?
I can just imagine Call Centre job interviews. Picture it:
Interviewee chats away rapidly, in a thick regional accent, for 5 minutes to the two interviewers.
The two interviewers look at each other. One says to the other,
"Nigel, did you understand a word of that?"
And Nigel beams back, "Not a word, Chauncey, not a single word. I'd say this one gets the job."
And so, that's how far (twitch) we've got with getting a bt line (twitch,twitch)and broadband (twitch, head-toss) and satellite (head-toss, head-toss) and gas connections (twitch, head-toss, squint, squint).
The Ninja-granny is going off to meditate on her navel. (Twitch, head-toss, squint, involuntary cuss word.)
Have a superlovely delicious day my friends xx
Copyright author 2010
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Monday, 25 January 2010
* 25 Jan 2010 MINIMALISM MEANS NO EXCESS BAGGAGE
* 25 Jan 2010 ☆ The First CrustyCrannyNinjaGranny Blog ☆
subtitle: MINIMALISM MEANS NO EXCESS BAGGAGE
UPDATE: I have been away visiting my new accommodations west of the Severn. I am now returned to east of the Thames to pack up all the wordly goods.
This should take a morning.
MINIMALISM MEANS NO EXCESS BAGGAGE
Having to leave my homeland (Zimbabwe) in short order, I locked up my Zimbo house and left within three days to travel to a strange land - England.
Arriving at Heathrow, with 3 bags of largely useless tropical clothing, (and one totally useless tropical husband - but that's another story for a warmer day) I went in to WH Smiths, bought a map, spread it over my bags, closed my eyes and jabbed my finger down. Where it landed is where we came to.
That was six years, and a different lifetime ago.
Since then I have refused to collect anything other than what is necessary to live reasonably:
A cup, a plate, knife, fork and spoon – and a couple more for friends.
A bed, a sheet, a pillow, a duvet – and a couple more for friends
A sofa – and a couple more chairs for friends
Everything is cheap and cheerful; got for nothing at charity shops.
I refuse to possess anything, ever again, that I will weep for if I lose it.
And I refuse to spend money on anything that won’t cry for me if I die.
Spare money is spent on making memories and friends.
THE BIRD TABLE BLOG
I like animals, I really do. Everything in Nature has a place in my world – even the mosquito who’s bite nearly killed me with malaria; but the five (yes, 5) cats that are having a turf war in my garden I could do without.
“The Minge” at No 26 is a large ginger tom who has treated our garden as his own for the last 6 years. His owners put a bell on his collar because they, too, have a bird table.
I see The Minge’s hunting expeditions as more like the birds having their own Personal Trainer. He keeps the birds keen of eye and acute of ear, with well exercised reactions and strengthened wing muscles. I have never known him to catch a bird, but I have known the MacPyes to play “possum” with him.
“Sooty” is a fluffy white cat who lives with her humorous owners at No 28. I think that Sooty was once a lady for she has a diamantee collar. The Minge tolerates her presence in our garden, but doesn’t welcome it, and she tends to stay away if he’s here. Sooty also has a bell, but is far lazier (or better fed at home) and hardly ever bestirs herself to such feline pursuits as stalking the bird table.
And so, for a last few years our garden, No 24, has been orderly and peaceful. The cats are belled. The birds are safe and very tame; small mice and hedgehogs are happy, as are the Ffoxe family who regularly visit the garden to eat said mice and hedgehogs.
And then, at the beginning of December a family moved in to No 22. Not only do they have two or three, (or maybe four - it’s hard to tell because they are all blonde, have cute crew-cuts and are all much the same size) noisy, shouting, squalling boys, but they also have three noisy, shouting, squalling cats.
These cats wear no bells. Two are very athletic (one a black and white cat, and the other is a white and black cat. Yes! There’s a difference) and the third is a rather elderly, mostly black cat.
As their garden is next to ours, and we don’t have a cat, they looked over at our garden much as the 1890’s Brits looked over at the gold-rich South African Transvaal – easy pickings, desirable territory; just there to be invaded and colonised.
And now our garden is a place of war. The peace is broken by hisses and howls, darting figures, shadowy guerrillas between the bushes, snarls and scowls. And that’s only me; you ought to hear those jolly cats.
I feel for The Minge and Sooty, but at the same time I don’t feel too bad, because so long as the cats are pre-occupied with fighting each other, our small critters are fairly safe and I won’t feel obliged to ask a harassed young mum if she could please bell her cats.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friends ☆
The Crusty Canny Ninja-Granny xxx
Copyright author 2010
subtitle: MINIMALISM MEANS NO EXCESS BAGGAGE
UPDATE: I have been away visiting my new accommodations west of the Severn. I am now returned to east of the Thames to pack up all the wordly goods.
This should take a morning.
MINIMALISM MEANS NO EXCESS BAGGAGE
Having to leave my homeland (Zimbabwe) in short order, I locked up my Zimbo house and left within three days to travel to a strange land - England.
Arriving at Heathrow, with 3 bags of largely useless tropical clothing, (and one totally useless tropical husband - but that's another story for a warmer day) I went in to WH Smiths, bought a map, spread it over my bags, closed my eyes and jabbed my finger down. Where it landed is where we came to.
That was six years, and a different lifetime ago.
Since then I have refused to collect anything other than what is necessary to live reasonably:
A cup, a plate, knife, fork and spoon – and a couple more for friends.
A bed, a sheet, a pillow, a duvet – and a couple more for friends
A sofa – and a couple more chairs for friends
Everything is cheap and cheerful; got for nothing at charity shops.
I refuse to possess anything, ever again, that I will weep for if I lose it.
And I refuse to spend money on anything that won’t cry for me if I die.
Spare money is spent on making memories and friends.
THE BIRD TABLE BLOG
I like animals, I really do. Everything in Nature has a place in my world – even the mosquito who’s bite nearly killed me with malaria; but the five (yes, 5) cats that are having a turf war in my garden I could do without.
“The Minge” at No 26 is a large ginger tom who has treated our garden as his own for the last 6 years. His owners put a bell on his collar because they, too, have a bird table.
I see The Minge’s hunting expeditions as more like the birds having their own Personal Trainer. He keeps the birds keen of eye and acute of ear, with well exercised reactions and strengthened wing muscles. I have never known him to catch a bird, but I have known the MacPyes to play “possum” with him.
“Sooty” is a fluffy white cat who lives with her humorous owners at No 28. I think that Sooty was once a lady for she has a diamantee collar. The Minge tolerates her presence in our garden, but doesn’t welcome it, and she tends to stay away if he’s here. Sooty also has a bell, but is far lazier (or better fed at home) and hardly ever bestirs herself to such feline pursuits as stalking the bird table.
And so, for a last few years our garden, No 24, has been orderly and peaceful. The cats are belled. The birds are safe and very tame; small mice and hedgehogs are happy, as are the Ffoxe family who regularly visit the garden to eat said mice and hedgehogs.
And then, at the beginning of December a family moved in to No 22. Not only do they have two or three, (or maybe four - it’s hard to tell because they are all blonde, have cute crew-cuts and are all much the same size) noisy, shouting, squalling boys, but they also have three noisy, shouting, squalling cats.
These cats wear no bells. Two are very athletic (one a black and white cat, and the other is a white and black cat. Yes! There’s a difference) and the third is a rather elderly, mostly black cat.
As their garden is next to ours, and we don’t have a cat, they looked over at our garden much as the 1890’s Brits looked over at the gold-rich South African Transvaal – easy pickings, desirable territory; just there to be invaded and colonised.
And now our garden is a place of war. The peace is broken by hisses and howls, darting figures, shadowy guerrillas between the bushes, snarls and scowls. And that’s only me; you ought to hear those jolly cats.
I feel for The Minge and Sooty, but at the same time I don’t feel too bad, because so long as the cats are pre-occupied with fighting each other, our small critters are fairly safe and I won’t feel obliged to ask a harassed young mum if she could please bell her cats.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friends ☆
The Crusty Canny Ninja-Granny xxx
Copyright author 2010
24th Jan 2010 SOUL WEAVINGS
* 24th Jan 2010 SOUL WEAVINGS
Six years ago, in exile from my homeland, a stranger in a strange land, (England) I used to carry this around in my shirt pocket, and every time I was overcome with a wave of homesickness, so sharp and poignant that I couldn't speak, I'd move apart from everyone and pull it out and read it; always trying to make sense of the last verse.
Finally, about a year ago, I knew that I understood that last verse and could live it.
SOUL WEAVINGS
by Kate Compton
O God, who am I now?
Once, I was secure in familiar territory,
in my sense of belonging,
unquestioning of the norms of my culture,
the assumptions built into my language,
the values shared by my society.
But now you have called me out and away from home
and I do not know where you are leading.
I am empty, unsure, uncomfortable.
I have only a beckoning star to follow.
Journeying God, pitch your tent with mine
so that I may not become deterred
by hardship, strangeness, doubt.
Show me the movement I must take toward:
a wealth not dependent on possession;
toward a wisdom not based on books;
toward a strength not bolstered by might;
toward a God not confined to heaven;
but scandalously earthed, poor, unrecognised.
Help me to find myself as I walk in others' shoes.
Published in “A Gathering of Women’s Prayers”, 1990
Six years ago, in exile from my homeland, a stranger in a strange land, (England) I used to carry this around in my shirt pocket, and every time I was overcome with a wave of homesickness, so sharp and poignant that I couldn't speak, I'd move apart from everyone and pull it out and read it; always trying to make sense of the last verse.
Finally, about a year ago, I knew that I understood that last verse and could live it.
SOUL WEAVINGS
by Kate Compton
O God, who am I now?
Once, I was secure in familiar territory,
in my sense of belonging,
unquestioning of the norms of my culture,
the assumptions built into my language,
the values shared by my society.
But now you have called me out and away from home
and I do not know where you are leading.
I am empty, unsure, uncomfortable.
I have only a beckoning star to follow.
Journeying God, pitch your tent with mine
so that I may not become deterred
by hardship, strangeness, doubt.
Show me the movement I must take toward:
a wealth not dependent on possession;
toward a wisdom not based on books;
toward a strength not bolstered by might;
toward a God not confined to heaven;
but scandalously earthed, poor, unrecognised.
Help me to find myself as I walk in others' shoes.
Published in “A Gathering of Women’s Prayers”, 1990
Wednesday, 20 January 2010
* 18 Jan 2010 THE NINJA-GRANNY BLOG IS BORN!! HUMOUR WITH A MORAL
18th Jan 2010.
The Great Thaw Bulletin UK - Mon 18 Jan 2010
subtitle: HUMOUR WITH A MORAL
WEATHER
Sunday was a gorgeous day. A steamy 9C, sunny, not a cloud around, no wind chill... Why, just the sort of lovely, peachy day to drain your central heating radiators in preparation for more snow forecast on Wednesday.
TO BLOG OR NOT BLOG?
TO BLOG PERCHANCE TO BORE?
My Fairyland blog was born from the desperation of having the heating boiler blow in the coldest weather in 30 years. Your great messages helped keep my chin up and often dried my tears of frustration and stopped me using the Ninja-stix to draw blood.
I was contacted by a Fairylander, who blogs about Faires little adventures, asking if I'd tell her how it is that I can post such long blogs, because hers are cut short at half a page.
After reading her blog, I have been overcome with guilt. What if everyone who has a very small talent (such as myself, the crusty Ninja-Gran (proud possessor of Beginners Crutchwork Certificate - and the Insulting Idiots, Highly Commended Rosette) were to post looong blogs (such as mine).
Why, soon our walls would be awash with stuff we hadn't asked for and didn't want. Fairyland walls would fill with junk mail... and I can't do that to you. This is my last FL wall-posted blog.
But so many of you have advised me to try my hand at writing a blog page, that I am hesitatnly persuaded.
I'll keep your posts. As soon as I have overcome my IT-Ignorance, I'll let you know it's address. (Volunteers anyone? Anyone good with IT and graphics and tasteful design? Anyone?)
I look forward to telling you about the move, the new bird table (yet to be set up at the new place) and other stuff on slow days... an elephant once broke my neck, the weird way I discovered 3 Husb was playing away, the dangers of the English countryside etc.etc
Most of all, I hope to keep you, and all the amazing FL friends I've made.
HUMOUR WITH A MORAL, FIRST THE HUMOUR
A one dollar bill met a twenty dollar bill and said, "Hey, where've you been? I haven't seen you around here much."
The twenty answered, "I've been hanging out at the casinos, went on a cruise to the Caribbean and did the rounds of the ship, parties, bars, buffets, balls, back to the USA, strip clubs, went to a couple of baseball games, the movies, to the mall, that kind of stuff... How about you?"
The one dollar bill said, "You know, same old stuff .. church, church, church."
AND THE MORAL
When going to the mall, please remember to take more small bills with you.
Have a superdelicious, lovely day.
Hugs from the crusty Ninja-gran xx
Copyright author, 2010
The Great Thaw Bulletin UK - Mon 18 Jan 2010
subtitle: HUMOUR WITH A MORAL
WEATHER
Sunday was a gorgeous day. A steamy 9C, sunny, not a cloud around, no wind chill... Why, just the sort of lovely, peachy day to drain your central heating radiators in preparation for more snow forecast on Wednesday.
TO BLOG OR NOT BLOG?
TO BLOG PERCHANCE TO BORE?
My Fairyland blog was born from the desperation of having the heating boiler blow in the coldest weather in 30 years. Your great messages helped keep my chin up and often dried my tears of frustration and stopped me using the Ninja-stix to draw blood.
I was contacted by a Fairylander, who blogs about Faires little adventures, asking if I'd tell her how it is that I can post such long blogs, because hers are cut short at half a page.
After reading her blog, I have been overcome with guilt. What if everyone who has a very small talent (such as myself, the crusty Ninja-Gran (proud possessor of Beginners Crutchwork Certificate - and the Insulting Idiots, Highly Commended Rosette) were to post looong blogs (such as mine).
Why, soon our walls would be awash with stuff we hadn't asked for and didn't want. Fairyland walls would fill with junk mail... and I can't do that to you. This is my last FL wall-posted blog.
But so many of you have advised me to try my hand at writing a blog page, that I am hesitatnly persuaded.
I'll keep your posts. As soon as I have overcome my IT-Ignorance, I'll let you know it's address. (Volunteers anyone? Anyone good with IT and graphics and tasteful design? Anyone?)
I look forward to telling you about the move, the new bird table (yet to be set up at the new place) and other stuff on slow days... an elephant once broke my neck, the weird way I discovered 3 Husb was playing away, the dangers of the English countryside etc.etc
Most of all, I hope to keep you, and all the amazing FL friends I've made.
HUMOUR WITH A MORAL, FIRST THE HUMOUR
A one dollar bill met a twenty dollar bill and said, "Hey, where've you been? I haven't seen you around here much."
The twenty answered, "I've been hanging out at the casinos, went on a cruise to the Caribbean and did the rounds of the ship, parties, bars, buffets, balls, back to the USA, strip clubs, went to a couple of baseball games, the movies, to the mall, that kind of stuff... How about you?"
The one dollar bill said, "You know, same old stuff .. church, church, church."
AND THE MORAL
When going to the mall, please remember to take more small bills with you.
Have a superdelicious, lovely day.
Hugs from the crusty Ninja-gran xx
Copyright author, 2010
* 16 Jan 2010 OH! TO STAB A DRINK CAN
16 Jan 2010.
First Great Thaw UK 2010 Bulletin 16 Jan
subtitle: OH! TO STAB A DRINK CAN
BACKGROUND & UPDATE: Started writing this blog to stay sane when we were without heat or hot water from New Year's Day to 15th Jan.
My daughter (No 1) and myself, (aka the Ninja-Gran due to having my Beginners Crutchwork Certificate) lived in primitive conditions trying to keep warm and clean. See More on previous Blogs.
Our heating engineers, salty workmen, who watch far too much UKTV Food channel in their off hours, finally finished installing the new boiler and re-plumbing the radiators. Then had to return to reduce the water pressure: then screw the shower-head back onto the wall and repair the washing machine pipes where the high pressure had blown them open and off the wall.
Had my first proper shower in 2 weeks.
Oh! Bliss! (Not better than, but certainly as good as, s**... ( lasted longer, anyway.))
No 1 has stopped slamming doors and shouting. Both I,the workmen and the doors, are relieved.
Shy, timid Miss Minerva Micra now courageous enough to leave her parking ruts on the icy, slushy village hillside. We went shopping and returned with a celebratory feast for supper.
WEATHER: It was a steamy 5C last night, forecast to reach tropical heights of 10C today. AND it has rained. And rained. And rained...
“Why! Clarissa, it’s just like being back in England.”
“Oh! Algernon, we ARE in England, now share your brolly.”
The Ninja-Gran moves house, and rivers, in 2 weeks, from east of the Thames to west of the Severn. Betcha there’s flooding.
BIRD TABLE BLOG:
PORTLY PIGEON OUT, SULTAN SQUILLY (the First) IN
Since the sad disappearance of the French speaking dictator, Robert Robin and his dictatrix, Rubecula, there have been turf wars around the Bird table. Portly, the pudgy Pigeon held sway for 2 days, but yesterday a fluffy, male, grey squirrel appeared. (Anyone who has seen a male squirrel reasonably close up will know how you can tell.) He leaped, nimbly, from an overhanging branch onto the wooden fence and with his tail all puffed up, he bounced towards the bird table and surprised Portly. “Waaa!”
“Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!,” screamed Portly and flapped off, his bulging belly barely clearing the fence.
The Fat Squill proceeded to proclaim himself Sultan Squilly, the First.
He remained, feasting on the table until a large eyed, sultry Squirrel of indeterminate gender, chittered softly to him from the trees. I’m not sure what his motives were, but The Sultan leaped off the table and dashed off into the trees. Since then he has appeared a few times, chasing off any bird on the table.
Viv, a FL friend in rural Ottawa, writes that they had a deer visiting their ‘hood. It disappeared, to be replaced by raw bones and a bloody patch in the snow... with wolf tracks all around.
Oooo-er. Move over, Squill.
I guess a red coat is NOT the fashion accessory Viv needs to be wearing around the ‘hood.
OH! TO STAB A DRINK CAN
Hands up who watches the late night TV shopping?
Why does the salesman on one shopping channel stab a drink can with a fountain pen? Those insomniacs, late shift-workers and mothers of new babies will all know what I’m talking about. How silly is that?
Surely that’s an advert with a misdirected sexist bias? Stabbing something would appeal to a male market. .. but most people who write letters are women. How impressed are we girls that the pen can stab a hole in a drink can?
Not very.
But I also watch CSI and Criminal Minds. .. Hmmm? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Have a superlovely, delicious day. Hugs from the Ninja-Gran x
First Great Thaw UK 2010 Bulletin 16 Jan
subtitle: OH! TO STAB A DRINK CAN
BACKGROUND & UPDATE: Started writing this blog to stay sane when we were without heat or hot water from New Year's Day to 15th Jan.
My daughter (No 1) and myself, (aka the Ninja-Gran due to having my Beginners Crutchwork Certificate) lived in primitive conditions trying to keep warm and clean. See More on previous Blogs.
Our heating engineers, salty workmen, who watch far too much UKTV Food channel in their off hours, finally finished installing the new boiler and re-plumbing the radiators. Then had to return to reduce the water pressure: then screw the shower-head back onto the wall and repair the washing machine pipes where the high pressure had blown them open and off the wall.
Had my first proper shower in 2 weeks.
Oh! Bliss! (Not better than, but certainly as good as, s**... ( lasted longer, anyway.))
No 1 has stopped slamming doors and shouting. Both I,the workmen and the doors, are relieved.
Shy, timid Miss Minerva Micra now courageous enough to leave her parking ruts on the icy, slushy village hillside. We went shopping and returned with a celebratory feast for supper.
WEATHER: It was a steamy 5C last night, forecast to reach tropical heights of 10C today. AND it has rained. And rained. And rained...
“Why! Clarissa, it’s just like being back in England.”
“Oh! Algernon, we ARE in England, now share your brolly.”
The Ninja-Gran moves house, and rivers, in 2 weeks, from east of the Thames to west of the Severn. Betcha there’s flooding.
BIRD TABLE BLOG:
PORTLY PIGEON OUT, SULTAN SQUILLY (the First) IN
Since the sad disappearance of the French speaking dictator, Robert Robin and his dictatrix, Rubecula, there have been turf wars around the Bird table. Portly, the pudgy Pigeon held sway for 2 days, but yesterday a fluffy, male, grey squirrel appeared. (Anyone who has seen a male squirrel reasonably close up will know how you can tell.) He leaped, nimbly, from an overhanging branch onto the wooden fence and with his tail all puffed up, he bounced towards the bird table and surprised Portly. “Waaa!”
“Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!,” screamed Portly and flapped off, his bulging belly barely clearing the fence.
The Fat Squill proceeded to proclaim himself Sultan Squilly, the First.
He remained, feasting on the table until a large eyed, sultry Squirrel of indeterminate gender, chittered softly to him from the trees. I’m not sure what his motives were, but The Sultan leaped off the table and dashed off into the trees. Since then he has appeared a few times, chasing off any bird on the table.
Viv, a FL friend in rural Ottawa, writes that they had a deer visiting their ‘hood. It disappeared, to be replaced by raw bones and a bloody patch in the snow... with wolf tracks all around.
Oooo-er. Move over, Squill.
I guess a red coat is NOT the fashion accessory Viv needs to be wearing around the ‘hood.
OH! TO STAB A DRINK CAN
Hands up who watches the late night TV shopping?
Why does the salesman on one shopping channel stab a drink can with a fountain pen? Those insomniacs, late shift-workers and mothers of new babies will all know what I’m talking about. How silly is that?
Surely that’s an advert with a misdirected sexist bias? Stabbing something would appeal to a male market. .. but most people who write letters are women. How impressed are we girls that the pen can stab a hole in a drink can?
Not very.
But I also watch CSI and Criminal Minds. .. Hmmm? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?
Have a superlovely, delicious day. Hugs from the Ninja-Gran x
* 15 Jan 2010 CALL ME MRS MOPP
15 Jan 2010.
Last Great Cold Snap UK 2010 Bulletin 15 Jan
subtitle: CALL ME MRS MOPP
BACKGROUND:Without heat or hot water since New Year's Day. Living in primitive conditions since then, trying to keep warm and clean.
Our heating engineers, salty workmen, who watch far too much UKTV Food channel in their off hours, finally finished installing the new boiler and re-plumbing the radiators.... See More
Robert Robin update further down ...
WEATHER REPORT - Just below freezing last night, and due to maximise today at 6C with 24 hours rain. The Great Thaw has begun.
CALL ME MRS MOPP
Always look on the bright side of life. That's one of my cliches.
So this is the bright side:
The heating is fantastic. Radiators dangerously hot to the touch. Very efficient. Fantastic feeling to switch off the space heaters and the gas fire.
And this is the dark side:
"The Glass is always half full... because the other half just slopped out when I fell over," is my other saying. (Though I do have my Beginners Crutchwork certificate - hence I am officially allowed to call myself a Ninja-Granny and don't often fall over anymore)
So our glass is half full, not because I fell over, but because the new pipes installed for the heating are twice as wide in diameter as the old pipes.
... Did you say, "So what?"
Water pressure, that's what.
And of what interest is Pressure? I'll tell you..
If you send twice as much water as usual into an old pipe it puts the old pipe, and all it's joints and valves and googlesprockets and thingus's under huge pressure... And usually something's got to give..
And it did. Twice
1) The hot water connection to the shower is now so dominant that it pushes out the cold water in the mixer.
You can have a boiling hot shower. Or, you can have an ice-cold shower. No 1 daughter got caught in a very, very hot shower (Am I being nasty when I say it's her fault for dashing to the shower before old Ninja-stix could get there).
Then the pressure was so great that it pulled the shower attachment clean off the wall, and the shower hose made like a Chinese Dragon at New Year's, writhing and humping, spraying water all over the bathroom.
No 1 daughter, who had been scalded and then attacked with a writhing, random hot spray had a major tantrum. The air turned blue, passing jets reported audio interference and the Richter scale registered 5 when her bedroom door slammed.
If I thought that having one lovely, great tantrum myself would help in the slightest, I'd throw a goodie; the best, believe me.
I put my wellies on and grabbed the mop...
So our dreams of having lovely warm showers and shampooing our hair are curdled and sour.
2) The washine machine is situated before the kitchen sink hot tap. My dream of not having to boil 2 kettles to do the washing up was dashed when I turned the hot tap on in the sink, and noticed that my fluffy slippers were getting very damp...
The washing machine hot water connection had cracked and begun to leak.
I put on my wellies, again, and began to mop.
Admittedly mopping was helped by "Keef", who also went to the local deli at lunchtime and bought me back a pacifying pecan slice. Bless! ( I think he feared for his safety. He certainly kept an eye on the Ninja-stix)
So, water leaks over the kitchen floor slowly if we don't use the hot tap. And if we do turn the tap on it leaks very fast.
As we speak, our kitchen floor has every available bit of rag, old clothes and all spare towels laid out, sopping up the night's leak. And I'm about to go and sling them into the spin dryer and start again.
According to the plumbers we're now waiting for our Vicar landlord to OK calling in the plumbers to quote on new washing machine pipes and shower fittings.
ROBERT ROBIN UPDATE
Rubecula, Robert's wife, sat on her branch for a day but without Robert to control who eats at the bird-table, she didn't get much food. Yesterday she wasn't on her branch. Sadly, I think they have become tiny victims to The Great Cold Snap.
Portly, the Paunchy Pigeon has taken over the food table. He's not very bright, but he is very large, so he just sits on the table. Once his crop is full he continues to sit, eyes closing (OK nictitating slowly), dozing like an old man, hogging the table.
I chased Portly away a couple of times to give the other birds a chance, but he came back. I don't believe in interfering with nature,(much, anyway) so we can only wait to see who ends up in overall control of the table. I think Portly is too shtoopid to stay in charge for long.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my FL friend.
Hugs from the unwashed, unhappy Ninja-Granny x
Copyright author, 2010
Last Great Cold Snap UK 2010 Bulletin 15 Jan
subtitle: CALL ME MRS MOPP
BACKGROUND:Without heat or hot water since New Year's Day. Living in primitive conditions since then, trying to keep warm and clean.
Our heating engineers, salty workmen, who watch far too much UKTV Food channel in their off hours, finally finished installing the new boiler and re-plumbing the radiators.... See More
Robert Robin update further down ...
WEATHER REPORT - Just below freezing last night, and due to maximise today at 6C with 24 hours rain. The Great Thaw has begun.
CALL ME MRS MOPP
Always look on the bright side of life. That's one of my cliches.
So this is the bright side:
The heating is fantastic. Radiators dangerously hot to the touch. Very efficient. Fantastic feeling to switch off the space heaters and the gas fire.
And this is the dark side:
"The Glass is always half full... because the other half just slopped out when I fell over," is my other saying. (Though I do have my Beginners Crutchwork certificate - hence I am officially allowed to call myself a Ninja-Granny and don't often fall over anymore)
So our glass is half full, not because I fell over, but because the new pipes installed for the heating are twice as wide in diameter as the old pipes.
... Did you say, "So what?"
Water pressure, that's what.
And of what interest is Pressure? I'll tell you..
If you send twice as much water as usual into an old pipe it puts the old pipe, and all it's joints and valves and googlesprockets and thingus's under huge pressure... And usually something's got to give..
And it did. Twice
1) The hot water connection to the shower is now so dominant that it pushes out the cold water in the mixer.
You can have a boiling hot shower. Or, you can have an ice-cold shower. No 1 daughter got caught in a very, very hot shower (Am I being nasty when I say it's her fault for dashing to the shower before old Ninja-stix could get there).
Then the pressure was so great that it pulled the shower attachment clean off the wall, and the shower hose made like a Chinese Dragon at New Year's, writhing and humping, spraying water all over the bathroom.
No 1 daughter, who had been scalded and then attacked with a writhing, random hot spray had a major tantrum. The air turned blue, passing jets reported audio interference and the Richter scale registered 5 when her bedroom door slammed.
If I thought that having one lovely, great tantrum myself would help in the slightest, I'd throw a goodie; the best, believe me.
I put my wellies on and grabbed the mop...
So our dreams of having lovely warm showers and shampooing our hair are curdled and sour.
2) The washine machine is situated before the kitchen sink hot tap. My dream of not having to boil 2 kettles to do the washing up was dashed when I turned the hot tap on in the sink, and noticed that my fluffy slippers were getting very damp...
The washing machine hot water connection had cracked and begun to leak.
I put on my wellies, again, and began to mop.
Admittedly mopping was helped by "Keef", who also went to the local deli at lunchtime and bought me back a pacifying pecan slice. Bless! ( I think he feared for his safety. He certainly kept an eye on the Ninja-stix)
So, water leaks over the kitchen floor slowly if we don't use the hot tap. And if we do turn the tap on it leaks very fast.
As we speak, our kitchen floor has every available bit of rag, old clothes and all spare towels laid out, sopping up the night's leak. And I'm about to go and sling them into the spin dryer and start again.
According to the plumbers we're now waiting for our Vicar landlord to OK calling in the plumbers to quote on new washing machine pipes and shower fittings.
ROBERT ROBIN UPDATE
Rubecula, Robert's wife, sat on her branch for a day but without Robert to control who eats at the bird-table, she didn't get much food. Yesterday she wasn't on her branch. Sadly, I think they have become tiny victims to The Great Cold Snap.
Portly, the Paunchy Pigeon has taken over the food table. He's not very bright, but he is very large, so he just sits on the table. Once his crop is full he continues to sit, eyes closing (OK nictitating slowly), dozing like an old man, hogging the table.
I chased Portly away a couple of times to give the other birds a chance, but he came back. I don't believe in interfering with nature,(much, anyway) so we can only wait to see who ends up in overall control of the table. I think Portly is too shtoopid to stay in charge for long.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my FL friend.
Hugs from the unwashed, unhappy Ninja-Granny x
Copyright author, 2010
* 14 Jan 2010 RATTUS MC FATTUS
14 Jan 2010.
Bear with me - this blog is keeping me sane. Delete it immediately if you wish. Oh! That's right, you can't. Shame!
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the UK Cold Snap 2010. Thurs 14 Jan
subtitle: RATTUS MC FATTUS
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day.
Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes.
Small, timid car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons around and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived Monday and Tuesday, but not on Wednesday. They are Tea Yuppies, all drink designer Teas and eat gourmet lunches.
Our village roads were chaos - traffic gridlock on icy roads. Our French-speaking Robert Robin Redbreast hasn’t reappeared. I fear the worst for him.
WEATHER REPORT
Last night (-2C), after a Wednesday (-1C) when we had a further 4" (9cm) of snow, so again, treacherous ice under a disguise of sparkling, white snow. Thick , misty Thursday morning.
HAVE SAUCEPAN WILL DIG
At 08:00 this morning “Keef”, Boiler Installation Supervisor, knocked on our door. He explained that he was alone today, and his van was stuck on the icy road in our Close. Did I have a spade?
We do have a spade. It’s somewhere in the garden shed, and we’d need the spade to reach the shed down a deadly flight of icy, steep steps. (Say nothing about forward planning, please.)
Keef got out his little plaster trowel. Visions of a functioning boiler and hot showers began to recede. Digging with that was just farting against thunder.
And then... then I had an idea of such brilliance that I remember why I call myself the Genius Ninja-Granny. (Actually I don’t, but hey! It was a genius idea.)
I remembered how I’d used saucepans from my camp kitchen to dig myself out of the sand when stuck in a dry, sandy river-bed in a Game Park at home in Zimbabwe.
So, locating two old long-handled saucepans under the kitchen sink Keef and I used a pot each to dig away the snow. Then we broke-up and removed the ice in two tracks from under his wheels all the way to our driveway.
Thanks to those old, ruined pans we now have a workman, with his van and all his pipes and tools, at the house, working at getting the radiators re-plumbed.
Not being a hoarder, thank Goodness that I didn’t just hurl the old pans out. Then again, I never thought I’d say it, but thank God I’m such an absent-minded cook that I go off and leave saucepans burning; molten on the hob, to carbonise.
RATTUS MC FATTUS
This is what happened in 2008 when the coach I had to catch from South Africa to Zimbabwe was delayed. Liz and I waited for 2 hours at Polokwane. (If you use Google Earth (free) you can see where I'm talking about)
Polokwane south-bound Ultra City is an interesting place. We spent 20 minutes watching a rat foraging. It was interesting because we could see Rattus Fattus (Yes, we named him. After a while we felt that we knew him).
He was a portly fellow, but agile despite his rotundity. We could see him clearly in silhouette, running around inside the sparse hedge, backlit by the verandah lights.
He went busily from bin to bin via the hedge. A chip from this bin. Rush back to the hedge and eat it at leisure. Out again and into a Steers container in the gutter. Ah! Heaven! A bit of burger. Rush back to the hedge and eat it at leisure.
Out again and into another bin. Mmm! Mmm! Was that a muffin? Yess! Choc-chip. His favourite. He chanced a greedy nibble from that before heading back to the hedge to finish it off.
He was in the gutter again when a woman walked past. He sank down and remained motionless, just a dark blob of a shadow, a wraith of an anonymous bump in the darker dark. No wonder they say that, wherever we are, we are always less than 3m from a rat.
Sometimes we're much closer than that - such as when we marry them. But those are stories for a warmer day.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friend.
The Zimbo Ninja-Gran xx
Copyright author 2010
Bear with me - this blog is keeping me sane. Delete it immediately if you wish. Oh! That's right, you can't. Shame!
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the UK Cold Snap 2010. Thurs 14 Jan
subtitle: RATTUS MC FATTUS
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day.
Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes.
Small, timid car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons around and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived Monday and Tuesday, but not on Wednesday. They are Tea Yuppies, all drink designer Teas and eat gourmet lunches.
Our village roads were chaos - traffic gridlock on icy roads. Our French-speaking Robert Robin Redbreast hasn’t reappeared. I fear the worst for him.
WEATHER REPORT
Last night (-2C), after a Wednesday (-1C) when we had a further 4" (9cm) of snow, so again, treacherous ice under a disguise of sparkling, white snow. Thick , misty Thursday morning.
HAVE SAUCEPAN WILL DIG
At 08:00 this morning “Keef”, Boiler Installation Supervisor, knocked on our door. He explained that he was alone today, and his van was stuck on the icy road in our Close. Did I have a spade?
We do have a spade. It’s somewhere in the garden shed, and we’d need the spade to reach the shed down a deadly flight of icy, steep steps. (Say nothing about forward planning, please.)
Keef got out his little plaster trowel. Visions of a functioning boiler and hot showers began to recede. Digging with that was just farting against thunder.
And then... then I had an idea of such brilliance that I remember why I call myself the Genius Ninja-Granny. (Actually I don’t, but hey! It was a genius idea.)
I remembered how I’d used saucepans from my camp kitchen to dig myself out of the sand when stuck in a dry, sandy river-bed in a Game Park at home in Zimbabwe.
So, locating two old long-handled saucepans under the kitchen sink Keef and I used a pot each to dig away the snow. Then we broke-up and removed the ice in two tracks from under his wheels all the way to our driveway.
Thanks to those old, ruined pans we now have a workman, with his van and all his pipes and tools, at the house, working at getting the radiators re-plumbed.
Not being a hoarder, thank Goodness that I didn’t just hurl the old pans out. Then again, I never thought I’d say it, but thank God I’m such an absent-minded cook that I go off and leave saucepans burning; molten on the hob, to carbonise.
RATTUS MC FATTUS
This is what happened in 2008 when the coach I had to catch from South Africa to Zimbabwe was delayed. Liz and I waited for 2 hours at Polokwane. (If you use Google Earth (free) you can see where I'm talking about)
Polokwane south-bound Ultra City is an interesting place. We spent 20 minutes watching a rat foraging. It was interesting because we could see Rattus Fattus (Yes, we named him. After a while we felt that we knew him).
He was a portly fellow, but agile despite his rotundity. We could see him clearly in silhouette, running around inside the sparse hedge, backlit by the verandah lights.
He went busily from bin to bin via the hedge. A chip from this bin. Rush back to the hedge and eat it at leisure. Out again and into a Steers container in the gutter. Ah! Heaven! A bit of burger. Rush back to the hedge and eat it at leisure.
Out again and into another bin. Mmm! Mmm! Was that a muffin? Yess! Choc-chip. His favourite. He chanced a greedy nibble from that before heading back to the hedge to finish it off.
He was in the gutter again when a woman walked past. He sank down and remained motionless, just a dark blob of a shadow, a wraith of an anonymous bump in the darker dark. No wonder they say that, wherever we are, we are always less than 3m from a rat.
Sometimes we're much closer than that - such as when we marry them. But those are stories for a warmer day.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friend.
The Zimbo Ninja-Gran xx
Copyright author 2010
* 13 Jan 2010 WHERE IS ROBERT ROBIN?
13 Jan 2010.
this blog helps me get thru the dreary discomfort of heaterless days - so here we are then....
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the UK Cold Snap 2010. Wed 13 Jan
subtitle: OU SE TROUVE LE ROBERT ROBIN?
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day. Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes. Small, sissy, car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived Monday and are Tea Yuppies, all drink designer Tea. Our village was in chaos - traffic gridlock on icy roads.
WEATHER REPORT
Last night (-7C), after a "mild" Tuesday (1C) we had a further 2" (5cm) of snow, so again treacherous ice under a disguise of sparkling, white snow.
Later: 09:00 a.m. GMT. Still snowing. Now 7cm (3") additional snow
NO ROADS, NO WORKMEN.
Gentle sobbing from Wimpy Ninja-Gran in SofaNest.
A LITTLE CHILLI LIME WITH YOURS?
Yesterday we discovered that our heat engineers are SO much more than Tea Yuppies.
Lunch time arrived, and Pa'rick popped his bald head into the SofaNest area, "We're just making our lunch. Do you mind if we borrow a socket?"
Never say "No" to the plumbers, electricians, mechanics and heating engineers, so I said, "No."
... But I was intrigued. Giving it 5 minutes, I popped in to the kitchen and found a scene of epicurean delights: the kitchen had the contents of a small deli spread out on the counters and a sandwich toaster plugged in to one of the sockets and on full go.
Keef had just popped his Bavarian ham and Gruyere with Dijon mustard on wholemeal into the toaster and was busy with the designer teas.
Brine was just finishing wrapping his chicken tikka, coconut sprinkles and lime pickle on a chupatti when he turned to Pa'rick and asked, "A bit of chilli lime wif yours?"
To which Pa'rick said, "Nah mate! It don't go wif smoked mackerel, coleslaw and bagel."
I thought wryly of the old days when a mug of plain brown tea and a ham sammidge or a mee-pie was a good lunch.
.. And I also realised that I would seem to be incredibly country bumpkin if I had the scrambled egg-on-toast lunch that I'd planned. The builders would think that the Ultra-Cool Ninja-Granny was a hick!
Panic. Maybe if I lobbed some mayonnaise at it and called it "Oeufs Florentine"?
OU EST (WHERE IS) ROBERT ROBIN?
Robert Robin is the cheeky little Robin red-breast who controls our bird table.
Please, please pronounce Robert's name correctly with a French intonation that makes it sound like, "Rrobb-air Rrobb-een". (Be sure and roll your arrs.) He thinks he's French, but only speaks the accent fluently, without a trace of the language.
Anyway, "Rrobb-air Rrobb-een" sits in a bare bush close to the feed table and if any pigeon (10x his size) or blackbird (5x his size) dares to alight on the table our bossy, little Robert puffs up his red breast and slowly hops up and down on his branch, tweeting in incredulous irritation.
If the trespassing bird doesn't fly off (tweet-sweet?) he hops up and down with increasing fury and his shrill tweets become more and more profane. Honestly, the air turns blue with his bad language
(Actually, we think that's probably what's made him think he can speak French. It's when his long-suffering wife, Rubecula, sitting on a nearby branch, chirps in to say, "Tsss! Really Robert, mind your French!! )
When he can no longer bounce safely, without "poinnng-ing" off the branch, he points his beak like a tiny, mini heat-seeking missile and launches himself towards the other bird - who departs in a flurry of alarm at being attacked by such a smal, aggressive ball of fury.
Yesterday I noticed that only Rubecula was on her branch. No sign of Robert.
I hope nothing has happened to our little dictator.
If he comes back, I shall make him feel better by telling him that the Blackbird's real name, in latin, is turdus turdus.
Today is the day we are supposed to be getting our heating back. Please, please, please.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friend.
The Hick Ninja-Gran xx
Copyright author, 2010
this blog helps me get thru the dreary discomfort of heaterless days - so here we are then....
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the UK Cold Snap 2010. Wed 13 Jan
subtitle: OU SE TROUVE LE ROBERT ROBIN?
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day. Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes. Small, sissy, car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived Monday and are Tea Yuppies, all drink designer Tea. Our village was in chaos - traffic gridlock on icy roads.
WEATHER REPORT
Last night (-7C), after a "mild" Tuesday (1C) we had a further 2" (5cm) of snow, so again treacherous ice under a disguise of sparkling, white snow.
Later: 09:00 a.m. GMT. Still snowing. Now 7cm (3") additional snow
NO ROADS, NO WORKMEN.
Gentle sobbing from Wimpy Ninja-Gran in SofaNest.
A LITTLE CHILLI LIME WITH YOURS?
Yesterday we discovered that our heat engineers are SO much more than Tea Yuppies.
Lunch time arrived, and Pa'rick popped his bald head into the SofaNest area, "We're just making our lunch. Do you mind if we borrow a socket?"
Never say "No" to the plumbers, electricians, mechanics and heating engineers, so I said, "No."
... But I was intrigued. Giving it 5 minutes, I popped in to the kitchen and found a scene of epicurean delights: the kitchen had the contents of a small deli spread out on the counters and a sandwich toaster plugged in to one of the sockets and on full go.
Keef had just popped his Bavarian ham and Gruyere with Dijon mustard on wholemeal into the toaster and was busy with the designer teas.
Brine was just finishing wrapping his chicken tikka, coconut sprinkles and lime pickle on a chupatti when he turned to Pa'rick and asked, "A bit of chilli lime wif yours?"
To which Pa'rick said, "Nah mate! It don't go wif smoked mackerel, coleslaw and bagel."
I thought wryly of the old days when a mug of plain brown tea and a ham sammidge or a mee-pie was a good lunch.
.. And I also realised that I would seem to be incredibly country bumpkin if I had the scrambled egg-on-toast lunch that I'd planned. The builders would think that the Ultra-Cool Ninja-Granny was a hick!
Panic. Maybe if I lobbed some mayonnaise at it and called it "Oeufs Florentine"?
OU EST (WHERE IS) ROBERT ROBIN?
Robert Robin is the cheeky little Robin red-breast who controls our bird table.
Please, please pronounce Robert's name correctly with a French intonation that makes it sound like, "Rrobb-air Rrobb-een". (Be sure and roll your arrs.) He thinks he's French, but only speaks the accent fluently, without a trace of the language.
Anyway, "Rrobb-air Rrobb-een" sits in a bare bush close to the feed table and if any pigeon (10x his size) or blackbird (5x his size) dares to alight on the table our bossy, little Robert puffs up his red breast and slowly hops up and down on his branch, tweeting in incredulous irritation.
If the trespassing bird doesn't fly off (tweet-sweet?) he hops up and down with increasing fury and his shrill tweets become more and more profane. Honestly, the air turns blue with his bad language
(Actually, we think that's probably what's made him think he can speak French. It's when his long-suffering wife, Rubecula, sitting on a nearby branch, chirps in to say, "Tsss! Really Robert, mind your French!! )
When he can no longer bounce safely, without "poinnng-ing" off the branch, he points his beak like a tiny, mini heat-seeking missile and launches himself towards the other bird - who departs in a flurry of alarm at being attacked by such a smal, aggressive ball of fury.
Yesterday I noticed that only Rubecula was on her branch. No sign of Robert.
I hope nothing has happened to our little dictator.
If he comes back, I shall make him feel better by telling him that the Blackbird's real name, in latin, is turdus turdus.
Today is the day we are supposed to be getting our heating back. Please, please, please.
Have a superlovely, delicious day my friend.
The Hick Ninja-Gran xx
Copyright author, 2010
12 Jan 2010 THREE TEAS PLEASE
12 Jan 2010.
Hi there. it helps me get thru the dreary discomfort - so here we are then....
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the Cold Snap 2010. 12 Jan
subtitle: THREE TEAS PLEASE
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day. Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes. Small, sissy, car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived yesterday on the day we had 1" snow over melting slush = lots of ice.
CHAOS IN THE VILLAGE HIGH STREET
Picture two hills about three hundred feet high with a narrow valley between them. Then draw a narrow High Street the length of the valley (about half a mile long) and draw another road, Oxford Road, that goes down one hill and up the other, across the High Street. The place where those two roads cross is a narrow squeeze on a summer's day.
Now I want you to imagine a bleak, icy winter's day. The double-decker bus (servicing the village and the nearby college campus) slid sideways a little bit on the icy road.
It didn't hit anything, it slid just enough so that it blocked the cross-road of the High Street with Oxford Road.
All cars aproaching the cross roads came to a halt. And all cars approaching the cars approaching the cross roads came to a halt. And all cars etc. etc.
Traffic backed up. A couple of cars on each road tried to turn around and some slid sideways downhill, causing a good, solid grid-lock that took nearly 5 hours to unlock
A white van somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was carrying our new boiler, the engineer and his workmen.
THREE TEAS PLEASE
The workmen walked from their van to our house, carrying tools and bits of pipe, slipping. sliding and cussing. (They are very, very good at it)
I was overjoyed to finally welcome them into our home. If I had a red carpet I'd have dusted it off.
Let me introduce them.
"Pa'rick" The engineer, the man of my dreams, , filthy overalls, tiny, bald, bow-legged and almost blind. (our relationship is only ever going to be platonic, I promise)
"Keef" The second in command, filthy overalls, small body, huge moustache, elderly and asthmatic (everytime he had to use his inhalor he had to part the 'tache and try and get the nozzle into his mouth without sucking up any surplus lip hair - tricky)
"Brine". The apprentice, filthy overalls, young, muscular, dark hair, designer stubble, good looking. (If his cell phone rang once it rang fifty times - popular lad, but with some pretty unoriginal chat-up lines.)
All in all, fairly typical, bog-standard, salt-of-the-earth, no frills men.
That was until, in line with Ninja-Granny tradition, I switched the kettle on, produced tea bags, popped them into mugs and offered them tea.
They shook their heads, and each one of them dug into their overall leg-pocket and produced a plastic box with tea bags.
Pa'rick said, "Fanks love, but I don't drink normal tea - use me de-caf tea-bags," and slapped the box on the counter.
Keef wheezed, "An these are me Vanilla tea-bags."
And Brine slapped his box on the counter, saying, "And these are me Green-tea tea-bags," slapping his box on to the counter.
De-caf tea? Vanilla tea and green tea? These are not fairly typical, bog-standard, salt-of-the-earth, no frills men. I have been visited by ambitious, upwardly mobile Tea connoisseurs. My workmen are Tea Yuppies. They're into designer tea. Tsss!Victoria bloody Beckham has much to answer for.
And they can jolly well make their own from now on.
Have a spiffing day xx
Hugs from the Ninja-Granny xx
Copyright author 2010
Hi there. it helps me get thru the dreary discomfort - so here we are then....
✫•❤´¯`•.☆
Bulletin from the Cold Snap 2010. 12 Jan
subtitle: THREE TEAS PLEASE
BACKGROUND: Coldest snap in UK for 30 years. No central heating or hot water in our house since New Years Day. Been living in the SofaNest near the gas fire. Ablutions by kettle, flannel and wet-wipes. Small, sissy, car, Miss Minerva Micra, stuck on road. No 1 daughter, Shans, throws toy baboons and lives upstairs next to her space heater. Engineers arrived yesterday on the day we had 1" snow over melting slush = lots of ice.
CHAOS IN THE VILLAGE HIGH STREET
Picture two hills about three hundred feet high with a narrow valley between them. Then draw a narrow High Street the length of the valley (about half a mile long) and draw another road, Oxford Road, that goes down one hill and up the other, across the High Street. The place where those two roads cross is a narrow squeeze on a summer's day.
Now I want you to imagine a bleak, icy winter's day. The double-decker bus (servicing the village and the nearby college campus) slid sideways a little bit on the icy road.
It didn't hit anything, it slid just enough so that it blocked the cross-road of the High Street with Oxford Road.
All cars aproaching the cross roads came to a halt. And all cars approaching the cars approaching the cross roads came to a halt. And all cars etc. etc.
Traffic backed up. A couple of cars on each road tried to turn around and some slid sideways downhill, causing a good, solid grid-lock that took nearly 5 hours to unlock
A white van somewhere in the middle of all that chaos was carrying our new boiler, the engineer and his workmen.
THREE TEAS PLEASE
The workmen walked from their van to our house, carrying tools and bits of pipe, slipping. sliding and cussing. (They are very, very good at it)
I was overjoyed to finally welcome them into our home. If I had a red carpet I'd have dusted it off.
Let me introduce them.
"Pa'rick" The engineer, the man of my dreams, , filthy overalls, tiny, bald, bow-legged and almost blind. (our relationship is only ever going to be platonic, I promise)
"Keef" The second in command, filthy overalls, small body, huge moustache, elderly and asthmatic (everytime he had to use his inhalor he had to part the 'tache and try and get the nozzle into his mouth without sucking up any surplus lip hair - tricky)
"Brine". The apprentice, filthy overalls, young, muscular, dark hair, designer stubble, good looking. (If his cell phone rang once it rang fifty times - popular lad, but with some pretty unoriginal chat-up lines.)
All in all, fairly typical, bog-standard, salt-of-the-earth, no frills men.
That was until, in line with Ninja-Granny tradition, I switched the kettle on, produced tea bags, popped them into mugs and offered them tea.
They shook their heads, and each one of them dug into their overall leg-pocket and produced a plastic box with tea bags.
Pa'rick said, "Fanks love, but I don't drink normal tea - use me de-caf tea-bags," and slapped the box on the counter.
Keef wheezed, "An these are me Vanilla tea-bags."
And Brine slapped his box on the counter, saying, "And these are me Green-tea tea-bags," slapping his box on to the counter.
De-caf tea? Vanilla tea and green tea? These are not fairly typical, bog-standard, salt-of-the-earth, no frills men. I have been visited by ambitious, upwardly mobile Tea connoisseurs. My workmen are Tea Yuppies. They're into designer tea. Tsss!Victoria bloody Beckham has much to answer for.
And they can jolly well make their own from now on.
Have a spiffing day xx
Hugs from the Ninja-Granny xx
Copyright author 2010
* 11 Jan 2010 THE MAN OF MY DREAMS PHONED
11 Jan 2010.
•*”˜˜”*°•. ˜”*°•♥•°*”˜˜”*°•♥•°*”˜ .•°*”˜˜”*°•
The Great Cold Snap 2010 - Bulletin - Jan 11
subtitle: THE MAN OF MY DREAMS PHONED
UPDATE: Still in the SofaNest, no heating, no hot water, that sissy Miss Minerva Micra still sits in her parking rut, screaming and fainting, and no amount of smelling salts will get her to move. Though a friend collected me and took me to lunch yesterday, I still haven’t made it to the Gym's showers - they don't have a restuarant. (Primitive)
So still getting No1 daughter to stagger upstairs to the bathroom with 4 kettles and a giant pot of boiling water. Then various arcane activites take place in order to keep Ninja-Granny's crooks and nannies superclean.
A warm 0*C now at dawn, but 2cm snow last night - (I'm not sure how this "snow" business - meteorologicallyspeaking - happens. And what is a dew point? And how can the dew point be -1C? Surely dew is liquid? Liquid water can not happen at minus -1C. Well, it might if it's a molecule in the Large Hadron Collider - but this is outdoors in rural Oxfordshire. And do I really want to know the answer- unless you can explain it in two sentences or less?)
R.I.P. BARB BOON
Two days ago No1 daughter, Shans, made a snowman in our garden. (I sent a photo of it as a joke to my friend Elizabeth with the caption, "At last a man in my life!" and quick as a flash she replied, "He's too cold for you.".. Good one.)
Anyway, yesterday morning I looked out to check on the snowman and was appalled to see a small dead furry thing just below the table where I've been putting out trays of bird food. It was very obviously dead, a light dusting of frost over it.
Poor little weak thing, it must have been trying to climb onto the table for food and just couldn't make it. I was upset. I stood there, hot coffee and a HobNob in hand, feeling awful, and wondered what it was?
Reddish fur, so not a hedgehog, not a local grey squirrell, not a dormouse, not a rabbit, too small for a fox. Mystery.
Finally when my daughter came downstairs I told her all about this poor little furry mystery creature that had starved to death so close to a tray of life-giving food. She rushed over to the window and I was horrified to hear her laugh.
She turned to me and said, "Oh! Mom, it's that old stuffed baboon of mine. I tried to use it's fur to make eyebrows and a moustache for the snowman but it was too tough to tear up, so I chucked it to one side."
There is a foolishness that is beyond foolish when you discover that you have been all teared up over Barb Boon, a small stuffed toy.
..AND THE PHONE CALL
And now, on to the main subject ..the man in my life.
I have been waiting eagerly for a certain special man to phone. Day after day. Each time the phone has rung I have been disappointed to find it's a friend and insanely infuriated if it was one of those bl**dy insurance sales calls. (The phone does bounce!)
But yesterday the phone rang at about 8:00 p.m.(Late? Yes, but I'm certainly not playing hard to get, I'd still answer it if he phoned at 11 p.m. The crusty Super-Ninja-Granny has no pride in this instance.) and when I answered it and heard his voice, I went weak and sweaty at the knees. (Sweaty at the knees is not a good look for Ultra-Cool Super-Ninja-Grannies)
I held my breath, what would his answer be? Were we on or were we off? I held my breath and muted the TV. Silence filled the SofaNest.
And then he spoke, "I can start on you tomorrow and hopefully finish on Wednesday."
Two days? Only two days? Better two days than nothing.
"Oh! Yes, please...," I breathed throatily.
He's bald, he's about 4' 9", has bow-legs, wears thick specs and disgusting overalls - but the heating engineer is the only man of my dreams. My new boiler will be installed by Wednesday.
Have a wonderful day everyone of my Friends. Love from the Crusty, but Ultra-Cool, Super-Ninja Granny xxx
Copyright author 2010
•*”˜˜”*°•. ˜”*°•♥•°*”˜˜”*°•♥•°*”˜ .•°*”˜˜”*°•
The Great Cold Snap 2010 - Bulletin - Jan 11
subtitle: THE MAN OF MY DREAMS PHONED
UPDATE: Still in the SofaNest, no heating, no hot water, that sissy Miss Minerva Micra still sits in her parking rut, screaming and fainting, and no amount of smelling salts will get her to move. Though a friend collected me and took me to lunch yesterday, I still haven’t made it to the Gym's showers - they don't have a restuarant. (Primitive)
So still getting No1 daughter to stagger upstairs to the bathroom with 4 kettles and a giant pot of boiling water. Then various arcane activites take place in order to keep Ninja-Granny's crooks and nannies superclean.
A warm 0*C now at dawn, but 2cm snow last night - (I'm not sure how this "snow" business - meteorologicallyspeaking - happens. And what is a dew point? And how can the dew point be -1C? Surely dew is liquid? Liquid water can not happen at minus -1C. Well, it might if it's a molecule in the Large Hadron Collider - but this is outdoors in rural Oxfordshire. And do I really want to know the answer- unless you can explain it in two sentences or less?)
R.I.P. BARB BOON
Two days ago No1 daughter, Shans, made a snowman in our garden. (I sent a photo of it as a joke to my friend Elizabeth with the caption, "At last a man in my life!" and quick as a flash she replied, "He's too cold for you.".. Good one.)
Anyway, yesterday morning I looked out to check on the snowman and was appalled to see a small dead furry thing just below the table where I've been putting out trays of bird food. It was very obviously dead, a light dusting of frost over it.
Poor little weak thing, it must have been trying to climb onto the table for food and just couldn't make it. I was upset. I stood there, hot coffee and a HobNob in hand, feeling awful, and wondered what it was?
Reddish fur, so not a hedgehog, not a local grey squirrell, not a dormouse, not a rabbit, too small for a fox. Mystery.
Finally when my daughter came downstairs I told her all about this poor little furry mystery creature that had starved to death so close to a tray of life-giving food. She rushed over to the window and I was horrified to hear her laugh.
She turned to me and said, "Oh! Mom, it's that old stuffed baboon of mine. I tried to use it's fur to make eyebrows and a moustache for the snowman but it was too tough to tear up, so I chucked it to one side."
There is a foolishness that is beyond foolish when you discover that you have been all teared up over Barb Boon, a small stuffed toy.
..AND THE PHONE CALL
And now, on to the main subject ..the man in my life.
I have been waiting eagerly for a certain special man to phone. Day after day. Each time the phone has rung I have been disappointed to find it's a friend and insanely infuriated if it was one of those bl**dy insurance sales calls. (The phone does bounce!)
But yesterday the phone rang at about 8:00 p.m.(Late? Yes, but I'm certainly not playing hard to get, I'd still answer it if he phoned at 11 p.m. The crusty Super-Ninja-Granny has no pride in this instance.) and when I answered it and heard his voice, I went weak and sweaty at the knees. (Sweaty at the knees is not a good look for Ultra-Cool Super-Ninja-Grannies)
I held my breath, what would his answer be? Were we on or were we off? I held my breath and muted the TV. Silence filled the SofaNest.
And then he spoke, "I can start on you tomorrow and hopefully finish on Wednesday."
Two days? Only two days? Better two days than nothing.
"Oh! Yes, please...," I breathed throatily.
He's bald, he's about 4' 9", has bow-legs, wears thick specs and disgusting overalls - but the heating engineer is the only man of my dreams. My new boiler will be installed by Wednesday.
Have a wonderful day everyone of my Friends. Love from the Crusty, but Ultra-Cool, Super-Ninja Granny xxx
Copyright author 2010
08 Jan 2010 DON'T BUY FROM B & Q UK
08 Jan 2010. DON'T BUY FROM B and Q UK
Sorry all, to subject your wall to such a wall papering, and I'm not going to be offended if you delete asap, but it helps me get thru the dreary discomfort - so here we are then....
Bulletin from the Cold Snap 2010.
subtitle: DON'T BUY FROM B & Q UK
BACKGROUND: No central heating or hot water since the Tuesday before New Years Day. An engineer came,on Wednesday, got it limping along, and disappeared. Boiler worked for another 4 hours and then breathed it's last. I left a message with the Agents. They thought it was the previous message and did nothing. That took us to the long weekend of New Years. Monday the engineer returned, shook his head. The boiler now officially deceased.
The Landlord (Anglican vicar, Bless his cotton socks) delayed making a decision on buying a new boiler, whilst the Cold Snap was getting worse; until it was too late for the engineer to get one and get up our hill on the icy road to install.
Initially we survived by me living in a blanket "SofaNest" near the gas fire in the drawing room, and my daughter, Shans and her partner, using the little space heater in their bedroom.
Personal hygeine became a long and laborious issue, with much owed to wet-wipes, flannels and the kettle. (There, you can't go, "Eeeyew! Too much information," but if you were here you might go, "Eeeyew! what's that niff?") Hair-washing is an awful problem.
Forget tinsel. With no drying cupboard, damp bits of clothing have taken the place of Xmas decorations and are draped around the room as close to the little gasfire as possible.
Then, when the cold weather became more serious,(like -17*C) and this was predicted to become "The Worst Cold Snap in 30 years", I fought my way into town in Miss Minerva Micra (cars always have names if they have personality and this one does - she's shy and timid and doesn't like sharp corners or hills) and bought 2 heaters and 2 kettles - the cost to be deducted from our rent.
Miss Minnie Micra tried very hard, but she's not very strong, and she screamed and fainted halfway back up our hill. We got her into a parking place and abandoned her, carrying everything uphill to the house. I battled uphill on my sticks, very patriotic with white knuckles, red-face and cussing a blue streak.
I have taught my children that no experience is ever wasted, so I was delighted at how well No 1 daughter has learned my lessons when she pointed out that ,at least, I was getting some valuable "crutchwork" practise.
2 DAYS AGO: A big blow. One heater was useless. Didn't work.. Faulty. Inoperable. Needed to get into town to exchange it. Went to Miss Minerva and tried to get her out but she hates the cold more than I do. Couldn't move her. That was an even bigger blow.
Then Shans informed me that she'd invited a friend from Liverpool to visit. I was aghast. With no heating, or proper washing facilities - was she mad?
No, her friend had just discovered an unfaithful partner, was in bits and needed hugs, so was invited.
I felt really mean when I heard that. My "Guideline" in life is "Always help if you can," so I changed my tune and was a lot more welcoming.
YESTERDAY: When the friend arrived he turned out to have a powerful car - and great tyres!! Yay!. He drove us into town to get the heater changed, to the supermaket to replace dwindling supplies, and he helped me get my car back uphill. Bless!
We came back with the replaced heater, took out the extension cord we had just bought and plugged it in... It didn't switch on. The heater works fine. It's the brand new extension cord from B&Q - it's faulty.
I just can't face battling our way from the village back to B&Q in town over our icy local slopes to replace that cord.
TODAY (early morning) I sat up in the SofaNest until 4 a.m. listening to Shans's friend's pain. He hadn't slept for 36 hours.. I sent him off to sleep. Let the healing begin - I can talk anyone off to sleep. (Please take note Toastmasters, this is another use for public speaking)
I know he'll feel better when he wakes... he leaves this morning to battle his own way back to Liverpool and a new life.
In the meantime the heater sits humming away. Spreading warmth, far away down the passage from his bedroom door because the heater's lead isn't long enough to stretch into the room, and that brand new extension lead is faulty.
That was the second faulty item to be bought from B&Q in 2 days.
Warm hugs to all. Thankyou for all your suppport. X
Copyright author 2010
Sorry all, to subject your wall to such a wall papering, and I'm not going to be offended if you delete asap, but it helps me get thru the dreary discomfort - so here we are then....
Bulletin from the Cold Snap 2010.
subtitle: DON'T BUY FROM B & Q UK
BACKGROUND: No central heating or hot water since the Tuesday before New Years Day. An engineer came,on Wednesday, got it limping along, and disappeared. Boiler worked for another 4 hours and then breathed it's last. I left a message with the Agents. They thought it was the previous message and did nothing. That took us to the long weekend of New Years. Monday the engineer returned, shook his head. The boiler now officially deceased.
The Landlord (Anglican vicar, Bless his cotton socks) delayed making a decision on buying a new boiler, whilst the Cold Snap was getting worse; until it was too late for the engineer to get one and get up our hill on the icy road to install.
Initially we survived by me living in a blanket "SofaNest" near the gas fire in the drawing room, and my daughter, Shans and her partner, using the little space heater in their bedroom.
Personal hygeine became a long and laborious issue, with much owed to wet-wipes, flannels and the kettle. (There, you can't go, "Eeeyew! Too much information," but if you were here you might go, "Eeeyew! what's that niff?") Hair-washing is an awful problem.
Forget tinsel. With no drying cupboard, damp bits of clothing have taken the place of Xmas decorations and are draped around the room as close to the little gasfire as possible.
Then, when the cold weather became more serious,(like -17*C) and this was predicted to become "The Worst Cold Snap in 30 years", I fought my way into town in Miss Minerva Micra (cars always have names if they have personality and this one does - she's shy and timid and doesn't like sharp corners or hills) and bought 2 heaters and 2 kettles - the cost to be deducted from our rent.
Miss Minnie Micra tried very hard, but she's not very strong, and she screamed and fainted halfway back up our hill. We got her into a parking place and abandoned her, carrying everything uphill to the house. I battled uphill on my sticks, very patriotic with white knuckles, red-face and cussing a blue streak.
I have taught my children that no experience is ever wasted, so I was delighted at how well No 1 daughter has learned my lessons when she pointed out that ,at least, I was getting some valuable "crutchwork" practise.
2 DAYS AGO: A big blow. One heater was useless. Didn't work.. Faulty. Inoperable. Needed to get into town to exchange it. Went to Miss Minerva and tried to get her out but she hates the cold more than I do. Couldn't move her. That was an even bigger blow.
Then Shans informed me that she'd invited a friend from Liverpool to visit. I was aghast. With no heating, or proper washing facilities - was she mad?
No, her friend had just discovered an unfaithful partner, was in bits and needed hugs, so was invited.
I felt really mean when I heard that. My "Guideline" in life is "Always help if you can," so I changed my tune and was a lot more welcoming.
YESTERDAY: When the friend arrived he turned out to have a powerful car - and great tyres!! Yay!. He drove us into town to get the heater changed, to the supermaket to replace dwindling supplies, and he helped me get my car back uphill. Bless!
We came back with the replaced heater, took out the extension cord we had just bought and plugged it in... It didn't switch on. The heater works fine. It's the brand new extension cord from B&Q - it's faulty.
I just can't face battling our way from the village back to B&Q in town over our icy local slopes to replace that cord.
TODAY (early morning) I sat up in the SofaNest until 4 a.m. listening to Shans's friend's pain. He hadn't slept for 36 hours.. I sent him off to sleep. Let the healing begin - I can talk anyone off to sleep. (Please take note Toastmasters, this is another use for public speaking)
I know he'll feel better when he wakes... he leaves this morning to battle his own way back to Liverpool and a new life.
In the meantime the heater sits humming away. Spreading warmth, far away down the passage from his bedroom door because the heater's lead isn't long enough to stretch into the room, and that brand new extension lead is faulty.
That was the second faulty item to be bought from B&Q in 2 days.
Warm hugs to all. Thankyou for all your suppport. X
Copyright author 2010
07 JAN 2010 AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CANADIAN DOMINIONS
07 Jan 2010.
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CANADIAN DOMINIONS
We are stuck in the middle of the UK, in the middle of a Cold Snap, without any heating or hot water because our boiler has fritzed and the engineer can not reach us.
Last night, in rural Oxfordshire where our SofaNest is, it fell to -17*C. That's awful. Just awful. Just too much.
I believe that, in the Canadian Dominions, it gets much colder than this, snows more and lasts longer than the UK winter. You Canadian Dominions are abviously much better suited to this icy, Ffreeezing, white stuff than us.
Accordingly, I offer the white flag of surrender from the United Kingdoms. We give up.
We have a proposition for you...
If you take over the United Kingdoms you will get some excellent foreign soccer players; we will leave behind a vast, unwashed population of hoodies (whom you might have to shout "Mush" at in order to get them to move - but then, you have the whips and harnesses to hand anyway) AND (resist this if you can) access to the hereditary recipe for black pudding.
But, Canadian Dominions, you can't have such riches for narda,for nothing, for nought, and we United Kingdomers only require that you obtain, for us, a large tropical island with interesting wildlife, good conditions for gardening and a large population descended from rough, criminals who might replace hoodies in our affections ... Oh! I say, the tropical island of Australia just sprang to mind...
We hope to hear from you soon, and in the meantime, as a gesture of goodwill, we have voted to stop referring to you Canadian Dominions as "the Canadian Dom(estic) Minions."
Ffffff-Freezingly yours,
fffrom the Fffff-reezing United Kingdom. Xx
Copyright author 2010
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE CANADIAN DOMINIONS
We are stuck in the middle of the UK, in the middle of a Cold Snap, without any heating or hot water because our boiler has fritzed and the engineer can not reach us.
Last night, in rural Oxfordshire where our SofaNest is, it fell to -17*C. That's awful. Just awful. Just too much.
I believe that, in the Canadian Dominions, it gets much colder than this, snows more and lasts longer than the UK winter. You Canadian Dominions are abviously much better suited to this icy, Ffreeezing, white stuff than us.
Accordingly, I offer the white flag of surrender from the United Kingdoms. We give up.
We have a proposition for you...
If you take over the United Kingdoms you will get some excellent foreign soccer players; we will leave behind a vast, unwashed population of hoodies (whom you might have to shout "Mush" at in order to get them to move - but then, you have the whips and harnesses to hand anyway) AND (resist this if you can) access to the hereditary recipe for black pudding.
But, Canadian Dominions, you can't have such riches for narda,for nothing, for nought, and we United Kingdomers only require that you obtain, for us, a large tropical island with interesting wildlife, good conditions for gardening and a large population descended from rough, criminals who might replace hoodies in our affections ... Oh! I say, the tropical island of Australia just sprang to mind...
We hope to hear from you soon, and in the meantime, as a gesture of goodwill, we have voted to stop referring to you Canadian Dominions as "the Canadian Dom(estic) Minions."
Ffffff-Freezingly yours,
fffrom the Fffff-reezing United Kingdom. Xx
Copyright author 2010
06 JAN 2010 I WISH I WAS A GLOW WORM
06 Jan 2010. I WISH I WAS A GLOW WORM
Still huddled in the SofaNest. Still no heating or hot water in the Cold Snap. The Plumber can not reach us to fix the boiler because of the snow and ice.
Deep philosophy. Pay attention now:
"I wish I was a glow worm
A glow worms never glum! '
Cause how can you be grumpy
When the sun shines out your bum!"
xx Hugs from the SofaNest
Still huddled in the SofaNest. Still no heating or hot water in the Cold Snap. The Plumber can not reach us to fix the boiler because of the snow and ice.
Deep philosophy. Pay attention now:
"I wish I was a glow worm
A glow worms never glum! '
Cause how can you be grumpy
When the sun shines out your bum!"
xx Hugs from the SofaNest
03 January 2010. INTRODUCING “THE SOFA-NEST”
03 January 2010.
INTRODUCING “THE SOFA-NEST”:
•¤..¤.♥.¤..¤.´ Thank you all for your kind messages and warm wishes whilst our heating has been down and the outside temperatures are below freezing. `•¤..¤.♥.¤..¤
I've been keeping warm in the Sofa Nest, only getting up for food and nature's relief.03 January at 21:32
The SofaNest is a world and a kingdom on its own. Complete and isolated. It is an island in the stream. It is a... (but I am becoming too lyrical over something that is a heap of duvets, pillows, deep red blankets, hot-water bottles and warm autumn Throws spread all over our ancient brown sofa. The SofaNest faces the television and gas fire, behind it is a big window onto our back garden and next to it is a coffee table, littered with books, remotes, thermos and mugs. And under it is the remains .. No! No! We aren't going there. I am NOT describing the dust-bunnies for they have no names, those fluffy little things, and I like to pretend that they are strangers to me.
However, I was thinking philosophical thoughts whilst lying there (apologies to those of you very senstive ladies and/or who maybe have never had children and hence still expect a modicum of decorum from this blog) .. philosophical thoughts such as - if I were a man I would conserve heat and not have to get off the warm SofaNest to go to the Antarctic wastes of the downstairs cloakroom. A man would just turn over and pee in a Coke bottle. ... and then... I had the most deeply philosophical thought ... is it because we girls have to do that most inelegant of squats that has kept us from conquering the world?
We have the nicer natures, better brains, we have multi-tasking, we have a greater resistance to pain, we have compassion and wry, humour- yet we are reliant on modesty shields and porcelain.
That surely holds us women back from certain world domination, don't you think? Women would rule the world if we could just pee into Coke bottles (or standing up).
Hopefully the heat will be fixed in 18 hours and you will be saved any more very deeply philosophical thoughts.
Hugs from the SofaNest x
Copyright author, 2010
INTRODUCING “THE SOFA-NEST”:
•¤..¤.♥.¤..¤.´ Thank you all for your kind messages and warm wishes whilst our heating has been down and the outside temperatures are below freezing. `•¤..¤.♥.¤..¤
I've been keeping warm in the Sofa Nest, only getting up for food and nature's relief.03 January at 21:32
The SofaNest is a world and a kingdom on its own. Complete and isolated. It is an island in the stream. It is a... (but I am becoming too lyrical over something that is a heap of duvets, pillows, deep red blankets, hot-water bottles and warm autumn Throws spread all over our ancient brown sofa. The SofaNest faces the television and gas fire, behind it is a big window onto our back garden and next to it is a coffee table, littered with books, remotes, thermos and mugs. And under it is the remains .. No! No! We aren't going there. I am NOT describing the dust-bunnies for they have no names, those fluffy little things, and I like to pretend that they are strangers to me.
However, I was thinking philosophical thoughts whilst lying there (apologies to those of you very senstive ladies and/or who maybe have never had children and hence still expect a modicum of decorum from this blog) .. philosophical thoughts such as - if I were a man I would conserve heat and not have to get off the warm SofaNest to go to the Antarctic wastes of the downstairs cloakroom. A man would just turn over and pee in a Coke bottle. ... and then... I had the most deeply philosophical thought ... is it because we girls have to do that most inelegant of squats that has kept us from conquering the world?
We have the nicer natures, better brains, we have multi-tasking, we have a greater resistance to pain, we have compassion and wry, humour- yet we are reliant on modesty shields and porcelain.
That surely holds us women back from certain world domination, don't you think? Women would rule the world if we could just pee into Coke bottles (or standing up).
Hopefully the heat will be fixed in 18 hours and you will be saved any more very deeply philosophical thoughts.
Hugs from the SofaNest x
Copyright author, 2010
Monday, 18 January 2010
01 JAN 2010 - WARMEST WISHES WITH NO HEAT
01 Jan 2010.
☆¨¯`*★。。☆ 2010, Yeh!.☆¨¯`*★。。☆
Warmest, best wishes.
☆¨¯`*★ I'm hoping that all our years will be filled with love and laughter.☆¨¯`*★
PS We've started off with -2*C outside this morning and NO central heating. Brrrr! (And I've paid the bills)
No chance of finding an engineer today, so four layers of clothing over all bits of skin....
And No, I'm NOT going to cheer up - just in case things get worse. X
(3 weeks later - Just how prophetic was that last sentiment. Things were to get worse)
Copyright author 2010
☆¨¯`*★。。☆ 2010, Yeh!.☆¨¯`*★。。☆
Warmest, best wishes.
☆¨¯`*★ I'm hoping that all our years will be filled with love and laughter.☆¨¯`*★
PS We've started off with -2*C outside this morning and NO central heating. Brrrr! (And I've paid the bills)
No chance of finding an engineer today, so four layers of clothing over all bits of skin....
And No, I'm NOT going to cheer up - just in case things get worse. X
(3 weeks later - Just how prophetic was that last sentiment. Things were to get worse)
Copyright author 2010
27TH DEC 2009 WHAT A RIDE
27th December 2009
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, glass of champaign in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming, "HOLY CRAP, what a ride!"
Oh! Wait! ... that was my second marriage
Copyright author, 2009
Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, glass of champaign in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and screaming, "HOLY CRAP, what a ride!"
Oh! Wait! ... that was my second marriage
Copyright author, 2009
LAST MINUTE XMAS SHOPPING BY THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERICALS
24th December 2009
LAST MINUTE XMAS SHOPPING BY NORTHERN HEMISPHERICALS
"Now listen up.. before I do my final round of Merry Christmas greetings I have something to say to you Southern Hemisphericals (Southern Africans, Kiwis and Aussies.) It is this:
When you Southern Hemisphericals start to whinge that you have to drag yourselves out of the swimming pool to do some last minute Xmas shopping, in the heat, I want you to stop a minute and think about what the Northern Hemisphericals have to go thru to do some last minute shopping.
First, dress:
You throw on a cotton top, some shorts and a pair of slops. Preparation time 45 seconds.
It takes us longer to get dressed. Vest, sweatshirt, sweater, fleecy, gloves, long johns, socks, leg-warmers, jeans, scarf, teacosy hat, thermal socks and boots. So, about an hour later, we end up looking like the Michelin Man.
Second, logistics:
We go out to the car and do we get into it, turn the key and drive off? Do we ‘ekkerslike. Jolly horrocks to that...it takes us at least 15 minutes to get the car ready. First get out the ice-scraper and demister spray and turn the car engine on to get the heater and demister working whilst we scrape away at the iced windcreens and windows. (It can take even longer: some less environmentally aware baboons turn on the engine, go back into their warm houses and leave the engine to run for 20 minutes whilst everything defrosts.)
Then, when we get into the car do we blithely zoom off at a neighbour-endangering speed? No. we drive slowly away, slaloming down the road trying to avoid anything that looks like slick, icy patches.
So, when you are in your your cozzies, having already been to the shops, and are now jumping in and out of the pool, chugging ice drinks ... please spare a thought for us - we'll probably still be getting dressed.
Hugs x
LAST MINUTE XMAS SHOPPING BY NORTHERN HEMISPHERICALS
"Now listen up.. before I do my final round of Merry Christmas greetings I have something to say to you Southern Hemisphericals (Southern Africans, Kiwis and Aussies.) It is this:
When you Southern Hemisphericals start to whinge that you have to drag yourselves out of the swimming pool to do some last minute Xmas shopping, in the heat, I want you to stop a minute and think about what the Northern Hemisphericals have to go thru to do some last minute shopping.
First, dress:
You throw on a cotton top, some shorts and a pair of slops. Preparation time 45 seconds.
It takes us longer to get dressed. Vest, sweatshirt, sweater, fleecy, gloves, long johns, socks, leg-warmers, jeans, scarf, teacosy hat, thermal socks and boots. So, about an hour later, we end up looking like the Michelin Man.
Second, logistics:
We go out to the car and do we get into it, turn the key and drive off? Do we ‘ekkerslike. Jolly horrocks to that...it takes us at least 15 minutes to get the car ready. First get out the ice-scraper and demister spray and turn the car engine on to get the heater and demister working whilst we scrape away at the iced windcreens and windows. (It can take even longer: some less environmentally aware baboons turn on the engine, go back into their warm houses and leave the engine to run for 20 minutes whilst everything defrosts.)
Then, when we get into the car do we blithely zoom off at a neighbour-endangering speed? No. we drive slowly away, slaloming down the road trying to avoid anything that looks like slick, icy patches.
So, when you are in your your cozzies, having already been to the shops, and are now jumping in and out of the pool, chugging ice drinks ... please spare a thought for us - we'll probably still be getting dressed.
Hugs x
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