This is the yard on the St Jude estate after the workmen have been playing in it today.

If you look closely do you see how the trench is beautifully aligned with the gate, the only gate to this part of the property! So I hope that no unsuspecting people happen to be lurking in the dark hours and stumble into it.

But worse still I have to carry the little white hairy monster in the forground over the hole to get to the garden you can see beyond. Even worse still is that I have to man handle big girl, the black dog at the back, over the hole. Guess who's going to have a sore back tommorow.

Of course after yesterdays debacle of the 5am waking and then at the vets... that hole does look very tempting.








Oh for heavens sake I wouldn't... I'm a saint ;0}

Karma??

Ah it's a hard life...

especially when you've had everyone in the house up since 5.00am.

Ssh.. don't tell him but he's heading for the vet's this evening for his annual booster. Bless!!!

Hmmph! The holiday is over and I'm back. An eight hour flight and a four hour car drive. There was no milk in the fridge so I couldn't have a cuppa, no food, (not that we need to eat again for a week), and I was ready to collapse into bed, unfortunately it was only 2.30pm so it might have been a tad early.

We swam in the Carribean Ocean everyday, went sailing most afternoons in a catamaran, snorkelling and got stung by a shoal of jelly fish, (not on my list of repeat activities), and drank champagne as we watched the sunset each evening.

We dined in fine restaurants enjoying the native Carribian cuisine, French haute cuisine and Japanese Tempanyaki, all whilst overlooking the beautiful bay and the surrounding countryside.

I am an early riser and so even when in paradise I like to rise and watch the dawn break, what a dawn, glowing and shimmering over the Piton mountains the sun would creep into the sky to herald the start of another beautiful day. I would sit on the wall by the sea just a few yards from our veranda with my early morning cup of tea and marvel at the spectacle. As I sat there the resort staff would amble by to start their day and each would give me a wave and a cheery good morning. Every morning I would reply to each of them and wish them a good day.

When the sun rose to it's full strength throughout the middle of the day his Lordship and I would retire to our blossom trimmed veranda to read and watch the lizards as they darted about on the look out for a tasty morsel of two, they would join us occasionally basking in the heat of the day on our walls watching as we sat reading.

Humming birds would beat the still air to a frenzy as they came to drink from the flowers and we would marvel at their beautiful jewelled colours. Later in the evening cane toads would appear on the lawn and croon to their mates as the bats whirled and swooped out over the sea catching insects on the wing.

Paradise indeed.

However I am always mindful that my experience of this 'paradise' is not always reality. Those same people who greeted me every morning with a cheery hello, who cleaned our rooms, who served our meals and our drinks, who made every effort to ensure that our holiday was outstanding live there year round. My paradise does not involve living in a 'shanty town', without sanitation or running water or electricity or working long hours on banana plantations for a few dollars a week. Does that put me off visiting again? No, because without the tourist industry there would be even fewer jobs, less wages, and fewer opportunities for those people living there to fulfil their ambitions. I met several of the resort staff who have taken opportunities to gain qualifications in various areas and they have used them to their benefit. I was pleased to note that the majority of the management staff were native islanders.

Some people may say that the tourism industry erodes the natural way of life and the customs and culture of the area, maybe they are right and that is a tragedy. Some also say that without tourism and outside influence those living in these places would not aspire to the trappings of that lifestyle. I honestly do not know the answers but I will ask the questions. And some unfortunately, like so many of the visitors I met during our holiday do not give any of it a second thought, they are oblivious, immune, or uninterested in the lives and fortunes of their gracious hosts.

Bon Voyage

Well my little treacle tarts, I am finally heading off for the sun and some well earned relaxation. No wild parties or raiding the fridge whilst I'm gone. Sorry all the chicken boobs were eaten last night by his Lordship.

Whilst I'm away I thought you might like to drop by some of these to say hello:

Shordan

Duta

Kevin

I'll be keeping up with you all whilst I'm away, oh and I haven't forgotten the Arctic posts or the new 'cultural experiment'. I'll be working on them whilst I am sipping cocktails by the pool. It's a dirty job... as they say.

Lazy Sunday

Well guess what I have been doing today? READING.. for pleasure in my lofty study. Hmm.

So as I am otherwise entertained I have posted the original 'Cultural Exercise' as some of you are new around here and have not had the pleasure. I am currently working on another which will be posted shortly.

This is a follow up to a comment I made on my friend Atilla's post 'What a Boob' .


A Little Cultural Exercise
In the interests of cultural science and as an experiment in political correctness I headed off to Sainsburys, my local supermarket, and marched up to the meat counter. The conversation went as follows:


"Hello there, I'd like a couple of those chicken boobs please?"

"Erm sorry Madam?" the young man behind the counter coughed nervously.

"A couple of those chicken boobs, please," I said pointing at the nice plump mound of chicken flesh.

He eyed me suspiciously before answering, "You'd like two chicken breasts madam?"


"Yes dear, that's what I said, a couple of chicken boobs," I winked.


The nice young man behind the counter stepped back a little as he reached for his tongs.


"Actually dear, could you make them large ones. I'm entertaining tonight."


"Er yes madam," he picked up a nice plump chicken 'boob' and put it into the bag. Then he started to pick up another, still watching me from the corner of his eye.


"Sorry to be a nuisance, but could you possibly make them the same size please, I prefer a good 'balance',"


Yes that was definitely the turning point. His hand slid under the counter and within a couple of minutes a rather large butcher, replete with bloodstained pinney and chopper appeared from the backroom door.


"Please step away from the counter Madam." I obeyed, of course. "Do we appear to be having a problem here?" he enquired nervously, chopper at the ready.


I suddenly felt a 'presence' at my side, "You're for it now... Chicken boobs!" someone whispered in my ear. I turned to find an elderly gentleman who had been behind me in the queue.


"Back off Grandad, this is a serious experiment in social etiquette."


"Yeh, that's what I used to tell the wife. I'd watch the big one, he asn't got a sense of humour missus."


extracting myself from the riveting conversation with the elderly chap, I returned my attention to the butcher. "No," I replied demurely, "I'm being served thank you."


"What was it you were after?" he asked huffily


" Chicken boobs, but it's quite all right your young man there has it all in hand thank you." I replied cheerily.


Well suffice to say the experiment had to be suspended at that point as a somewhat unamused butcher accompanied by a very nice young security guard escorted me to the door. My protests of a very serious miscarriage of judgment on their part and claims of saintly standing did not wash. Even when I explained that I was conducting a very serious experiment on behalf of the renowned Attila Institute in the Rockies, they were having none of it.


So there you have it, a cultural experiment in cross species political correctness. Just remember in future we are definitely not 'birds', it would appear there is slightly more political correctness surrounding their 'breasts'.

This is St Jude Mmr, Cjd, Nut, Dip Py, until my next assignment, signing off.

For more 'Cultural Exercises' follow the link below.

It's over. I'm freeeeeee, yes  I have just hit the send button and my assignment is winging it's way through the ether. No more studying, no more essays... school is finally out.

So I think it's time to PARTY!! Drink anyone?

Please Do Disturb!!

Well, I am on with it. Yes 5000 words and counting down my assignment as the deadline for submission is next Friday. My Sunday will be a mire of books, essays, journals and all manner of studious paraphernalia. Copious amounts of tea and perhaps some bickies. But there is a bolt of light at the end of this very long and dark tunnel. This will be the last Sunday that I spend behind my desk in my lofty study rumminating the workings of the criminal mind. I do indeed have a lofty study, I look out onto the tree tops and gardens surrounding the St Jude estate. When her Ladyship finally flew the nest I took over the largest of the attic rooms, her sitting room.  It is now my study, insulated from the outside world with a lining of books many yet to read. Waiting patiently over the past two years for me to finish my studies and once again revel in their words. Next Sunday I shall retire to this lofty paradise and peruse my bookshelves, I shall re-acquaint myself with old friends and reminisce over favourite stories. Then I shall select a new and exciting adventure in which to escape, slide onto the sofa and immerse myself into another's world. 


But that is next Sunday, today is another matter.

Wakey Wakey

It's 8.30am, I've been up since 6.00am, (a sleep in, wonderful), with my two youngest grandchildren. They have been fed and watered and now they are playing... up!

It was a late night and they are tired... they are not the only ones. Don't you just love late nights, early mornings and children, what a cocktail! Ooh that sounds sooo good not sure at this time on a morning though.

Have fun.

It doesn't matter how old your children are, there are still times when they want their mum and no one else will do.  Yes I can offer motherly advice down the phone, but I can't hug her when I can hear her trying to talk back to me through the sobs.  I can tell her that I love her, but I can't show her by kissing her tears away. I can hold her attention but not her hand.  I know that she will be alright, why, because I'm twice her age and I've seen it all before. Relationships, trust me your children's are always more difficult than your own. If you can't go over it, under it or around it you just have to go through it and hope that you come out the other side better for it!

Have a lovely weekend everyone... I can feel some retail therapy coming on ;0}

Ring Ring

This morning I got a phone call. "Hello"

"Who's that?" A woman enquired.

"Don't you know? You've just called me." I replied somewhat confused

"Where's Hilda?"

"I have no idea."

"What are you doing there?" She demanded

"Eating my breakfast,"

"At Hilda's?"

"I'm not at Hilda's, I'm at my house," I was a tad miffed

"Then why are you answering her phone?" She said with a note of triumph.

"Madam I believe you have dialled the wrong number"

"No I haven't, I have it here in front of me, I dialled 274958."

"Well yes you have me there, your dialling skills are impeccable, that is indeed the number you have dialled, my number." I informed her.

"No it isn't it's Hilda's number she wrote it down for me. What have you done with her? I want to speak to her immediately" The note of hysteria in her voice made me panic and I slammed the phone down.

I apologise Hilda, but I think perhaps you had better put the kettle on, I have a sneaking suspicion you are about to receive some visitors.