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.

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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.