Poppin' in soon

One of my very, very first posts was 'can't get you out of my head, 'cos chihuahua is all I think about'. Well, the thought is still there, it never went away. I think I developed it because I still miss my dear Old Meggie so much and although I long for another dog, I don't want to replace her or, sort of feel unfaithful to her. That could be why my subconscious chose a very non terrier breed for me to focus on. I could indulge my need for a dog safely knowing that I wouldn't get one. Does that make sense? WELL I'M GETTING ONE NOW!!!!!!!!  Heart doesn't ache quite so much and the time, and the situation are right... and Poppy arrives at our house in two weeks time. She's no baby, but she is very small, very cute, and very much a big dog in a little package. Yes, she's a chihuahua!

Eye'll be more careful next time

My eye! Eye will certainly have to be less enthusiastic about my spare time reading from now on. Eye really put my foot in it. As I waited in a rather wide doorway last week, I chatted to a friend. Other people passed by and to each I said 'goodbye' and exchanged pleasantries. To my friend I waxed lyrical about a passage I had read in Henry Mayhew's 19th century book about London's working poor. Intrigued by his first hand accounts from the mouths of the poor themselves, I had read a piece quoting a glass eye maker. It is a super piece and it illustrates the plight of those who lost an eye in Victorian times. As the glass eye maker was a profitable business, it seems that losing one's real eye was a common occurrence. He says, that to a poor person, a glass eye was a real necessity for no one would employ a person with an empty eye socket. He describes the glass eyes en-mass for inspection and the variations in qualities between them. It really is a poignant piece. It's not my fault that I find it ever so slightly funny, is it?

There I was then, describing the passage to my friend when who should walk by and stop to chat but Frank. Of course he heard the tail end of the tale. Of course Frank has a glass eye. Of course I tactfully steered away from the subject. Of course not. I tried, I really tried, but somehow every second word which fell from my lips had something to do with 'seeing him on Wednesday' 'looking forward to the weekend' and more. I couldn't have been less tactful if I had actually written a script and rehearsed it.

Reminded of an event from several years ago made me blush all the way home. A friend of my brother-in-law, studying with him at a local university, came to stay. A beautiful day, we decided that a barbecue would be fun, feed all of us and best of all, the guys could cook.

Something terrible had happened to brother-in-laws friend. His dad had been discovered, discretely wrapped in carpet, tucked neatly away under the garden fence where he had lain for quite some time. It transpired that friend's family had suffered terribly at this man's hands and during one last and awful altercation, he had been battered to death. Our friend had not missed his dad, believing him to be working in the far eastern oil fields. When he rang home, his mum would say
 'oh, you've just missed your dad, he is flying back in half an hour', or
'Dad won't be home for Christmas, the station needs to be manned'. Needless to say, our friend had received a terrible shock. I felt that it was my duty as a friend and a Christian to welcome him to our home and be of as much comfort as we could be.

Back to the barbecue. The boys went out to play in the local public house and my husband and I prepared the meal and we waited. And we waited. And we waited. And eventually we cooked it and we ate it. Keeping some for the bother-in-law and our guest, we left the charcoal glowing for as long as possible. Eventually the meat was too charred to be of any use and in a fit of pique I threw it over the fence into the field beyond.

Home came brother-in-law and friend, staggering gamely in through the back gate and demonstrating how well they could stand on one leg after downing ten pints of lager between them.
'Where's me dinner?' asked hungry friend
'Down there' I said. 'Interred at the bottom of the garden where it deserves to be'.

Out in the blog-o-sphere

I've been out in the blog - o - sphere for a while. When things get serious I need to concentrate and not let my thoughts get out of control. So, no funny stories, no weird happenings, nothing exciting to report.

Except: I have been enthralled by the rescue of the Chilean miners. Absolutely enthralled. They are a testament to their own strength, courage, faith and conviction and tributes must be paid to the wonderful people who engineered their rescue and those who held vigil for them.

A person posting on my Facebook page does not want to hear any more about the miners ...'sick of it' says the poster. I'm not. I watched as much of it as I possibly could. In this world of tragedy brought about by toxic waste, mud slides, floods, earthquakes, and humanity acting against itself, the story of the Chilean miners is one of humanity actually demonstrating wisely the tremendous power that humanity has.

The power of patience, courage, knowledge, organisation - too much to mention - have all been ably and manifoldly demonstrated. Not sure if manifoldly is a real word, but its the one I want to use.

Get fed up with watching the events? Never! I have seen prayer in action and prayers answered, right before my eyes.

Thank you to the 'little heroes'  - the Red Cross and other agencies, who through their charity, supplied shelters and more for the waiting relatives of the trapped men. The old King James version of our Bible uses the word 'charity' where our newer versions use the word 'love'. Faith hope and love. Faith, hope and charity. Love expressed and love freely given.

A dear friend of mine, not one known to my 'churchy brothers and sisters' has just been diagnosed with cancer. A very special lady, she has actually made history in one part of her life! She is not a religious person, in her own words, and she has a strength within her that most of us can only dream of, so my prayers for this wonderful person, is that she can learn to lean on others and take heart from their strength. So, dear, non religious friend, whether you like it or not, prayers are yours.God bless you and keep you, and yours, in His care.

No comment

My apologies if you are trying to comment. I thought I had enabled comments, but don't quite seem to have managed it. Of course you could leave a comment telling me how to do it, but I wouldn't see it because I can't, so to speak. If you know, email me!

Revenge is feet (or toetal wipeout)

Are you sitting comfortably?
Then let's begin......

Downtrodden for years, the back doorstep decided that it was now time to retaliate. Spotting its intended victim momentarily distracted by a broken peg basket it quivered with glee and gave an almost imperceptible but extremely effective flick.The victim fell forward, the little piggy that stayed home buckled, bent and bellowed in anguish. Ricocheting between the clothes airer and door jamb the doorstep's victim too protested loudly.On hearing notes usually beyond the victim's mellow mezzo and a vocabulary certainly beyond the pale, the doorstep settled back with the smug, self satisfied glow of a job well done. The fat lady had sung.


Should you not have understood my Pratchett like ramblings, I shall explain. I broke my toe on the back door step. And it hurt. Slightly worried  about the wide ranging extremes of the words I used to alleviate the pain! I will probably have to scale the pearly gates now rather than gain direct entry.

Oops.

See, we'd like you to stay but.............

Way back, my posts discussed what would happen if I tried to improve my working life. Now I know what happens. Of course what happens is strictly because of business and economic expediency, but my exit may be speedier than even I, imagined.
When the wrath of wages (or lack of them) hits, I shall still be standing. The Rock of Ages has a firm hold of me.

Just as long as no seaweed tangles round my feet in this imaginary world of watery repercussions. I can't stand the stuff.

Instant wait loss

In an instant 10% of my excess body baggage was gone. Yes, gone! Like an advertisement for low fat, low calorie yoghurt, I was not quite fat free, but carrying 10% less than I did just ten seconds before. How could this be?

It was sooooh easy. When I read the print out from the nasty body fat monitor it said 43% fat. I forgot that I am dyscalculic/dyslexic and that my eye to brain link tube automatically reverses numbers. About to throw said print out away, I just glanced at it and saw, to my delight, that the 43 had transformed into 34. OK, not quite 10%, but near enough.

Joy oh joy. After such a massive reduction I can now afford to diet next week, not this week. This week I shall live - it instead.



One day, as well as having my lovely family, I will have another lovely dog.

 Last week, at a training event, the trainer invited us (well told us really) to play an ice breaker game based on speed dating. Three of us did not fit into the plan and we found ourselves a forlorn trio seated at a table at the back. As the instructions were to 'find some common ground', we set about finding out if the three of us had anything in common. I mentioned being a dogless dog lover which elicited a response  - Tony lost his dog eight years ago and still thinks abut her. Then Tim told us that he had lost his dog just two weeks earlier. We shared our experiences and found our common ground. We miss our canine companions. We would not name the grief as being like the loss of a child for that kind of loss is a deep, deep wound, but we named our loss as being beyond anything that we had expected. We shared the keeping of collars and leads, the anticipation of a waggy welcome greeting on returning home, furry cuddles and always willing listening ears attached to a friend full of unconditional love.

I salute you guys, for sharing with me and owning with me the pain that follows the loss of a beloved pet. I'm encouraged that I'm not the only one who feels this and I'm not the only one who dares own up to it. God bless you and keep you in His care.

Having no dog of my own doesn't stop me from caring about them. Check out this web site http://www.wiccaweys.com/ Read every scrap of it and see if you are not in awe of the wonderful people who work with the dogs. Then, support them, or your own local animal shelter. They need us too.

Dancing feet

Standing in a queue - we British are so good at it we have turned it into an art form - I listened to the piped music wafting vaguely around my head from hidden speakers. As the tune changed, I recognised the new one immediately, and my mind left the queue far behind, travelling back through the years, and the subcutaneous layers, to the stage.

Yes, dear reader, I was once lithe and nimble enough to grace a stage and play to an audience. Behave yourself! This was long before lap dancing. A keen member of amateur dramatics, I've played a variety of parts, most of them involving a Yorkshire accent. Incidentally, I don't have a Yorkshire accent, I'm from a part of England between the Tyne and the Tees that has more to do with monkeys than Geordies. I played the Yorkshire person because my accent was probably the nearest the am dram society could get at the time. And I was jolly good too, in my own expert opinion.

Anyway, on one occasion (not an am dram one), I was a dancer. Me! Two flat left feet, no coordination and short term memory issues to boot - a dancer!

Proudly, I stood on stage clad in jazzy top and frilled skirt, little twee shoes ready to float and twirl like never before. The music began. Off we went, round in a circles, swoop this way, spring that way, raise arms, do a twizzle or two, back two steps, skip three steps.....and the gradual realisation that an important piece of underwear had worked loose and was removing itself slowly but surely. Nope, it wasn't the knickers - it was the bra.

Bra straps eked their way down from my shoulders and peeped out from beneath the sleeves of the top. With elbows seriously shackled and preventing any artistic and elegant arm wafting, I stopped mid twirl and sashayed off stage into the wings.

'Hey, Mike' I whispered into the darkness, 'come here'. Mike made his way carefully through the flats and props.

'Stick your hands up the back of my tee shirt and fasten my bra'. Mike raked around in the darkness. His hands trembled as they went where angels fear to tread, but he accomplished his task without any embarrassing 'accidents'. With a whispered 'thank you' I was out onto the stage with a flutter of feet and an array of arms to hide my entrance. I don't think Mike had had such a good offer for donkey's years.

Year later I was walking along a corridor after a successful job interview. The area manager who interviewed me was some metres behind, walking with another manager. Without so much as a warning 'twang' my underskirt fell down around my ankles.

Stepping out of it, I picked it up and popped it into my bag, as if this sort of thing was quite normal and happened every day. I mean, what else is a girl supposed to do?

not oblogatory

Senor and Senora have been here for a little while and it is lovely to see them and have them stay - especially as Senora is a super cook and the Senor isn't bad at the washing up! They are leaving tomorrow and I will miss them.

There is something I want to write about that popped into my mind yesterday. I'm still exploring the thought and  as it isn't oblogatory to write every day, I shan't. It will keep.

G'night all.

So far no sale

In a well known fashion store today, the sound system paused its mind numbingly boring muzak and announced:

'For this season's new silhouette, see our window display of new fashion colours and accessories'

I shan't be looking for this season's new silhouette because my silhouwent some time ago. Sorry folks - no sale today.

Laughter in a heartbeat

A chance conversation yesterday brought to mind my grandmother's family. Nana had so many brothers and sisters that it was difficult to remember them all. I can count eight - I think there were sixteen all together. They all had something in common: they laughed. Some sort of irrepressible bubble inside them that just giggled out and overflowed with good humour. My mother too had a real quirky humour alas often hidden by her years of ill health.

Nana herself wasn't particularly humorous but then she didn't live in a situation which encouraged it.  Instead she was kind and generous, thoughtful and loving. Her brothers and sisters however seemed to have an inbuilt sense of humour that wasn't silly or over the top, but loving and fun. They were not wealthy, indeed they must have suffered hardship and poverty along with every one else in the North East, yet they retained their cheerful dispositions still.

Aunty Maud, Nana's cousin I think, short, rotund and jolly, came on our regular country outings, squashed into our little Austin Countryman along with Nana, both my parents, my two siblings.. and me. Maybe the dog came too, I can't remember. Aunty Maud had a range of one liners for every event.

Nana's brothers, Zac and Dot (he was a very small baby) were continually wreathed in smiles and her sisters Irene and Alice, both tolerant and good humoured too.

Uncle Harry, the lovable rogue, had a clutch of children himself with his beautiful red haired wife, but my favourite, my very very favourite was D'Oyly. D'Oyly's real name was John. He was given the name D'Oyly when first born when a neighbour, shaking her head at the number of children produced by my great grandmother said
'And what are you going to call this one? D'Oyly after the rag man's horse?' My learned readers will recognise a reference to a famous opera, or opera house.

D'Oyly reveled in us children. He listened to our childish stories and as we regaled him with our tales of derring- do, he would exclaim
'Did yeh? Yeh didn't did yeh?' and he would laugh, his eyes wide with amusement and gravestone teeth stained with tobacco showing his love for us and his joy for the world.

All of them saw active service, mainly in the Navy. D'Oyly was a merchant seaman working on the ships that supplied the Navy. He met one of his bothers in Sydney harbour as their ships docked together. How's that for a coincidence. They were wonderful people, none of them tall in stature but giants of character.

I beleive it was Stan that D'Oyly met in Australia. We all loved Stan. Like Alice he lived in London and we didn't see much of him, but when we did, guess what.. we laughed. A born comedian, he entertained us with stories and jokes and one liners better than any TV entertainer. Stan had a heart attack, recovered well, but still having check ups and so forth as part of his aftercare. Out one day, off to a check up I believe, he went to light up a cigarette. His wife, my aunt, said:
'Don't do that, you know the doctor said smoking will kill you'
'I know,' he replied, 'I'll just have one last ciggy before I die'. And he laughed and lit up his last cigarette. He died there, on the platform at Paddington station, smiling to the end.

It's too late now to tell them that I loved them, my grandmother's family. I would like them to know that their love and their laughter lives on, their comic DNA beats through my heart and my sisters' hearts. We, in turn have bequeathed it to our children; and their children too will value the enjoyment their ancestry brings them.

Now add to that, the joy of the Lord, and there, is a real blessing and a lightness of heart and soul to sustain throughout the darkest of times. Thank you Father.

Fatly refusing to diet

Being made of 43% fat isn't all that bad really. A forensic science programme on TV reported that body fat does not melt in acid the way that other body parts do. That means  I would take an awful lot of getting rid of, should someone decide to push me into the odd acid vat in their lock up. A tremendous amount of 'skimming off' would ensure that I'd be haunting them for quite some time.

Still, if body fat is made of fat cells swollen with water, then maybe a good wringing out would sort me out, or, if I laid very still whilst covered in a thick layer of sea salt, water would be drawn out through my pores and I would slowly deflate. I'd need quite a bit of chocolate to keep me occupied throughout the process though.

There's a fridge magnet which says something like 'there's a thin person inside trying to get out'. It really is true in my case, there is. It's like this. I don't look like I'm 43% fat despite being quite a short person. Fat seems to stick to me quite well, even the doctor said so. That's because inside I am a very small person. So follow this through - if I am a small person, it takes a greater amount of fat to make me look like a large person. And inside I am a small person. Easy!

See! I knew I'd think myself thin eventually.

When you say these words, be respectful.

When those words are said, it should be with the greatest respect, for they are said too easily and words that slip into common use often lose their depth of meaning.

Which words? 'I love you'? Yes, they count, however, I was thinking of two others.

The first is devastated.

How easy it is to say it, how often it slips into useage. The question is, do we really mean it? Think about this:
'I lost my mobile, I was devastated', or
'The wheel needed changing, Sam was devastated, he got oil on his designer shirt'.

So very, very easy to say. Not so easy to experience. Today is the anniversary of the Twin Towers disaster in New York, commonly known as 9/11. Now that is devastation on a magnitude that still beggars belief. As I watched the events unfold back then, beamed into my living room via modern technology it was an incomprehensible happening, so beyond the realms of my own experience that it felt unreal, even fictional. Even now, with events placed in their time and history, watching it being replayed still creates an odd moment of suspended reality where the world turns and stands still at the same time.

We weren't there. We watched and our eyes made some sort of sense of what we saw. Those who were there; who were caught up in that experience could not see what we could see. They did not know, comprehend or understand the bigger satellite picture being beamed around the world.

They were devastated; suddenly, instantly the world that made sense was gone and a new, devastatingly frightening and dangerous world emerged, devastation on a massive scale, beyond comprehension, beyond even the next breath.

Another time, another place, a distaster, not this time made by human beings, but by nature, the tsunami, the second word.  That word too has slipped into common useage, topical news programmes glibly announce
'A veritable tsunami of complaints were received'. I've heard:
'Guilt washed over me like a tsunami'.

How easily a new word is picked up and  made meaningless by its overuse in representing much more trivial events.

From today, when you use the words 'devastated' and 'tsunami', use them with respect and within a proper context, and in your heart, remember those who have suffered, and those who suffer still. May those who lost their lives rest in peace and safety with God, and those who hurt and grieve find comfort in His Son. Amen.

Food for thought

Thinking about food, we are always encouraged too check the content of the stuff we buy for its sugar, salt and fat content. I've discovered that there is a direct correlation between the amount of each and the taste of the product. Not too keen on salt, I don't monitor that one, sugar can create just too much sweetness, but fat........... ah well.

A good stew or casserole tastes so much better made with meat marbled with some creamy white fat. An incredible roast needs a decent amount or at least a good basting. I might like a good basting. In gorgeous essential oils and and creams..... but that's for another time, back to business. Fat makes food taste GOOD.

Ice cream - even the sound tastes good, cream cake, oh my! Rich yellow butter, buttery, golden, gold....the subconscious link to luxury and longing - and the ultimate fat enhancer, chocolate.

If such goey loveliness on the taste buds leads to us wanting more, if the fat content adds to the experience of the product, then something with a high fat content, say 43% is going to be absolutely, mouth wateringly, deliciously GORGEOUS.

And I am.

Mrs Ball, Miss Cox, Mr. Dicks

Yep, you'd better believe it. When one of my children was at school she had some little friends. She loved the child of Mrs Ball, got on really well with Mr Dicks' daughter and Miss Cox's niece. In the playground one day watching her having fun with her playmates, it suddenly struck me that the register would be in alphabetical order by surname. I remembered having a little chuckle about the endless source of amusement it would provide for the class teachers!

So what brought that little memory to mind? Motorway driving is something that my husband, His Nibs, does really well. Recently on our way to Wales (the place with valleys and amazing beaches both at the same time) I noticed that he was less than patient with other drivers. He would loudly exclaim after every display of their more thoughtless skills and eventually, despite knowing a few choice cuss words myself - I felt obliged mention my distaste at this, even though I had never heard him do so before.

'Will you stop it' I said 'There's no need for it and it's getting on my nerves'.

His Nibs apologised and for a while, all was well. In due course a driver cut us up.
'What a *@*#'  he expostulated. (That's the first time I've ever used that word. No not *@*#, I mean expostulated. Is it a real word?)

'No' I said 'He isn't. 'You are, and when I get my next dog, or two or three, I'm going to call them by those names so that you have every excuse to shout those names any time you want.'.

'What d'you mean, what names?'

'The ones you keep calling - foot or rugby, male chicken, and short for Richard'.

His Nibs is a good natured chap and he laughed, then said

'and if you get four dogs, what are you going to call the fourth?'

'Door handle.'



I'm still here, so you can tell that the deep waters didn't quite engulf me following the previous post. I'm about knee deep at the moment and girding my loins for the next bit. Or rather more coast of England style, tucking my skirt into my knicker legs!

No one whose hope is in Him will ever be put to shame.

International relations

Just saying hi to people from other countries who have visited either by accident or design. Hi Canada, Hi America, Hi Singapore. A very special Hi  to Spain. See you tomorrow senorita! I stand corrected, my senorita is a senora. oops, sorry!

A decision not lightly made

Today I made a decision. I make them quite a lot really - decisions I mean, not chocolate puddings, although to look at me you would think I live on home made puds and sweeties. This decision is a huge one. The thought began yesterday after a thorough castigation (see earlier post), it fermented overnight and exploded during this morning's all age worship. Today's teaching from a rather wonderful lady (hi Dawn) helped stir the fermentation process and the music and singing solidified the thought process. I now have a mind like an Aero bar. Oh get out of my head chocolate, be gone! You know, lots of little empty spaces surrounded by some solid thinking. I so wish I hadn't gone down this descriptive route now, but hey ho.

The reading was about Jesus telling the disciples to try again after an exhausting and unsuccessful fishing trip. Cast their nets according to his instruction and they would be successful. Dawn talked about listening to Jesus and acting according to His way with His leadership, placing our faith firmly in Him. She used an analogy - we may have to go into deep water, uncharted territory, dark and scary in order to 'catch the best fish'.

Thinking about this; I know what my actions tomorrow are going to be and I know that fury will be unleashed upon me and waves and waves of it will pound me. After a chat with my dearest Mary and a good long prayer from her deeply spiritual heart, I feel ready for the pounding. There isn't only myself suffering, there are others and maybe I'm the strongest of us and the best equipped to make a positive change for all of us.

 I wanted to make a difference. Castigator has been difficult to love and respect, but I've done it. Drawing alongside  when necessary I have ministered and cared  to the best of my ability, and put our differences aside, hoping that as I did so, Castigator would find value in our friendship. Now, I see that even this is used as a weapon to destroy my confidence for it has been viewed as weakness. Now I see where the real attack is coming from and who the real enemy is. If you, Reader, are Christian, you will recognise this too.

I want to make a difference. And I shall.  If  breakers batter me about, I will stand in the strength of our Lord Jesus Christ and I will hold fast to His precious Name even when the deep waters of  blame shifting and recrimination threaten to overwhelm me -for it could be me who is found wanting.

Should I be overcome, should the waves knock the feet out from under me, well, I won't panic, I can only float into God's presence and He will put me back together again.

Dear God, as you continue to refine me and make me new, please could you rub out the desire for Terry's All Gold and chocolate covered stem ginger. Thank you. Amen.


Hello Canada! May God bless you and keep you in His care.

Our little place in the country

This is it! This is our little place in the country. I'm not sure exactly which part of the country it is parked in.......could be St David's Bay in Wales, but this little beauty is my favourite mode of travel.

Fully equipped with a fitted kitchen, large double bed, lounge/diner and en-suite it represents bijoux living at its best. Some country homes of this style make use of a mezzanine level as a sleeping area, this one, however, boasts tailor made storage instead. Fully air conditioned when the windows are open, double glazed when they are not, it has warm air vent heating and a fridge/freezer which operates using three different sources of power.
Open and airy, at night it transforms in to a luxury sleep cell, silvered blinds block out extremes of temperature, colour coordinated curtains enhance that 'at home' feeling and the womb-like comfort soon smooths away the day and dreams it into sleep.

Hotels, cruises, theme parks... things of the past; why be tied to one place when the view from your bedroom window can be different every day?

How about this one....................................>>>>

Try it, you'll like it.

A streak of nature

During our summer break in the beautiful Shetland Islands, my better half, hereafter titled 'His Nibs', had a sudden and unexpected urge. He is not given to suddent and unexpected urges so this one was rather a shock. He had this urge to streak, yep, get naked, bare his all, strut his stuff.

Being quite a shy chap really and not in the first flush of youth or figure, he decided to streak at five in the morning, across the beach at Hermaness. Didn't wake up in time though so the opportunity was missed. The next day the wildlife warden was out and about with a long lens camera. I'm not sure if a long lens camera would have caught exactly what His Nibs would show whilst running as fleet of foot as a deer in flight, but he wasn't taking any chances. Thwarted, he hung the idea at the back of his mind.
'Well,' I thought, 'he's lost the moment and will forget about it'.

A couple of days later we were out walking. It rained and rained and we became enveloped in a thick mist. Dashing back to van I jumped in and began to dry off and change. His Nibs opened the driver's door and stripped off outside not wanting to muddy the carpet of course.

He threw his clothes onto the driver's seat and before I could pass him the dry ones and to my horrified delight, he set off up the hill doing some sort of John Cleese mad march hare stride. I'd just got over the shock when at the same moment we both realised that a car load of German tourists was pulling in behind us.

What happened next seemed to run through in seconds. His Nibs moved as if chased by a rutting stag and I tried to pick up the camera and lock the van door at the same time, failing to do either. His Nibs leaped in, red in face and backside, out of breath and trembling. Speechless he pointed at the tourists climbing out of the car and stuttered
'I should have kept on going, the Germans are very liberal  minded'
Pointing out that there were children in the car, I did what every good wife would have done and passed him his clothes and swore never to tell a living soul.

Castigated sugar

Castigate. Castigatory. Castigator.

 It is the thing one (in the royal sense) that one does, it is the thing that is done by the one that does it. The dictionary says that to castigate is to rebuke, in more easily understood parlance, to tell off. So what about the person who is castigated?  There is a poem, it is a well known one so I won't type it all in here...' if a child lives with criticism....'. Remember it? Well, in my experience (and I spent many years working in childcare), a child who lives with criticism fails to thrive, may develop behaviour problems, becomes afraid to act on their own initiative and so forth.

The same happens to adults too. The child who lives with constant criticism doesn't develop self respect and/or self esteem and becomes more likely to suffer from bullying at school or in the community. There have been some very sad instances of this in Britain recently. The adult who is criticised constantly loses self respect and self esteem and can become reluctant to make decisions (because they are always wrong) or act on their own initiative because they are always punished. The end result can be disastrous for the person who is criticised. It could even lead to them suffering from periods of depression, loss of motivation and the resulting issues that will bring.

There is an area in my life where I am becoming too afraid of the consequences to make any real decisions. There is an area in my life where I am failing to thrive. In this area I have responsibilities that I cannot face because my thoughts about what is happening around me leave no space in my head for anything else. The person who is doing this knows what they are doing and thinks (and has said) that I do not stand up for myself. Well, Castigator, I have news for you. I am bound by a code of ethics that you do not understand, and this code means that I must wait until the time is right and the circumstances demand that I act. I am waiting for Jesus. While you wait for the mouse to roar, remember that despite her sins, the mouse has Right - and rights - on her side. It isn't too late to make things right again, try it.
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Driving through a beautiful Cotswold town along a lane filled with those gorgeous Georgian apartment blocks, I stopped at some traffic lights. Glancing up at the apartments I saw a man with a duster in his hand wiping the window ledge clean. Neatly framed in the window he was an impressive sight - naked from the waist up, he was broad shouldered and muscular with just the right amount of sun tan. Unaware that he was causing a 'diet coke' moment amongst the ladies in the traffic queue, he dusted on. I'm not normally phased by a half naked man. The young men these days seem hell bent on displaying their backsides to all and sundry, determined to show us all that they do not wear Marks and Spencer's underpants under their falling down jeans. They have no effect on me at all. Plus, I'm not phased at all by the sight of a man with a duster after all, my better half is a whizz at the household stuff -  and he isn't bad in just his underpants either.

Nope, I don't know what it was about this chap, but into my head sprang a line from a 1970's song.

In the words of Lyndsey de Paul:-

'sugar me'.

Uh oh it's raining again..........

.....and it was, indeed it has, since Saturday. Especially Saturday, when after breakfast we discovered that the camper had a flat tyre. The camper had already been on adventure the previous day. Collecting it from the garage and driving it home I was concerned that it tended to pull to the right, was slow and lethargic, and, as I turned into our road, smelled of burnt toast. I’d driven at around twenty five to thirty miles an hour along a lane with a sixty mile speed limit, sort of knowing that I should turn back, but definitely knowing that it would be my ‘driving’ that would be blamed, so I continued home and told my better half when he arrived back from work. I saw the ‘it’s her driving’ flash across his face, but he is experienced in the ways of Mrs.T. and he didn’t say it. To humour me, he drove the camper a couple of hundred yards........ rang the garage, and very slowly set off back there. Our weekend away looked over before it had started. After much peering under the van and head shaking discussion, the brakes were discovered to be at 200 degrees and the cylinder thingy had been cracked when the discs were replaced. A new second hand one was quickly put in and we eventually set off for the Cotswolds . See, I may not know the names of thingies, but I know when they are going wrong.


Saturday morning and it was raining again... and we had a flat tyre. It’s tricky with a camper van finding a garage with a high enough roof to take it, but we did and the great guys at Malvern Tyres took good care of things. I waited in the shop/waiting area, thoroughly entertained by the comings and goings of mechanical men (now there’s a dream) and customers. A poster advertising tyres caught my attention:

‘ tyres epitomise style, trend awareness and individuality’

I want them and I want them bad. Because I’m SO worth it. A well dressed gent came in, leaned sort of confidentially over the counter and asked

‘Do you have any rubber exhaust hangers?’

Now even I know that exhausts are not made of rubber.

most folks are lovely

and then you get the ones, who, after smashing into my son's car a couple of weeks ago, go back to it and really give it a seeing to..... and steal the number plates. The car was carefully parked on a drive, tucked away almost out of view. Someone singled out my son's car. Well look out someone, I've singled you out for prayer. Something good might just happen to YOU and then you won't know what to do or feel will you?

'Get rid of all bitterness and anger.......' Ephesians 4.

The write way up

It seemed logical. I've been so busy working out how this blog thing works and fiddling with the pages, that actually posting anything took second place.
'Never mind' I thought 'I'm a clever girl, I can post in retrospect'.

So this is how it works..... you begin the post, check it through, click on 'publish post' and it appears. With a date on. Today's date. Not yesterday's, not the day before. Today.

'Not a problem' I reasoned. 'As I type, beginning with last Sunday, the new lines of type with push the old ones down the page and the text will end up beginning with the most recent thoughts and the oldest thoughts will be down the bottom of the page near the last date of posting'. The most recent date then will be nearest to the top. In blog order.

 I expect you have worked it out now  - it just doesn't happen does it? Took me a couple of hours though.

In the Cotswold's for the weekend, when all this amazing process of logic was taking place, I lay in the camper van bed listening to the pouring rain and trying to imagine how print happens when you type it in the the computer. Of course the letters you type go on top of the previous ones. That's soooo logical. Isn't it?

Remembering my first proper job and the old Remington Noiseless. Showing my age now. A splendid typewriter that I learned to use on the job - I was an advertisement clerk in the local newspaper. I had status then. Prestige.

'She works for the Mail' folks would say if I was spotted out; and if the spotter knew me already ..
'Hoo dus she think she is werking for the Mail?' (you have to know the vernacular to appreciate it.).

The Mail sold the wedding photographs that the photographers took each Saturday. People would come in and look at the display photos to choose the size and price range of their prints. After our wedding, His Nibs (my husband) and I were the 'model' photographs. Unwary customers would discuss the bride and groom, the wedding outfits, where the bride and groom ranked in the attractiveness stakes and so on, completely unaware that the bride was actually sitting behind the desk waiting to take their order.
'Wouldn't you think she'd take her glasses off?' asked one to her friend.
Why? Why would I take my glasses off? I needed them on in order to SEE. What if someone swapped His Nibs for an ugly model who I didn't recognise because I didn't have my glasses on and I accidentally married him? Anyway, there was nothing wrong with those bronzed aviator frames with the double bridge. Nothing.

The Remington Noiseless, I remembered, typed top down, not bottom up. The daisy wheel printer in the press room (oh those Saturdays doing the footy results with Jeff  (Geoff?) Stelling... it printed top down too.
'So why,' I thought, still listening to the rain, 'doesn't the computer?'. ... At some point I drifted off to sleep, awakened later by the sound of large drips on the camper van roof. Life somehow unscrambled itself again and the mystery of how the type appeared on screen unfolded as I remembered that the PC too, types from the top down and my method of blogging in retrospect was busted.

I remembered something else too. I remembered my dad telling me:
'Never camp under trees Les, never camp under trees, 'cos when it rains, it always rains twice.' And it did.

'Can't get you out of my head 'cos chihua - hua is all I think about....'

Yep, I've got an ear worm. A jingle in my brain that won't go away and it's all because I began playing on a dog - forum. Why can't I get chihuahuas out of my brain? I'm a sensible person. I have a sensible job and I do sensible things and I help people in a sort of sensible way. I'm a sensible person and I like terriers. My lovely Maxi was a Patterdale, my beloved Meggie was a Border cross, so why the infatuation with chihuahuas? I've never liked them. Short, stocky, snarly things with big foreheads and a defensive attitude. No, I'm not describing me, I'm describing the chihuahua.
Isn't there a saying that dogs are like their owners?
Maybe I've just discovered why I'm fascinated by the chihuahua.


The dog longing is all Nala's fault and she's a cat. Nala slipped quietly over the garden fence today and slinked around my feet whilst I was sneaking a bite of cake. Nala is black and kitten sized with the most beautiful bright green eyes. For the first time ever she let me stroke her and it was lovely. In an instant my hands remembered stroking my own pets and the instant de - stress effect that it has. As Nala went quietly back to her own garden I sent her a silent 'thank you', and somehow I didn't need the cake no more.

Big ideas, little talent

Now what? I've got this far. I've stepped along carefully guided by the mystery blog guide and google and I've set up a blog. I'm on the way!

Not quite sure what to do next though.

I would like to set up different pages... one for my love of beautiful places in Britain, such as the Shetland Islands, one my my love of the Lord, one for my love of my family,one for my ability to be a happy hooker and a chick with sticks (knitters you know what I mean!).

Yet more..... I'd like a page/link to dog rescue centres. I no longer have my own beloved dog, but there are plenty out there who need someone with a heart for them.

And more... for my work in adult education. How valuable my learners are and how I love to support them and help them grow their learning wings and fly.

There's so much! The internet is my oyster! The blog is too big, too daunting and I don't know where to start. Right now I have a sermon to think about. Pray that I can find my way back here and begin this new journey........... hopefully with YOU to hold my hand on the stepping stones and help me find the waymarkers!