lorenzo the llama

My little grandchildren

2009-10-08T18:50:00.010+01:00

During the year two new grandchildren were born. In June the Wren had a little girl called Helena:

This is Helena with Joe.

In August Jack and Miki had another little boy, called Owen:

This is Owen and Allan together.

And lastly:

That naughty little Allan having a cuddle and a story with Grandma Jill!

Eggs, Chickens, Creation, Evolution

2009-09-08T11:25:00.006+01:00

I think I have found the perfect answer for Halfmom and Maalie. I am reading a wonderful book by Alice Thomas Ellis, one of my favourite authors. This one is called 'The 27th Kingdom'. I now quote from it:

'I was trying to think of excuses for the sea' said Aunt Irene.

'I don't think it needs any' said Kyril. 'It's much older than us. We all came out of it - funny little see-through things with monocular vision and whiskers'.

'It's a theory' explained Aunt Irene. 'Some people seem to imagine we all crawled out of the ocean some time ago as teeny little maritime bugs and then evolved into us'.

'I thought it was monkeys' said Victor.

'It was probably monkeys next' said Aunt Irene. 'After the reptiles and so on. The little squishy things turned into fish, the fish into reptiles, the reptiles into birds, the birds into ...'

'Monkeys' said Victor derisively. 'I suppose that's why they hang about in trees'.

Aunt Irene really inclined to that simplest of all views: the one expressed so cogently in the book of Genesis, which explained everything with appealing clarity. This was the only view that explained, for instance, mayonnaise. It was patently absurd to suppose that mayonnaise had come about through random chance, that anyone could ever have been silly or brilliant enough to predict what would happen if he slowly trickled oil on to egg yolks and then gone ahead and tried it.

An angel must have divulged that recipe and then explained what to do with the left-over whites. Meringues - there was another instance of the exercise of superhuman intelligence.

As the angel had left in his fiery chariot he must have added, 'And don't forget omelettes, and cake and custard and souffles and poaching and frying and boiling and baking. Oh, and they're frightfully good with anchovies. And you can use the shells to clarify soup - and don't forget to dig them in round the roots of your roses', the angelic tones fading into the ethereal distance.

It was obvious therefore that the egg had come first. There was something dignified about a silent passive egg, whereas Aunt Irene found it difficult to envisage an angel bearing a hen. The concatenation of chickens' wings and angels wings would have had about it an element of parody which would have greatly lessened the impact of the message.

There. That's that question solved!

Unfortunately I couldn't find a photo of an angel carrying either an egg or a hen so perhaps that question isn't solved after all.

Thoughts on the 65th Anniversary of D-Day.

2009-06-06T09:13:00.020+01:00

When I was a little girl Shredded Wheat was one of my favourite breakfast cereals. I had noticed that my father never ate it, and one day I asked him why. This was the tale he told me:

It all started early in June 1944. The ship's cat had recently had kittens, and my father had just found out that the cook had drowned them. He was furious. Sailors are notoriously superstitious, and to kill a cat on board a ship was a definite no-no.

The next day they set sail for Normandy with troops, ready for the invasion.

They safely delivered the troops and started the journey back to port to pick up the next soldiers, waiting to get to France.

It was morning, and my father was eating his breakfast. It was Shredded Wheat. While he was innocently chewing away, there was a huge explosion, and the boat literally split in two. His ship had hit a mine. The next moment he was floundering in the North Sea.

After about half an hour, he was picked up by a life boat and hauled on board. As he sat shivering, he realised he had something in his mouth. It was his last mouthful of shredded wheat! From that day onwards, he never touched it again.

The ship's cook drowned. He was the only casualty.

New Baby

2009-06-01T18:23:00.004+01:00

My little Wren had a little baby girl this morning! She is called Helena Rose and weighed 7lbs 1oz. I have just had a photo through from my son-in-law and would like to share it with you.

Aren't they beautiful!

I'm off to see them tomorrow, and then at the end of next week will be going down to stay for longer. I couldn't wait until then though.

Lexulous

2009-05-21T13:03:00.005+01:00

I've been really lax recently as far as blogging is concerned. One of the reasons is that I have been involved with Facebook. To be more specific, Lexulous on Facebook. This can become obsessive! Just ask Kiwi Nomad who seems to be beavering away at the game when she should have her head down and be fast asleep!

This is a game I am having with Jemima at the moment. I think it's stalemate!

Since I put this post up, Maalie pointed out that my comments were being moderated. I had no idea, but fiddled about on the settings, and lo and behold, there appeared 19 comments waiting to be moderated, all from my last post. I do apologise for not answering these comments. Until today, I had no idea they were there waiting for me. Especially the one that asked me whether I had run away with Martin. Actually, well ... er ... MARTIN ...?? where are you ..??

Late Winter Apathy!

2009-03-03T20:57:00.023Z

I don't know what it is about this time of year but I don't seem to be bothered much about doing anything, but at long last, after a few hints and nudges, I have finally managed to get myself into gear. Last month I had six days away with Maalie, and when I saw him earlier today he looked a bit mournful and asked why I hadn't blogged it yet. So hear goes.

On a cold and snowy evening we flew out of East Midlands airport (which I think was the only airport open in Britain) only four hours late. We had arrived at the airport five hours too early (Maalie rather likes to be on time and doesn't leave anything to chance). We had a delightful nine hours wait sipping tea, coffee, beer, wine and anything else we could get our hands on. Eventually we landed in Slovakia, dead of night and not a soul around! I won't dwell on the next few hours.

Perhaps February isn't the best time to visit Central Europe unless you are skiing, which we weren't, although we did have a morning on the Municipal ice rink. This was a wonderful affair. Two large ice rinks joined together by a network of small ice pathways. Maalie's not too bad at skating. He only fell once and spectacularly scattered half a dozen little children while doing so, much to the chagrin of their mothers. I'm a rubbish skater and luckily Maalie only caught me on camera in the upright position. I splatted on the ice too many times to count and ended up soaked through to the skin, with bruises all over my knees, bottom and back. My knees are still bruised three weeks later!

Posing on ice in front of the Rathaus.

Some of the frozen scenery was spectacular. Although it was wet and rainy in the towns, in the countryside there was a lot of snow.

The snowy countryside gave many opportunities for arty pictures.

The wind had blown the snow off branches, and then it froze. Amazing!

In Vienna, Maalie and I feasted on cake and coffee:

Hasn't he got nice hands!

I must say the blue Danube is grey, but it was beautiful, half frozen. Beavers live along the banks, and although we didn't see any, we saw plenty of evidence of their activity.

Birds taking off from the frozen Danube.

On one of our trips into the countryside, we visited the town of Melk. The monastry there was used in the film 'The Name of the Rose'. Mmmm .. Sean Connery.

The highlight of the week of a visit one evening to the Vienna State Opera where we saw Manon Lascaut by Pucini. This was the first time I have ever actually seen an opera in one of the grand opera houses. The word 'grand' just doesn't begin to describe it. I was so overcome by the beauty and the sadness of the final act, Maalie had to take me off to a bar for a couple of brandies to recover.

Vienna State Opera House.

And that was our week away. Maalie was the perfect host. It is so nice to travel with someone who knows what they are doing, doesn't bumble around with a confused look on their face and knows where to go for the best cake, coffee and wine! Thank you Maalie for my holiday.

On Thursday I am off to Japan for two and a half weeks, but I shall keep my eye on you all via Jack's computer. And so, to finish with, one of my heroes! Thank you Maalie for taking this photo for me. My camera had ran out of battery!

New Year in Spain

2009-01-06T16:43:00.026Z

At the crack of half past three on Boxing Day morning, we staggered out of bed and made our way to Manchester Airport to catch the plane to Gibraltar. Meanwhile the Wren and her husband were flying out from Gatwick to Malaga. We were all meeting up in Vejer de la Frontera to spend some time with Jemima and Cody. That night we all met up to swap Christmas presents and catch up on each other's news.

Since I last went to Vejer, Jemima and Cody have acquired a dog, Eva.

Peter with Eva by the fountain in the main square. Some joker had put shampoo in the water and it was bubbling all over the place.

This is Flossie, Eva's best mate. Flossie belongs to Caroline, Cody's mother.
We had great fun taking the dogs to the beach for a scamper.

One evening we went for a walk in the pine forests above Cape Trafalgar. These are the pine trees that produce pine nuts. On the way back, just as it was getting dark, we saw an Eagle Own sitting on a branch. I texted Maalie excidedly. He was somewhat envious. He's never seen one.

Eagle Owl Woods.

Eagle Owl. I didn't take this picture, by the way.

Cape Trafalgar from Eagle Owl Woods.

One day we all went into Cadiz, the nearest large town. I hadn't been there before. It is a strange place, built on a spit of land, and the highest point is only seven metres above sea level. Cadiz was beautiful, very old. Some say that it is the oldest European town. There were some huge Rubber Trees. The original seeds were brought back when the Spanish first discovered the Americas, so must be over five hundred years old.

Wren and Jemima admiring the Rubber Tree.

On New Year's Day, a gathering of Jemima, Cody's and Caroline's friends met up on the beach. It was cold. Really cold. The Atlantic waves were huge. People were wearing wet suits and surfing. Jemima got very excited and suggested we all went in. "No cozzy" said I. "Go in wearing undies" she replied. So we did! My it was cold. Once you got to knee-level, you were knocked over by the pounding surf. We didn't stay in long, but I surprised myself by having a swim in the Atlantic on New Year's Day wearing my undies! Luckily I have no photos to prove it. You'll just have to take my word!

Another silly thing we did was to clamber up a gigantic sand dune and then turned round and ran down again. That was hard work actually!

Peter and me at the top.

The week went by so quickly. It seemed like no time at all, and we were back in Gibraltar. We sat on the roof of the airport waiting until it was time to board. This cheeky little fellow wouldn't leave us alone. He was obviously after my croissant and coffee. I thought it was a Herring Gull, but Maalie assures me it's a Yellow Legged Gull. Well, he should know.

In the plane waiting to take off on the rather scarey runway. The Rock on our right, sea on our left, ahead and behind.

Looking forward to going back soon.

My Amazing Singing Christmas Tree

2008-12-21T16:21:00.015Z

The other day I bought from Netto, for £4.99, an amazing singing Christmas tree. Unfortunately as I turned the tree upside down to put the batteries in, I knocked the glowing star from the top. However, this is the tree just taken from it's box:

It starts out as a little squatty thing, but at the touch of a button, it magically comes to life and starts growing and flashing ...

... and flashing and growing ...

... and growing and flashing ...

... until it is fully grown. Then apart from the flashing, it starts to sway and dance and sing Jingle Bells in a bellowing American accent and ends up by wishing me a Happy New Year!

So now all that's left is for me to wish all my friends who read my blog, a very Happy Solstice, a Happy Christmas and a Happy New Year. If I had the technology I would have recorded Mr Tree singing to you!

Rather a good repair job with a bandage, don't you think?

Cobwebs

2008-11-30T17:18:00.011Z

It's been very cold here indeed. In fact we have had a couple of days of freezing fog.

On the up-side, everything is looking very pretty covered by whore frost. I noticed these cobwebs yesterday on my way into the village. They were woven between the railings of the Junior School Jack, Jenny, Jemima and Joe attended. I crept out this morning early to photograph them, before children poke holes in them!

A little further on was a fir tree. If only we could get a Christmas tree decorated like this one.

I looked very hard for the spiders, but couldn't see any in or around the webs. Father Ann cynically suggested that they had frozen solid on the way to the Fly Shop.

Kyoto and more impressions of Japan

2008-11-12T14:09:00.034Z

After staying the night with Yoshtsune in Osaka, we went off to Kyoto. This is a place I have long wanted to visit, ever since I read 'Memoirs of a Geisha'. The old part is filled with traditional buildings, temples, tiny roads and alleyways, and of course, the Geisha. We were extremely lucky, as we saw quite a few. They can be a bit elusive, but as it happened to be a public holiday, some were taking a stroll or a ride in a carriage.

They were so beautiful it took your breath away. Later that evening we saw some scuttling along in Gion, on their way to the tea houses, no doubt.

Kyoto was full of wonderful temples in stunning parkland and gardens. These are some of the photos:

This is the Golden Temple.

I was rather proud of this 'arty' photo!

And this one!

Thought this was pretty good too!

Some foodie images for those of you who like foodie pictures. This was the traditional/Western breakfast we had in the very nice hotel we stayed in in Kyoto. (My Christmas present from Jack and Miki!). We cooked our own eggs, mushrooms and/or bacon.

To answer to some of the points raised in my last posting: Japan is not particularly expensive, and it is a lot cheaper than London. Coffee is good and reasonably priced. (NB Berky in our deli). It is also very reasonable to eat out in Japan and a meal that would cost about £60/£70 for two people in England costs about £20/£30. Funnily enough, it is more expensive to buy groceries in supermarkets, especially things like cereal, milk and bread. You can buy a very good Japanese wine for about £4 and I tended to often buy a bottle. Sake varies in price according to the quality. I bought a bottle of Nikka Whiskey for Peter because I like the name! It also tastes good, if you don't compare it to a single malt made in one of the Outer Hebridian Islands.

Allan loves traditional food and happily munches on onigiri, nori, noodles and slurps his miso soup with gusto!

The Japanese people are extremely courteous and if you try to speak even a little Japanese, they glow with pleasure and tell you how well you speak it. I have learnt a reasonable amount of vocabulary (including some 'baby talk' from Allan ) but I do have difficulty stringing words together and using verbs. But more of this in my next posting. Yes, I have loads more photos. Miki, Allan and I went to stay with her parents in Koriyama, and I haven't even started on that yet!

One last thing though; I have never come across a public Japanese toilet that makes you want to go "bleurghhhh". They are all spotlessly clean. And the toilet seats are remarkable! I would love to bring one back to England. They have buttons down the side that can be quite alarming if you press one accidentally. There is the button that sends a jet of water up your jacksy, there is one that plays sweet music so that others cannot hear you having a tinkle and there is the, oh, oh, oh wonderful heated seat button! On a cold day you never want to get up and leave!

Japan, Part II. Impressions.

2008-11-05T10:53:00.031Z

Ted asked in my last post what my impressions of Japan are, so this is answered here.

I must say that I love Japan and I love going to Japan. Obviously I am biased because at the end of the journey there is Jack, Miki and Allan, but even so, I would still love the place, although I don't think I would like to live there.

I find Tokyo an exciting place to visit especially going into the city alone, trying to work out the involved and convoluted underground and train system, seeing the mix of traditional buildings and ultra modern buildings, and most of all, meeting Japanese people.

Allan pretending to be a commuter!

Traditional buildings in Asaska, Tokyo.

The Ginza skyline from the Emporer's Imperial Palace.

The view of the Imperial Moat with my back to the Ginza skyline.

Yes, even bloody Tesco has wormed it's way into Tokyo life.

I did rather like this sign though!

Jack lives in Hoya, which is about 25 minutes by train from one of the major Tokyo stations. Although quite densly populated, it also has a rural aspect. There are many allotments scattered around, full of delicous vegetables: diakon, brocolli, sticky potatoes and these cabbages:

Jack and I took this photo on one of our cycles rides. There seemed to be something terribly 'Zen' about the neat symetrical rows of these perfect vegetables! This is the view from Jack and Miki's flat:

The Japanese are very honest people and it simply would not occur to anyone to pop into the allotment and nick a cabbage or two. You can leave precious bonsai trees growing in pots outside the front of the house in the certain knowledge that they will still be there in the morning. Wish it was a bit more like that here.

I get the impression from Jack, although I could be very wrong here, that as far as faith goes, the Japanese are quite laid back. They tend towards Shinto for births and marriages and Buddism for deaths.

There were many statues of Buddhas around, and in one temple in Kyoto there were over a thousand of them!

There were also lots of shrines. This particular one was for lighting candles but many others were for incense. You would pay 100 yen and get a large bundle of incense, then light it and stick it in the sand. When it is smoking nicely, you wave your arms around madly, directing the smoke over you. I joined in very happily with both the candle lighting and the incense wafting. I loved it.

We spent a very enjoyable day in Osaka. We met up with one of Miki and Jack's friends, Yoshtsune and he showed us round the fleshpots of the city!

The Japanese are very into slot machine and arcade games. Their pachinko machines can become addictive.

Jack and Allan playing pachinko!

Miki beating hell out of some drums!

Our host, Yoshetsune with Allan.

After Osaka we spent two days in Kyoto, but that deserves a post of it's own.

Japan Part 1 - Birds and Fishes

2008-10-31T10:03:00.033Z

It was brilliant to be back in Japan and meet up with Jack, Miki and Allan again. Allan really loves ducks and fishes and Jack and I often popped on the bikes and took him down to a local stream to watch the Coy Carp.

The bike I rode was Miki's old one and not as posh as Jack's, but I loved it and had great fun on it. I still haven't really sussed out the rules and regulations for bike riding in Japan. Bike riders seem to have priority and zip across traffic lights and zebra crossings with gay abandon. You are allowed, nay encouraged, to ride your bike on the pavement and pedestrians just seem to sense you coming and step smartly out of the way. No rear light is needed at night and it is deemed quite acceptable to ride your bike on the wrong side of the road too.

One of the beautiful lakes we visited.

Coy Carp with one of Maalies adored Spot Billed Ducks.

These Carp were enormous. They would certainly feed a multitude. We had to make sure Allan didn't try to catch one.

Jack and I took Allan out in a swan boat.

This little chap was very friendly and circled our boat, popping in and out of the water. Looking for food maybe?

Not sure what this is, but it had an enormous beak.

Wondered whether this was a Pintail?

Perhaps Maalie can identify the bird on the left?

I love these Egrets. Although you can't see it from the photograph, they have black legs and bright yellow feet!

And Allan saying a reluctant goodbye to the ducks with Miki and her mother.

To be going on with ...

2008-10-29T03:55:00.003Z

Got back from Japan on Monday evening. I still feel very disorientated and find I am sleeping at peculiar times, half on Japanese time and half on English time. Until I get round to sorting my photos out, I thought I would share this little video. This news item was widely publicised in Japan although no-one seems to have picked up on it in England.

The man in the video is British. He decided to do a streak by the Imperial Palace in Tokyo and when chased by police, he jumped in the moat. The waters in the moat are deemed to be sacred.It took two hours for the police to catch him. I walked along by the moat a week later hoping for a replay, only to be disappointed!

Gosh. It makes you proud to be British.

In haste from Turkey

2008-10-08T07:33:00.009+01:00

I have only had two days from returning from Turkey to turnaround and head off to Japan for three weeks to see Jack, Miki and naughtly little Allan.

No time for a post on what was a very exciting holiday, but just a little momento:

A few boat names. And a couple for Miki:

And a birdie for Maalie:

I should be able to check up on you all from Japan on Jack's computer. So NO messing about please!

Holy Island

2008-09-16T19:00:00.025+01:00

Jemima and I are back from Holy Island. We broke the journey at Samye Ling, the Buddhist centre near Lockerbie, Scotland.

Lorenzo inspecting a shrine at Samye Ling.

We travelled on the next day to Ardrosson on the Ayr coast and caught the ferry to Arran and then we were whisked away by a small motor boat to Holy Island.

I had misread the course content. It was all meditation. No yoga. That's all right. We could do with some meditation.

This is Sarah our teacher in full flow during one of the sessions. She also happens to be my yoga teacher. We had an awful lot of rain, but this was one of the few times we managed to get outside for a lesson.

The day for us started at 7.30 when we had a 45 minute silent meditation in the Shrine Room. This was followed by breakfast and at 9.30 lessons and meditation up until lunch time. After lunch we had an hour to relax and have a kip -

- Lorenzo having a rest on her bunk - then at 2.45 we had an hour meditation broken after half an hour for a stretch, and then straight back into it. At 4.00 we had more teaching until supper at 6.00. At 7.00 there was Chenrezi in the Shrine Room, and then to bed ready for the morning start.

We also managed to get out for walks if the weather permitted. All the animals on the island are wild but they seem to like to congregate near the centre.

This heron had hurt his wing, not badly enough to stop him fishing and flying, but it was a bit disabling for him. He spent a lot of time just sitting on the fence at the centre and watching what was going on. He appeared to have no fear at all.

This Oyster Catcher was seen strutting about in front of the centre most of the time. There were plenty of flocks of Oyster Catchers for him to join if he chose, but he seemed to prefer hanging out with the Buddhists.

The sheep and goats love to be on the stoney sea shore.

The horses are totally wild, but there again, they do seem to like being near the centre. I did manage to let a young and rather curious colt smell my fingers and he let me rub his velvety nose!

Jemima investigating St Molaise's cave. St Molaise lived in this cave in the 6th Century, next to the Holy Spring where the waters are said to be very holy and healing.

Some of the people on the course.

More people on the course.

A bit of tai chi one afternoon by the sea.

If the clouds lifted in the evening, we got some spectacular skies.

And I can't finish without the inevitable birdie for Maalie.

Off to Scotland

2008-09-07T18:45:00.008+01:00

Jemima and I are off to Holy Isle, Scotland for a week of yoga and meditation.
See you all when we come back.

Jemima doing a perfect 'downward facing dog'.

Well, it's hard to do a perfect 'downward facing dog' in walking boots.

Sarah, our teacher demonstrating 'tree' on the trig point at the top of the hightest point on Holy Isle. Very impressive when you are wearing boots!

Back next week!

Tortoiseshell and Family

2008-09-03T10:41:00.017+01:00

Tortoiseshell arrived Monday afternoon after staying for the weekend in rainy Cumbria with Maalie. It was so lovely to see them again. I also have Jemima staying for a little while so it was doubly nice for the cousins to meet up and for Jemima see her little second cousin Heledd again. I took loads of pictures and these are some of them:

Tortoiseshell and Heledd

Kathryn and Heledd

Jemima and Heledd

Kathryn doing the washing up and sporting a fine pair of Marigolds.

Poor Mr. T. struggling through a bowl of Weetabix without sugar for his breakfast. I so rarely use sugar I forget to buy it!

Then it was off to the deli for coffee and cake.

And just to please Maalie, a picture of the cake! Two Maple and Pecan Danish (Jemima and me), one Rhubarb and Cherry Crumble (Kathryn) and one Chocolate Cake (Mr. T.)

And yes, that is a wasp on my Maple and Pecan Danish!

A final drink for Heledd before the long journey home.

Rainy Cornwall

2008-08-19T17:12:00.030+01:00

Well, Peter, Badger and I have just come back from a long weekend in Cornwall. What delightful weather we had. The rain in Cornwall is very similar to the rain in Cheshire. And Scotland. And Wales. And any bloody where else!

Rainy Cornwall.

We stayed with Jane, Peter's sister who has the sweetest little house imaginable, in Padstow. I had never been there before and I had no idea how wonderful it would be. The first evening we sat (in the rain) eating fish and chips, looking over Padstow harbour.

Peter, Jane and Badger (in the rain).

Next day we went for a long walk along the sands (in the rain). Badger hadn't seen the sea before, and had great fun chasing seagulls, swimming, digging holes and rolling in wet sand. Walking on the cliffs became a nightmare at times especially when seagulls were about. She hasn't yet sussed out heights, depths, gravity, rocks and splat.

We went off to Tintagel (in the rain). This is somewhere I have always wanted to see, but unfortunately I didn't get much of the spirit of the place, partly because of the crowds of people and partly because of a Victorian monstrosity of a hotel. Plus also loads of crap shops selling crap wizzards.

Camelot Hotel! This hotel reckoned it had the finest coffee in all of Cornwall, so we put it to the test. They are wrong but I won't be reporting them to the Trades Description Office because they were very nice to Badger and brought her a bowl of water in their exceedingly posh lounge. Outside the hotel was a very brave cat who refused to be cowed by Badger's attempts to round him up.

The warm, damp and pure air of Cornwall is condusive to all sorts of plants and lichens. Some of the lichens were so beautiful and I would love to have the knowledge about natural dyes.

Sloes and honeysuckle (in the rain). My dear old Mum used to make the most amazing Sloe Gin.

Even in the rain the scenery was wonderful.

One afternoon we saw the Air Sea Rescue Helicopter out and about (in the rain).

We were on the way to see the new Padstow Lifeboat Station (in the rain).

I can't finish without a birdie for Maalie (in the rain).

A walk through leafy Cheshire

2008-08-12T12:39:00.019+01:00

On Sunday Peter, Badger and I went off the the Macclesfield Sheep Dog Trials. Where are all the signs? I thought. Typically we had got the dates wrong. There was nothing else left to do but go to the pub for lunch.

Mmmm. That was good. Now for a walk. One of the local longish distance walks, is the Gritstone Trail. I have done quite a bit of this trail but never the part that starts near the pub by Macclesfield Forrest. Off we started our back to Teggs Nose.

This is part of a country park and is very popular with walkers and riders. I once did a cross country race which finished running up that hill. The area we were walking in is on the edge of the Peak District and the Cheshire Plain and is very good farming land.

That's enough for the fauna, now for some flora:

Rowan (Mountain Ash), Yarrow (Achillea Milefolium), Harebells and Rosebay Willow Herb.
The yarrow is mythically the herb that Achilles used to stuff in his injured ankle to try to heal it. Yarrow is a great medicinal herb and tea made from the leaves is brilliant for colds and flu. Rosebay Willow Herb is Jemima's favourite flower. She once tried to use it as a password for her ebay account, but they weren't having any of it, as it included the word 'ebay' in it.

We eventually came to the edge of Macclesfield Forrest.

A number of years ago the police found a stash of weapons hidden in the forrest by the IRA. Through the forrest and back to Ridgegate Resevoir with some coots for Maalie.

It was really nice to go for a walk so close to home that we hadn't done before. And of course, Badger loved it!

Richard Hammond

2008-08-06T17:33:00.005+01:00

Martin recently put a photo of himself up aged about twelve, looking very dashing with a pint of shandy and a fag. I thought he looked a bit like Richard Hammond. Shammy wants to know who and what Richard Hammond is. So here he is.

He had the most dreadful high-speed crash a couple of years ago and the whole country waited biting their nails and willing him to get through it. Apart from being simply gorgeous, he is a very affable and popular bloke, all five foot of him. This was the news clip after the crash.

His nickname in Top Gear the motor programme he co-presents with Clarkson and James May, is 'The Hamster'.

Little Hammond made a full recovery and within a few months he was back on Top Gear doing mad and stupid things. Just like Martin.

New Toy

2008-07-27T14:57:00.012+01:00

This is my new toy:

It's a branch lopper. You can hold it up and cut away branches that are just too high to reach with ordinary clippers. Just look at the lethal blades. They slice through branches like butter.

I have been lopping madly and wildly with the result that I have a huge pile of cuttings and clippings waiting to be burned on my next bonfire. I am lucky enough to have a woody bit at the bottom of the garden, but too many bonfires upset the neighbours, especially if they are sitting out having a soothing glass of gin during the morning.

The pile. Or perhaps I should say pyre.

Also bought in a mad splurge of consumerism, some dinky little crooks to hang my bird feeders on.

I also got this little spiral to hang Cheeky Norman's fat balls in. It took the squirrels less that twelve hours to pull it to pieces and scatter poor Norman's balls over the garden. Cheeky Norman is our greengrocer who supplies all sorts of delights and delicacies including an extensive range of bird food.

Bargain of the week: beautiful book on gardening - four quid from the charity shop.

I cannot finish this posting without a word about Maalie's unhealthy, but beautifully photographed, breakfast. I had a bowl of meusli with mashed banana, skimmed milk, goji berries and a dollop of yoghurt.

This was followed by Fair Trade Organic coffee which is really one of the best coffees I have ever had, not a bit like that horrid stuff from Nicaragua we all drank a few years ago in solidarity with the Nicaraguans. Added was a soupcon of single cream. Not squirty cream which is full of air.

And a vitamin pill.

Yes. Well. Seeing what I eat and what Maalie eats for breakfast, I shouldn't really be surprised that he escapes when he stays with us. I expect he goes to the nearest transport caff for a fry-up.

Clints and Grykes

2008-07-21T10:24:00.008+01:00

I was up in Yorkshire at the weekend staying with friends. One of them casually asked me during our walk through horizontal rain: "Do you know what clints and grykes are?".

I was tempted to reply "I'll show you my clint if you will show me your gryke" but because they are polite people I meekly said that no, I didn't. I'll show you, says he.

This is an example of a clint and gryke. The clint is the bit of rock and the gryke is the space in between. I was given a geology lesson about glaciers, water, limstone, carboniferous thingies, but basically they are bits of rock that form a sort of pavement, and very useful they are too when it is wet and the bog is coming through your boots, your socks are wringing wet and the pub is still another four miles away and you are getting more intelligent conversation from the sheep than ... oh I could go on. They are nice and hard and you don't go squish into them and loose your boot on the pull out.

Here's some more of them.

And some more.

And yet more.

So now we know what clints and grykes are. Bully for us.

Food Obsession

2008-07-10T15:36:00.008+01:00

I've noticed Maalie is taking more than a passing interesting in his food and drink and is making time and taking the trouble to photograph it. What a good idea. I can do that too.

This is my lunch. Tinned tomatoes on toast with a smidgen of black pepper. Followed by

a cup of tea, milk, no sugar and

a couple of Digestive bickies and

a nice pair. Whoops. A nice pear.

Marigolds, Nasturtiums and Feverfew

2008-07-02T21:01:00.012+01:00

What a bugger computers are! It has been on a go-slow and sulk all day. It refused to download the piccies I had just taken of my garden. With the aid of headphones, Skype and a certain amount of emotional blackmail, I persuaded Jemima to talk me through how to get into the bowels of the computer and sort out the problem. Phew. Done it.

Here are some flowers that have appeared in my garden. I love these semi-wild flowers that seed themselves promiscuosly each year.

Nasturtiums. They are so bright and cheerful and are scattered about the garden with gay abandon. I also have various hues of yellow but this, my very favourite:

It's a sort of maroon colour and certainly I shall try to save some seed and hope it will come true to colour next year.

Feverfew. This makes brilliant cut flowers that last for ages, especially if mixed with:

Lady's Mantle. I love the leaves on this plant. When it has rained, the drops cling to the leaves like jewels.

Marigolds. One of my favourite flowers. When I was at school I used to tell everyone my middle-name was Marigold. I even told a couple of boyfriends that was my first-name.

Welsh Poppies. These get everywhere.

Creeping Jenny. These creep everywhere.

This year I have been meticulous in dead-heading the fading flowers. Every morning and evening I prowl round the garden with my scissors and snip happily away. Because of this they have been flowering for weeks on end and I can see more and more flower buds developing.

And this is my latest garden ornament:

A water butt. When I was staying with Jenny recently I was so impressed with her butt (!) I went to B&Q as soon as I got home and got one for myself. Thanks Jenny!

In Spain

2008-06-24T17:19:00.011+01:00

I've been down to Spain to visit Jemima and Cody in their flat in Vejer de la Frontera. Jemima has been living there since Christmas and this was the first time I had managed to go over.

This is the street where they live.

Their patio is against one of the old castle walls, and one evening Jemima and I Shinned up for a look over the roof of the castle. It was lovely up there and you could see for miles.

This is the view over the town from the castle roof.

We were about fifteen miles from the sea, so one morning we went to Cape Trafalgar where Nelson met his Waterloo.

The lighthouse at Cape Trafalgar. Late night radio addicts will know it comes after Finesterre in the shipping forecast.

All along the coast were the sad remains of wrecked dinghies that had been washed up. They started out in Africa with illegal immigrants hoping to make a new life in Europe, but many of them don't survive the journey. The Straits of Gibraltar are now so closely patrolled that it would be impossible to even swim across it without being spotted.

While I was there, Jemima collected her kitten from Cody's mum Caroline. At last it was old enough to leave it's mother. It is a sweet little thing, tabby and covered in fleas. They have named him Whitby after the town in which Cody was born. Cody persuaded it to help him tidy up the patio, and Whitby got so tired he fell asleep in the dustpan.

Caroline is brilliant and we spent some time at her house. I won't print her picture as she wouldn't like it. She screwed her face up just as I was clicking!

Cody and Jemima having a hug!

Jemima and Whitby having a hug.

Back home now from a very enjoyable trip and once more my garden seems to have excelled itself in getting out of control as soon as I turn my back on it.

This afternoon I saw a Nuthatch climbing up one of the sycamore trees. I excitedly told Maalie. "Nah", he said, "it was probably a Great Tit". "No it wasn't", I replied. "Well it was probably a Chaffinch moulting". "Certainly not", I cried. "Well" he said, "then it was an escaped budgerigar". "Rubbish!!" Then he said, "it couldn't have been a Nuthatch as I haven't any nut trees".

Game, Set and Match to Maalie!

Wither didst thou come?

2008-06-12T18:43:00.011+01:00

Look at these ladies that arrived unanounced in the garden:

I noticed the leaves coming through earlier in the Spring but assumed they were comfrey plants. I grow comfrey to help the compost heap go off, and it does tend to spread itself about with gay abandon.

I've got tall ones and

short ones. And who do you think I found sleeping on my new fuschia?

That naughty Scaredy cat.

I'm off tomorrow to stay with my daughter in Spain for a few days and then to stay with my daughter in Brighton. Should be back at the end of next week. Just in time to miss Maalie as he goes a'gallivanting off again.!

Baby Birds

2008-06-04T20:46:00.010+01:00

Two days ago I sent a text to Maalie, who was gallivanting about up a mountain in foreign parts, asking him what to do about a baby crow I had found. I asked him whether I should perhaps give it some cat food to keep it going until it had learned to fly. The callous reply back was "either put it back where you found it or knock it on the head".

Sod that I thought. I went down to the bottom of the garden where the baby crow had taken refuge on top of the compost heap, and scooped a spoonful of food out of one of Scaredy's tins. The bird hopefully opened it's beak wide so I popped a bit of food in, and then made a hasty retreat as I was being dive-bombed by angry parent crows.

Today I saw what I thought was a frog hopping across the lawn. When I went to investigate I found it was a baby coal tit that had just fledged.

The nest is in the corrugations of the garage roof and I had been watching the parents flying in and out feeding their babies for the last few days.

This is the parent bird just about to pop into it's nest. I heard a few indignant tweets from the bird as it circled about, so I backed off, scooped up Scaredy and shut him in a room upstairs for the day.

I went back outside to check on 'my' bird and found Badger trying to round it up.
A very firm and assertive "NO, LEAVE" and Badger left. I couldn't have Badger trying to bite it on the back leg, could I?

Bit more on Peru

2008-05-28T17:34:00.018+01:00

When we flew in over Lima, my heart sank. It was awful. All along the coast was desert: dry, dusty and ugly. The city of Lima was horrible. "What have I let myself in for?" I thought. "Why did I say yes to Peru when I really wanted to go to Nepal?"

The driving was utterly unbelievable. Even in Italy I haven't see such driving! The only reason there aren't more accidents is that the traffic moves fairly slowly because of the crush of cars, buses and angry pedestrians. The Peruvians prefer to drive on the right but quite happily drive on the left to avoid potholes, or drive on the pavement if it looks as though it might be quicker. No one takes any notice at all of traffic lights or roundabouts. There seems to be a constant war between cars and pedestrians with about equal casualties on each side.

My favourite advertisment.

After we left Lima to start our trekking, everything changed. The high Andes are beautiful and the bird life, the flowers and shrubs are fantastic.

We saw and identified enough birds to make Maalie's eyes water! Here are some of them:

This little chap is a Rufous Collared Sparrow. I spent quite a while watching him while in the ruins of Machu Picchu. He was very friendly and hopped about unconcerned that I was experimenting with my new camera. Machu Picchu and our trek were fabulous and deserves a whole posting. I am trying to sort the photos out and it is taking such a long time as I keep popping off to visit friends and relations. However, to be going on with:

We also spent time in Puno on the shores of Lake Titicaca, the highest navigatable lake in the world. We went to see the floating islands. These were originally made when the Peruvian Indians fled from one of the many invading armies. The islands are totally made of reeds and last about fifty years before having to be re-built.

We saw this sad little Night Heron looking very forlorn.

They capture the poor little buggers and then when food gets a bit tight, they eat them. They are known as 'water chicken'. They also had a couple of Neotropic Cormorants. These are never eaten, but used as medicine. They take some of the cormorant's blood, mix it with wine and use it as a cure for epilepsy.

The most spectacular bird was the Andean Condor.

We saw these very early one morning in the Colca Canyon. They were huge, in fact the world's largest flying animal. They eat carcasses, and actually have trouble taking off again after a hefty meal. These massive birds glide about on the thermals and seem quite curious about the people watching them.

OK, I know these aren't wild birds, but I liked the way they came down to the swimming pool for a quick dip.

And this is the randy cock that was giving all the hassle to the hen in my last posting.

Llama, llama, llama

2008-05-17T15:17:00.019+01:00

Peter and I have been to Peru for just over three weeks. I am still jet lagged, although yesterday I was hyper-active. Just to tide over until I can write a proper posting, I'll put a few photos of my friends and relations.

This little fellow is an alpaca. Alpaca have the second warmest fleece in the world. The warmest belongs to the polar bear, but if you feel like shearing a polar bear, then you are welcome to try. Maybe the Aussies would be prepared to give it a whirl.

Bliss. A whole corale of llamas and alpacas!

This is a vicuna. They have the softest fleece in the world and their wool is the most expensive you can buy. A scarf of vicuna fibre would cost about 1,000 US dollars.

Herds and herds of the little buggers.

This is Lorenzo taking a photo of her beloved llamas.

I walked into a little hut looking for the loo and found a room full of Guinea Pigs. I picked up some of the babies to give them a stroke, but they wriggled a bit. Obviously they are not used to being fussed over.

This hen has just rebuffed the attentions of the cockerel. He was a bit pushy actually. I don't think chickens go in for foreplay very much, but this lady managed to escape from him.

Spotty pigs, long-haired ginger pigs and little black pigs roam all over the place.

We even managed to find a border collie puppy who was the image of Badger.

But this is my favourite picture ...

... a llama pooing!

Lots and lots of family

2008-04-21T21:44:00.009+01:00

What a hectic few weeks it's been. Family everywhere! Cousins, second cousins, uncles, aunts, sons and daughters all arrived from various points to meet up with Jack, Miki and Allan. There was a large Joe and Kerry shaped hole. They are having a lovely time and are now in Nepal.

Jack, Miki and Allan.

Allan's second cousin Jimmy.

Jack with second cousin Heledd.

Maalie with his little grandson Jimmy.

My lovely family!

I had hoped to show lots of photos but time has run out. I am desperately typing this and have to stop now, get to bed as tomorrow we are off at the crack of dawn for one of our adventures! Keep an eye on my blog for me!

Badger meets Allan

2008-04-07T14:38:00.007+01:00

Jack, Miki and Allan flew into Manchester airport yesterday evening. Allan was irritible because he hadn't been very well and the journey had been tiresome. However, when he met Badger he changed into a happy little boy!

Badger wasn't sure quite what to make of Allan, but she ended up by giving him a lick of approval.

Scaredy, on the other hand, dislikes children intensly, so he fled.

Jack, Miki and Allan are over from Japan for two weeks, so I hope many more photos will follow.

How to keep your husband healthy

2008-03-28T15:42:00.014Z

Spurred on by Magdalene, I will now give you my recipe for chip pie together with my general philosophy on how to have a healthy husband.

CHIP PIE
First of all you go to Netto and buy a packet of pastry which you proceed to roll out.

Then it's a quick nip out to the Strawberry Pig to buy some chips.

Come back home and place the chips within the pastry. Turn it into a pasty shape and crimp up prettily. Cook.

While this is cooking, put some cabbage on to boil. Make sure this is boiled for at least one hour. It needs to be very soft and tender.

Look in the cupboard for a tin of spam. Open and cut up artistically.

Arrange pie, cabbage and spam on plate. Cover with sauce.

Serve sitting in front of the television, preferably while Eastenders is on. Supply at least ten cans of lager. No Glass. Straight from the tin.

Make sure there is plenty of nice sliced white bread to mop up the sauce and any fat that oozed out of the chips and pastry.

For pudding serve a doughnut.

And to round the evening off nicely, a few fags.

I'm a great believer in healthy living, so as soon as the meal is eaten, the lager drunk and the fags smoked, a good hard game of Squash is advised. Follow my regime and you too can have a healthy husband.

My Song

2008-03-22T11:27:00.003Z

Peter has been making me dig the garden, cut trees down, build him a new boat, paint the house and lay some turf. I have been a bit too tired to blog recently and feel very much like Mrs Doyle.

Joe and Kerry

2008-03-05T15:38:00.007Z

This is my son Joe and his fiancee Kerry. For quite a long time they have been planning to backpack around the world, taking about two years over it.

Of course I have been in total denial about their going. On Monday 25th February, to my surprise and horror, it was time for their off. Peter and I took them to Manchester Airport for the first leg of their trip. To Delhi. As a result of the torpor that has smitten me since their going, I have hardly bothered to switch the computer on; that's why there has been no new posting and very few comments on other peoples' blogs.

I had a phone call from Joe the other day. They moved from Delhi to Jodhpur and are now up by the Pakistan border.

Tearful goodbyes at Manchester Airport. (Mine, not theirs'!)

The Runaway

2008-02-23T20:55:00.001Z

Shining Tor

2008-02-18T16:55:00.019Z

Is this map better for you, Your Highness. I have now carefully selected a map that is not O.S. If all Lorenzo's friends demand the old map back, then she will be only too delighted to oblige and sod the consequences!!

In answer to Rob's question, Shining Tor is the highest point in Cheshire at 1,834 feet. No Everest, but still quite a pull up. The Cheshire/Derbyshire border runs along the ridge of Windgather Rocks, Pym Chair, Cats Tor and Shining Tor. Peter, Badger and I decided to go for a walk along the top, down through to the Goyt Valley and up again through Erwood woods, probably about six miles.

Lorenzo straddling herself between Cheshire and Derbyshire.

The path up to the top used to be a nightmare as it passed through peat bogs, but in the last couple of years it has been paved with granite slabs.

I spent time studying these granite blocks and I saw some fossils in two of them.

Now what do you make of these two Maalie? I think it just goes to show, that without a shaddow of doubt, australopithecus robustus wore trainers and rode a bike.

Up we scrambled

and then I proved that Martin is not the only one to be run over by a steam roller.

We reached the summit.

Badger was having a wonderful time, but unfortunately she didn't see any grouse to chase.

We skirted past the ruins of Erwood Hall and made our way back uphill. We passed this sweet little shrine in the woods.

This shrine is still used a lot. There were prayers and petitions written out and left. Someone had been burning a candle. It's a nice little place and very peaceful there.

It was getting really cold by this time. We hurried back to the car. "Beer time" said Peter so it was off to The Swan, his favourite pub. Even after the walk he was still able to manage a sprint in from the car park.

No guesses who had to drive home.

Daddy Part I.

2008-02-11T10:01:00.000Z

My father was born on 23rd November 1916 in Catford, South London and baptized Allan James.

This is the earliest photo I have of him. They moved about a bit, to Birmingham, to Llanelli, to Burry Port and ended up in Cardiff.

Here he is on holiday somewhere or other, but it would be in South Wales. He came from a very devout Catholic family and was an alter boy at Mass. Unfortunately he got drummed out as he and his friend were found pissed on alter wine. He always was a disrespectful little bugger. He enrolled at the Nautical College at Cardiff University as a Cadet and learned to be a sailor.

This is him in his Cadet costume. He hadn't been at the college long when his loving and much loved father, James Allan died.

Photographs of Grandpa Jimmy are rare, but this is one with my father and my wonderful and naughty Grandma Gladys. Grandpa Jimmy was on leave from the First World War at the time. He had been somewhere in the desert and suffering great thirst. My grandmother sent him some Andrew's Liver Salts as she thought it would be 'refreshing'. It gave all the soldiers diarrhoea.

Money was a bit tight when Grandpa died, so my father offered to leave the college and become a postmaster, something he had secretely wanted since being a little boy. My grandma wouldn't hear of it and promptly married George who had had his eye on her for years!

This is their wedding day. Grandma grew to love George and they had a very happy and loving marriage. I remember him as one of the kindest men I have every met. One day little Maalie in a fit of hyper-activity, knocked the heads off the beloved peonies that George had cultivated from seeds. His reaction was to bite his lips together, then hiss: "the little devil", stomp off to his potting shed to recover, come out again, pick up young Maalie and kiss him!

However, I digress. War came and Daddy went to sea.

On one of his leaves he met Hilda Gertrude, fell in love and they became engaged. On another leave, she was waiting at the quayside to greet him as his boat came in, and he shoved a brown paper parcel in her hands. She opened it. It was a length of white silk he had bought in the Far East. He asked whether she could get it made up into a wedding dress, as he had a week's leave. They got married by special licence and had a two-day honeymoon in Porth Cawl. When he returned to Cardiff, he found his ship had suffered damage in a bombing raid and it was six weeks before it was fit to leave again, so they had six wonderful weeks living on board.

This is their honeymoon photo!

My father had many adventures during the war, which are for another post. But the greatest one was when he was torpedoed off the coast of Africa. When they were in the lifeboat the U-boat surfaced and came along side them. The Master offered to take them back to Germany as prisoners of war, or to let them take their chances in the lifeboat. By mutual consent they decided to stay in the lifeboat. The German Master then offered them food, water and first aid which was gratefully accepted. The U-boat submerged and buggered off.

To be continued.......

Mum. Part I.

2008-01-31T16:24:00.000Z

I decided I would carry on from a previous post. I've been doing a bit more scanning of old photos ready to do another post on my ancestors. Today's post is on my mother's early life.

This is the first photo ever taken of her. She was born on 10th November 1918 in Lowestoft, Suffolk just a few hours before the Armistice was signed. They then moved to Yoevil in Somerset and then on to Clacton-on-Sea in Essex.

She is about three here with her favourite dolly.

Five years old with baby sister, my Aunty Kath.

These are Mum's parents. Grandpa Tom and Grandma Gertrude.

I think Mum is six here. I remember she told me that the little dress and hat she wore was made of paper. She is at a fancy dress party.

Mum and Aunty Kath grew up a bit ...

... and became young ladies. Here they are with their parents.

This was taken just before she left home to work in London. Because of the bombings she was evacuated to Cardiff, which is where she met my father.

My father was in the Merchant Navy and was heavily involved in the Atlantic convoys.

When Mum and Dad got engaged, Mum had some photos taken. This is the one she gave my father to take away with him. He was subsequently torpedoed off the coast of Africa. Being the senior officer, he had to take the names of the survivors in the lifeboat. The only paper he had was my mother's photograph which accounts for the fact that it is a bit dog-eared. It had been in the water with him. On the back of this he wrote the names of the surviving crew.

It's a bit faint now, but perhaps you can just make out some names and the salt stains. How my father got back to Cardiff from the Atlantic off Africa is another posting.

They got married and had Maalie and Lorenzo!

At the Bridgewater Hall

2008-01-21T15:37:00.000Z

In Manchester we have a very fine concert hall, the Bridgewater. This was built to replace the old Free Trade Hall, which had been home to the Halle orchestra for donkey's years. The Bridgewater is modern architecture at its best.

This is a view of the building from the outside, and ...

this is a view of the auditorium, looking down from the stage. Peter and I always get more or less the same seats. They are on the left looking out from the stage, and two floors up. They are immediately over the orchestra, so apart from listening to the music you can watch what the musicians are doing. Once I saw a trombonist reading a magazine. He had it on his music stand and read when he wasn't playing.

Last night we heard two pieces of music. The first was Braham's 1st Piano Concert.
The guest pianist was a young man called Sunwook Kim. He is Korean. He is eighteen years old and last year he won the prestigeous Leeds International Pianoforte Competition.

Because of our elevated position immediately over the orchestra, we had an brilliant view of him. He played like a man possessed! He was wonderful, dipping and swaying, reaching great heights of ecstasy. During one his more orgasmic moments, I winked at him. More dipping and swaying, musical genius shining from every pore. He was positively glowing. At the end of the piece, after many curtain calls he spontaneously gave us an encore. The audience went wild. More bows, smiles, and I can't be absolutely certain, but maybe a wink in my direction!

What a little sweetheart. (Or sweetpump, for Maalie).

After the interval (when Peter downed a glass of gin) it was time for Beethoven's Symphony No. 7. This is one of my very favourites. It was my turn to dip and sway and reach great heights of ecstasy. I'll not mention a word about orgasmic moments.
Peter looked at me. He looked away. He looked again. He nudged me. "Behave yourself. Pull yourself together. You're making Beethoven blush".

Lorenzo's on a Diet

2008-01-15T13:10:00.000Z

The other day I optimistacally hopped onto the scales. I started quietly weeping. "Pull yourself together you stupid old bat" I said severely.

Well all this extra weight that seems to have crept on uninvited during the last year accounts for the fact that my running is more like shuffling, than striding out over the hills with gay abandon. In fact one friend said to me recently, and I quote "I've seen trees moving faster than you do".

There's nothing for it. Drop calorie intake, increase calorie expenditure. Off to the library and get out some books. Mmmm .. this looks interesting

Patrick Holford's Low GI Diet. I'll get that out. Bloody Hell! You need a PhD in Chemistry to understand this. I'll look at the recipes. Huh. They don't look very interesting, but I take his point and I'll try to work out my own. See what that old McKeith woman has to say.

Don'tcha just hate her? Why then do I buy her books and avidly watch all her telly programmes? Maybe Carol will have a thing to two to say. Or perhaps a Juice Diet?

At this very moment I am drinking a beetroot, apple, carrot and ginger juice. The Juice Lady says it is very good for me. Trouble is, I'm going riding in an hour and I don't like the thought of it slurping around inside me while Peppermint is running.

So, on with the pedometer for the 10,000 steps a day. Up the yoga. Up the running. Up the cycling. Hope I won't be too tired to blog.

Meeting up with Maalie, Simon and Suzie

2008-01-07T11:36:00.000Z

It's ages since I've done a post so I thought I had better get on with one double quick.

On 27th December Peter and I went up to the Lake District. We stayed in a handy pub in Conniston, near enough to Maalie's, handy for walking and one that would take dogs. Fat lot of walking we did. It poured. We hurried out for one minute at a time, just long enough for Badger to have a pee, then back to the car. I would have taken a picture of the scenery but it is hard to focus on mist and fog.

The 28th saw us arriving at The Royal Maalie Court. What a lovely place. Relaxing, friendly and full of food and drink. Kick off your shoes, flop down and make yourself at home. Wonderful to see Simon again and to meet his daughter Suzie.

Maalie had our day organized down to the last minute. Off to Furness Abbey.

This Abbey was destroyed during the Dissolution of the Monastries. It was a beautiful place, very atmospheric. Simon thought he was a monk.

We wandered about, exclaiming at the architecture, shivering but glad that at least we were outside.

Simon and Suzie huddling up for warmth.

Mmm ... it's not as good as Sidney Opera House. Enough of this. Let's get to a pub. Off to the Black Dog. Hey, this is wonderful. Food, drink and Maalie doing the driving. Simon burried himself in a plate of Tiger Prawns. "Bloody great mate" he exclaimed appreciatively to the waitor. The waitor beamed.

Back to the Royal Court for a zizzzzzz. I decided that I needed my quota of daylight hours so took Badger for a cold, blustery, wet and exhilerating walk along the Duddon Estury.

Goodness gracious me!! Badger is in the sea. Swimming. In this weather. Bloody Hell. Never mind. It's warm back at the court and Maalie won't mind a bit her shaking. Bugger. She's rolling in the sand and mud. BADGER!!!! Come here you ....... dog. Never mind. Maalie won't mind a bit her drying herself on his carpets.

Back to the Court. Sneak Badger in while Maalie is watching 'Extreme Bird Watching and Ringing with James May' on More 4.

Off we go now to visit Ringing Ken and Linda, friends of Maalie, and now our friends too, after that lovely trip to Spain. Cake. Tea. Warm fire to sit in front of. Pity we couldn't have brought Badger to dry off. Never mind, she will be doing very well at Maalie's.

After a pleasant time with Ken and Linda, it's off back to the Court. Phew, Maalie hasn't noticed all the sand and dried mud on the carpet. Now it's time for 'evening buffet'. In other words, all the stuff he wants to get finished before he's off on his travels again. It's serious drinking time after all the driving he's done today.

Good Grief. What a glum pair.

Ah, that's better.

Glad to see Simon could still manage two at a time.

Peter joined in with gusto.

So it was back to Conniston, and who do you think had to do the driving? Who do you think was the only sober one? Who do you think didn't guzzle McEwens Export all evening? Yes .. well. When we got there, the bar was still open. "How about a snifter before we go to bed" I asked longingly. "No, I don't think so. I've had enough" said Peter.

Shit.

My Ancestors

2007-12-14T11:13:00.000Z

I have just been reading Martin's posting and admiring the very beautiful photo of his grandmother. This has inspired me. So, instead of Maalie in his underpants, I will print some pictures of some of my ancestors.

This is my Grandma Gertrude. She died just before I was born. She was my Mum's mum.
I was very nearly called Gertrude after her, but Mum objected strongly and they all settled on my middle name being the same as Grandmother's which is why my middle name is 'the'.

The fine handsome fellow on the back row on the left is my Grandfather Tom. I do remember him, just, and was scared of him because he had a moustache. My Mum said he loved me very much and called me his 'piece of Dresden China'. Isn't that nice? The guy next to him is his brother Bob and the fierce looking couple in front are my Great Grandparents.

This is Grandma Gladys, Grandpa Jimmy and my father Allan ...

This is Grandma Gladys and my father ...

And this is Great Grandpa John Thomas, Grandpa Jimmy, Allan my father and the little chap clutching his John Thomas is my Uncle Bernard, commonly known as 'Bunny'.

This is a photo of Grandma Gladys with George on their wedding day staring soppily at each other. My poor Grandpa Jimmy died tragically when he was 49 and George stepped smartly in to fill the gap left in all their lives. Well, not that smartly actually. It took a coupla years.

And this ....

... is my Uncle Foxy the great escape artist and this is ...

... his lady wife, my Aunty Mabel.

Growing up with Maalie (part one)

2007-12-03T18:55:00.000Z

Two things have happened recently. The Musician has flogged me his redundant scanner and I had some positive feedback about Maalie from my last post. Now you might not think these two things are related, but ... the scanner has enabled me to get some old photos onto the computer. Let's go:

This is probably the first ever photograph of the famous TV star of 'The Nature of Britain' in the arms of his Mum. We move on to small boy with little sister:

I always looked up to my big brother. After all, he was taller than me. As children we did a lot together, dammed streams, climbed trees, explored the countryside, went on cycle rides and generally had a happy, carefree childhood.

This was after our father pushed young Maalie into the sea off Canvey Island. He was scratting away in the sand and it all got too much for my father. He couldn't resist giving him a shove.

He grew into Maalie the fisherman.

We had many really lovely holidays on Gower in South Wales.

Maalie the rugby hero. I remember going along to the Grammar School to watch him play for the 1st XV. He thought I was going to cheer him on. Oh no. I was going to watch all those lovely 6th formers with their muscular thighs, the mud, the scrums ... oh oh oh ... Beckwith, Andrews, McGill- where are you now?

Maalie's interests were never ending. He took up horse riding in a big way.

He went to University. He learned the ways of a student.

He bought a motor bike and became Maalie the rocker.

He became Maalie the pin-up and sex god.

He became Maalie the father.

He became Maalie the grandad.

He became Maalie the TV Star.

Or at least, his hand did.

Maalie on the Telly

2007-11-29T10:25:00.000Z

Last night I discovered an old bottle of Cointeau hidden at the back of a cupboard. I'll have that, I thought. I settled down to work on my soon to be finished, multi-coloured crochet shawl, and put Corry on.

Nice isn't it? Still I bet everyone will pretend they don't know me when I am wearing it, just like they did when I proudly wore my Lowestoft's fisherman's oilskins and sou'wester. It can be very hurtful when your family disown you.

I digress. There was an exciting episode of Coronation Street and wise words from The Diet Doctors when they failed to make an 18 stone lady lose weight! She actually put on 7lbs by the end of the programme. She was a stroppy little madam and wouldn't give up smoking for anyone, let alone the doughnuts, so perhaps not so wise words after all.

Digressing again. Should I make a cup of cocoa and get a digestive bickie or carry on watching. Decided on another Cointreau. Ooo, it's Alan Titchmarsh. Ooo it's nature. Well, this was interesting. All about male dotterels being cuckolded by their mates (nice one Alan), sphagnum moss and skylarks. I never knew sphagnum moss could be so interesting. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard this blonde Sheila (Maalie's word, not mine) start speaking in a 'David Attenborough' type hoarse, throatie whisper.

"If we are very quiet, and we creep up slowly, we might just see a twite in his own habitat". Cut to Maalie with something in his hand. Oh he did look nice in his little woolly hat. I think he must have known they were coming, because it's not always safe to creep up on Maalie in woods or lay-bys. You never know what he might be doing.

"What's that in your hand, my good man?" the Blonde asked. "errrrrrm ... it's a tit" replied Maalie. Close up of tit in Maalie's hand.

"Yes, very nice" she said peering closely at it. "I see you are holding it between your fingers". "eeerrrm .... yes. That's how you hold them. I'm going to let it go when I have put this little red ring on it's little brown leg".

Maalie deftly shoved a red plastic ring on the little brown leg. The tit was ready for release.

"Do you want to do it?" he breathed at the Blonde.

"Oh not again" she sighed. "We've only just finished you runcible man".

"Er, no, I meant let it go"

"Oh. Yes. Of course".

She took the little bird carefully in her hands and crushed it to death.

"Shit" muttered Maalie.

Lorenzo in Love

2007-11-27T17:09:00.001Z

I'm in love. I know I have been in love before (well quite a few times actually) but this time it's for real and I am hoping for a long and happy relationship. He has grey hair, very dark eyes, a bit hairy in places, and he gives a really good ride.
His name is Peppermint.

A few years ago my old friend and running partner JennyTom aka Pallie persuaded me to give riding a go again. I hadn't ridden since a teenager, when being fearless and daring I did anything my school friend Fenella suggested and the result was I became a gibbering wreck and stopped going to play with horses.

I thought Jenny was more mature and sensible than Fenella so we started going to riding lessons. Jenny is a good rider and has even owned her own horse. I was wrong about her being more sensible and mature than Fenella though. One bloke described her as 'riding horses like a motor bike'.

Jenny hurtling about on Oscar.

Over the last few years we have tried different stables and even had a riding holiday in Gran Canaria, but my confidence dwindled and I stopped going. Now Jenny has found yet another place to ride and I have found Peppermint. From the moment I hauled myself onto his back I felt at home.

He is so comfortable to ride. His canter is like sitting in an armchair. I feel confident on him. He is also a stubborn little bugger who tries it on. Yesterday he pretended he wanted to poo. He must have stopped four times and eventually squeezed a tiny little turd out.

'He's taking the piss' the instructor shouted.
'It's poo' I shouted back.

He refused to go into the corners, trot properly, walk out smartly.

'Whack him one' Joy bellowed.
'Arh, poor Peppermint' I murmered lovingly as I flicked him gently on his rump.

'Give it a bit of Yeeeehow' She cried.
'Yeeehooww' I yelled. Peppermint shot forward terrified.

'That's it' said Joy. 'Keep it up'.
'C'mon you great white bastard' I screamed.
'Don't swear at him!' pleaded Joy.

Now I'm like a teenage girl obsessed with horses. I want him. I want to ride him. I love him. Soon we are going to start jumping lessons.

'Pull yourself together' said JennyTom. 'Go and have a cold shower'.

Thou Shalt Not ...

2007-11-19T13:21:00.000Z

This morning our peaceful caffeine fix at the Deli was interupted by a 'discussion' between Father Ann and Holy Peter. Father Ann, always up for a bit of holy mischief, challenged HP with the words: "Does it say in the Bible 'thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'?". Berky started going purple and hissing at Ann "shhhhh ... is one of Deli best customer. You upset".

Ann, not to be put off went gaily on: "A fiver it says thou shalt not suffer a witch to live". HP went pale. He wasn't sure of his ground here, so he started talking about Commandments, the Law, morality, ethics, eyes for eye and teeth for teeth, but FA wasn't to be deflected. She was getting to sound a bit like Paxman. "Yes or No? Does it say Thou shalt .. etc. etc.".

I started placidly dreaming of Nanny Ogg:

And Granny Weatherwax:

I woke up. I was being nudged gently on the shins by Ann's Doc Martins. "Ouch" I screamed. "Are we onto homosexuals and Dawkins yet?" No, we weren't. Ann just wanted confirmation about her quote. I said I would find out for her. Afterall, a fiver hangs on it.

'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live'. Exodus 22 verse 18.

Cough up HP.

Lorenzo the Lama in Scotland

2007-11-01T14:10:00.001Z

Hoots mon and all that.

Apologies for the lateness of this posting. The little Fairtrader has been messing with the computer and I am only just unravelling where she sent my photos. Thanks Raelha for the help. Much appreciated ... and it worked!!

Met up with my naughty friend Wils in Preswick and next morning we left at the crack of 9.00 o'clock to catch the ferry from Ardrossan to Brodick on the Isle of Arran. Bussed across the Island and then caught the ferry to Holy Island. We were met by the fluttering of prayer flags and a row of stupas. It was good to be back.

Wils had been worrying needlessly about missing our lunch as the ferry was late, but oh joy and rapture, it was waiting for us. That evening we were introduced to The Blanket. One of the inmates had decided it would be a nice idea to knit a blanket and asked everyone who had come to stay on the Island to knit a square. Wils and I took up the challenge joyfully as it had been a long time since we had knitted.

Next morning we didn't feel like doing any chores around the centre so we sneaked off for a walk and disappeared up the mountain. This is quite a good haul and some bits are exciting as you have to scramble up rocky cliff bits. It was a misty sort of day, but every now and then the sun came out.

We were especially taken with the little pool of sunlight on the sea. The trig point was reached and we buggered around a bit, showing off our yoga prowess.

The next day we thought we had better knuckle down and do a bit of work. After all, it was supposed to be a working holiday. It was a lovely day so we decided to help in the garden. This involved taking a wheelbarrow each and spending the morning shovelling horse shit.

This manure is so good it can be put fresh onto the garden. All the animals on Holy Island are wild and get their food directly from the land (except for the seagulls who get any left over food that can't be composted). If you use ordinary horse shit you have to leave it for six months to go off a bit, but as the Holy Island horses only eat the local grass, bracken and any other bits of greenery, it is totally organic.

The ever hungry seagulls. Lamlash on Arran is in the background.

By the end of the morning in was pouring and we were both wet to the skin, but after another good lunch we were off for the afternoon gathering seaweed for the garden. They only wanted the large flat brown ribbon type seaweed. Not interested in the lovely Bladderwrack variety that makes very pleasing popping sounds.

Next day we were up on the mountain again. On the way we met Malcom the ex-monk. He had been banished to the far end of the Island to live with the nuns 'in retreat' because he had slapped a visitor. He was pushing his motorized wheelbarrow around. We love Malcom.

Bad Malcom. Isn't he lovely?

We were beginning to get a few black looks from some of the other volunteers so we thought we had better behave ourselves. We gathered driftwood for the fire.

We collected many wheelbarrows full of drift wood. There was a rather bad tempered bloke staying for the weekend and he had been comandeered to saw wood. We called him Basher. Good, we thought. This will keep Basher busy for a few hours. He glowered at us as we dumped yet more and more wood for him.

As I mentioned, all the animals on Holy Island are wild, although they are used to people. Buddhists are very gentle people with a policy of non-harm to any living creature (except Malcom when a visitor upsets him). One of the horses even let me stroke him. There are delightful little brown sheep who look like goats and white goats that look like alpaca.

Most of the Island is a nature reserve. There are red squirrels, ravens, peregrine falcons, the odd eagle and best of all, we saw an otter. This was a first for both of us. About a mile from the Buddhist Centre is a holy spring. Every day we walked to the spring and filled our bottles with the water. Of course, I couldn't help pretending I was a dog (not allowed on the island) and lapped straight from the spring.

Every evening we got out the knitting and crochet. Wils got quite carried away and knitted the Scottish flag. Can you see it?

Lorenzo getting engrossed with the crochet. Does it show I haven't combed my hair for a week?

At breakfast on the last day I openly declared that from now on I would be carrying on the Holy Island lifestyle. No drinking alcohol, caffeine and strictly vegetarian food (no sneaking fish in). When the ferry dumped us back in Lamlash we found we had an hour and a half to wait for the bus. Straight into the pub and David bought us a Whisky.

Kind and generous David.

Eventually we arrived back in Brodick. We decided to look around the town and catch a later ferry back to the mainland. We had fish and chips and two triple glasses of red wine. We got so pissed we missed the ferry back. What do you do? Back to the pub where Wils told me a very rude Australian expression. We eventually caught the last ferry of the day by the skin of our teeth. We then had a drunken evening back at her house. What a fantastic week we had had. We are already planning to do the West Highland Way, go to Fairisle, have a week in Italy doing yoga and back to Holy Island next year. Mmm .. better start saving up.

..........................................

P.S. In answer to Tut's question, Holy Island is a Buddist Island. About ten years ago the old lady who lived on the island dreamed that the Virgin Mary told her to sell the island to the Buddists. She got in touch with Lama Yeshe of Samye Ling near Lockerbie, and he jumped at the opportunity to acquire the island. Property developers heard about the island's sale and immediately put in huge offers but she wasn't interested.

It is now a centre for world peace and health. Any religion is welcomed. Many Catholics go there for the meditation and the general atmosphere which is amazingly peaceful, unless you are around Bad Malcom.

Wils, Lorenzo and Lama Yeshe at Samye Ling last year. He is such a poppet and everyone who meets him loves him.

Off to Scotland

2007-10-22T18:51:00.000+01:00

Tomorrow (Tuesday) afternoon I am off to Scotland. I have sorted out the train time tables and eventually get to Prestwick about 9.00 pm where I am staying over-night with my friend Wils.

Next day we drive to somewhere or other, catch the ferry to Arran, catch a bus across the island to Lamlash and there pick up the little boat to Holy Island.

This is of course, assuming the weather is ok and not blowing. The same thing applies when we return from Holy Island. We may not be able to get off. Oh dear, sob, sob said she sarcastically. The island is owned by the Buddhists and Wils and I are going to do a bit of clearing up at the Centre before the winter sets in. Wils assures me we will have 'fun'. Hmmm.

This is Wils.

And this is Lama Yeshe, the boss who sort of owns the place.

N.B. That is Lama as in Lama and not Llama as in Llama.

Pepper - Rest In Peace

2007-10-17T10:11:00.000+01:00

PEPPER 2005-2007

It is with great regret and sadness that I report the death of a much loved local character, Pepper Hicks. She was loved by all who knew her and is especially mourned by Ginger.

Pepper attended Cheltenham Ladies College and excelled in gymnastics. The headmistress writes "Pepper was a pillar of our community, a prefect and a potential head girl".

Pepper had her career mapped out for her. She was the standing Liberal Democrat councillor representating Poynton South and rumour has it she had intended to offer herself up for leader of the Party due to the untimely resignation of Mr. Menzies Campbell. Alas, her full potential will never now be realized.

Her funeral took place last week. She had a full Humanist burial service on a piece of land behind the Anson Road Amenity Tip that is dedicated to private burials and the scattering of ashes. 'Jeruselem' was sung while her ecologically friendly cardboard coffin was lowered into the ground. In other words, Peter took her to the tip and dumped her in a skip.

Down with

2007-10-06T15:00:00.001+01:00

We have just found out that Tesco wants to build a new superstore in Poynton. The residents are furious because we don't actually need or want another supermarket. We have four already, and who needs another supermarket when we have NETTO!!! (This week I saw the most amazing thing in Netto - a violin! Yes, an actual violin in a case for £29.99. Hurry while stocks last). There are all sorts of other considerations as well, like traffic generation, slave labour, etc. but it's our little shops that will come under the hammer.

We have Cheeky Norman the greengrocer, Berky the deli, Dave the cobler, Glenis the health foodshop, Moina the bookshop, a couple of little sweet shops, a freezer shop, two flower shops, Steve the baker, a couple of chemists and Nick the video.

My friend Meg phoned me up and told me about a meeting this morning outside the Civic Hall. I phoned June and Peter (of chicken fame) and a DEMONSTRATION was born! I haven't been to a good demonstration for years!

Well, first thing we went to Parklands Home for the Elderly and hyjacked a few old ladies and wheeled them over. The lady on the right is Madge, one of my Mum's old mates. I got into trouble once for buying Madge fags which she then smoked in her bedroom. Oh dear. Bit of a fire risk, our Madge.

I rather think that the old ladies had been told they were going out for the day. One of them said she wasn't sure what she was doing there. "I come from Edinburgh" she said. "My son is a conservative councillor". We wheeled her back.

June was on telly!

This is June and this is

Peter taking a photo of June on telly. Here are some other demonstrators:

All ages came to demonstrate.

This is our nice policeman and crowd controller.
I asked him what I would have to do to be arrested. He suggested I dragged the Tesco representative out from his hiding place in the Civic Hall, threw him to the ground and jumped on him. That would be an affray, he told me wisely.

The Tesco rep. He left unscathed, incidentally. Doesn't he look like Piers Morgan? I felt quite sorry for him when the normally gentle and mild June gave him a right tongue lashing.

I should have brought Badger along. This is Jess, a very friendly greyhound and I think she could have done with some company. She had an incredible howl, and if she was left alone for more than two seconds, she started up the baying.

One old gentleman started arguing the toss with some council members who were lurking shiftily near the doors of the Civic Hall ready to scarper if any trouble broke out. He got carried away by the occasion and when he called the council members "Tory bastards" the policeman escorted him away. Afterall, there were children present.

Peter ... and ...

Dianne.

At noon Mr Tesco man sneaked away looking embarrased. We decided enough was enough. We had loads of signatures, we have a council meeting to crash on Monday night and Mr Winterton, our MP will be inundated with emails. (wintertonn@parliament.uk)

Our honourable friend. What a jovial fellow!

Right, it's off to Berky's for coffee and cakes. He was rushed off his feet with demonstrators. "Pleeeze, you 'ave demonstrations every days?'

Lorenzo Learns to Sail

2007-10-01T09:31:00.001+01:00

We've been away to Turkey to do some sailing for a couple of weeks. All our other sailing holidays have been on 'big boats' i.e. thirty footers and over and we sleep on board. This year we went to a 'club' where we stayed in a hotel and could take out dinghies, canoes, fun-boats, wind surfers or a big boat for the day.

Although I have been sailing since a little nipper, with Maalie and my father, I have actually never learned how to sail. I have always been crew, you know, pulling on ropes, running around the deck, pulling up sails, pulling down sails, messing with the anchor etc. and ALWAYS with someone shouting instructions to me. It was time to branch out and learn the proper stuff of wind directions, jibing, tacking and steering and overcoming an irrational fear of capsizing.

I started out on Funboats, which I renamed Toyboys and Peter renamed Sea Slugs.

These were jolly little baby catamarans that actually went like the wind in the right conditions but were dreadful at going about or tacking into the wind. But .... it was virtually impossible to capsize them. Right up my street.

From this I graduated to Topazes.

These were more of a challenge. The first time I took one out I capsized twice. I found with these boats that when you turn them over, the rudder comes free from it's holding, so you have to bob about and try and fix this before there is the undignified scramble to get back in.

Now many of you will know that the upper body anatomy of a lady is a bit different to that of a gentleman, and together with the fact that wearing life jackets was compulsory, I found it very difficult to get back in as there seemed to be too much getting in the way. The only thing to do was to squirm and wriggle and eel over the back, hoiking up protruberences until the centre board was within reach, and thence a hefty pull usually landed me floundering on the bottom of the boat. Then it's quick, grab the main sheet, the tiller and off you go again.

Actually I got quite good a righting a capsized boat. The theory is you stand on the centre board and your weight gradually brings the boat up horizontal again. You have to remember to jump clear as the boat comes up otherwise you get squashed underneath it. The sophisticated men used to be able to climb in from the position on the centre board. They were very slick at it, but I never managed to master the technique.

After two days of this, capsizing four times and covered with bruises, I progressed to the Laser Pico.

I really loved the Picos. For one thing the tiller was slightly shorter than that of the Topaz so I found it easier to turn about. With the ultra long tiller of the Topaz there was a lot of groping and grasping behind my back trying to move from one side of the boat to the other. Also the Picos were faster and generally more fun.
My condifence grew with each capsize and at times I actually tried to see how far I could heel over before splat and I was in again.

A few times Peter and I took out a Hobie Cat. These have a fearsome reputation as they are incredibly fast catamarans. It's not easy to right these if you manage to turn them over. However, as Peter was doing the sailing and I was doing the crewing we managed really well without falling in.

Even so, Peter managed to get to get it up on one hull! My shrieks of joy and
screams of terror could be heard all the way to Bodrum.

Peter is a sod when it comes to racing. Normally a mild mannered, aimable fellow, when he races he turns into a demon. He takes no prisoners, and aims for the first buoy and bugger anyone in the way, be they wind surfers, swimmers or a family outing in a canoe. Everyone scatters. At the start of the race there are a lot of nudgers and nudgees all wanting to be near the start line for the off. There is also a lot of shouting obsenities at each other and general bad temper. I learned a new swear word too. Someone shouted ***********!!!!! What's *********** mean? Peter told me. 'But that's illegal' I replied shocked. I stored the word away for future use on wordimperfect's blog.

Peter locking horns at the start of the big boats race. I should have known of course, as even in any running race he starts off with arms flaying about and elbowing anyone in the way until he forms a little vacuum around himself in which even angels fear to tread.

One day he took me out in an RS800. Now this really was a boat too far. I was poured into a harness contraption with a big hook on the front that was supposed to attach itself to a wire trapeze. We left the beach at 0 to 60 in four seconds and this time my screams were genuine. I couldn't get the trapeze to work so I hung gamely out over the side, but it was all too much. We snuck back to the shore and I rushed for a Pico to restore my confidence again.

This is how an RS800 should be sailed. Not a chance. Don't even go there.

Every evening between 6.00 and 7.00 there was happy hour. We had made some friends: two Johns, a Theresa, a Tricia, a Brenda and a Gerry. The tables were covered with gins, beers and wine. One of my happiest memories was of a line of gins waiting to be drunk. Unfortunately I couldn't focus on my camera by that time to take a photo.

Of course there were the cats. They were all wild and most of them very timid and shy. They would grab my offerings and scarper. I gave one a cream cake when no-one was watching. She licked the cream off and left the rest. There was one little kit that was only about six weeks old and he and I became firm friends. Even Peter liked him.

This was one of the best holidays I have ever had. I loved it. I've learned to sail albeit not as competitively as Peter (yet). I capsized nine times and I have impressive bruises. I got two cold sores as I forgot my medicine. We've made friends that we will keep in touch with and hopefully meet up with again. The weather was brilliant. The food was good and the gins delicious. I'm now detoxing (or punishing myself as Peter says).

I'm off to the deli now to see Father Ann to confess my sins and to tell Berkant all about his fellow Turks.

Tagging

2007-09-06T10:45:00.000+01:00

I've been tagged by Halfmom aka Susan. Sorry it's taken a bit of a while to do this. My first effort somehow got deleted and since then I have been too busy with my compost heap to spend any time tapping away.

It's a good deal smaller since that photo was taken.

Rules of this tag: 1) Name the person with link who tagged you. 2) Complete the questionnaire without changing the questions. 3) Tag 6 or more people.

Q1. Are you happy/ satisfied with your blog, with its content and look?
A. Mmmm ... So, so.

Q2. Does your family know about your blog?
A. Yes.

Q3. Do you feel embarrassed to let your friends know about your blog or you just consider it as a private thing?
A. No not at all. It's the other way round. I nag them to read it.

Q4. Did blogs cause positive changes in your thoughts.
A. No.

Q5. Do you only open the blogs of those who comment on your blog or you love to go and discover more by yourself.
A. I go off reading all sorts of blogs, some full of nonsense and some brilliant. At first I just stuck to blogs belonging members of my family but then I started getting more confident and going elsewhere.

Q6. What does visitors' counter mean to you? Do you care about putting in in your blog?
A. I like to read the counter and look at the red splodges on the map where people come from. I would like to have one of those little ones on the front but don't know how to get one put on.

Q7. Did you try to imagine your fellow bloggers and give them real pictures?
A. Some of the people I visit have their photos on their blog sites, but others don't. I don't like my photo on mine much. Llamas are very shy don't you know. Unfortunately Maalie broke my cover and put a photo on his blog. I once had an anonomous visitor who refused to leave his name, and in the end I was forced to delete his comments when he became spiteful about one of my commentators. I had a pretty good idea what he looked like though:

Q8. Do you think there is a real benefit for blogging?
A. Oh yes, certainly. I have made really terrific friends through this blog from many countries and I would certainly never have made them without it, except perhaps for Simon the Ozzy. I met him in May at a family party in Spain.

Q9. Do you think that bloggers' society is isolated from real world or interacts with events?
A. I'm sure that some bloggers are in a world of their own, but hey, what's wrong with that? My cat writes comments to other cats, other cats write back. Course we live in reality.

This is Plumpy, Scaredy's best friend. They make plans to travel to visit each other.

Q10. Does criticism annoy you or do you feel it's a normal thing?
A. Normal thing? Would you say that my trigger finger itching is a normal thing?

Q11. Do you fear some political blogs and avoid them?
A. Of course I don't fear them! I just avoid them as generally they are so uninteresting.

Yawn, yawn, yawn.

Q12. Did you get shocked by the arrest of some bloggers?
A. Oh Martin, what have you been up to this time. Isn't an ASBO enough for you?

Q13. Did you think about what will happen to your blog after you die?
A. No.

Q14. What do you like to hear? What's the song you might like to put a link to, in your blog?
A. Poison Ivy by Alice Cooper.

I would at this point very much like to thank my very patient and jovial nephew
Tortoiseshell for setting up this blog for me in the first place. If it wasn't for him I would never have had so much pleasure and met so many interesting people. Doing this blog has given me a certain measure of confidence about using computers, and I have now peeled off the sticky label that said 'on/off' by the start button as now I can remember where it is.

Tortoiseshell: mates with Scaredy, Plumpy, Elbi, Mahou and Beeps.

I would also like to thank Mr Maalie:

Maalie has been very helpful tweaking my blog from time to time. If I get him on a good day he can be very accommodating. And yes, he is forgiven for messing with my llama picture.

I now have to tag a few people myself. With great apologies I tag Maalie, Tortoiseshell, Ju's Little Sister, Raelha, Kiwi Nomad and Simon. I have deliberately left out TCA as he has other fish to fry at the moment, as it were.

Confession Time

2007-08-29T16:00:00.000+01:00

I've sinned. Yea, I've sinned, so it was off to the Deli today to be shriven by Father Ann. Her usual confessional is in a corner of the Deli, hard up against the espresso machine. It's fairly private there, but now and again we have heard Berkant sniggering as he pulls one of his industrial strength coffees. It's amazing how long he can take frothing up the milk when there's a good penance going on.

Berky laughing while some poor penitent gets terrible retribution from Father Ann.

The privacy of the confessional.

Word got out that Father Ann was doing the business today.

Tools of the trade. Many a lashing from this little beauty.

Just sterilizing one of the purging tools. We don't want any nasty infections or suppurating wounds now, do we?

Father Ann has employed me as her booking secretary and press officer. For appointments please leave a comment on the blog. Father Ann doesn't come cheap, but then you get what you pay for. Any requests can be poked through the grill. She also accepts Paypal.

Oh dear, oh dear, some people just can't be trusted to treat the good father with the respect she deserves. She is being pestered with strange sounding appointments and seemingly dodgy requests, so late last night she booked herself into the Fatmikespa for a bit of cosmetic surgery. Incidentally, she found his address through google. It's www.changeyourfaceforfree.com. She is now in hiding for her own good and the good of the Deli, and I have been sworn to secrecy about her current appearance. Well, what the heck .........

Just come back from a morning of treatment with Fatmike. I must say he works very quickly, albeit a bit roughly at times. I can just about put up with the needles, but even I draw the line when he gets the tongs out of the fire, and believe me, I know all about pain. I'm not a friend of Father Ann's for nothing. Unfortunately I'll have to pay her yet another visit to confess that I swore at Mike and then kneed him in the thingies. And the bruises from last time I confessed still haven't healed.

Anyway, he's done a very good job on me, and I am now fit to be photographed for Martin.

Maalie stayed here last night and this morning (Saturday) he made me do a humiliating egg test, results on his blog. At least Scaredy can breath a sigh of relief now he's gone to Lapland!

chickens and eggs

2007-08-14T14:35:00.000+01:00

My friends June and Pete are away for a few days and they have asked me to feed their two chickens, Ginger and Pepper and their cat, Toby. I've also been instructed to give Toby loads of cuddles and strokes which of course I am only too delighted to do!

Toby coming to meet me when I let myself in the house.
Toby is a bit of a character. When she was a kitten June and Pete thought she was a he, hence the butch name. It was only after the first visit to the vet they were told that no, he was definitely a she. They were so used to calling her Toby, the name stuck.

June's hens were a Christmas present from Pete a couple of years ago. (Once he gave her a wormery. Isn't he a lovely romantic man). There is always great competition in the village to feed the chickens when they go away, and not just because Pepper and Ginger are adorable, but the one who feeds them, gets to keep the eggs!

I was warned that Ginger is feeling broody at the moment and that she spends most of her time on her nest. I went into the nesting box and there she was sitting contentedly and gently clucking quietly away to herself.

Isn't she pretty?
After gently lifting her off her nest and retrieving the egg, I decided to let them out for a little scratch around the garden while I fed Toby.

Ginger's carefully guarded egg. I felt so mean taking it. It was really warm. She didn't seem to mind too much and was certainly up for a run around the garden with Pepper. Meanwhile I went to see to Toby.

I think Toby has been talking to Scaredy, afterall they only live a couple of hundred yards apart. She has got all the habits of Plumpy, Elbi, Mahou and Beeps. Although each morning she was left a plate of dry food, it would still be there untouched in the evening, so I always ended up giving her a sachet of wet food. These cats certainly stick together.

Meanwhile back in the garden I thought it was time I returned the chickens to their run. I was told that 'a handful of corn as a treat will bring them back at a run, but if desperate, use a tomato'. The corn didn't work as Pepper just jumped up and pecked it out of my hands, and when I threw it into the run she looked at me as if to say 'you must be joking'. After a lot of cajoling, pleading and and downright begging I resorted to the tomato. I cut it into chunks. She hung around outside the kitchen door watching me with her sharp little eyes.

Pepper loitering with intent. She was ready to pounce. As soon as I emerged from the kitchen she flew up at me and stole the pieces of tomato straight from my hand! Back I went to cut up more. This time I was prepared for her and I cupped my hands firmly together. She raced after me and shot into the run as soon as I threw the peices in. Got her. Phewww! One down, one to go.

Ginger however, was a different kettle of fish altogether. She was not easily lured by corn or tomato. I chased her round and round the garden and just as I thought I had got her, she slipped off again. I'm going to be here all day, I thought. In desperation I went back home for Peter and he came to help me round her up. I wondered whether Badger would do the trick for us but decided that she would scare her too much.

At last we had her cornered. No, she's off again. This time there was going to be no mucking about. I rugby tackled her, picked her up and stuffed her into the nesting box and shut the lid quick. There were feathers flying, squawks and a great flapping of wings.

The pair of them safely back in their run. A couple of hours later I crept back to have another look at her. I was worrying about her and the missing feathers. I even wondered whether I could stick them back somehow. She was fine. Back in her nesting box, sitting staring vacantly into space while she incubated her make-believe egg. I stroked her gently and she clucked contentedly back at me.

And look what we've got. An omlette for tea methinks.

My utterly, utterly beautiful compost heap

2007-08-09T17:03:00.000+01:00

I am being nagged unmercifully by Ann yet again. I've been told to get on and write another post. So today's offering is about my glorious and wondrous compost heap, but first I must get rid of Scaredy who is insisting on sitting on my lap while I type.

I just love making compost. There is something so earthy and wholesome about messing about in the heap, digging it, turning it and watching the worms chomping their way through all the crap.

This is the compost heap currently in use.

My latest toy is a shredder. When The Wren was here last time, she suggested I bought one to dispose of any paperwork of a personal or confidential nature. (Oh, I wish). I've taken to shredding like a duck to water and everything goes in it, all the junk mail, bills, receipts etc. I have also discovered that the shredded paper makes excellent compost. I mix it in and it does wonders to the texture of the heap.

This is the heap that I am still building complete with a topping of sheddries.

And this is the heap which is complete and is slowly going off.

Peter is well known for losing things, and I don't think he has twigged yet that the lost items have probably gone through the shredder. Whoops, there goes the gas bill.

I have a number of heaps scattered around the garden in secret places. There is one hiding behind the Acanthus. I'm rather proud of this plant as I originally pinched a cutting from Peter's sister's garden and it certainly likes it's position in front of the heap.

The Wren and I have long and technical discussions debating the pros and cons of compost heaps versus compost bins. She owns a couple of bins and whereas her compost goes off quicker than mine does, mine is so much easier to get at with a spade. The contents of her bin that is in the process of going off, smells and looks like a sewage farm. She says it is something that should be used in I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here! It has been so hot in Brighton recently that the temperature inside the bins has soared. The snails inside have now cooked; l'escargot a la jardin she is calling her new recipe!

Wren's compost bin.

Chopped up comfrey really speeds up the going off time. I grow a lot of it, and as soon as it starts getting too tall and flopperty, I cut it down and shove it in the heap. The comfrey grows so quickly I can usually get three or four harvests a year.

One of my rather moth eaten comfrey plants.

I like to wear little rubber pumps while I'm gardening, a bit like cut-off wellies. If I'm not careful to put these high out of Badger's reach, she steals them and makes off with them. I rescued one from the flower bed yesterday.

Please note the chewed up fashion statement.

Now that it has become hot again, Scaredy's latest favourite place is in the back porch, curled up next to Peter's trainers.

And finally, Badger playing with her favourite toys: a deflated football and a plastic plant pot and Scaredy daintily sitting amongst the bonsai disdainfully watching Badger behave like a hooligan.

Macclesfield Sheepdog Trials

2007-08-05T13:27:00.000+01:00

Yesterday we decided to take Badger out to show her what proper grown-up dogs do. We thought that Macclesfield Sheepdog Trials might be just the thing. The place was crawling with border collies, slinking around, looking shifty and generally lurking. Some of the dogs looked terribly inter-bred: blue-eyed dogs, brown-eyed dogs, some with one blue eye and one brown eye!

Some of the dogs waiting for their turn to show off on the field.

We watched intently, pointing things out to Badger, but all she was interested in was a nine month old puppy playing with a paper cup. OK, we said, just a quick sniff. The two of them romped for a bit, then we called her back to watch the show.

This is called the 'outrun' and the 'fetch' we told her. She seemed to be concentrating.

This is herding them towards the pen. Badger wagged her tail. Oh no, another dog wanted to play. A big male dog with a very woolly coat this time. They played boxing for a few minutes, then Badger sidled up to the old farmer sitting next to me. He had just arrived with a bacon sandwich and she thought she might con some out of him. No chance.

Come here Badger and watch what's going on.

This is what you should be doing with the sheep, not scattering them.

Badger was now intent on making friends with Devildog. This be-muzzled little creature was frantically snarling and foaming at the mouth trying to extracate herself from the restraining grip of her owner. She doesn't like other dogs much, she explained.

We then took Badger to the point where the penned sheep were herded after the trials.

This really caught Badger's imagination. She was looking lovingly at them, and then at me. 'Can I go in there with them?' she seemed to be saying to me. 'Don't even think about it' I replied sternly.

Badger trying to look appealing.
By this time my toe was throbbing and Peter was looking thirsty so we went back into Macclesfield to visit our Musician who has just opened a bar! We went to the opening night a few weeks back, but thought it was high time we paid another call.

The Musician behind his bar with his new hair style. His fiancee has plaited some red braid into his hair and then gelled it up a bit. We had a drink and some lunch, and very nice it was too.

Pulling a pint for Peter.

Another view of the bar.

Poor Badger was getting very tired by this time. She showed just what a real, proper, grown-up dog she was during the evening when she wearily climbed up on her Mum's knee for a cuddle and a sleep!

Badger, really! You are supposed to be a tough, working dog who lives on a farm, runs wild, rolls in shit and eats disgusting objects, not a pampered little lap dog!

The Simpsons

2007-07-28T11:16:00.001+01:00

Tickets had been booked for Ann, Nina, and myself to see The Simpsons. When I told Peter, he said he wanted to come too. He hates being left out of anything. We hadn't included him in the first place as he has often made his views on the Simpsons very clear and it didn't occur to us he might actually wish to attend. We couldn't get him a ticket on the same row as us, but we did manage to find him one on the row ahead. I had visions of going 'shhhhhhhh ...' if he so much as rustled a sweet paper during the performance. I have always wanted to do that.

Peter fortifying himself with a large Jack Daniels before the performance.

The cinema was packed with shouting, yelling children rushing about. They were stuffing their faces with nasty, smelly popcorn and making slurping noises while sucking up disgusting looking liquid through a straw. Eventually the racket died down enough to hear the familiar Simpsons music. The little boy on my left finished slurping his dayglo green drink and carelessly tossed the plastic beaker down a few rows, landing on a small girl's shoulder.

Oh how I love the Simpsons, especially the womenfolk.

Hero of heroes, lovely Marge.

Budding hero Lisa

Potential hero Maggie

Just as I was really getting into the film, in spite of the boy on my left, who was now stuffing foul smelling popcorn into his mouth, I glanced across at Peter on the row in front, and HE WAS ASLEEP! How can anyone a) sleep during such a noisy film with Homer shouting the odds every few seconds and b) having various missiles landing in his lap by some of the more enthusiastic children. I nudged Ann, sitting on my right, pointed at Peter and we both sniggered!

The film progressed. Ouch. I had to turn away. Poor Homer. I'm such a wimp I can't cope with people being hurt on screen, even such anti-heroes as Homer and Bart!

What a couple of plonkers.

Peter woke up, and started watching. 'Who is that?' he mouthed across to me:

'Grandpa' I mouthed back.

The child next to me was picking his nose.

We sat and watched until the very last credit had disappeared. So did the boy next to me. He had decided to sit quietly and watch the screen, so we all had to squeeze by him to get out while he just sat on in a state of total oblivion.

Peter and I then went to have a meal in Il Pomodora, our local Italian restaurant. This is a really nice little place, unpretentious and fairly inexpensive if you go easy on the liqueurs. Once a few years ago, we were having a meal there and David and Victoria Beckham were a few tables away, with one of their little boys and a couple of heavies looking after them.

In between courses I sent Maalie a text: 'Just seen the Simpsons'. A couple of minutes later I got one back simply saying 'wah. nonsense'. He's turning into a really grumpy old man!

I wonder if anyone else but Ju's Little Sister and Raela have difficulty when trying to type. This is Scaredy, asleep on the printer, waking up and spotting me and then coming to get me.

I'll just have to take Badger for a walk now it's stopped raining. Sorry Scaredy!

My toe is beginning to heal but I still have to be careful. I find I can cycle ok, but Peter has somehow manage to deflate my front tyre while trying to pump it up for me, and it doesn't appear to want to be inflated again. TCA ..... HELP !!!

Manchester, A Different Angle.

2007-07-23T12:31:00.000+01:00

A couple of weeks ago Peter and I went into Manchester and generally hung around like a pair of disfunctional teenagers. First we went to the Buddhist centre, and had lunch in their wonderful vegetarian caff. I had split pea soup, bread, a mince pie thing and a freshly made veggie juice and Peter had two bowls of soup, bread and a veggie juice.

We had intended to go to the museum to look at the Egyptology exhibition, but as we wandered into the shopping area, I spied the Manchester Eye. Pleeeese, pleeeese can we go on it? OK, he sighed wearily. We took our place in the queue and a little later we were sitting in our car waiting for it to begin. We were told to press a little yellow button if we wanted to get off. Fat lot of good that would have done if we were at the top of the wheel. I noticed there was also a red emergency button. I wondered what would happen if I pressed that.

On our way up.

Oooo! There's Harvey Nics, The shop that Patsy hangs out in. Patsy, from Ab.Fab. is one of my role models. The other one is Jo Brand.

Going up a bit higher. This is the glass dome of the Corn Exchange that collapsed during the Manchester bombing. On Saturday 15th June 1996 during peak shopping time, a 3,000 lb IRA bomb exploded injuring more than 200 people and ripped into the main fabric of the city centre shopping area. Because of this bomb, the centre of Manchester was closed off for goodness knows how long. The buildings have been replaced with architectual wonders and delights, and now Manchester is a vibrant and lively city says Peter.

Up higher and a good view of the Cathedral and the Shambles Public House. Although fairly cloudy it was warm and a lot of people were sitting outside having their lunch.

This is the view to the South. The glass dome is on top of the Royal Exchange building which is now one of the best theatres in the country. We get top rate actors here and I have personally drooled over Tom Courtney many a time. The large building still under construction is the tallest building in Manchester. It is so tall that I can see it from the Canal and Lyme Park when I take Badger for her walks.

Looking towards the Lancashire hills in the far distance. We had three rounds on the wheel before we were removed. I didn't press the red button or the yellow one.

We wandered around Manchester and was dismayed to find Muji had shut down. Oh well, I'll just have to go to Tokyo for my bits and bobs! Marks and Spencer was a nightmare. It's so big with so much choice, I started getting panic attacks, so we left to have a coffee in the Royal Exchange cafe. We meandered back to Piccadilly
Station, taking in some of the boutiques selling expensive clothes and grumpily tut-tutted at the extravagance of those who bought such things. Came across a Food Market in St Anne's Square and bought three exotic pieces of cheese and a loaf of olive bread. Amazing how tiring shopping is. I was glad to get home.

On Saturday Maalie paid a visit. He wanted to break his journey back to our childhood haunts of Essex and Canvey Island. He will be doing a blog on that in due course or so he assures me. All his bluster about cats actually didn't stop him stroking Scaredy, and then look what I found:

After forcing a vegetarian meal down, he fell asleep with Badger. Very unfocused picture as I was also falling asleep and a bit unfocussed too.

I lost Scaredy yesterday. He changes his 'favourite place' regularly. I searched and searched until I heard a little tinkle from his bell and I found him curled up in the bottom of the wardrobe amongst all the flotsom that accumulates there.

I tested my broken toe yesterday by trying to take Badger for a walk. I wore thick woolly socks and a pair of Wellies. It took me an hour to walk around the field that usually takes about fifteen minutes. Today my foot is telling me I didn't listen to it yesterday telling me not to even try. The toe and foot is swollen and painful again, but I might try going out on my bike later.

Pottery making

2007-07-20T12:27:00.000+01:00

I have been asked by halfmom AKA Susan if I will do a posting on pottery. I don't have any photos of my own pottery or pottery making on the computer. All my pictures are of the old-fasioned 35mm film, so the pictures shown are all pinched from google.

We are very spoilt here as we can just slip down to Stoke-on-Trent, the famous Potteries town and buy clay already cleaned, seived and pugged, and in 25kg bags. True potters dig their own clay and then do all the processing themselves, but they have to be lucky enough to live near good clay seams. If I started digging the clay from around Stoke I would be arrested as it all belongs to the clay processors!

Before anything can be made the clay has to be worked well. This means wedging and kneading.

The process of kneading. The clay ends up with the classic 'ox head' look. Once the clay has been prepared then it is torn into suitable sizes and is then ready for throwing on the wheel. This is great fun. First the clay has to be centred. This is the famous 'Ghost' sequence with Demi Moore doing naughty things with clay, dressed only in her nighty. As if. Clay and water splash everywhere. I usually wear a big pinny, a towel over my lap and a man's shirt with the arms cut off.

The actual throwing is quite easy once you get used to it. Some people say that when they tried to throw, their clay shot across the room and stuck to the wall. Don't believe them. They are just saying it for effect. I have never, ever seen that happen in all the time I have taught and potted myself. What happens to beginner throwers is that the clay slides off the wheel and into the tray, where you just scoop it up and put in back in the bin for recycling.

Pots being thrown.

After the pot has been cut of the wheel it is allowed to dry out until 'soft leather hard'. Then the pot is put back on the wheel upside down, and secured by soft blobs of clay. Turning then takes place. This is the trimming of the bottom of the pot to make a foot ring. It is like wood turning and also uses similar tools. The wheel is used instead of a lathe.

Pots being turned.

When turning is complete, the pot is allowed to dry out slowly, and when thoroughly dry it is time for the first, or bisque firing. This is quite a low firing, only about 980 degrees C. This leaves the pot still porous and ready for glazing. Glazing is a whole new post, so I won't go into it here, except to say after glazing earthenware pots are fired to 1100 degrees C and stoneware pots are fired to about 1200 degrees C. Porcelain if used goes up to 1300 degrees C.

Opening the kiln after a glaze firing is always very exciting. It can be wonderful or it can be very disappointing. It depends what has been happening in the kiln. Chemical reactions occur at high temperatures and often the glaze has a mind of it's own. Sometimes I have had amazing results. Nothing to do with skill but simply a reaction of the glaze chemicals in the kiln. You should be able to predict results, but actually it is often arbitary.

That's enough for now. If anyone wants further posts on pottery then I would be happy to oblige. But now, I have to rescue Badger who has managed to get herself shut outside and is now stuck halfway through the catflap.

Poor little Badger!

An old Christmas Present

2007-07-14T10:27:00.000+01:00

When Jack was here recently from Japan he came across this book. It was one of my mother's. When she was a little girl she was allowed just one Christmas present, as my grandparents were not very well off. She always, without exception, chose a book. This is the one Jack found.

He spent some happy moments reading through it and this is the bit he read out to me:

There is a thrill in punting, in the feel of the long yellow pole as it comes up gleaming and dripping on one's hands, in the willing response of the heavy yet obedient craft, and in the delicious lap and trickle of the water against it's sides. It is good, too, to lie in dreamy peace upon the cusions and to watch the smooth water slipping past, and the ever-changing reflection of the willows on the bank, while a more energetic companion poles up the long green reaches of the Cherwell.

Isn't it amazing. I love the style of writing and the illustrations. This book must have been published in about 1925. I also found this piece from a chapter entitled 'Do You Look Your Best?'

'Undergarments may spoil the set of one's frocks. The underslip is another factor that helps to make or mar ones's appearance. Sateens and hairy surfaced materials wrinkle up, cling to the frock, and bunch up round the hips when walking. Choose underslips made of materials that hang slick without catching to your other garments. The woven artificial silks now on the market are excellent for giving no trouble in this direction.'

I'm now going to make a cup of coffee and read 'Susan's Week in Camp'. This is the story of Susan Maggs, who was terribly, terribly, shy! And after that, I'm going to look for some of her other old books. I know she has one somewhere called 'Chatterbox'.

My Poor Garden

2007-07-05T11:17:00.000+01:00

I really love my garden and I take great care of it. Recently it has been impossible to mow the lawns because of the continual rain and high winds. The oak tree at the bottom of the garden has lost so many branches recently, and when we came back from our Atlantic fiasco I noticed more branches were down.

This morning two gentlemen arrived with chain saws and ladders and amputated the branch that was still hanging. Badger had a joyful hour playing with the men, stealing their tools, tripping them up and bringing her ball to them to play catch and fetch.

Men up trees.

Badger's favourite toy - her deflated football. This was punctured the night that Jack came a cropper on the flower pot during an exremely rough game of footy with Tortoiseshell, TCA, The Musician and Badger.

Yesterday my friend, The Master Potter, came to see me for lunch in the delightful deli that Ann and I hang out in. During the afternoon there was a cloudburst, to put it mildly. We sheltered in Netto (the cherries are still excellent) and then braved the storm to walk home. On the way we negotiated the Rue Clumber stream burst. Water was racing across the road and into the Junior School. We got to Boulevard Dickens, where the zebra crossing was under water; we had no option but to hitch our trousers up and paddle happily across the road. I was wearing sandles but M.P. was wearing posh leather shoes. Where were our wellies in our hour of need. Mine in the back porch and her's in her cellar.

Horror of horrors. We got home. My back lawn! My football pitch! My dog's public convenience! My pride and joy! Flooded. Flooded and more water pouring in every minute.

First:

And then:

And then:

Oh I could have wept. So what did I do? Well obviously I did the only thing possible and sent Badger out to play:

This morning amazingly, and some would say miraculously, my lake had disappeared. We had been thinking of turning it into a swimming pool. I still have the plank from Mistral 48. I knew it would come in handy. I was googling the price of fish to stock the lake. I had been looking forward to having rare ducks and geese arrive in order to lure Maalie down.

So, it's almost back to normal. Still nowhere near dry enough to mow, still looking bedraggled, unkempt and sodden, but at least I don't have to paddle to the compost heap today.

Scaredy has deigned to come outside without the risk of wetting his feet, although the little sod went out during the night as be brought me back a mouse at 3.00 am.
Badger still delightfully badgering Scaredy for a game of chase.

Cherries

2007-07-04T15:24:00.000+01:00

It's cherry season again and Netto is brimming over with cherries. Mmmm .. lovely, lovely cherries.

My most enjoyable memory of cherries is from way back when I was at school. My friend Charmian and I went on a trip to the Planetarium in London. Outside was a cherry seller and we bought a punnet each. When the lights went down and the show began, we started to eat our cherries. Not wishing to drop the stones on the floor, we just spat them out as far as we could, practising our aim. We got really rather good at it. 'Try that girl over there' one of us would whisper, and the first one to hit her with a stone won. I know, I know. We were only twelve though.

Scaredy has a new favourite place, on top of one of the wardrobes. He changes his favourite place every four or five days.

He takes a big leap up and arrives. When he wants to get down he just aims at the bed and plops onto it.

He has had some amazing favourite places, some really looking most uncomfortable. The airing cupboard was a popular one and so was on top of the boiler. Wonder where Plumpy likes to go.

Setting the Record Straight

2007-06-28T12:35:00.000+01:00

I feel in all honesty I have to put the record straight regarding my so-called bravery. A number of you have made very flattering comments and it's time you all knew what a Big Girl's Blouse I actually am.

There was nothing brave about sailing the Atlantic. Once I was on board and setting sail for Britain, there was absolutely nothing I could do about it. I was trapped! Believe me I thought and thought how I could extracate myself from the situation but even my fertile imagination could come up with no practical means of escape. The nearest I got to a plan was to fall down the companionway (stairs - for the landlubbers) break a leg and then insist on air-sea rescue. I dismissed this as soon as I came up with the scheme, as (a) I didn't want to do it, (b) it would hurt and (c) it costs a small fortune to call out a helicopter. I did think about faking an illness but still (a) and (c) applies.

And ... there was always the plank.

This was the plank I would have been made to walk along if I misbehaved in any way. Peter had to walk along it the night he was keel hauled, and I don't think I could have faced it as stoically as he did. Yes, he was a bit pale and worried looking, but all in all he behaved admirably, going off the side with Anglo Saxon determination on his face, pulled out the other side, maybe retching a bit, but not complaining at all in a typically British way. It was bad enough the night Roger tied me to the mast and flogged me for forgetting to put sugar in his coffee, but no way was I going to be made to walk that plank. Anyway, I had it in mind to use it as a diving board once we got back to Wales.

True bravery comes in the form of Ellen MacArthur.

I know I have wittered on about her tears on the video, but Bloody Hell, what a woman. All my wingeing was really just a cover up for the fact that I would never have the guts to do anything like that myself. Yes, I don't mind rowing solo especially if it is in the safety of a gentle Mediterranean marina, and I have even rowed a 'tired and emotional' Peter back to the boat in the dead of night, but sailing single handed ... never. Not even on Budworth Lake!

Plotting my escape did help pass the time. Another thing I used to do was to try to work out how many hours left of the voyage. Say we will be away 10 days multiply by 24 = 240. We have been out to sea for 48 hours which means ... err .. 8 from 0 is 2 carry 1, 5 from 4 is 9 carry 1, 1 from 2 is 1 so that means ... err .. err .. 192 hours left to go. Oh shit.

I had even optimistically bought a bottle of nail varnish to 'do' my nails, but fat chance. With 20 ft waves, and rogue waves that crashed over the cockpit drenching all who sat there, no way, unless I wanted to get it all over my arms and legs as well.

When we finally sailed into Pwllheli Dave suggested carrying flares a la Ellen but Roger just looked meaningfully at the plank and Dave shut up.

When we got safely moored in Pwllheli harbour, Peter and I jumped ship and fled. Roger had the cat'n'nine'tails out and we heard him muttering about thumb screws. (see Simon's blog on Spanish Inquisition). We caught a train that travelled down the Welsh coast. It was the prettiest line I had ever been on and much more pleasant than being thrown about in rough seas and high winds. Also they had relatively clean 'comfort facilities'. Such a change from that smelly cupboard.

I still don't regret doing the trip. It was all worth while because of the dolphins

and the shearwaters

Atlantic Crossing or Llama at Sea

2007-06-25T14:37:00.000+01:00

Flew out to the Azores on 12th June. Arrived in cold, windy and wet conditions. "I want to go home" I thought, as I crossed to the airport terminal at Ponta Delgarda.

In theory, the Azores are beautiful. I know that because I saw some postcards of the views. In reality, they are covered with low cloud, rain and wind most of the year. On average there are 25 days of rain out of 30, except in July, August and amazingly January.

A view of one of the crater lakes during a short interval when the cloud lifted a few centimetres.

We met up with our boat Mistral 48, with Roger the Cap'n and Dave, a Scot who was also crewing with us. His yacht had lost it's mast during the crossing from Bermuda and he was hitching a lift back to Britain. We left Ponta Delgarda at Mid-day on Saturday 16th June.

'Mistral 48'.

Dave the Scot, our 1st Mate.

Cap'n Roger, the boat owner.

Peter, aka The Old Man of the Sea.

Leaving Ponta Delgarda in a north easterly direction.

I have never, ever been sea-sick in my life, but I broke my duck, as it were, within an hour of setting sail. For the next thirty-six hours I had my head firmly wedged in a bucket. Walking around below deck was nigh on impossible with the general heaving and straining of the boat under Atlantic waves. The waves were massive. Quite awe inspiring. I tried taking photos of them but in fact they did not even nearly convey the size and strength of the water. It was what sailors call a 'confused' sea. The waves were coming from one direction, but currents and wind were making them move in another direction, so instead of having just a big rolling sea, the waves were coming at you in all directions. Quite good fun, actually.

What really got to me was the absolute lonliness of the ocean. At times I was full of despair, being really home sick, missing my family and wondering whether indeed I would ever see them again. The stories my father used to tell us about being on the Atlantic convoys during the war really hit home. I just couldn't get used to the vastness of the place. I spent many lonely hours glumly staring at my GPS, and watching the inevitable slow crawl forwards, towards each new latitude with the miles from Ponta Delgarda getting larger, and the miles to Ireland getting smaller. Being bored out of my mind, wondering what to think about next. I know, I'll think about my brother, that's always good for a laugh!

I plotted and schemed an escape plan should we touch down in Ireland. I had it all worked out. First jump ship then the Cork ferry to Swansea, then train to Macclesfield, or alternatively Cork to Dublin and then fly to Manchester airport. In the event, we did it non-stop so my cunning plan didn't come to fruition. I missed everyone so much. I thought about Ann drinking Berky's industrial strength coffee in the deli. I thought about Badger staying with Joe and Kerry, about Scaredy being looked after by Natascha, Peter's daughter. Wondered how Plumpy was doing.

How Dave and Peter coped with the boredom.

Boredom was actually one of the great trials. Reading was difficult in such a swaying environment as after a little while you just became dizzy. Soduko was out of the question as it was so unstable that everytime I tried to put a number down, there would be a great jolt and the pencil would go to the wrong square and I would have to give up.

The low-grade inconviences were:
bodily functions; there was a small, smelly cupboard that seaman like to refer to as 'the heads'. This cupboard was really not at all pleasant, so one trained oneself to use it as little as possible.
showering; definitely not allowed. We had to conserve all fresh water as we didn't know how long we would be at sea. Even washing up was done in sea water, which meant there was always a slight greasy smear to the galley work-tops. Peter got keel-hauled one night for using fresh water to wash up in.
damp; clothes never really dried out. Each morning damp clothes were put on. I remembered my mother used to tell us when we were children, to put clothes under our pillow to 'air' off. I found this did help, and at least I would have a warm woolly jumper to put on, before that too got wet again.

Sunset at Summer Solstice.

Summer Solstice came and went. Maalie was in the Arctic Circle last year. I wondered where he was this year. I'm in the middle of the bleeding Atlantic, I wanted to cry out.

Every day the three men would start squabbling about the position of the sun in relation to the yardarm. I think the earliest they got it to was just after mid-day. I must put in here, that not one drop of alchohol passed my lips during the whole trip. For the first thirty-six hours it would have just ended up in the bucket, and for the rest of the journey I had to use all my powers of concentration and balance just to remain upright below deck. One whiff of gin and I would have fallen over.

We took it in turns to do the various night watches, but I never had to do the actual 'dead of night' ones, as I hadn't the experience to deal with any emergencies. I took to doing the 6.00 am watch, which I quite enjoyed. Dave very kindly made me cheese toasties and cups of tea while I shivered in the cockpit. The main purpose of these watches was to look out for shipping. Not a good thing apparently and had to be avoided at all costs. I took it on myself to also watch for U-boats and icebergs.

One day we had a bit of an emergency when the boom parted company with the mast, while at the same time funny things were going on at the top of the sail, and something called a 'topping lift' unattached itself from the sail, all at the same time. This made for an interesting diversion from boredom while I watched the three men valiently struggle with booms, masts, sails and ropes, all the while nonchalantly eating a bowl of meusli and giving out appropriate words of encouragement.

Men struggling with nautical equipment.

The really exciting bit came when Dave had to go up the mast, to free a little doeysole that was jamming up the track which meant the sail could not be fully raised.

Dave up the mast.

The highlight of the crossing was just after we entered the Irish Sea. Four dolphins swam up to the boat and they were soon joined by a school of about twenty. These creatures swam around the boat, played in the bow wave and generally showed off to us for over an hour. I hung low over the side of the boat and got within a foot or so of them when they jumped through the water. They were so beautiful and clearly were having as much fun as we were. It was magical. I didn't take any photos as they were just too quick to focus on.

At about 3.45 am on Sunday 24th June, Dave came and woke me up to say we would be arriving at Pwllheli within the hour. Went up on deck to sunrise and the site of the marina in the distance.

So, thankfully, it was all over. There were times when I had suffered every emotion from low grade panic to all out terror, especially when the wind reached Force 8. Most of the time it was Force 6 to 7. My constant companions on the journey were shearwaters and petrels, but not too sure which brand they were. Gannets appeared when we got within striking distance of land. Two of them kept us close company for quite a while. We had travelled over 1,600 miles in eight days which was really good going. On two days we did more than 190 miles. Overall, I can honestly say I didn't enjoy it, but I can also honestly say that I don't regret a moment. It was an experience (albeit never willingly repeated) that I will never forget. And what else did I come away with? Two cold sores and a cut lip!

And finally, some birdies for Maalie.

Jack, Miki, Allan and Scaredy

2007-06-05T16:21:00.000+01:00

When we got home from Maalie's extravaganza in Spain, Jack, Miki and Allan were fast asleep after arriving from Japan about twelve hours before we got back. They are here for four weeks, but two days before they leave to go, Peter and Lorenzo are off to have an adventure!

We are flying out to the Azores and meeting up with Roger, one of Peter's friends who has been sailing his yacht from the Caribbean back to Britain. The people who are crewing for him on this first leg of the journey are travelling back to Britain so Peter and I will crew for the second leg back to North Wales. There is talk of going via the Scilly Islands and Southern Ireland. I thought I had better get a new posting out before we leave.

It's been wonderful having all the family together. Wren came up, Fairtrader came up and the Musician came up! This weekend TCA and Tortoiseshell are coming up.

Allan trying to eat the table while Miki watches nonchalantly.

Wren with her little nephew.

Musician with Allan and teaching him to play the guitar.

Fairtrader cuddling Allan.

Lorenzo, Allan and Scaredy asleep together.

Scaredy is getting a bit sick of all these photos of Allan. I have been requested to show a few photos of him, especially for Plumpy.

This is a picture of Scaredy's very fine tail. I just caught him disappearing through the curtains of the airing cupboard. Unfortunately he forgot to pull his tail in after himself.

Various pictures of Scaredy posing. Underneath all that fluffiness there is actually very little cat. Not like you Plumpy.

During their stay, Jack, Miki and Allan travelled with Fairtrader to stay with Maalie in Cumbria. I had a text message from Maalie during their first night there which simply said: 'they are all drunk and being runcible'. I know for a fact that Allan and Miki weren't drunk! One day they all went out and Maalie's hat blew off into the Lake. Jack being a perfect gentleman immediately rolled his jeans up and waded out in the bitterly cold water to retrieve it. Maalie actually started throwing stones into the water using Jack as target practice! Hat safely gathered in, but unfortunately Jack's jeans fell down so he had to spend the rest of the day with wet legs.

Before and after the hat incident. Miki trying to dry Jack's legs.
That evening Maalie made his usual meaty meal but as Fairtrader is a vegetarian, he kindly bought her a packet of the dreaded tofu! Before he would touch the stuff he covered himself with his fishing waterproofs, hat, goggles and tongs.

Maalie and Fairtrader dueling over a packet of tofu.

Some more random pictures of the visit:

Peter nursing his step-grandson.

Allan and Jack playing commandoes in the undergrowth.

Miki and Allan.

And finally a picture of the ginger, fluffy, skinny one.

Maalie in Spain

2007-05-20T15:35:00.000+01:00

Peter and I had the honour of being asked to Maalie's official retirement party, down in the South West region of Spain near a small village called El Rocio.

We left Seville airport well after midnight, going in convoy. Maalie and Simon in the lead, followed by Ken and Linda and in the rear Peter and Lorenzo. LtL was doing the driving as Peter had 'conveniently' forgotten his driving licence so Lorenzo got lumbered. Mind you, as Wren pointed out, however stressful it was trying to follow and keep up with Maalie, the lateness of the hour, strange car, strange country, strange road signs, strange language, it would have been ten times worse if Peter was driving. After a near miss with a white van, accompanied by furious hooting and rude gestures, Maalie managed to find his way out of Seville. Felt a bit sorry for the van driver actually, as Maalie had completely cut him up, moving from right hand lane, across four lanes, to turn left at a huge cross roads. I clapped my hands over my eyes as I couldn't bear the thought of my big brother being squashed by a Spaniard, but I noticed that Peter watched with interest and a certain amount of grudging respect.

When we eventually arrived at the camp site, it was wonderful to see so many friends and soon-to-be friends. TCA had considerately bought about a dozen litre bottles of San Miguel. These were waiting for us and we eagerly fell upon them.

Saturday night was the big party. Brilliant. Good food, good wine, good speeches, good company, good everything. Perhaps because of the good wine, all the pictures I took have come out somewhat fuzzy and totally out of focus, so I'll skip them.

The rest of the week was birdwatching and sneaking away and hiding before we got put on a birdwatching tour! Actually, all the birdwatching was brilliant, especially John Butler's tour and Maalie's tour into the 'mountains' to show us Griffin Vultures and Black Vultures. My favourites were the storks. These were brilliant and I never got tired of watching them fly around, and looking at their big untidy nests. I noticed little sparrows made their nests in the storks' nests, so it seemed like a big, happy family. Some of the storks made nests on top of pylons. Special platforms had been put there for this purpose.

A Storkery

Stork's nest on a pylon

Peter optimistically looking for eagles. No-one told him he was in fact looking down the wrong end. Mind you, he was a tad hung over from the party the night before.

The village of El Rocia itself looked a bit like a Western stage set. No roads, only white sand tracks, as horses use this village more than motor vehicles. Every house, shop, bank, bar etc. had wooden poles outside to tie horses onto while the owner conducted their business inside.

I think probably the rarest birds we saw were Black Stork (endangered) and an Iberian Imperial Eagle. Some of the prettiest were Azure Winged Magpie, Bee-Eaters and Black Wing Stilts; the most spectacular were the Flamingoes and the most boring were the (Lesser) Short-Toed Larks.

What a load of twitchers!

One day Peter and I drove to the coast and found rather a grand marina, very newly built. We had a walk around it and then we heard a little mewing sound. I looked down and there was a litter of five little kits obviously having been moved to the water's edge on the rocks by their mother. One of them was a Siamese, the other ordinary little moggies. Wonder who the father was.

The flowers and grasses in this area were amazing. I loved all the different grasses and took a few seeds to see if they will grow here. There was also a strange looking flower. It had leaves like a sage, but flowers like one of the pea family.

It was very interesting meeting Simon after visiting his blog several times. This is my lasting image of Simon:

And finally, dear Maalie coming out from the bush looking dejected after not finding a Golden Oriole!

Lyme Park Pictures

2007-03-29T18:06:00.000+01:00

Not running this week as I have an injured knee. Last week in my yoga class I obediently followed the instructions to squat on one leg, lift opposite foot, sole side up, onto squatting thigh, and hold hands in prayer position above the head. As I fell over I felt a sharp pain in my knee, so have decided to walk this week rather than run.

After parking at my usual spot at West Gate, Peter, Badger and I started to walk up the valley.

Badger stalking a squirrel in the valley at West Gate, and some of the rhododendrons that are being exterminated on account of killing all the native trees. Apparently the valley full of purple and pink flowers in June isn't worth keeping the shrubs for.
A lot of work is being done in the park at the moment. Broad leafed trees are being planted in Cluse Hay Clough where once trees happily grew. Now only the odd oak tree survives leaning out at improbable angles defying all the laws of physics. Dry stone walls are also being repaired by volunteers.

Darcy's pool is just behind the wall. Badger couldn't resist a quick dip and I thought longingly of Darcy's wet blouse although I don't think he had a stick in his mouth at the time of his full immersion.

Mmmmmm ..... wet blouse

Passing through Knight's Low Wood

we started the walk up to Bow Stones Farm. This hill is the best place to spot Red Deer. There is an on-going programme of culling the buck deer as the herds are getting a bit out of hand.

Peter bagged this specimen for Maalie's next casserole.

The Bow Stones themselves are the remains of a Saxon cross. No one knows exactly where it came from or what the stones signify. Some say it is a boundary mark, others say it was for pushing sheep through to see if they were fat enough for market.

Off we went along the ridge. This is the very best part of Lyme although technically we are now outside the park boundary.

The views from the ridge are amazing. To the east is Kinder; travelling to the west there is South Head, Mount Famine, Eccles Pike, Windgather Rocks, Cat's Tor, Shining Tor and the peak of Shuttlings Low.

The Bow Stones with Bow Stones Farm in the background.

Views along the ridge. Bow Stones Farm is in the background behind Peter.

On another posting there will be pictures of Darcy's house, Cage and Cage Hill and The Haunted Tree. Oh, sod it. Here is The Haunted Tree: