List of Players

Ok I thought it was about time that I introduced you to some of the characters that inhabit my world.

His Lordship - My husband, we met in 1977 and were married on 28th March 1981. I love him what more do I need to say.
My Son & My Daughter in Law - appear as themselves, but also sometimes under the guise of the packing fairies.
Her Ladyship - My daughter. What can I say she has her fathers brains and my wit. God help her!
Grandchild #1 & Grandchild #2 - my granddaughter and grandson alias Bizzybot & Benjamin Bunny. (ok Grandmas' are allowed to be soppy).
The Captain - My Dad, one of the loveliest people you could ever meet. A truly gentle man, the person that taught me that no matter what life throws at you, there is still laughter even in the darkest of hours. I love you Dad.
The Fat Controller - My Father in Law. This was the affectionate name by which his own children and grandchildren knew him. In his eighties he's old school, worked on the railways all of his adult life. For those friends across the pond you may know the fat controller by another name, Sir Topham Hat from the Thomas the Tank Engine stories. The Fat Controller passed away 28th February 2006.
Mrs Beeton - My Mother in Law. She has devoted her years to caring for her family. Her main focus in life has been food. She was a very good cook. Mrs Beeton for those of you who don't know was a Victorian lady who wrote the definitive cookbook. Still in print. At 86 years old she drives us all up the wall and then some, but she we lover her... honest!
JT - My older sister, she is one of the funniest people I know.
Legal Eagle- My brother in Law, JT's husband, very witty, very lovely.
The International Playboy - My big brother, more moves than a chess champion, collects exotic wives, least said!
Cruella - Mrs International Playboy. They got married in September 2007. She's Russian... see above! But ignore that, she is lovely and hopefully the final Mrs International Playboy.
The Chuckle Brothers - His Lordships brother and his co worker.
Agent Starling - The letting agent for fecklessmove.com, (Letmove.com), yes I've said it, so sue me if you want. It's all true.

A True Gent.

I went out on a date last night with a tall dark handsome man. I've known him for almost three decades, he asked me to marry him once, but we've sort of lost touch over the last couple of years. you know how it is family, work that sort of thing.

Not having done this 'dating' thing for a very long time you can understand that I was rather nervous.I spent most of yesterday afternoon trying to decide what to wear. Of course it had to be something sexy, but not mutton, classy not trashy. And of course following on from the 'grandma' reference earlier, would it be the Cubans? But strictly no high heels, that's definitely vicars & tarts territory. At my age, (no I'm not disclosing it let's just say I've seen the better side of forty), you have to go for the elegant sexy approach. A little cleavage is ok, skirts at knee length, to allow for a smidgen of thigh when you sit down. Anything more than this and you'll definitely frighten the ducks away.

(That's just reminded me, I was just mooching through the feedback on who had been visiting my blog, when I discovered that a certain 'gentleman', I use that in the loser context, had come via an erotic site. I don't believe I just wrote that, apologies no pun intended. Anyway I was to say the least a bit bemused, if not a little put out, what on earth could he have typed in to arrive with little old me, and more to the point what have I talked about that could possibly be construed as erotic. Cuban stockings! I feel sorry for him now what a let down.)

Well I did opt for the Cubans, not for his benefit really, more for me. It's a girlie thing. Well after a couple of hours of buffing, waxing, polishing etc, (I sound like an old car,) I was ready for my date. I arranged for my daughter to drop me off at the place we had agreed to meet and I have to say I heaved a sigh of relief when I saw his car in the car park, at least he'd turned up. He was waiting by the bar and he'd ordered me a drink. He even told me how nice I looked. We had a great evening good food, a lot of laughs it was just like old times.

When it was time to go he helped me on with my coat and escorted me home. Such a gentleman. Unfortunately at this point I told him that I only kiss on the first date, and the Yorkshireman inside got the better of him. He took a step back and then in his own inimitable style offered to take me up the pub for last orders. We could consider that our second date and be in bed by half eleven.

That's why I love him, and that's why I married him twenty five years ago this March.

Sorted.

Following on from Beam me up Scottie...

Ok, if you can't go through it, over it or under it, then you have to go around it. Same blog, new template, now with previous posts list.

A dinosaur I may be, but I can adapt.

It's Black & White, well actually grey.

Last night I decided to unveil my blog to his Lordship. So I sat down with him in front of the PC and gave him the full tour. Was he impressed, not a bit of it. He struggled to understand it's purpose and why people do it and why would someone want to read it. (charming.)

(His Lordship is in the top 3% of analytical brains in Europe, though that still doesn't give him the ability to find his socks if they aren't in the draw or locate the European soap mountain I have stored in the hall cupboard if there isn't any in the bathroom. He doesn't do detail and therein lies the problem.)

You see he's colour blind, he like many others with him can only see in black and white, they can't distinguish grey. This does give them the ability to see things very clearly and not being diverted by other things they do on the whole have an uncanny ability for success. However living in a monotone world is not as easy as you may think, because without the grey bits you lose the subtle shading that gives the world depth.

(Hells teeth that was a bit philosophical I haven't been reading self help books again... my books are all packed. Honest.)

Anyway back to the blog issue, it's a multitone thing, it's detail, (especially this one). It is made up entirely of shading and that's where he's struggling, when he asked "what's the point of it?" Well there isn't any point, it's not going to change the world, or find a cure for cancer or the common cold. It's just a bit of fun, love, for those of us that live in the shade.

Beam Me Up Scottie.

After my last post it suddenly occurred to me that I don't have a list of previous posts in my sidebar. On further investigation I discovered that this is because that particular feature isn't included in the template I chose.

No problem I thought, if I can add links then I can add alist of previous posts. So off I go to the help page.

(Well ok I didn't just zap onto the correct page, that would have been a tad easy now wouldn't it. No I finally managed to locate the help I wanted after sifting through several lists, links and a brief trip on an interstellar highway, but then I don't have sat nav.)

Anyway, page located. Simple, all you have to do is copy the html text they very kindly give you and paste it into your sidebar where you want it to go. Right. Just in case you have to try this sometime just remember to scroll all the way to the bottom of the help page, you see the last sentence although quite short, is, it has to be said crucial.

"Note that you will need to style them, and add Main Page links and br /> 's where necessary."

WHAT!!!!

Mi Casa Su Casa.

The other day being somewhat swamped by the task of packing ready for the move, I gratefully accepted my son and daughter in laws' offer of help. So after dropping grandchild #1 off at kindergarten and with grandchild #2 snoozing in the cot they swept in.

(Did I mention that I'm a Grandma, not the grey hair and lyle stockings type, more the brunette and Cuban stockings type. Just because you're a country girl it doesn't mean you have to live in jeans and Barber jacket all the time. Actually I have to say that most of the 'country' girls in this village only wear a Barber to accessorise their 4x4 on the school run, while hubby is away in the city playing on the stock market.)

Sorry I got side tracked again. Within a couple of hours they had cleared the lounge, bookshelves emptied, ornaments clingfilmed to high heaven and the front bedroom stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes. (I have a lot of books and ornaments.. ok.) A job well done.

It's at this stage that I should point out that their offer was not entirely altruistic. You see when we move north they will be moving into this house, and I get the impression that we are not quite going fast enough.

Standing in front of the now empty shelves in the lounge my son announced that he had just had an idea.

"It looks really bear in here now don't you think mum?"

"Mm." I replied, (Now I may be in the Grandma league, but don't write me off yet, I knew what was coming.)

"We could 'lend' you some of our books to put on the shelves, then it would feel more homely." he replied.

So here I am two days later looking up at my newly replenished book shelves. Lovely, I now have a reading list of engineering books, Chris Ryan, Terry Pratchett and J.K. Rowling. I also have a new library of DVD's including a complete set of James Bond movies. Yes he's right it does look more homely. But whose home?

Oh Mickey You're So Fine..

I went out to the garage this morning to get the dogs food as usual only to find that whoever fed them yesterday evening had left the lid off their food bin. So overnight the delicious aromas of chicken and rice had been wafting around the garage calling any little visitors that might be hiding out in there. Sure enough I leaned over the bin and there blinking back up at me was a little brown mouse. It had managed to get in but now it was well and truly stuck. So I'm standing looking down at it and it's sitting looking up at me and the dogs are sitting looking at their food bowls.

The problem is being a country girl I know that these little beasts are vermin and as such should be disposed of, and I have to say normally if they become a pest then they are fair game I either set traps or preferably use my secret weapon, more about that in a minute. But when you are faced with a little furry creature sitting there looking up at you with incredibly pretty eyes and just for good measure it decides it needs a wash and brush up it's not that easy.

(At this point animal lovers, children, etc may wish to skip to the alternate ending below.)
What was I supposed to do, the first problem is that I can't do anything whilst it's still in the food bin, not wishing to offend anyone but splatting it in the bin would have been messy, and not really my style. So I had to get it out of the bin. Ok no problem, I tipped the bin away from me and hoped that it would have the good sense to jump out at which point having given it a sporting chance I could 'sort' it out. The dogs meanwhile have got sulky at their lack of breakfast and gone for a mooch in the garden. For a moment there it looked promising, it jumped onto the edge of the bin teetered for a moment and then in a moment of what I can only describe as madness, it bolted around the rim of the bin and yes straight up my arm. Unfortunately my arm was in my sleeve, so I now had a little warm and fuzzy running around inside my jacket. Calm at this stage eluded me and after jumping around like a demented orangutan for a couple of minutes, my secret weapon came to my defence.

Big girl as she is affectionately known is the biggest of my three dogs. She has one major claim to fame, she can bark a mouse to death at twenty paces. with her at my side my calm state returned and after much jiggling and shaking the mouse made it's escape. Hot on it's heels big girl cornered it and after several barks and one massive heart attack, it was off to Mickey heaven. That done she strutted back tail wagging for her well earned breakfast.

(Alternate ending.)The mouse in actual fact did not run up my arm, quite sensibly it jumped out of the bin as I tilted it and made off for the nearest cover. Hopefully it will live a long and happy life, with it's many children, grandchildren, great grandchildren, great great grandchildren and all of their families in the land of Garage!

Oops...

I was talking to my daughter the other day about moving back to the north. She has a boyfriend down here and I was attempting to find out if she is likely to change her mind and stay here as they seem to be getting a bit serious. Or perhaps were they thinking of him moving north too.

"No I don't think he would move north, he says he will but he's too much of a mama's boy, but I'm a mama's girl I wouldn't think of leaving you." she replied blithely.

Aah that's nice you may be thinking. No it isn't, she's twenty one, oh my God what have I done. At what point are they supposed to strike out on their own? When can I cut the apron strings? When can I have a cosy night in with his Lordship without having to fight her for the TV remote or trying to get her to sit on the sofa as apposed to draping herself across it.

You know I'm seriously thinking of proposing the introduction of parent/child contracts, it's issued when they are born, something along the lines of:

a) I will promise to love, respect and obey my parents, in return they will promise to love, respect and bail me out financially at all times.
b) I will not hold public burping/farting contests with my friends whilst my mother is buying knickers in M&S (this applies to both sexes), in return they will not discuss my potty training habits with prospective significant other halves.
c) I will not disclose details of the time I walked in on my parents mid rumpy pumpy, and in return they will not get drunk or attempt to dance at any of my birthday partys.
d) I will always pick up my dirty washing and keep my bedroom floor clear, and in return my Mother will only moan at me once a week, instead of daily, to tidy my room.
e) I will not attempt to give my Mother food poisoning on Mothers Day by feeding her raw eggs, because I am not allowed to use the cooker and in return my Father will promise to get up and do the cooking for me. (This one might be a bit tricky.)
f) I will endeavour to leave home at the earliest possible opportunity and in return my parents will not telephone me every day to see if I am eating properly, getting enough sleep, or have met 'anyone' nice.

It works for me!

One Small Step for Man.. (in this case woman).

Isn't this exciting. The start of a new day, (well it is if you're a teenager), and the start of a new blog.

After nearly ten years of living in exile in the South East of England we are now heading north again, back to Gods own County. And not a minute too soon if the conversation I overheard in Morrisons the other day is anything to go by. I was standing in the queue waiting to pay when two women, neither particularly old, sparked up a conversation.

(When I say sparked up a conversation I don't mean they had just met in the queue, they don't do that sort of thing down here, it's taboo to talk to anyone at bus stops, in queues, or to shop assistants, definitely not shop assistants, in fact they don't talk to anyone. They are taught to ignore the customer for as long as possible, the preferred method being the back to front approach. If I can't see you then you aren't there. Of course they are allowed to talk to other assistants, this is in actual fact very much encouraged, preferred subjects being, boyfriends, food, friends fashion/boyfriend sense or lack of it, etc. Oh and of course chewing gum is mandatory.)

Sorry, we were in Morrisons weren't we. Well the conversation went along the following lines;
"What do you think to this supermarket then?" 1st lady.

"Well it's alright for the basics but I prefer Sainsburys myself." 2nd lady.

(By the way I should point out that Morrisons is new in the South since they took over Safeway.)

"Yes I know what you mean, although Tescos is quite good as well. But of course you have to understand that this company is from the north and, they don't have anything better."

"Really, you mean they don't have Sainsburys or Waitrose." 2nd lady.

"No." 1st lady.

I have to say at this point I was on the verge of collapsing with laughter.

(By the way if you are one of those ladies or indeed one of those who have not ventured north for fear of being put into a pot and boiled alive by the heathen hoards, yes we do have waitrose, sainsburys, tesco and oh yes we also have a Harvey Nichols which is in Leeds, recently known as the Knightsbridge of the north.)

I suppose in their defence we do live in a rural area. I shouldn't have been surprised, it only took my village post master 8 years to decide that I obviously wasn't a tourist so yipee, now I don't have to wait for the villagers to be served before me no more being bumped to the back of the queue. Unfortunately the village store isn't so progressive in it's thinking, but I'll keep working on that one.