A Tykes Progress

2010-04-15T21:56:00.000+01:00

The Captain
(My very much loved Dad)

20th August 1926 - 11th April 2010

I am heartbroken and the pain feels unbearable.

I was given the gift of a father who always showed me he loved me and he told me often that he loved me. I have loved him my entire life... and will continue to do so. A true gentle man who put his family above all else and who taught me the value of love, patience, humour and forgiveness. He was loved by all who met him, including those who only got to know him during his final few weeks. I know that no one can live forever but my heart aches to the point of torture. I have never known torment such as this. I cannot cry or grieve, his loss is to much. I am sincerely honoured to be his daughter.

I have never spoken about my parents, at some point in the future I would like to introduce you to them and also to who I am, because of them. They were extraordinary people for their time, adventurers, intelligent, and living sadly in a time that placed restraints on them. They taught me to break those restraints and fly. I thank them both for their faith in me and for making me the person that I am xxxxx.

2010-03-26T20:55:00.000Z

I'm sorry that I have not been around of late. There are things in my life at present that have taken over and I have to give them priority. I really, really do miss my friends here in the blogosphere and there will come a time when I will, (selfishly), need you more than ever.

I have not had the time to check in on your blogs of late and with this in mind I sincerely hope that you are all well and I do think of you all often, I know that some of you are facing your own problems and even though I cannot check in with you, I hope that you know that you are in my thoughts.

I suppose that life has it's own way of reminding us not to take anything for granted. It has my full and undiluted attention at present.

xx

Under Pressure

2010-02-03T07:55:00.000Z

Unfortunately I have been feeling the effects of not taking my blood pressure medication over the last few days. Although I am back on them it takes a little while for them to work, so I've had a pounding headache for the last three days and I'm feeling a bit under the weather. Well I've nobody but myself to blame and I'm sorry if I haven't been catching up with you all, but trying to blog with my head feeling like it is going to explode is not a good mix.

Hopefully it will be ok in the next couple of days so as Arnie would say, 'I'll be back.'

2010-01-30T08:03:00.000Z

The old hormones having been a bit 'iffy' over the past couple of weeks. I've been stuck in a revolving door of emotions, happy, sad, angry, ... I don't know how I feel. I've also been very forgetful. On Wednesday I was supposed to pick up my prescription, blood pressure medication, I forgot. On Thursday I was supposed to pick up my prescription, I forgot. Yesterday I was supposed to pick up my prescription, I forgot. It's the weekend my GP surgery is now closed until Monday, I've run out of my blood pressure medication. Not a good start to the weekend. I wrote HUGE notes in my diary and then drove home and forgot to call in on my way.

Yesterday I had a morning meeting in my diary... the same diary I have been looking at all week and noting that I have a meeting on Friday morning. I arrived at work in plenty of time, an hour later I received a rather turse telephone call wanting to know what had held me up. Oops that would be my current appalling memory. My diary was sitting on the desk next to me. After racing off to the meeting I returned to my desk, one of my colleagues asked me how it had gone. My eyes glazed over and I realised that I had sat for over an hour listening but not taking anything in. Ah well I'll just have to wait for the minutes to be sent out.

So if anyone is available to take minutes on my daily doings over the next few days I'll be able to update you with what I've been up to next week or I could just ask for you to be copied into the minutes!!

Auschwitz, Liberation..

2010-01-27T00:01:00.001Z

This post is long... please don't sigh and turn away. It is long for a purpose. It is the story of a very couragous woman for whom I have immense respect and love. I only met her on one occasion but she had a huge impact on my life... today of all days her story should be heard.

A few years back whilst travelling with his Lordship on a business trip I found myself at a loose end in Paris.. as you do! Not wanting to wander around aimlessly in the cold January air I headed for a place we knew and liked. It was a zinc bar but they served the most wonderful coffee and cakes. I took along a book and settled down for some chill out time.

As the morning wore on the place began to fill up until all of the tables were taken. Just as I was ordering another coffee and a round of the most delicious gateau they had, an elderly lady asked if I would mind if she joined me. I gave her a welcoming smile and answered in my appalling French that she was most welcome. Clearly she realised that my command of my neighbours language was not up to muster and addressed me in English.

"You are here for a holiday, yes?" She enquired.

"Something like that, I am visiting with my Husband, he is here on business." I replied, taking in her immaculate hair and make up. Parisian women are particular about their grooming. Although clearly in her late seventies or even eighties she was beautiful and she had the most amazing hazel eyes that met me with an interested gaze. She glanced at my book and then smiled,

"Please continue, I do not wish to stop you,"

"No I can read anytime." I said putting the book in my bag.

"Ah a heady pleasure not to be taken lightly, being allowed to read is having the opportunity to feed the soul, yes." She said as she raised her gloved hand to signal the waiter.

I have no idea why, well actually if I am honest I do, but I was drawn to this lady, her elegant appearance was enthralling, but for me it was something else, a chance encounter with this lady felt, well it is clumsy to say, but like fate.

Her order arrived and I noted that she was drinking chocolate with a small glass of cognac on the side. She laughed and I blushed, "your's will be here shortly, you finish your coffee and they will bring it,"

" I didn't order one,"

"No, I did, when in France," she raised her cognac and took a sip then dabbed at the corner of her mouth with the napkin and smiled.

We chatted about my time in Paris and as we both drank our chocolate and cognac we relaxed into each others company. She was not a native of France after all I discovered, she was originally from Germany she came to France after the war and married a Frenchman who had fought in the resistance, they never had children and they had settled in Paris. I don't know why to this day, but it seemed natural at the time, I asked her what it was like in Germany during the war. She took a deep breath and then took off her left glove, I was shocked and to be truthful I felt as though I was about to cry, (it could have been the cognac), a faded blue line of crude numbers and a symbol, a star, were tattoed onto the inside of her arm. She must have seen my shock and once again my embarrassment, she took my hand and squeezed it. For the rest of the morning and into lunchtime she told me her story.

She had been born Rachel, (she never told me her surname), she had been in love with a young man who worked for her father. When the Germans began rounding up the Jews and putting them into the ghettos they tried to escape, a few hours prior to their attempt they consumated their relationship. Their escape attempt was thwarted by one of their neighbours who told the German soldiers. Her lover was shot and killed, his body was left in the street where he had fallen as a warning to everyone of the consequences.She was taken by the soldiers to the local headquarters and 'interogated' for two weeks. She was then taken back to the ghetto and lived there with her family for the next four months. Rachel had to walk past her love's decaying body to and from the factory in which she worked producing ammunitions under forced labour. Whilst his body decayed her's carried new life.

One morning in the early hours she and her family were awoken to the screams and cries of the families in their block being rounded up and forcibly moved from their homes into trucks. The men were separated from the women and children, her younger brother Jacob was thirteen years old, he went with his father. Rachel and her mother were put into a truck. She never saw her father or brother again and she never found out what happended to them. Over the following months Rachel and her mother were moved to various holding camps. Eventually they were put onto a train and arrived at Auschwitz.

It had not been easy, but with the help of her mother and the other women with which they travelled, Rachel had managed to keep her pregnancy hidden. You may be thinking why would her mother condone such a disgrace... I asked the question on your behalf. So many things are different in such times, why would she have given herself to the man she loved before marriage at risk of losing her soul. War has a way of bringing clarity to some situations. She gave birth to her son in Auschwitz, her mother clasping her hand tightly over Rachel's mouth to stifle her screams. They managed to conceal the baby for two days. On the second day as they worked in the sorting room, sorting the belongings of those who had been sent to the gas chambers, the baby was discovered by one of the supervisors. A man who was himself of the same faith but 'employed' by the guards to supervise his own kind. He made Rachel put the baby onto the floor and in front of her he stamped his foot down onto it's tiny body. It was gone. leaning into her he whispered softly, "you would both be going to the gas chamber now if it were not for me."

Rachel and her mother survived for several months, then during September of 1944 her mother collapsed on her way to the sorting rooms. That was the last time that Rachel saw her. On January 27th 1945 an eerie quiet befell the camp, the chimneys no longer belched their disgusting plumes and Russian soldiers marched through the gates to liberate the occupants of Aushwitz.

I have to say I was a mess by the time she had recounted her story. Then she put on her gloves and invited me to attend the service at Notre Dame. I remember I shook my head, "you are a Jew!"

"It is not the place, or the manner in which you pray, it is what is in your heart, will you come with me and see?" She asked.

Arctic Odyssey 4

2010-01-24T14:13:00.001Z

(Click on the images to enlarge them.)

After witnessing the majesty of the snow bear I really didn't think that anything else on the voyage could live up to it. Perhaps only another bear! The following morning was clear and we headed for a small canyon that was home to a huge bird colony. The scouting party went ahead to check out for bears and when the all clear came over the radio we headed off to shore in the zodiacs. There was a small chanel of open water in the ice and we had a limited amount of time in which to get to shore and return to the ship before the chanel closed and we would be stranded. It was exciting and scary in equal amounts and right up my street for adventure.

The frozen tundra was alive with tiny alpine plants that clung to life in the icy conditions. We tiptoed as best we could in wellies between them not wanting to damage them as they had taken decades to grow into squat little mounds of just an inch or so across. Our impression of a boozy ballet over we reached the narrow entrance to the canyon. Suddenly one of the scouts signalled for us to look at a point half way up the canyon wall to where the cliff rose and the scree descended. Staring intensely I realised that we were not a lone, there just at the base of the cliff sat a small Arctic Fox. She was looking back at us with the same intense stare. She had been hard to spot because she was wearing her 'summer' coat of rich brown and cream.

Her Ladyship gripped my arm and I could see that she was struggling to hold in a squeal of delight. This was what she had come to the Arctic to see. Little did she know the amazing encounter she would have over the next couple of hours. The entrance to the canyon was narrow and the path was only a couple of feet wide with the steep scree slope to the left and rapid flowing stream to our right. The water was in full flow as the melt water raced to meet the icy sea at the shore.

Once inside the canyon the tens of thousands of birds nesting on the cliffes made a deafening cocophany of sound and created the illusion of a moving ceiling as they flew constantly above. Every inch of the cliff was taken and the walls shimmered as the birds restlessly flapped their wings or changed their position to get a better foot hold. Then the Arctic Fox darted into the past on her scree ledge and we realised that she was accompanied by her cubs, four of them. It is unusual for so many cubs to be born and for them to survive to the age they were was incredible. However this mother and her family were extremely lucky, the canyon was the perfect hunting ground. Fresh chicks delivered to the canyon floor daily, if not hourly. As we watched she circled the canyon checking for new food, her cubs following her every move. Whenever she found a chick she would quickly deposit it into one of her 'larders' secreted about the canyon. They know all too well that the feast will last for only a few short weeks and they must be prepared for the long winter to come.

As we all stood watching this magnificent spectacle the expedition leader took her Ladyship deeper into the canyon. He knew that this was what she had dreamed of seeing and after a few short moments she began to inch her way slowly up the scree slope. She managed to get half way up and lay motionless as the Arctic Fox mother and her cubs darted apprehensively past at the top.

She lay there for almost an hour on the freezing ground, not daring to move. Then as we were nearing the end our time there the mother fox inched her way towards her Ladyship, finally as if on command she lay down beside her. For the next ten minutes they lay together sharing body warmth and so much more, the cubs happily playing about on the new feature that had appeared. I could only imagine the excitement that her Ladyship was feeling at that point. Then by another unseen, unheard command she stood up, stretched and was heading back to the cliff base to start scouting for food again. As she reached the top of the scree she turned around and momentarily stared at her Ladyship, as if reading each others mind they both turned at exactly the same moment and each headed back to their own world.

Opera Sideline

2010-01-20T20:04:00.000Z

Did I tell you that I can sing? No... phew, then I don't have to apologise publicly for fibbing. I can't sing, not a note, I am tone deaf. That probably has something to do with the fact that I was classed as being profoundly deaf for four years. After surgery a few years back I am now just classed as being mutton and ignorant by those around me that don't know my history. My hearing is deteriorating again.

So when I was asked to get involved in a project working with the regional opera company I was a little nonplussed to say the least. I protested loudly, (I sometimes forget to adjust my volume control), to the powers that be, 'you want me, but I can't sing, I won't be able to hear the flipping music properly.' Their reply, 'ah but if they can get you to sing then it won't be a problem getting some of our morally challenged bods to sing.' I suppose there was some method in their madness. As you know I am always game for a new adventure and things have been a tad slow at work recently, so I agreed.

Yesterday I set off for the venue with an array of the morally challenged in tow. I did not hold out much hope of engaging them as at least two of them thought they were going to the cinema and one very large chap named Junior told me in no uncertain terms that he was only there as it was this or attending the job centre. So we arrived at the dance studio, yes a dance studio, very elegant, lots of nubile distractions for Junior and his new posse. I smiled bravely at the waiting opera singers who were to attempt to engage my morally challenged crew.

The scene in the studio reminded me somewhat the film Zulu. The three beautiful and elegant performers facing a group of bods with eyes narrowed, jaws set and expressions begging the performers to bring it on. As the studio floor was polished wood, they had been told to remove their shoes, I looked down the row to see an assortment of odd socks, holes, socks that looked as though they would walk out of the room under their own steam and a set of brightly painted toe nails with gems. Very pretty, however the aroma wafting up from the said feet was beginning to fill the vast space. It seemed however that our elegant performers were not in the least phased and their gracious smiles glancing off perfect white teeth remained set in place.

As the day progressed I was astonished to see that my dysfunctional brood who barely a few hours previous had communicated in grunts were now bonding, not only with one another but with the performers. Further more they were beginning to make sounds akin to music and moving in a purposeful and coordinated fashion. There was a definite buz in the studio and no it wasn't the feet.

At the end of the day we were performing, yes performing a mini opera. Then Junior opened his mouth and threw his arms out wide and sang solo, with an incredibly rich baritone voice that made the hairs on my neck stand. A huge grin on his face replacing the previous sullen challenge. The performers had broken into his world and he into theirs and it was then that I realised just how much these three beautiful people had achieved. They understood the facade, they are actors who sing, they simply broke down that facade in a new way.

After the performance we all sat together and it was clear that the people I had taken there in the morning were no longer in the room, they had been replaced by a confident outgoing group of people who were now communicating in sentences, making eye contact and smiling, there was lots of smiling. They had been accepted, holey socks, sweaty feet and all, by a group of people who to them were elite and a world apart. They will all be carrying on with the project over the coming months with the intention of gaining work placements with the Opera. this is however only if they stay out of trouble and behave themselves, a huge incentive as they will not want to loose what they have tasted and savoured. As for me, I gave them a few laughs as I attempted to sing, but my days of singing opera are now at an end and it is back to my usual day job.

There are some, perhaps some amongst you, who do not like this form of intervention. I fully understand that and I don't have all of the answers. I suppose being the Saint of lost causes, I like to at least try and think that people can change otherwise I am simply reduced to being a jailer!

Take Two!!

2010-01-18T20:50:00.000Z

Well it is official, it now takes two chaperones to accompany Mrs Beeton on her weekly shopping trips. For those of you who have no idea what or who I am talking about then you might like to read this post, oh and perhaps this one if you have the time. His Lordship has been flying solo on this mission for a while now due to my having 'other committments', you know the sort of thing, naval gazing... oh sorry we did that three posts ago, ok, what about catching up with my heavy workload of reading, blogs. Alright I admit it I achieved senior shopping burn out some time last year and in all honesty I have not been able to pluck up the courage to take her recently.

As the weather has been terrible of late she has been housebound so as soon as the snow and ice began to clear she pounced. Feeling sorry for his Lordship I foolishly agreed to accompany him I also thought that it would provide an opportunity for me to get a few bits of shopping too. When we arrived at Mrs Beeton's home she was standing in the doorway and looked as though she were layered in every garment she owned including two hats and a scarf... it would seem you can never wear too many hats in cold weather.

After being dropped at the door to the hallowed chapel to shopping I busied myself with getting the trolleys. Yes I know, Mrs Beeton and trolleys do not go together, but unfortunately due to a rather bad back and a dicky knee a trolley is now a necessity for her to lean on. She is however not allowed to navigate that is a job for the chaperone. So when his Lordship arrived we set off into the inner sanctum.

By the end of the fruit and veg aisle his Lordship seemed to have things well under control so at the agreed signal I pressed on with my own shopping. A short while later as I was nearing the end of my quest my phone rang.

"I, I don't know what happened, I must have had my guard down," his Lordship moaned.

"Take a deep breath sweetheart," I uttered soothingly, although my insides were doing their own version of the Samba.

"She wanted scones, you know the special one's with lots of fruit and sugar, I was only a few feet away, I promise,"

"It's ok, don't worry," I inhaled deeply, I needed oxygen, "we just need to follow the carnage"

"Listen! I mean take a moment and listen," he replied.

I took the phone from my ear, moments passed and then it hit me, no clean up crews, no shrieks of pain, no hopping shoppers. The awful realisation hit me... OMGA! We really had lost Mrs Beeton.

"Aliens?" I enquired hopefully. There was silence. "Stay where you are, I'm on my way"

I raced through the other shoppers to the bakery counter, his Lordship stood rooted to the spot, as I got to him an announcement came over the tannoy, "would the owner of an elderly lady with hats please make their way to the rear of the store and make themself known to a member of staff." I looked at his Lordship with steely resolution. He nodded, together we could do this and he took my hand firmly in his. Slowly and with heads bowed we took the walk of shame to the rear of the store.

Two security guards were positioned either side of two rather large doors, I have to be honest I had not noticed these doors until this point. His Lordship stepped forward and with voice lowered, "we've come for the lady the elderly lady, ah hem, in hats."

"We've got her contained in the dry goods section sir," he replied with a genuine look of sympathy.

As the two security guards pushed open the doors I heard the one to my right whisper into his radio, "we're coming in, is the perimiter still secure?"

We rounded the cereals to find a line of warehouse staff blocking the dry goods section at both ends. Mrs Beeton was blithely ignorant to their presence. A path of destruction followed her as we picked our way through the lentils, flour and pasta now scattered over the floor, the line of warehouse staff closed in operating a pincer movement and we were forced to promise that we would never darken their doors again. We managed to negotiate safe passage via the rear door.

And so my dear friends we are now scouting a new supermarket that has not heard of or been forewarned about Mrs Beeton. From now on there will always be two chaperones present and she will never be left unattended.

I promise.

Who on earth does she think she is!

2010-01-11T19:22:00.010Z

As I float around the ether that is blogland, visiting interesting places and people, (that would be you sweetie), I realise that I have given very little of myself. Well what I mean to say is that I feel that I know far more about you than you know about me. It seems a little one sided really don't you think. (Obviously, you know some parts of me rather more intimately after my birthday post.) Anyways I was thinking... I do that on occasions, it is the start of the new decade and well maybe you would like to get to know me a little better. I could be completely wrong and you don't give a rat's bottom who I am or what I get up to when I am not here.

So being the adventurous sort I am going to give you the opportunity to ask me any question you like and I will endeavour to answer it truthfully. There are, I hope for obvious reasons, a couple of rules.
1. No questions about my profession, I can't tell you what I do otherwise I will be evicted forthwith from blogland. Not kidding. Besides I believe I have given sufficient clues, information to give you some idea already.
2. Please don't ask me my real name or where I live exactly. Yes some of you know, I know I can trust you as my friends.
3. Urm, actually I don't think there is a three...

Oh giddy aunt I am probably going to live to regret this.

mapstew said...
Well we know you have at least one piercing, but do you have any tattoos?

A) Ok I have to answer honestly. (Take a deep breath St Jude, and remember The Captain reads your blog). Yes, I have a rosebud tattoed on the inside of my left hip it was hidden in my birthday photo.

Sorry Captain, did I mention the tattoo as well???

Jimmy Bastard said...
Did I leave my watch on your night stand?

A) Oh that would have been, perhaps, a dream my dear Jimmy. (Don't worry the package is in the post as we speak.)

Madame DeFarge said...

I understand the working one as you know, so how about 'if you could be anything you wanted, what would you do for a living?'

A) Hmm a difficult one... In my final year at school I had to complete my careers guidance form, it asked what I would like to do for a career. Being the sort of girl I am I wrote, 'be a lady of leisure or marry a millionaire. Actually it would be one of my great loves, a marine biologist. You can't beat digging about in a bit of fucus vesiculosus or laminaria sacharina.

Kevin Musgrove said...
Have you ever been startled by a tortoise?

A) Well sweetie it's funny you should ask that. The answer to that is yes! In one of my previous incarnations I worked at a wildlife hospital where they had a posse of tortoises who roamed around the grounds and slept in the potting shed. One spring morning I was rudely assaulted by Bertie the only male tortoise when he became aroused by my wellies passing by. (Tortoises are not renowned for their good eyesight.) A male tortoises idea of foreplay is slamming into the object of his desire. They are somewhat noisy lovers and being humped by a randy tortoise is a painful experience.

@eloh said...
Have you ever been touched by a monkey?

A) Well I was terribly touched when a monkey offered to carry my handbag for me whilst I was visiting Gibralter. It was something of a tousle to make it give the bag back though.

Kim Ayres said...
Have you ever been caught?

A) Yes! When his Lordship and I were considerably younger we were once 'caught' in a rather embarassing embrace by the local bobby in the back seat of the Fat Controllers' (his Lordship's father),car, he wasn't with us by the way.

Lee said...
So, all this confession... do you feel better for it? Just curious.

A) Hmm, they do say that confession is good for the soul and as a Saint I have to maintian mine on a regular basis.

Pat said...
Is there anything you haven't yet done that you would like to do?

A) So many things, but perhaps top of the list is a journey to the Antarctic, or perhaps base camp at Everest, sadly I am not permitted to attempt the summit due to high blood pressure. I would also like to see my book published at some point in the future.

white rabbit said...
Do you think I could plait my nostril hair? If the answer is 'yes' is thios advisable?

A) Whilst on a trip to the Bahamas once I met a lovely old lady in Nassau who used to sit each day outside the straw market. She made her living braiding hair. I saw much of her handy work as we returned to the airport to board our flight home. She was very persuasive and there were several gentlemen sporting braided beards, moustaches, leg hair and yes nasal hair, there were also a couple of bald chaps who walked with a slight gait that suggested she was indeed a tenacious lady. Therefore the answer is yes you can plait your nostril hair, however in the current weather and the tendency for drippy noses, I would advise against it, unless of course you consider nasal candals fetching dear.

Charlie said...
In all the time I've known you, I've pictured you thusly: a saintly Englishwoman who is a bit eccentric, a bit dotty, a bit frumpy, a woman who always wears a print housedress and support hose when her ankles swell up--in short, a much younger version of Mrs Beeton, or perhaps Mrs Beeton in training.

With your last few posts, you've wiped that picture completely off my mental hard disk. In short, I'm shocked.
I was up almost half the day yesterday, about fifteen minutes last night, and I cannot think of ONE question to ask you.

I don't think I want to know any more.

A) My dear Charlie I am many things to many different people, my last posts are only one facet. Knowing you as I do I do not believe for one minute that the picture you paint was truly how you saw me. I am still and always will be your Saintly friend... should I say live long and prosper at this point? By the way the Sonoran desert is a wonderful place, I once took a trip with an ex vietnam war helicopter pilot through the Red Rock canyon. ;0}

tNb said...
Tell us about your favourite pair of shoes? (you can tell so much about a person by their shoes)

A) Well hun here goes, I actually have a shoe closet. Lined with shelves with all of my lovely pretty shoes in their boxes. I have never counted how many pairs of shoes I have but suffice to say the closet is full and the boxes are stacked on top of one another. Oh dear, can I only choose one pair? This is very difficult as I love them all, for different reasons, for instance there are the beautiful cream silk hand embroidered shoes with the dainty stilletoe heels, that I wore on my wedding day. Then there are the black killer heels that feel like feathers on my toes, they cost me more than I care to admit, they are my jimmy choos, and the first time I wore them was to a charity bash in London, George Clooney and Brad Pitt were there, (it was at the time of Oceans 11), it must have been love, I spent the night ogling my wonderful choos. But if I am truly honest my favourite footware has to be my slippers, they are fluffy mules that slip slop as I walk so that his Lordship always hears me approaching, but when I put them on it means that I am home and it is time to relax at the end of the day.

Stinkypaw said...
Why do you keep cards you received?

A) Because I like to be reminded that there are nice people out there who have taken the effort to send them.

Addendum; 15th January. I promised to be honest, all of the above answers are true.

Potentially 'she' and a flustered me.

2010-01-09T09:29:00.005Z

(Charlie, is this better?)

Recently someone new commented on one of my posts and as is my way I clicked on their link intending to be polite and thank them for doing so. On hitting their profile I discovered that this was a thirteen year old girl who had posted a picture of herself on her profile. Not only had she done this but she had also put her email account on her blog inviting people to email her.

Now at this stage obviously it goes without saying that 'she' could in actual fact be a hairy biker from Germany who just wants to get in touch with his feminine side, she could be a honey trap, or she could simply be a thirteen year old girl who has launched into the blogosphere.

But what if it is a thirteen year old girl? My work is all about protecting the vulnerable from those who are most at risk of harming them. I work specifically with those who pose the highest risk of harming children through their sexual preferences. I see the extent to which this kind of behaviour exists and the terrible damage it does to the victims. The internet is not a safe place for children.

I use my blog as an escape, it is my sanctuary if you like, it is the home of St Jude the person who spends her days with the extremely morally challenged, getting inside their minds, (trust me, not the most pleasant of places to be), restricting their attempts to hurt yet more lives and dodging the bullets they send flying my way when I block their efforts, metaphorically speaking of course, it's usually fists, feet, heads or the nearest object they can find. Don't worry I'm pretty good at dancing like a butterfly. My blog is the opportunity to escape into the person I like to be, with friends I like to be with.

So what on earth do you do when there is a potential risk to someone, who may or may not be who they claim to be, who you don't know. Well I left 'her' a friendly, hopefully non patronising comment warning her that not everyone is who they seem in the blogosphere and perhaps she may want to reconsider putting her email address on her blog. That done I returned home, as I did so my eye caught the photo in my sidebar and I remembered the post that was hidden beneath it... giddy aunt, nice one St Jude!

25 Years ago, V, 25 Hours Ago! It's my birthday 6th January 2010

2010-01-05T20:26:00.000Z

This photo was taken 25 years ago for a competition, it won. At a time when women were power dressing and liberating themselves from the kitchen and their children to take up careers this photo won a competition aimed at capturing the 'woman of today'. Strange don't you think, perhaps the judges were harping back to a time different to those in which the competition was set? Actually the competition was more than just the photo it was about the woman being captured in it. This particular 'woman 'did not see herself as as second to anyone, be they man or woman, she saw herself as being their equal. She simply was herself.

At the age of thirteen she realised that her life was being directed along a path she was not prepared to take, at school she was 'allowed' to take housecraft and needlework classes whilst the boys did interesting lessons such as woodwork, metalwork and technical drawing. The introduction of Act of Parliament provided her with the opportunity to challenge this long standing practice. Being a somewhat naive young girl at that time she marched into the Head Masters office and requested her right to be given the same opportunities as the boys, she wanted to be able to study the same lessons as them and they in turn would have the opportunity to study housecraft and needlework. That was the 1970s. She was the first girl in the North of England to use the Act to gain equal rights within the education system. There was no press coverage or fanfare the Local Education Authority simply gave their grudging approval and at the start of the next term she began studying woodwork and technical drawing. Neither of which were her best subjects.

In 1977 she met the love of her life, it was at a time when women were still barred from certain areas of pubs and other places, she did on one occasion cause something of a stir when she walked into the tap room of a pub and proceeded to play dominoes with her love. She was escorted from the premises by the landlord... oh what a scarlet woman. Perhaps she should have demurely sat with babycham in hand in the lounge,

In 1981 she and her love married. Four years later when the photo above was taken she was the mother of two young children, they are now grown and her eldest has two children of his own whilst the youngest is now a young woman herself with two step children. She is a grandmother to four lovely children who she adores. She no longer has to endure the humiliation of being treated as a lesser person purely based on her lack of equipment in the trouser department, although she has on occasions been described as having 'balls', (his Lordship suggested the use of this word), being a lady I don't normally use such terminology.

so the above picture was taken 25 years ago and the photographer, his Lordship, suggested that it would be fun to recreate it. The picture below was taken 25 hours ago.

Today I am 50 years old, and yes that is me and no there is no photoshop trickery. So the girl is now a woman.

Urm, Captain did I tell you I had my navel pierced... sorry!

New Year, New Me.

2010-01-02T10:46:00.000Z

Well I have decided that this blog is looking a tad tired. So I have been thinking about getting it spruced up a little. I have trawled the tinterweb for a template that I like, but I have sadly left each and every place I have visited empty handed. The problem is that I know what I want and it just isn't out there.

You see my blog to me is more than just a place I visit to write the odd post, it is the place my blog friends pop by to say hello, to have a chat. It is my 'virtual' home, the home of St Jude. So I would like it to reflect that. There are a lot of templates out there but they are obviously geared to appeal to as many people as possible, I want my blog to reflect me.

So to celebrate the start of the new year, new decade and my upcoming momentus birthday I have decided to treat myself to a makeover. Unfortunately not being particularly clever with the old template design thingy I will need to find someone who has the ability to transform my blog into the image I want for it. This is where I need some help, is there anyone out there who can offer some recommendations for someone who could design me a template. I would prefer to go on a recommendation rather than just jump into this blind.

So if any of you have any suggestions they will be gratefully accepted.

Here's to the future.

2009-12-31T16:14:00.000Z

I tend to be a glass half full kind of person, but whenever New Year looms on the horizon I find myself looking at a glass half empty. I like to look forward, I looked forward to Christmas, I look forward to my birthday, I look forward to my holiday, I also look forward to the day I will eventually do the job for which I have trained for the past two years.

I find however that New Year is inevitably a time when many people look back. Whilst I suppose that this year has been a good one for me, it has not always been the case in years past. The thought of re-hashing the times that have been somewhat less than great have filled me with dread. For this reason I tend to avoid celebrating the New Year. Tonight I will close the curtains, turn up the television and snuggle up to his Lordship on the sofa and watch movies.

So I would like to wish you all happiness, good health and I hope that your dreams for the following year become reality. Enjoy your celebrations, whatever they may be. As for me, I shall look forward to catching up with you all in the new decade.

The big freezer.

2009-12-29T12:25:00.002Z

'Oh the weather outside is icy' da, di, da, di da...

Unfortunately I have just found one of the downsides to the icy, snowy weather we have been having. Not wishing to be indelicate, I have discovered that cleaning up after the dogs is not that easy. I suppose I could always find a couple of corks, maybe cut down on their food. No, what do you mean it's animal cruelty!!

I have just spent the last half an hour scooping / chipping poopsicles of the yard.

St Jude is coming out.

2009-12-27T16:59:00.002Z

Well guess what ~~Santa,~~ His Lordship got me for Christmas... a new drive, yes that's it sweeties a new laptop. Yippee no more being tied to a plug socket, the battery fried the day before my last university assignment was due in. I nearly fried too. No more waiting for half an hour for the tinterwebby to load up, this one is like lightening, it's great. There is one thing though, my blog doesn't look the same on this system, the background is blank, it always used to have pretty swirly patterns on it... does it still look that way to you?

Oh and I have a confession to make... I think we've known each other for long enough, don't you. The picure above is actually closer to the real me than the brunette in my header. Yes I am a blonde, and, urm I have never figured out how to change the hair colour in my header. OK, ok forget the blonde jokes, I probably started most of them ;0 )

And finally as I know that some of you have young ones venturing out into the festive party season for the first time so here are some little pearls of wisdom you might like to pass onto them.

a) Don't stick your fingers in plug sockets, it makes your hair frizzy and then it's a bugger to style.

b) Always make sure you're wearing clean underwear when you go out. You may get hit by a bus. (Mm that's ok if you don't see it coming. I have to be honest if I saw a bus heading towards me, well I don't think I'm alone on that one..)

c) Girls, only shave the bottom half of your legs on a first date. It's better than a chastity belt!

d) Boys, a quick tickle with a damp flannel doesn't cut it. Pheromones are not the same as B.O.

e) It's never a good idea to boost the contents of your bra with socks, especially if your dad was wearing them the day before.

f) The first time you sneak off to get drunk don't drink Creme de Menthe or the antifreeze lookilike alchopop. The vomit stains are virtually impossible to get off the carpet.

Have fun.

2009-12-25T07:41:00.000Z

Merry Christmas Everyone

Apologies for the lack of posting over the last few weeks, a combination of the weather, (lovely, lovely snow), work, (not so lovely morally challenging bods, who think that this time of year is a burglars dream and are so grateful to you kind souls for presenting them with such wonderful gifts to pilfer), and trying to fight my way through the shopping hell.

My presents are wrapped and under the tree, like the true child inside me I am sitting here excitedly waiting for his Lordship to wake up so that we can open our pressies. It will be a quiet day here, a visit to the Captain, and Mrs Beeton is coming for dinner, nothing too strenuous. Tommorow their Ladyships will be coming over with our two youngest grandchildren for fun and mayhem.

So have a wonderful day, enjoy your festivities whatever they may be and remember what this time is all about... Pressies!!

Sorry, I meant to say, if you celebrate the birth of Christ or simply enjoy the opportunity to spend time with family and friends, please remember to include in your prayers and thoughts those amongst our blogging community that have been and are still suffering issues in their lives that may not bring them the peace they so wish this Christmas time.

Love to you all this festive season, may all you want be yours.

Not quite a beating heart, yet!

2009-12-06T08:35:00.000Z

We have been a tad tied up over the past few days. We are fitting a new kitchen for her Ladyship, (our daughter), and her partner.

You might be forgiven for thinking that we are somewhat off the scale of sanity attempting such a thing with Christmas looming on the horizon. Don't fret, His Lordship and I are old hands at this type of thing. In fact our current abode is the first that has had a fully functioning kitchen in when we have moved into it. Our first house had a beautiful new kitchen when we signed the contracts, but the day we moved in the said beautiful kitchen had moved out with it's previous owner. Along with the light fightings, including lightbulbs, light switches, plug sockets. Yes just bare wires protruding from the walls and ceilings. They had gutted the place. So that was our first kitchen fitting experience.

Our second house had a kitchen in a cupboard and it was very cosy when the two of us were in there. So within six months we had extended the house and again fitted another kitchen. When we headed south for Kent we bought a house that needed a lot of work. This was mainly due to the previous occupants of the house, who were somewhat eccentric and decidedly ecclectic in their furnishing and decorating of the house. Everything, including the windows, doors and the kitchen came from car boot sales. The patio doors had been fitted upside down and inside out. Every window in the property was broken as they had been forced to fit. The kitchen, well that consisted of a number of mismatched units balanced precariously about the floor with a tap in the wall and a bowl on a stool for the sink. Lovely! So once again we donned our kitchen fitters garb and set about providing our home with a heart.

So today we shall be working our derrieres off, making sure that their Ladyships' have a working heart to their home ready for Christmas. Ah the joys of being a parent... oh and who is paying for this little lot? This is one present that won't fit under the tree.

Plumbing Urgency

2009-11-29T19:52:00.000Z

This afternoon his Lordship and I were a little preoccupied, when the phone rang.

"Hello St Jude residence,"

"Hello madam I'm calling about your recent plumbing emergency,"

His Lordship sighed and whispered, "What do they want?"

My hand over the receiver, "something about our plumbing urgency" I whispered back.

"We're a little busy at the moment is it important?" I enquired

"It won't take long, I just need a little more information"

I'm a woman, I can multitask, so I carried on with the call. "What would you like toooo knoow?"

"Well we were just wondering how happy you were with our plumbing service?" he enquired

"Oh very happy dear... down a little, is it on the highest speed setting?" His Lordship gave me a thumbs up.

"I'm sorry madam, I, I didn't quite get that,"

"I'm sorry dear I was talking to my husband, deeper, deeper, dear, aaahh oh that's the spot" I urged

The young mans voice had turned a rich baritone, "ah hem, and would you recommend our service.."

"Yes, oh yes,"

"Thank you madam, and I was.."

"Oooh yes, that's it, NO don't stoOP YES, YES, OH GOD YEESSSSSSSS,"

"Er madam, madam I, er, I,"

A short while later when I returned from the moment in which I had been lost I realised that the young man had disappeared from the end of the phone. Ah well at least the terrible knot in my right shoulder is now gone thanks to the wonderful little massage thingy, expertly wielded by his Lordship I might add.

Hit The Road Jude...

2009-11-27T07:10:00.000Z

Well I thought that I would give you a rest from polar bears, thought you might be getting a little fed up with the cold of the Arctic.

Since relocating to the new office just over a month ago, my commute has gone from an hours journey to an hour and a half to two hours every morning and evening. So with up to four hours of my day being taken up with sitting on buses I decided to return to using the car. Now my journey takes about an hour each way. It is a ten mile journey!

That's the joy of living in a city and travelling during the rush hour, nose to tail traffic. You get time to observe your fellow commutors when sitting in traffic. Yesterday a young man in the car behind me decided to carry out his ablutions whilst creeping along in the traffic. A quick tickle round the ears and face with a wet wipe, followed by brushing his teeth, rinsing with water and spitting out of the car window. The woman in the lane next to me was multi tasking, talking on her phone whilst doing her make up using the rear view mirror. Oh traffic was not at a complete standstill we were moving slowly and we were approaching a very busy junction where two more lanes of traffic join into one lane. The chap in the car in front had his newspaper spread out over the steering wheel, catching up on the latest news and drinking his coffee.

Every morning, and I mean every morning there are scrapes, bumps, shunts and outright smashes. My journey is punctuated by traffic bulletins announcing 'incidents' and road closures whilst the emergency services clean up the mess. Every morning I sit there watching people who clearly feel totally secure in their little metal boxes being completely distracted from the task at hand, driving. Yesterday morning as we got to the busy junction a large van from a well known courier company sped out of the lane joining ours. He probably assumed, as he did every day that he was in a large vehicle and that people would let him in, afterall they all come equipped with brakes don't they. Unfortunately for everyone involved the chap in the car in front was engrossed in his paper, and the woman in the lane next to us was applying her mascara. Result, newspaper man was shunted into make up lady by courier man. All lanes of traffic blocked it took over an hour to shift the carnage.

Fortunately non of them was injured, only their cars suffered as a result. They all began to argue who was at blame. Finally newspaper man and make up lady decided to 'gang' up on courier man, I was asked by them if I would provide a witness statement for their insurance. I informed them that I would happily oblige, not a problem. However I became public enemy number one when I mentioned that I would have to be honest and point out that neither of them was paying attention to the road and both were distracted as a result of their in car activities. They didn't require my assistance after that.

I wonder what joys await me this morning.

Arctic Odyssey Part 3

2009-11-22T16:25:00.000Z

Did I tell you that polar bears are somewhat elusive? They are also damned hard to spot in the Arctic, it's that whole white bear, white background sort of thing. Actually polar bears are not truly white, they are an off white creamy colour. It's the seal fat that does it, the more creamy their fur the more seals they have eaten. I'm blathering aren't I. Well sitting on an icebound ship in dense fog with limited 'facilities' can do that sort of thing to a person and we had been sitting icebound for two days, and going nowhere fast. Actually it wasn't so much the ice as the fog, thick smothering freezing fog. Sucking in a breath of this stuff made your lungs start to panic as the freezing damp air plummetted to their depths, a few minutes outside and your chest hurt from the constant effort of doing the most natural of things, breathing.

There was of course another reason for not being on deck a far more frightening reason. The ice around the ship is constanly moving and as it moves pressure ridges rise around the hull of the ship. They make handy steps for an inquisitive polar bear who can smell the human rations onboard. So for fifty four hours we hunkered down and passed the time with out fellow passengers listening to talks about the possible effects of the depletion of the oozone layer, (devastating to polar bears), baby gliders, (more on that later), and the arctic fox. Whilst most of us had our hearts set on an encounter with a polar bear her Ladyship was desperate to see the arctic fox.

It was mid afternoon when the fog finally vanished it took only a matter of minutes as a wind from the north swept down and rolled it southward. Eager to get some fresh air most people returned to their cabins to kit up. As his Lordship and I were heading for the deck a hushed message came over the intercom, "There's a polar bear on the ice directly ahead of us, everyone silent please as we are going to attempt to get closer to it."

So as we crept up onto the deck our heartbeats were pounding so loudly it was all I could do to stop myself from sshing everyone I passed. Peering over the side my breath caught in my throat, right there just a matter of a few hundred feet away lay the most amazing creature I have ever encountered. It was sleeping, just curled up on the ice... sleeping. The engines had been cut and with everyone on board holding their breath the silence was intense. All eyes taking in the huge bear, sleeping, totally unphased by the bulk of the ship or the voyeurs it carried. This was his kingdom and he knew it. An icy thread laced my cheek and I realised that I was crying.

He lay there for a while, just sniffing the air and taking it all in his stride, then he simply looked around at his paparazzi and got up and sauntered away.

My breath still catches when I see him.

Arctic Odyssey Part 2

2009-11-15T10:43:00.000Z

At 3.20am the polar bear watch paid off. The shipboard intercom crackled into life, "attention all crew, attention all crew, polar bear spotted off the port side, muster stations, muster stations." Polar bear, a real polar bear, I threw off the duvet and swung my legs out of bed, unfortunately in my sleep dazed state I forgot that I had taken the top bunk and my legs connected with the side of his Lordships head as he too swung out of his bunk, sending him sprawling to the deck. I then added further insult to injury as I happlessly plummetted from my bunk my fall being broken by the now prostrate Lord. After a rather undignified scrum to find a crumb of deck space to get some footing we managed to extracate ourselves and headed for our outdoor gear.

After layering up, not an easy thing to do with sleep still in your eyes and a cabin the size of a rabbit hutch. We raced to the port side, stumbling out onto deck I noticed that several people were already on there and I wondered if perhaps they had slept in their outdoor gear. We definitely needed to organise our dressing drill better. I stared out over the ice searching for the polar bear, I noticed a woman standing next to the rail peering through binoculars. I followed her gaze, in the distance I could make out a rocky escarpment but nothing else. Peering through my binoculars my eyes accustomed themselves to the lay of the land and I noticed a small pale creamy dot moving slowly over the rocks. My first polar bear.

I know you'd need binoculars too to see it but believe me it was there and the shot above was taken at 3.32am. The polar bear gone his Lordship and I grabbed a hot chocolate and headed back to our cabin. After grabbing a couple more hours of sleep we headed off for breakfast. Mealtimes on ship were important, not just for the wonderful food served up by the Argentinian chef, but they were also important points of reference in the twenty four hour daylight. It is easy to slip into unscheduled sleep patterns in this environment. Breakfast over it was time to head to the meeting room for the morning briefing. We were intending to land at a cove some miles north of our current position. A female bear and her cubs had been sighted there a couple of days earlier so it would be a good starting point. Just as we got back to our cabin an announcement came over the intercom.

"we're sorry to announce that there is a problem with the plumbing, the pipes on the lower deck are blocked and therefore we would ask that anyone needing to use the facilities please use only those in the upper deck cabins. Thank you"

Five minutes later there was a knock on the door. I opened it to a rather flustered looking chap, who, explaining whilst jigging said that he was desperate to use our facilities. He was the first of several. Mid morning arrived and his Lordship and I had relocated to the lounge for coffee... actually that is somewhat of a fib. We actually had to evacuate the cabin after a rather forlorn lady begged entry to our facilities, it quickly became apparant that she was not fairing well with the Argentinian chefs culinary delights so we gave her some much needed privacy and beat a hasty retreat.

Just as we downed the last of our coffee it was announced that we had arrived at our landing point. We needed to kit up again and be on deck ready to launch in the zodiacs in twenty minutes. Now why is it that as soon as people get their outdoor gear on they need the toilet? It took not inconsiderable restraint on our part to smile politely to the constant stream of bods travelling through our cabin as we attempted to perfect our dress drill. Finally kitted up we headed up on deck to await departure.

Zodiacs are brilliant little vessels, once you have mastered the art of getting into and out of them it's great fun zipping about in them. It can be doubly exciting if the fog descends and you suddenly happen upon one of these...

Add a polar bear hitching a lift on the old iceberg and you could be in for some hairy moments. So when fog descended the zodiacs and landings were out of the question. But for now we had clear weather and headed off to the cove. There are some amazing places in the Arctic circle, and I loved getting off the ship to go ashore. This particular cove was an old whaling station and although it brought sadness at the death of so many beautiful creatures it also had a strange beauty of it's own. There was a hut with grey weathered wood walls that had been there for over one hundred and fifty years. The bacteria that rots wood normally cannot survive in these conditions and so the hut still stands just as it did when last used.

What appears to be a drift of snow on the shore line is in actual fact the remains of over seven hundred beluga whales. Not killed for their meat or blubber, they were killed for their hides beluga leather was much prized as it was softer and more supple than any other leather. Those bones have laid there for over a hundred years it is now an offence to touch them so who knows how long they will be laying there for into the future. Long after my bones are gone I think.

Whenever we went ashore scouts would be on the look out for polar bears. Of course we were eager to see them, however it would have been another matter to come face to face with one whilst ashore, they can outrun a human and when all said and done we were just another part of the food chain. So the scouts never went ashore without their guns. I on occasions took on the role of scout as I can shoot a rifle with pretty good results. I have to confess however if one of my fellow passengers had left the group and put themselves in danger through straying I would have been tempted to shoot that silly beggar rather than the bear! But of course I never disclosed this to my fellow travellers, I figured it might not go down too well with some of them.

Even with the kit we were all dressed in it was nigh on impossible to stay out for longer than an hour or so, the cold would eventually begin to seep up through your feet and the constant icy wind would freeze your breath and in turns your throat and lungs. So no polar bears sighted today we headed back for the warmth of the ship and another round of hot chocolate to warm our hands and our hearts. The twenty four hour polar bear watch began again.

Needless to say his Lordship when taking his watch, stamped his own inimitable style on his polar bear tracking...

Arctic Odyssey Part 1

2009-11-07T08:37:00.000Z

The Captain, (my dad), has always been interested in Polar exploration. I grew up with the great explorers, Franklin, Amundsen, Scott, to name but three. I myself have been interested in the Franklin expedition to navigate the North West Passage for some time.

So when his Lordship and I were discussing our holiday plans eighteen months ago it seemed like a reasonable leap to undertake our own polar exploration. We decided to go to the Arctic.

Unsurprisingly it is not quite as simple as making a quick call to Thomas Cook and booking a package. There are medicals to be done to make sure you are up to the task, insurance to cover the event of being eaten by a Polar Bear or being struck by an iceberg. Oh and I have to warn you, should you ever come across them, walrus are a tad grumpy too.

Our journey began the first week in July last year. We flew from Gatwick to Oslo, then onto Tromso in the north of Norway. From there we flew on to Longyerben in Spitzbergen. Here we picked up our ship, a Russian Akademick class exploration and scientific vessel.

Now clearly this was not the QE2, (I have partied across the atlantic on the old gal). His Lordship and I had a cabin with en suite facilities. Don't look bored, only four of the rooms had this 'luxury'. The rest had to share bathrooms, and bunks!! Ok, ok, a girl has to have certain standards even in the Arctic. The Russian plumbing I have to say was erm, somewhat interesting. The en suite bathroom consisted of a cupboard in the corner of the room that had huge cast iron pipes running through it. The shower was in one corner and the toilet was opposite. The entire floor of the room was the shower tray. A hole in the floor next to the toilet was where the water, eventually ran out. It was I have to say an interesting experience attempting to use the toilet after taking a shower, especially in rough seas!! You may be asking yourself at this point, 'why is she rattling on about the plumbing arrangements?' The Russian plumbing was to be a constant theme throughout our journey.

Our first night, (obviously not as in dark, 24 hour daylight at that time of year), was spent doing the mandatory ship safety briefing, climbing into the survival capsule. Not as easy as it might appear with umpteen layers, a life jacket and wellies. However it did allow us to get on 'intimate' terms with our fellow passengers, 22 of them. We were also introduced to the ship's Doctor who turned out to be an ER surgeon from Los Angeles. She had been on many explorations and it soon became apparant that unless it was bleeding profusely, dropping off from the cold or not breathing there would be no sympathy.

It was not difficult getting to sleep that night even in sub zero temperatures and with daylight outside. The cabin was insulated with layers of thick curtains and the bunks also had curtains to shut out the light and keep in the warmth. The following morning found us making our way around a southern cape of the island, now in open water the sea was throwing some heavy waves our way and the small ship tossed about like a childs toy. His Lordship, myself and her Ladyship were among an elite little band of seven at breadfast as the rest had not yet found their sealegs. As the morning progressed the sea ice got increasingly more compact and the horizon disappeared in and out of fog banks as we forged further north.

This was Polar Bear habitat and this year the ice cap had not receeded as far as it had in other years, this was good for the Polar Bears, and good news for us searching for them. From now on there would be a twenty four hour Polar Bear watch. Once sighted no matter what the hour we would be at our muster station and ready to hit the ~~ground~~ ice fully prepared. This was it, this was what we had come here for and the excitement was palpable.

I Smell

2009-11-05T19:16:00.000Z

I normally like to pride myself on my personal hygiene and grooming. I don't like to leave home without a little squirt of something pretty behind my ears.

I am concious that eau de perspire is not the most welcoming fragrance. In my line of work it is a daily occurance to walk into a room only to be greeted by an overwhelming odour of unwashed clothes and bodies. Now don't get me wrong, it is not a prerequisite of the morally challenged to have poor personal hygiene.

There are however other smells that linger around the offices in which I work. Rather pungent and sweet the unmistakable aroma of bud, weed, skunk, marujiana and whatever else you may wish to call it. I often find myself sitting in interview rooms with my eyes watering the smell is so overpowering. The worst thing is that it lingers, it seals itself inside your nostrils, it hangs in your hair, it clings to your clothes.

Not the best thing to happen just before a visit to Head Office when you have to travel by train. What do they have in train stations? Yes sniffer dogs. Thanks to one of my morally challenged bods I was today given a rather intense pat down and search curtesy of the local transport police. They ingnored my protestations of innocence, they ignored the fact that they didn't find anything incriminating on me, they ignored the fact that I am a fellow professional, I had my ID on me, quite simply the pooch never lies... his nose said that I was guilty.

I was guilty, I did indeed smell of the sickly weed, but the lovely plods on the station could simply not comprehend that in my line of work it is not uncommon to be 'contaminated' by such means. It took several telephone calls, which finally culminated in my Chief Officer contacting their Chief Officer who then radioed the plods to demand they release me and apologise. They grudgingly did so and I continued on my journey.

Ho hum, what was waiting for me on the platform at my journeys end... you've guessed, yet another pooch with a fascinating attraction to little old me.

(By the way did you know that there are several different spellings of Marujiana, Marijuana, Marugiana.... it's true, depends where you live, apparantly! ) Ok sorry simple things.

Halloween

2009-10-31T20:19:00.000Z

The gentleman sat on the station platform waiting for her to arrive. Nervously he looked down at the pale translucent skin on the back of his hands, counting the dark stains of the liver spots. She had once held those hands in hers, youthful hands, strong hands. He glanced away from the painful reminder of his aging, searching for the clock and the endless ticking seconds till they would meet again.

Closing his eyes he pictured every detail of her appearance when he had last seen her. That memory had grown stronger with each passing year. Her dark hair swept back in a cascade of soft curls, topped by her neat felt hat, her hazel eyes soft and tender. A dash of rouge on each rounded cheek and soft plump red lips inviting his kiss. She wore a blue coat nipped in at the waist gently flaring over her hips it accentuated her figure. She had been so proud of that coat it had taken the last twenty clothing coupons she had.

He opened his eyes and looked at the clock once more, it was eight fifteen, just a few more minutes. The platform was deserted as always, the trains had long since stopped calling at this station. The seconds ticked by as he recalled the night they had parted. They were so different, their lives and families were worlds apart. His parents had never liked her she was from a working class family they did not think that she was good enough for him. They would never allow the young couple to marry he knew.

More seconds ticked by, eight sixteen. He stroked the breast pocket of his jacket fondly touching the ring he had carried close to his heart for the last sixty two years. They had arranged to meet at seven o'clock to catch the night train to London Kings Cross, they were eloping they would start a new life together. He had been late, she had been waiting for over an hour. His parents sensing something was afoot had delayed him. Now it was his turn to wait on the station platform. eight seventeen, the chill air made his bones ache, he sat silently as he watched the clock. In another minute she would be here.

At eight eighteen she arrived, quietly she stood at the edge of the platform watching him. His heart pounded in his chest, his breathing quickened and his chest ached with the effort. She was as beautiful as ever. Her plump red lips parted in a smile as she held out her hands to him. Struggling to raise himself from the seat he shuddered as the icy air seized his limbs. She stood still, arms outstretched smiling, drawing him to her. Slowly he found the use of his legs walking to her eager to feel her touch. Her hands were soft and cool he squeezed them in his aging hands. He could barely breath as he took in the youthful beauty of her face, her dark hair under her hat and the blue coat, she was right to be proud of it. Somewhere in the distance a train horn sounded as it approached the station.

He glanced at the clock, eight nineteen, he loved her, he had always loved her. He felt the rush of air as the train approached the station. Silently, hand in hand they stepped from the platform edge just as she had done sixty two years before, just as he had watched her do each All Hallows Eve for the last sixty one years.

The Final Girdle

2009-10-27T07:57:00.001Z

Mrs Beeton for those of you who don't know her is my mother in law. She is, how shall I put it, somewhat set in her ways and a little remote from reality. No she isn't suffering from dementia or anything like that, she has always been this way. Now as she approaches her eighty ninth birthday her little idiosyncracies are becoming ever more demanding.

To Mrs Beeton her phone is much the same as oxygen, she cannot live without it. This results in numerous phone calls throughout the day most of them with the same content. She has set conversations for different people. Much the same as her set duties for each of us. His Lordship deals with financial matters and anything involving tradesmen. I on the other hand am designated shopping assistant, prescription courier, and girdle purchaser.

Now fortunately for me I approached womanhood at a time when far from hooking, zipping and tying themselves into undergarments, women were burning them. My knowledge of such garments of torture has been vicariously gained through my girdle tracking expeditions with Mrs Beeton. By their nature they are somewhat elusive creatures and are rather secretive. Add to this their declining numbers, they are I believe on the endangered species list, and it is becoming ever more difficult to find them.

So when Mrs Beeton informed me that she needed a new girdle I began the hunt for an outlet. After much interwebby searching and some interesting encounters with girdle fetish sites I tracked down a shop in a town not too far away.

A few days later with Mrs Beeton in tow we headed to the girdle emporium. It looked a friendly sort of place with net curtains discretely shielding the contents and customers from the eyes of the outside world. On entering the shop we were greeted by two ladies attired in matching twinsets and decor laden with chintz and lace. Mrs Beeton was immediately shown to a waiting chair. It was clear that they were not merely purveyers of girdles but also brassiers, corsetry and huge knickers. Whalebone and gussets were respectable fayre for conversation in this establishment.

Feeling that Mrs Beeton was in safe hands I took the opportunity to slip out of the shop and wander through the market place. A short while later I returned to find Mrs Beeton still sitting where I had left her surrounded by an array of girdles. I noted that both of the previously serene ladies now had something of a flush about their faces.

"How are we doing?" I enquired

"Oh I think we just about have it," replied lilac twinset

"Do they come with suspenders?" interjected Mrs Beeton

I looked at her quizically, "you don't wear stockings."

"I like to have suspenders as back up." she replied

"We can provide suspenders dear." the pink twinset said soothingly

A few suspenders later and Mrs Beeton was the proud owner of two new girdles.

Now at this point I should mention that Mrs Beeton is of somewhat diminutive stature, she is barely four feet eleven inches high and weighs seven stone dripping wet. You would therefore not be forgiven for wondering why she feels the need for the confines of a girdle. Well I have mused on that subject myself on occasion, but I have to say my imagination has discretely confined itself to the fact that as a somewhat obsessive character ruled by routine she has always worn them and always will. Apparantly this is not so!

The following week I was sorting Mrs Beeton's laundry, yes this is another of my duties, and came upon one of the newly acquired girdles. To my horror I discovered that it had been slashed along the bottom edges. My mind raced with all manner of explanations, had she had a hot date with Freddy Krueger? Had she not really been a proud owner and slashed them with her butter knife? This defacing of the girdle made no sense. I took it to Mrs Beeton.

"What on earth happened to this?" I enquired holding up the offended girdle

"Oh I had to make some modifications," she replied somewhat embarrassed

"Modifications!"

"I don't like anything tight around my tummy,"

"It's a girdle! Isn't that the idea," I replied somewhat surprised

"Oh no, I use it to keep my tights up, they keep falling down,"

I looked at her legs and sure enough her tights were rolling around her ankles in such a fashion that Nora Batty would have eaten her heart out. "What size tights are you buying?" I asked

"Large, I've always bought large," she replied indignantly

I have now added another duty to my list, tights monitor. She now has several new pairs of warm lyle tights in a small size and the lovely new girdles have been consigned to the dustbin. Alas the great girdle hunting expeditions have now come to an end and it would appear that Mrs Beeton's tights will now be contributing to the further demise of the girdle emporiums.

Frock Horror - An Impromptu Little Cultural Exercise.

2009-10-24T12:22:00.000+01:00

Do you ever feel like the forces are conspiring against you?

It has been raining here quite heavily at times over the past week.. I know here in blighty who would have dreamed. Anyway at the weekend I bought myself a rather nice frock for work. So on Tuesday I decided to give the said frock its first outing. I did look rather fetching I have to say. I spent the day carrying out a number of home visits. As I left my final visit the heavens opened and when I say opened they poured buckets. I was drenched through to the skin.

I could have wrung my lovely new frock out like a dish cloth. Accompanied by much squishing and sloshing I headed home. Oh the relief when I got out of my soggy attire. Unfortunately this soon turned to concern when I noticed my entire mid section was a startling shade of azure blue. The dye from my lovely frock had run and I now matched the lining perfectly. So I was slightly miffed that after two showers and lots of scrubbing , (I have to say I was buffed to perfection and silky smooth), my mid section still had a lustrous blue hue. I headed off to the shop from where I purchased the frock.

Handing the frock to the counter assistant I explained my 'mishap'. Examining it she scanned the label. "Madam I'm sorry but this dress is dry clean only." she announced.

"Yes dear I am aware of that, but I didn't put it in the washing machine" I replied

"Being dry clean only it means you should not get it wet"

"I got caught in the rain"

She looked at me over the rims of her Dolce and Gabbana spectacles, and hmmed loudly. "I will have to get the Manageress, I can't deal with this," she said and she retreated into the back of the shop holding my frock at arm's length.

The Manageress appeared and eyed me slowly, (it was the kind of shop that likes to cater to a certain class of clientele), in my somewhat bedraggled state I clearly did not pass muster. "Madam I cannot possibly reimburse you for this purchase, it clearly states dry clean only and you have got the dress wet." she said handing the soggy frock back to me with a look of disdain.

"But it was not my fault," I demanded, "I got caught in the rain,"

"then you should have taken shelter" she replied.

"Oh I'm terribly sorry, perhaps I should have hammered on a door requesting they let me in, 'help! help! it's an emergency, I need assistance, it's raining and my frock is DRY CLEAN ONLY', " I said somewhat sarcastically. She was not amused.

"Madam our returns policy does not cover 'acts of nature'."

"What about terrorism?" I enquired

"Madam?"

"Actually I was mistaken, it was not the rain, it was the Physioterrorist suspect I was visiting who unbeknown to me had been in the process of making a water bomb, which turned out to be unstable and unfortunately detonated as I reached for a current bun." I replied triumphantly. Her glare instantly froze the soggy frock in my hands and it was clear that the returns policy did not cover 'acts of terrorism' either.

You will be pleased to note that both I and the frock have now dried out and we shall enjoy future outings together only after checking the weather forecast.

2009-09-30T18:51:00.000+01:00

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??

2009-09-29T13:59:00.000+01:00

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!!!

2009-09-28T16:17:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-17T07:40:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-13T20:17:00.000+01:00

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.

2009-09-11T14:53:00.000+01:00

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!!

2009-09-06T10:06:00.000+01:00

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

2009-09-05T08:42:00.000+01:00

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.

2009-09-04T15:32:00.001+01:00

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

2009-09-01T10:07:00.006+01:00

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.

Another Medal in the bag.. part 2

2009-08-30T13:04:00.000+01:00

Well the assignments came thick and fast and more to the point as this was my final year they were required to move up a notch and they were also getting quite lengthy in the old word count area. (Did I mention that I still have one last assignment to write? Hmm, as I told you exciting ways to procrastinate.) I put my heart and soul into them, and a hefty chunk or so of previous assignments. No point in letting perfectly good stuff go to waste.

In March it was our 28th wedding anniversary, (I know I've aged well, I also have a painting in my attic), and so once again his Lordship being ever the romantic that he is booked a suprise holiday. A long weekend to the Arctic.. again! Once more my dreams of warm and sultry days languishing on a beach and balmy nights tasting the local cuisine were rudely snatched from my poor aching brain. But there were polar bears and this time lightshows too.

As our weekend faded into memory I got my head down and ploughed on with my studies. My earlier bout of flu had taken its toll and I was unable to burn the midnight oil any longer or rise with the larks. My case load was increasing and the morally challenged seemed more challenging than ever. They are not renowned for their intellectual prowess, or decision making skills nor do they tend to have much get up and go, unless the boys in blue are on their tails. Because of this some have the ability to sap your patience from 300 yards away without even breaking a sweat.

One such young man became my nemesis for a short while. I doubt that under normal circumstances I would have batted an eyelid at his behaviour, however my life felt far from normal at this point and the phrase, 'sin lieth at the door'* became my raison d'etre. Young Erbert, as he shall be known, arrived on my desk during the second week of April. He was 20 years old and he already had a string of convictions as long as my arm, nay an orangutangs' arm. Most of them were related to fights whilst drunk and public disorder.
On the morning of his first appointment I received a telephone call. 'Hello St Jude speaking,'

'ello I'm Erbert's dad, ee won't be coming in today, ee's not well.'

'oh dear, what are the symptoms?' I asked Erbert the elder.

'ee's bin sick an ee's got a banging eadache, so ee's in bed, it must be food poisoning.'

That would be the kebab and not the dozen or so pints he consumed prior to eating it then, I thought. 'I'll need a sicknote if he can't come in, those are the rules' I explained. Erbert the elder grumbled down the phone and left it at that. Slightly before close of play that day I received a call from reception to tell me that young Erbert was there. As I arrived I noted that he was accompanied by a rather rotund and redfaced chap, Erbert the elder I assumed. I greeted young Erbert, 'good afternoon Lazarus, it's good to see you have recovered so quickly.' Erbert the elder shot me a look of confusion,

'is name's Erbert,'

Too tired to explain I escorted them to an interview room. No sooner had the door closed than Erbert the elder started his offensive, 'it's ormones, ee's just doing what lads do, ormones!'

'He's twenty, isn't he a little old for hormones?' I enquired.

'Late starter,' Erbert the elder said emphatically.

I looked at young Erbert who was smiling smugly at me, 'so what you are actually telling me Mr Erbert the elder is that your son is juvenile in his behaviour and immature in his thinking, would that be correct?' Young Erberts' grin slipped.

'Boys will be boys, you know what it's like they get into scrapes.'

'Then may I suggest that now would be a good point for your boy to grow up, I am not entirely sure that he can afford to get into any more 'scrapes'.'

As the weeks passed by young Erbert would appear at the office, occasionally on the correct day, rarely at the correct time. He refused to talk about his behaviour preferring to regale me with the lurid details of his increasing nights out with his friends and their antics. When I enquired about potential employment he informed me that he did not have the time to work, what with the many appointments he had to keep, primarily with me and to sign on at the jobcentre for his benefits. By mid June I had decided that if neither he nor his father were prepared to make the changes then I would. There are times when people have to be shown the consequences of their behaviour and so I requested that he be taken back to Court and that the Judge send him for a short spell in prison. Yes I have the power to do that, not a power I take lightly, but on occasion I use it. Think of it as a kind of 'tough love' thing. So young Erbert is now spending some time at Her Majesty's Pleasure, I hope contemplating the consequences of his behaviour, and whilst there perhaps his 'ormones' will settle down a little. And what of Erbert the elder, it appears he has become a man of letters, weekly so I hear, too embarrassed to visit his son in person. 'Sin lieth at the door'.

In July the dreaded flu put in another appearance only this time it had a curly tail and went oink, oink. I was not impressed. I emerged from my quarantine unscathed, however I do have an incredible ability to root out truffles at a 100 paces. His Lordship announced that he had booked another suprise holiday. So over the next few days I began to assemble thermals, gloves, hats, boots etc in one of the guest rooms ready to pack. Then one day I wandered into the room and to my horror they had all gone, in their place though lay a natty little bathing suit and beside it two first class tickets to St Lucia staying at a five star resort... and yes with our own personal concierge. He knows me so well.

There is just one small matter that has to be resolved before I head to paradise... 5000 words!!

*Genesis 4:7 - don't look so surprised, I'm a Saint I'm supposed to know this stuff.

Another Medal in the Bag...

2009-08-27T09:23:00.007+01:00

Well heavens where do I begin. I've now completed my degree, well almost, I have one last 5000 word assignment to write this weekend. I have crammed a three year degree into two... my brain is fried but I have discovered new and exciting ways to procrastinate. In fact if there were Olympic medals for it I would be up there on the podium. I did discover a tiny little hitch early on when I was informed that my particular writing style was not especially adapted to academia. Lecturers are a tad stuffy at times I have to say I do recall one of them telling me;

'you're not an academic are you St Jude!'

'hell no my dear,' I smiled, 'but I am terribly good at canapes and cocktails... oh and by the way plaid is so last season, actually my dear it is so last century.'

She was a game old bird and took it on the chins well. She did make me realise however that my lifestyle and writing style would have to alter considerably. So I put my party frocks into mothballs and dusted down my laptop, signed on at the local uni library and set the little grey cells to study mode. Although I may at first glance appear to be somewhat soft and fluffy I do in actual fact have an underlying rod of iron however there have been times when my resilience has been sorely tested.

During the first year of my studies I had numerous lectures and training courses to attend with assignment dates descending thick and fast, at one stage almost monthly. I was also expected to carry a case load and still attempt to find the time and energy to enjoy fleeting moments with my family. By the end of the first Spring his Lordship told me I needed a holiday. White sandy beaches, swaying palm trees, turquoise sea and my own personal concierge to wait on my whims. Bliss! So I immediately agreed. Over the following weeks I could hardly contain myself waiting for the moment when I would step from the plane onto some wonderful exotic land. My first doubts were raised when his Lordship told me that we were going shopping for the holiday. His Lordship does not do shopping other than when gadgets or 'equipment' is involved. This was equipment shopping.

Now forgive me for being a little dim and slow on the uptake, but I did rather have my mind on other things at the time. I nodded inanely when the lady in the shop showed me the pretty pink thermals with the lacy bottoms, I haplessly stood like a mannequin when she dressed me in sallopets and jacket. I even giggled when she rammed what can only be described as something akin to a dead cat on my head telling me I looked a picture. Of what I can only now imagine, and this is when his Lordship broke the news to me, I was heading for the Arctic. There would be polar bears he assured me, lovely, 'do they serve cocktails?' I enquired.

Our Arctic sojourn over I threw myself back into my studies, my case load was increasing and I was now dealing with some thoroughly nasty and dangerous characters. By the Autumn I was starting to feel a little drained. By early December of 2008 I was in two minds as to whether I could actually pull this off. Then in mid December my rod of iron made me aware that there was some serious corrosion happening. My best friend left me, she had it transpired been ill for many months but she had kept it from me. She had been there for me through some of the worst times of my life and the best. Her name was Tyke. The vet tried to save her for four days but in the end I had to do the 'right' thing and let her go. So on 9th December 2008 I said my final farewell. On 10th December I came down with a bout of flu that almost called a halt to my dream and would take several months to recover from.

I had two assignments due in at the end of January 2009 and I had to write them from my sick bed. His Lordship was wonderful, he brought me tea, in my favourite china of course, he brought me food, even when I didn't feel hungry and patiently tried to get me to eat it, but most of all he carried the huge tomes from which I was working back and forth to the bedroom and helped me to research for my assignments. I got them in on time. Two weeks later I received an email from the plaid clad lecturer:

Morning St Jude
just reading through your assignments and I have to say I am somewhat disappointed with them. (Oh really! a slight clenching of the jaw.) You have obviously put some effort into them, however I am not happy with your referencing style. (What? But it is the same one I have used for all of my assignments to date, maybe some teeth grating now.) I do not believe that to my knowledge two of the books you have referenced are on the reading list, I think Ms St Jude you will find that neither Jonathan Livingstone Seagull or The Tao of Pooh are considered authoritative texts on Social Learning Theory. (Urm!!! Spitting feathers).

I can only imagine how her chins thrust skywards in triumph as she hit the send button. It transpires that in one of my less coherent moments I thought that it would be my civic duty to unstuff the plaid clad lecturer and so I replaced all of my references in my assignments with references from such notable works as The Tao of Pooh, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory and The Hobbit. His Lordship had discovered this and bless him came to my rescue by putting back the original references unfortunately it appears he missed a couple.

To be cont...

(I have not given much detail about our Arctic trips as you would be reading this post until Christmas if I did, and I am sure that none of you can afford to be sat on your bottoms for so long. I will be posting separately about those trips over the coming weeks.)

Well hello again.. now where were we?

2009-08-23T18:36:00.003+01:00

Well, well, well how on earth do you catch up on virtually two years absence. How rude I know to disappear like that without a word or a letter or an email. I am so, so sorry but life became a little hectic, (slight understatement), and I am only now recovering from the potential burn out that trying to cram a three year degree into two years whilst working and an expedition to the Artic to photograph polar bears then another to photograph the northern lights. I've been a tad busy.

A Little Cultural Exercise - Santa Clause

2007-12-08T07:04:00.000Z

Well it has been far too hectic in the St Jude household this past month. With studying and working we have not had a moment to ourselves. With this in mind I decided that this year I needed to avail myself of a 'personal shopper' for my Christmas pressies. After some thought it came to me that at this time of year there really was only one person for the job a true professional in every sense of the word... Santa Claus!

So I settled down and wrote my list of presents. This done I pondered on what to do next. I could pop it in the post box with nice little note;

My Dear Santa,

I just thought that I would drop you a quick note and a short, (shortish), list of my gift requirements for the forthcoming Yuletide festivities. Please note that I have referenced in italics preferences for colour, size, brand, and alternatives should the item be out of stock. I have also put the address for each item to be delivered.

Yours in eager anticipation

St Jude xxx

I set off to the post box with my precious list. As I rounded the corner I noted the burly figure of the postman heaving a huge sack of letters into the back of his van. He groaned as I sprinted towards him with the list in my outstretched hand.

"Oh blimey, not another letter for his nibbs!" he huffed, "I hate this time of year with all this extra mail. Why don't they just go and see him instead, it'd make my life a whole lot easier."

Of course! What a wonderful idea, then I could be sure that he had received the precious list. Unfortunately this was a tad difficult as I had already delivered my letter into the 'safe' keeping of the postie. Who was adamant that it was now the property of the Royal Mail, and I couldn't have it back. I thought about turning on my saintly charm, but then I realised that time was ticking on. After a couple of minutes of attempting to wrestle the letter from his grasp, I had the better of him and triumphantly marched back home with my prize held close to my chest for safe keeping.

A short while later I was headed for the bright lights of the city and my hunt for Santa Claus had begun. Now boys and girls I don't want to burst anyones bubble but I have to inform you that there are some rather scurrilous people out there, not least the 'Santa doppelgangers'!!! You see I wasn't about to leave my precious list with just any old Santa lookalike. No! I was determined to make sure that I went to the very man himself. This mission was not going to be an easy one, but I was up to the challenge, I had ensured that I had put on my comfiest heels and wrapped up warm in a natty little cashmere number. Look out Santa... St Jude is on your case.

After doing a brisk recky of the shops and malls I discovered to my horror that there were even more 'Santa's' plying for business than I had anticipated. Hey ho I would just have to jump in at the deep end. My first port of call was a smart shopping mall with a grotto situated on the top floor. It looked the business with a Peter Pan themed display and little animated characters jiggling here there and everywhere. (They really should have put it closer to the toilets, children do have very small bladders.) I took my place in line and waited with baited breath. After what seemed like hours but in reality was a mere forty minutes, I was finally bidden entrance to the man himself.

I smiled my saintly smile and approached Santa. Just as I was about to plant my saintly behind on his lap a rather matronly fairy sternly announced, "we don't sit on Santa's knee,"

"Oh would that be the 'royal' we, or the common variety of we?" I asked bemused

"Please use the stool." she glowered.

Turning to follow her gaze I noticed a somewhat diminutive wooden stool placed to one side of the now smiling Santa. A couple of minutes later I had managed to balance myself, somewhat precariously onto the aforementioned stool. So with my knees jockeying for position with my ears I proceeded to go through my list. Sadly I had only managed to get a third of the way through before the Fairy called time and insisted that I let someone else have a go with Santa. After a somewhat undignified scramble and with the assistance of Santa's beard, I managed to extricate myself from the stool.

The next Santa was located in a large department store that had obviously seen its heyday and was now marching time until the developers could move in and change it into up market apartments. The grotto had seen better days, some of the characters were now showing their age. Snow White needed her roots doing as the grey was showing through, and grumpy had obviously been stored too close to the radiator as he had melted and now looked like he had, had a stroke poor soul, and where was Dopey? I needn't have feared, Dopey was alive and kicking in the shape of a spotty little Herbert who was dressed as an elf. He smiled inanely as he rooted around the caverns of his nostrils seemingly blissfully ignorant of the audience he had accumulated. After passing him a tissue I proceeded in to see Santa. Trust me when I say that this was not the real deal. If the shop was past it's best then this chap was definitely past his sell buy date. The suit was threadbare and smelt of mothballs, his boots were a pair of wellies and his beard, well, suffice to say that I could have knitted him a better one. I didn't linger, made my apologies and left sharpish.

Onwards and upwards as they say!

To be continued.....

It Never Rains...

2007-11-25T08:12:00.000Z

I am still here, I'm just buried under a mountain of lecture notes and books. I don't actually attend campus, my lectures are held in various locations and towns. The upshot is that I have to have a meeting every morning before setting off just to make sure I am heading in the right direction.

Friday morning was a classic example. I was up bright and early and headed off to my training for the day. It took me almost two hours to get there as the traffic had come to a virtual standstill, due to 'rain'. The world and his wife had decided to ditch public transport, (well we are into the season of soggy leaves on the rails and soaking wet bus seats), and take to the road. Anyway I digress, so I arrived a tad late.

I managed to discreetly slide myself into the back of the room and position myself at a work station at the rear. For the next thirty minutes I got my head down and tried to catch up. It wasn't too difficult as it was systems training and already having used the systems for some time I discovered that I already knew most of what they were doing. In fact it seemed ridiculously basic. Hey ho I thought, not all of my new trainee friends have worked in the organisation before so I guess they have to cover everything. Then it was time for a break. I looked up at the trainee sitting next to me and smiled. Somewhat to my confusion they didn't look familiar!

After scanning the room for a familiar face I realised to my horror that I didn't recognise anyone. I had in fact gatecrashed a training session for new starters. After checking with the tutor and making a hurried phone call to one of my fellow trainees I discovered that I should have been at a different location altogether in another town. So my head in a fog I jumped back in the car and drove for another hour until I reached the 'new' venue. The tutor was on form, and there was to be no discreet entrance this time. He ensured that a place had been saved for me at the front of the room and insisted on doing a lengthy recap of the mornings lecture, much to the chagrin of my fellow trainees.

But on a positive note I now have a wonderful team of assistants who kindly text me the times and venues of my lectures.

The New Office

2007-10-30T04:44:00.000Z

Well not only am I now at 'big school' but I have also been placed in a new office to boot. It is in a different area to my last office, a rather more, shall we say deprived area sadly very much in need of some investment.

On my first visit to my new office I had a slight problem finding the place. I had been given directions on where to go, but at first sight I thought the place was derelict. No sign on the door, but then I suppose they don't particularly want to advertise their existence. I entered the building with the feeling that I should be wearing a hard hat just in case! The foyer reeked of damp and mould. The paper was peeling from the walls and the lift door was open displaying its grimey rubbish strewn interior for all the world to see. So I decided to take the stairs, dimly lit and only slightly more enticing than the lift I headed for the second floor. A small laminated sign stuck to the door told me that I was in the right place.

The surly grunt of the receptionist acknowledged my presence and I was buzzed through to the reception. As I stood for a moment trying to take in my new surroundings I became aware of two 'bodies' bedded down on the comfy chairs, a faint sound of snoring and an aroma of stale beer and farts added to the homely feel of the area. Another surly grunt and I was buzzed through to the office, leaving the two morally challenged bods to their morning nap.

I was greeted by a rather ebullient looking chap who welcomed me to the office and proceeded to show me the 'sights'. I was also introduced to the team, their names briefly making an appearance in my memory only to fly off to pastures new as the next one came along. They seemed somewhat bemused by me, some of them had no experience of my role and were intrigued as to what I was doing there, others, possibly the more jaded among them greeted me with a knowing smile and carried on with their work. I for my part smiled until my face ached and made the usual small talk required on such occasions. Then I was shown to my desk. Devoid of any clutter or indeed a PC I noted, I sat down and settled myself to the arduous task of thumb twiddling for the next few hours.

Several cups of tea later and having fended off an attempted coup on my desk I decided that I had put in enough effort for one day and headed off to the local cafe for another much needed cuppa and a toasted teacake. It's hard work being the 'newbie'!

Eating Elephants.

2007-10-24T16:25:00.000+01:00

What happended to the weekend? Did I blink?

Week 1.

Well I now consider myself to be well and truly inducted, I've been inducted into university, well actually not one but two... I don't do things by half my dears. I've also been inducted into my new team, my sub group, my super group (no not as in Bee Gees or ABBA type super group), my district. In fact I am so well inducted I feel like I have been turned inside out and back again and I'm not sure if at some point someone didn't tattoo the company logo on my rump, well ok if they didn't do, then it certainly felt like it was going to be done at some point.

My fellow 'cohortees' are an amiable bunch. The usual mixture of the shrinking violets who at some point will come out of their shells and let their hair down, probably after a babycham or two... bless them. The peirced, tattooed wild child, only with a few years under her belt looking slightly jaded and a little the worse for wear. Sadly at two of the offices we've attended so far she has been mistaken for one of the clients! The ebullient and ever so chatty ones who really don't understand the concept of putting a sock in it, but hey ho they give the rest of us some snooze/thinking time and keep the tutors off our backs. Then of course there are the fresh faced post grads who haven't a clue what they want to do when they grow up so when they saw the advert for the trainee ship they rubbed their hands together with glee and whoopeed at the prospect of another couple of years as an undergraduate again. (Are you mad children?) Oh and of course then there is little old me, the saintly Jude who never could say no to a lost cause... and believe me at the end of the first week I feel like the biggest lost cause going!!

Blimey!

2007-10-18T06:30:00.000+01:00

I'm half way through my first week of 'big' school. They've thrown so much information at me that my brain feels like it's in a blender. I'm preparing a post to let you know all about it this weekend, but right now I'm heading off to... oh bugger, I'll need to check my calender. What day is it?

St Jude is Back....

2007-10-12T16:30:00.000+01:00

Well I can't believe my dears how long it is since I was last here. How rude! I apologise profusely.

Just a brief update for now. I am still working with the morally challenged, no they haven't done for me yet. Remember I mentioned that I had applied to do my degree... there were 35 places available and over 2000 people applied. So I have to say the odds were not good.

I DID IT, they actually liked me and I got through the assessment centres and months of trials. Today was the last day at my previous office. It was so sad to say goodbye to all of my colleagues and especially my boss, who is also a very good friend. From Monday I start my course and I join a new team, I'll be working in a drugs intervention team, yummee, yum!

Once again I'm sorry that I haven't been 'around', but I will hopefully now be 'online' a lot more.

I've really missed you all and thought about you often.

Civic Duty - Part 2

2007-04-07T06:09:00.000+01:00

After having spent the best part of day one with my nose in my book it wasn't looking too healthy on the old jury selection front. So I arrived for day two armed once more with my trusty tome and settled in for another day of reading, secure in the knowledge that I would not be disturbed by the class idiot who fortunately for me had been selected on day one. Alas it was not to be, as ten minutes later an usher appeared and my name was called.

After we were sworn in the judge addressed us. He explained what would be occurring, but most importantly he told us when we would be breaking for lunch. Then the prosecution Barrister stood up and outlined the case against the defendant. I obviously can't go into detail but suffice to say that it was a case of wounding. Then the defence Barrister stood up and outlined the case for the defendant.

Throughout the course of the day a procession of witnesses came and went, their evidence duly picked over by each of the Barristers and the evidence was distributed to the jury. Full colour glossy pictures, witness statements, oh and a time lapse video to boot. And so it was time for the defence to call their witness... their one and only witness.

A rather dapper gentleman strode into the court room and took his place in the stand. He reminded me somewhat of 50 cent dressed up for a funeral, he did however have the obligatory gold chains and rings. He faced the jury and glared, not just any glare a malicious glare, (I come a cross this rather a lot in my line of work, it is intended to put people 'in their place', let them know who is the boss so to speak), as he continued to glare I could sense some of my fellow jurors shifting in their seats uneasily. I was just considering giving him a smile and wave, you know to lighten the mood a little, when the defence Barrister began his questioning.

Initially he gave only yes or no answers but then he obviously began to get into the swing of things. He was asked about the events of the day leading up to the event. Then he was asked to relay what had occurred. He told the court that he had been stood some four or five feet away from the defendant when the event had occurred but that he could see quite clearly what had happened. At this point I should perhaps point out that the defendant was claiming that he acted in self defence and that the claimant had struck first.

"So you had clear sight of the event, is that correct?" asked the defence Barrister

"Yes, I saw it all" replied the witness

"So did you actually see the Landlord throw a punch?"

"Yes,"

"So he definitely threw a punch at the defendant, thank you. Who threw the first punch"

"Bill, (the defendant),"

"Are you sure about that?" asked the rather rattled defence Barrister

"Absolutely my friend it was definitely Bill"

It was at this point that the Judge asked the defence Barrister if he was really sure that he would like to continue with his questioning. He simply shook his head and sat down.

In a masterful stroke the prosecution Barrister rose.

"Your Honour, the prosecution has no further questions for this witness, however I would like to thank my learned friend here for his assistance"

As we in the jury and the rest of the court room choked back our stifled giggles the judge adjourned proceedings until the following morning for the summing up.

The following morning my fellow jurors and I were taken to the deliberation room. Here we had to hand in our mobile phones to be locked into a drawer, just in case we should feel the need to phone a friend for help, and the door to the room was locked behind us. It was only at this point that I could really take stock of my fellow 'peers'. A young woman who would remain silent throughout, clearly showing withdrawal symptoms from lack of her mobile, an elderly chap who must have been dozing during the trial as he had to be reminded on several occasions of the evidence,and then there was the 'falterer'. There's always one, they just can't make a decision. Even if the evidence is there in black and white, even if the defendants own witness has categorically dropped him in it. The 'falterer' will not take responsibility for the verdict. Fortunately even with these hindrances the deliberation was mercifully short.

We were escorted back to court to present our verdict. 'Guilty'. The judge having nodded his agreement proceeded to recount the previous convictions against the defendant, which included numerous violent offences . I think the falterer can rest easy.

Civic Duty - Part 1

2007-04-03T16:52:00.000+01:00

I turned up yesterday for my jury duty. Negotiating the airport style security was interesting. I handed over my bag to the friendly looking lady who immediately opened it and tipped the entire contents out into a tray. Lovely! The ladies will relate to my rather embarrassing confrontation with the odds and ends accumulated over a millenia. The battered tampon was however the least of my worries as it also transpired that I had a hypodermic needle in my bag. Not used I hasten to add. The contents of the tray, my bag and I were escorted to a small room just off the foyer. It was here that I was told by a very stern court official that I needed to explain myself. He didn't see the humour when I proceeded to tell him my life story. It was actually the needle he wanted me to explain, and so I told him about my work with the morally challenged and how on rare occasions I am tasked with providing new needles to the needy addicts. My warrant card scrutinised and the contents of the tray once more sieved through in all it's minutiae, I was escorted back to the foyer. Here the same court official gave me directions to the juror's suite and whispered the top secret code to gain access.

I punched in the code and entered. The juror's suite is a large room with lots of comfy looking seats and a cafeteria located at one end. I immediately noted the rather interesting selection of reading materials, an Argos catalogue, several editions of the bible, a couple of books explaining what the bible is all about and numerous leaflets about , looking after your heart, diabetes, help with alcoholism and how to avoid sexually transmitted diseases. Hmm, I know that jury service can be dull and that some poor folk may succumb to a touch of cabin fever after being locked away for several hours, but heart disease, alcoholism and a bonkathon!

I proceeded to the cafeteria and secured myself a large cup of tea then I sat down to enjoy the rather weighty tome that I had remembered to bring with me. I had managed to get a couple of pages in when I was addressed by a man wielding a fake accent that quite frankly was more Humpty Gocart than Humphrey Bogart,

"Of all the bars in all the world you had to walk into mine,"

Had I inadvertently made eye contact or given out some signal? Oh wonderful I had managed in some way to attract the class idiot. Un-phased, he went on,

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

"Reading a book!" Unfortunately he took this as an invitation to engage in conversation and proceeded to give me his take on jury service and his civic duty. In a nutshell, he believed that 'they', the defendants would not be in the dock if they hadn't done something wrong, visa vie, they are all as guilty as sin. Simple! Yes he was and unfortunately I came to note over the course of a very long day of waiting that he was not alone in his philosophy.

To be continued...

We Apologise For The Interruption In Service!!!

2007-03-30T05:30:00.000+01:00

Well peeps I apologise for the delay. It has been a somewhat hectic month to say the least. I have been 'acting up' in a new post at work. This has required a mammoth amount of my time and I needed to hit the ground running so to speak. It also dictated that I have my wits fully about me and unfortunately for my blog... not else where!

In other news I have decided to apply to do extra training at work and take my degree, a couple of minor points to bear in mind here, my employer being the normal government sort likes to extract as much blood from this stone as possible and so they expect us to complete our degree in two years as opposed to the normal three. We are also expected to work at the same time, part time granted, whoopee, but still it will be an action packed ride for 24 months. There are no guarantees of my getting on it though I'm still at the application stage and there are only thirty odd places and a couple of thousand applicants!! Watch this space.

I shall be doing my civic duty from next week for a fortnight, I'm on jury service. Which idiot decided that everyone has to do it now, no exemptions anymore, even judges can be called up!! Who in their right mind is going to want someone who works in law enforcement on their jury, even worse who is going to want someone who may well know the person in the dock and their previous history. I can just imagine it now;

"How do you plead?"

"Not guilty your honour, I was at home with the missus," replies the defendant

"Huh right, just like you were innocent the seventeen occasions before!" comes the small voice from the jury section.

Hopefully they will send me away, I know of at least two of my dear little chaps who are due before the bench over the next couple of weeks, so that's two trials I'm barred from. For those of you who have never served on a jury before, it isn't remotely interesting. Most of the time is spent sitting around waiting, if you do get onto a jury it is normally adjourned for some legal wrangle or thrown out because of incorrect procedure.

I'm driving up to Scotland this evening, his Lordship and I are going to visit his sister. It should be a nice break, but before then I have to tie up loose ends at work, it's 5.30am and I need to hit the road for another fun packed day with the morally challenged. So once again apologies for the interruption in bringing you this blog, hopefully things will settle down again soon.

Life on the Mean Streets - Massacre

2007-02-22T06:21:00.000Z

I don't know how to tell you all this, but there was a mass murder at work yesterday. Oh no, I hear you gasp. Oh yes I reply, but there is worse to come.. I was one of the perpetrators!!!

This has been brewing for the last couple of weeks. The 'victims' had first made themselves known to a couple of my colleagues early one afternoon as they were sitting at their desks next to the window. The encounter was painful and left them scarred and with an unfulfilled itching to rid themselves of the memory.

Over the next few days several more of us fell prey to them, indeed their numbers were growing and they knew no boundaries. Finally we could take no more, in desperation we called on the services of a 'specialist', someone prepared to deal with the detritus of society. We only knew him as Brian.

Obviously in our line of business we have inside knowledge of such people and the 'work' that they perform. I have to say however that the negotiations were tricky. Meeting in secret and ensuring that our phonecalls were not overheard, we finally agreed on a date and time. His methods were brutally simple but swift and deadly. None would survive he assured us, no one would be any the wiser.

And so in the still of night just a couple of days later, he stealthily entered the building by the rear door. Nothing could distinguish him from any other 'cleaner'. He quietly worked his magic and satisfied that there were no survivors he left us a note telling us how and where to send payment. Then he slipped out into the night once more.

Payment was swiftly dispatched, we wanted to distance ourselves from him with all haste. No one need ever know the terrible deed that had taken place under the cover of darkness. We must all stick together, lips sealed and sit tight, we'd get away with it, then it all started to unravel.

By lunchtime the office looked more like a late night at a German bierfest with people slapping at their ankles thighs and backsides. Brian had failed. Our nemesis had returned with a vengeance. These were the 'offenders' in question;

FLEAS, but it gets worse, these are not just any old fleas, they are Pulex Irritens, human fleas and they had infested our office. I am reliably informed that they are very rare these days, (they are even rarer now).I choose not to share my body fluids vicariously or not with strangers and as fleas are on the whole a whorey bunch not caring a jot who they bite, I made sure I had protection. However there are only so many ways in which you can accessorise a pair of waders.

After two more days of mayhem working with the new offenders, and no imminent support from the top brass, we decided to take matters into our own hands. At eight o'clock yesterday morning and suitably attired for the mass murder, we armed ourselves with industrial strength flea spray and set about the annihilation of the now hideously enormous population of fleas. Only time will tell if our massacre was a success. In the meantime I'm off to the shops, I saw a very nice scarf that I think will look absolutely stunning with my waders!

Lent

2007-02-21T07:40:00.000Z

Yes it is the beginning of Lent, so for the next forty days and nights, many people will be sacrificing something in their daily life.

This year my colleagues and I decided that we would all give something up for Lent. I love my co-workers they are a hotchpotch of people from different backgrounds, race, culture, religion etc. As we started the ball rolling it gathered momentum and even the non-christians decided that they would like to join in. They wanted to boost the moral of their team and felt that a little abstinence could probably do their 'souls' no harm either. So here are the things being given up;

5 people are giving up chocolate
3 people are giving up smoking, (ouch, I take my hat off to them)
4 people are giving up alcohol, (me included... oh my word, no pickle juice until Easter)
2 people are giving up their cars, (they will be bussing it or on 'shanksies pony')
2 people are giving up cakes and sweet things of any kind, (I think they call this a diet)
and finally,
1 person is giving up cream cheese bagels.

'I'm sorry', I hear you say, 'cream cheese bagels?'

Yes, cream cheese bagels, they are her addictive, breakfast pleasure, she is on first name terms with the staff at the bagel shop nearest to our office. We realised that with this selfless act our little band had witnessed the pinnacle of true self sacrifice. We felt honour bound to help our friend in her endeavour, and so in order to assist her path towards admission to the hallowed ground of her own 'heaven', we telephoned the local shop. They now display the following note on their counter;

Do not serve cream cheese bagels to Carol.

She has given them up for Lent.

We salute this incredible act of self sacrifice.

See you in forty days.

I hope she appreciates our little gesture of encouragement!!!

Little Oddities!

2007-02-20T15:30:00.000Z

Well this post is a little overdue. I was recently tagged by Mamma, I am supposed to tell you five 'slightly odd' things about myself. Obviously this has taken a great deal of thought, as being a Saint I am of course perfection personified... oh alright then, yes I know I am a rather worldly Saint so there may just be a few minor blemishes.

When texting from my mobile I have to use correct spelling and grammar. Likewise when receiving a text it makes me cringe when the sender doesn't do the same.
My wardrobe and my shoe cupboard have to be colour co-ordinated. Yes I do have a slight thing about shoes, in fact I could probably give Imelda Marcos a run for her money... in the correctly colour co-ordinated trainers of course.
I have creaky knees, no really they creak very loudly when I walk up and down stairs. I went to the Doctors about it, he reassured me that there was nothing to worry about, they were just noisy knees and gave me the technical name for the condition. I saw JT a little later and being a nurse she enquired what the diagnosis was, I cheerfully informed her that I had 'cretinous' knees. After she had recovered from her fit of laughter she informed me it was actually crepitous!!
I have a small birth mark on my back, my son and daughter have identical birthmarks in exactly the same place. (No they are not numbers!)
I may not swear or curse, but I do growl. Hmm, when I am miffed I growl and whoa betide anyone who does not heed the sign. Fortunately I have never had to resort to biting anyone yet ;0}

So there you have it, five slightly odd things about me, who would have thought it eh! Now at this point I am supposed to tag five other people, so I tag, Kate, she's always game for a laugh, 100 words, purely because it's the devil in me and I can't wait to see how he's going to do this in a century, Stinkypaw, because we like her, Marymurtz, so that when she runs out of something to say she'll have another meme in the wings, and finally Dorky Dad.

I CAN Perform Miracles.

2007-02-17T20:22:00.000Z

Many moons ago I worked as an Educational Consultant. This required me to travel around primary schools in the area and roll out the 'new' attainment targets.

So I set off one wet and windy morning for my first appointment. I pulled into the parking area and headed for the reception. As I passed the playground I noticed a large message pinned to the fence.

Missing, Flopsy Houdini, the school rabbit.

If you have any information

Please contact reception.

Underneath the message was a picture, Flopsy in all it's loveliness, a handsome bunny resplendent in black and white coney fur and a blue leather collar. My meeting was brief as the school had come down with a dose of the sniffles and so most of the teachers were either off sick or in no mood to learn about attainment targets. So I gathered up my stuff and headed back to the car.

As I approached it, my eyes settled on the fluffy black and white bundle lying just to the side of the back wheel. Yes it was Flopsy Houdini. After checking it over I discovered that it was now the 'ex' Flopsy Houdini, it would appear that I had run it over as I was parking.

Oh my giddy aunt, I wasn't sure what to do next, I could put it next to the wheel of another car and drive away, letting someone else take the blame, (no I couldn't bring myself to do that, I'm a saint we have codes of practice). I could take it home and give it a decent send off in the back garden, (everyone would be none the wiser and at least it would have a resting place). I could come clean and tell the receptionist what had happened, (I'm sorry I was completely lilly livered and couldn't face the accusing glares of the children and teachers). So I came up with an alternative plan.

I quickly emptied one of my boxes and put the demised bunny into it. With it safely stowed in the boot I headed into town and the nearest pet shop. Yes my plan involved a switch. After trawling around most of the pet shops in the area without success the situation was looking bleak. Then almost at the end of my tether and the list in the yellow pages I found my 'golden fleece'. A perfect match no one would be any the wiser. So after buying a pet carrier and getting the collar onto Flopsy ll, I had it safely deposited on the back seat. Next stop the school.

They were overjoyed that I had 'found' their bunny, the children had been heartbroken. After much celebration and communal cuddling, the Flopsy doppelganger was put into a new high security hutch. My deed done I headed home and put the previous Flopsy into a cosy earthy bed. All's well that ends well!!

Not quite... a couple of weeks later I received a phone call from the Headmistress at the school.

I answered the phone, "hello there,"

"Hello St Jude, I was just wondering if you could help me out with a slight query?" she asked

"Certainly, fire away,"

"Flopsy?"

"Oh yes, and how is Flopsy?"

"Oh very well, in fact so well she has just given birth to seven babies, the children are over the moon, though it was a bit of a shock,"

"Little miracles happen," I replied cheerily

"They certainly do St Jude, Flopsy was a boy!" She replied dourly.

Be Nice To The New Boy!

2007-02-16T21:34:00.000Z

It is Friday night, I have the house to myself, as his Lordship and her Ladyship are out doing other things. I am sitting down with a nice glass of pickle juice and the remote to myself.

So I thought it was time to to tell you all about '100 words'. Please drop by and say hello, (he's a 'newbie' so be nice and show him what we are made off), he has been sitting in my 'daily reads' for the last week or so and I hope that some of you may have found your way there. He has set himself the target of producing his daily posts in just... well 100 words. It is an interesting concept and I for one am eager to know how it rolls out. I would like without further ado to introduce you to The Centurian Diaries. Drumroll fades and... action!

and the innocent shall inherit the earth..

2007-02-15T20:30:00.000Z

I know that most of you drop by here for a little light relief, however today has been a rather difficult day and as some of you may not know me very well I thought that perhaps it was time that you got to know me a little better.

For those who are not aware, I work with the 'morally challenged'. I regularly deal with petty theives, burglars, drug dealers, violence, murderers and rapists, although the last two thankfully are more on a 'weekly' basis. I come into contact with case information that is graphic and at times disturbing.

However there is a particular case at the moment which has deeply affected not only myself but my co workers. My friends over here in the UK will I have no doubt heard about it, involving a beautiful child, just a baby, whose cherubic face would melt any heart, (or so I innocently thought), and whose smile I am sure would light up any room. Not anymore. This child was raped and murdered by a close family member.

Some people would assume that dealing with such people on a daily basis makes you immune to the 'normal' human reactions and emotions when confronted which such an aborhition. Well you are wrong. Yes to some extent we do have to switch off, but we never stop caring, we never stop being 'human'. We do, though have to develop strategies to deal with our emotions, otherwise we would all be lettuce limp and incapable of performing and the public would not thank us for that. One such strategy is to 'bury' our emotions, on occasions, such as this you bury them deep. The problem with that is that they are still there, and they can erupt at any time. I had one such moment today.

Nothing I did today could prevent this outburst, but I did my best to hide it. Knowing full well that it would end in tears I headed for the Ladies. I sat inside my cubicle and quietly sobbed my heart out, I had no choice, as a Mother and a Grandmother, my heart was breaking. Then as I tried to compose myself I heard the sound of muffled sobs from the cubicle next to me. Composing myself I opened the door and went to wash my hands. The door next to me opened and out walked one of my team. Neither of us spoke but at that moment we both knew what the other was going through. Instinctively we hugged one another giving and taking the support that we needed. That done we checked our faces in the mirror and walked smiling back into the office.

Tonight as you tuck your babies into their beds, remember to kiss them gently and tell them that you love them. Reassure them that there are no monsters hiding under the bed, but remember as their parents that those same monsters may lurk close by. But above all I ask that you remember this little angel, remember her brief life, don't let her become just another entry in the registrars dusty tome. She deserved so much more.

Normal service will be resumed tommorow... excuse me it has been a 'trying' day.

Love Letters

2007-02-14T05:38:00.000Z

I was perusing the internet looking for Valentines Day inspiration when I came across the following little gems of advice. These are actually out there, along with a startling array of other wonderful oddities.

Advice on writing love letters...(obviously I have added a few little notes of my own)

Be Original. Just write down your true feelings and we assure you, your beloved will find it the bestest love letter in the world. - 'you're the best thing ever, I can really get to grips with your 'love handles darling'... are you certain about this?

Arrange for Some Mushy Stationery. It will make the love letter seem even lovelier. Also, remember that the paper should be of good quality and long lasting. - you might like to try the 'fire' test prior to using it. Does it burn well?

Don't Use Complicated Words. Don't try to impress your beloved by flaunting a very complex vocabulary, which he/she may not even understand.- do you think I'm lovely, do you think I'm sexy.. do you think I'm stupid.

Don't Make It Too Long. A ten pages long letter will eventually turn off your beloved. - ok, so he has the attention span of a gnat, he's not a great reader and he doesn't understand complicated words. You're not asking him to help you with your crossword in bed.

Date your love letter. So that after many years when you will look at it again, it will bring back all the lovely memories. - oh especially when the paternity tests come back.

Closing of the letter should be done in a very romantic manner. Sign off as Always Yours, Yours Lovingly, etc. - ah so, your loving 'stud donkey' isn't appropriate then?

Please make sure that you have not made any grammatical mistakes in the love letter. - WHAT!! Whose going to be checking it.

and finally some ideas for 'love notes'...

I Love You! - very original.

Without you, I am lost! - then get a map dear.

If it weren't for you, I would have never known what it feels to love and be loved! - he's just trying to get into your knickers?

You may not be the perfect lover in the world. But, You are THE PERFECT ONE for me! - well why don't you just slap him in the old trouser department with a wet kipper... it will have exactly the same effect.

With each passing moment, my love for you grows more and more and more! - yes dear, a bunch of roses would have done fine, see note 4 above!

Whenever I wanted any support, I always found you by my side. Thanks for being there all the time! - you've got a stalker.

I love you from the moment I came into this life and will continue to do so till eternity! - Happy Valentines day mum, your loving son Oedipus R. xx

You are no longer only my love. In fact, you have become my life and I have started living you! - he literally wants to get inside your knickers, especially the red frilly pair ;0)

You should also check out these 'love messages' on the same site as the above advice, they should come with an advisory notice.. 'don't take their advice'.

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE

Porks Off!!

2007-02-12T19:48:00.000Z

Mrs Beeton came over for dinner yesterday. I did the whole roast thing including Yorkshire pudds. It is always something of a trial when Mrs Beeton comes to dinner. She has very particular likes and dislikes. Unfortunately they tend to based on whatever is happening in the news. For example she is currently 'off' poultry, chicken and in particular turkey. My friends here in the UK will understand why, but for those of you who are not aware, it is down to the whole bird flu furor. Several years ago she gave up on beef, CJD was the culprit, just prior to that it was eggs because of salmonella, and then shellfish because someone told her that they 'store heavy metals', (she has no idea what heavy metal means or indeed where the shellfish keep their store). She spends her entire day glued to the news channel. The BBC of course, because no one else tells the truth!!!

So Back to the meal, I decided as beef, chicken, turkey, fish and eggs were off, I would serve Pork. So there I am serving up when I notice that Mrs Beeton doesn't have any pork on her plate. "You've forgotten to get some pork," I point out helpfully to her,

"Oh I don't eat pork," she replies munching on her carrots,

"what do you mean you don't eat pork, you've always eaten pork,"

"no, I don't eat it anymore, did you know that you get worms from pork!"

I was speechless, but I know better than to enter into an argument with her when she is in this mood. Then suddenly his Lordship came to the rescue, "we could rustle up some sausages... you like sausages don't you." She nodded enthusiastically.

A short time later Mrs Beeton was tucking into sausages, apparently they are not pork, they are sausages. It's a good job her Ladyship didn't decide to recount the story of when she discovered that sausages came from pigs, she was mid mouthful when Daddy, told her that they were pork, unfortunately she put two and two together and made.. well pigs willies. (She was only six at the time.)

Gasbaggery - Mamma

2007-02-11T07:49:00.000Z

This week it is the turn of Mamma to bring us her take on a quick read in the guise of Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind by Ann B. Ross. Apparantly it's only saving grace is that it is a 'quick read'. So go and check out her excellent review here.

If you'd like to join the Gasbags, sign up here!

We're getting to the end of our first review rotation, so now would be a good time to join us! Previous reviews this season:

The Eleventh

Looking Beyond the Cracked Window

A Droll Way to Look at Things

Miss Keeks

Sven's Personal Memos

My Beautiful Life

Sweet Perdition

Cheaper Than Therapy

Enema Portal For Groan-ups

A Little Cultural Exercise - Ladies and Gents!

2007-02-07T05:43:00.000Z

His Lordship and I were visiting the theatre the other night. Prior to the start of the show we took a leisurely drink in the theatre bar, a rather grand place with oak panelling and crystal chandeliers adorning the beautifully painted roof. As we were finishing our drinks the bell sounded for us to take our seats. We settled in and enjoyed the first half. When the intermission came we headed back towards the bar, however the effects of the pre-show drink were taking their natural course and so I excused myself and headed for the 'powder room'.

My heart sank as I saw the queue. I should not have been shocked in the slightest by the sight of the line two deep running all the way out of the door and half way up the corridor. This is a fact of life if you are a woman, you have to queue for the facilities. And so it was my friends, that I took an executive decision and decided on an impromptu cultural exercise, 'are we ready yet for mixed sex facilities'?

The gentleman's toilets were on the opposite side of the corridor and so without further ado I bypassed the now cross legged, jigging line and headed towards the gents. On pushing open the door I could hear the sound of 'running water' to my left and therefore felt that it would be somewhat appropriate to divert my gaze to the right. However on doing so I realised that the entire wall was mirrored, as was the wall directly above the urinals. I had been spotted immediately by the half a dozen men engaged in, well in their business.

"Excuse me madam, but the 'Ladies', is opposite," one chap helpfully offered.

"Yes I know dear, but really, have you seen the queue?" I replied, and with that headed to the nearest cubicle to... well to go about my own business. As I sat contemplating the next thousand words in my novel and where my characters were going, (well what do you think about), I could hear a frantic flurry of activity as the chaps quickly finished up and left. You know I have to say that I was a little dismayed to find that not all of them washed their hands. No peanuts for me at the bar!!!

On completing my business I opened the door to go and wash my hands, unfortunately I disturbed a chap who was oblivious to the fact that I was there. On seeing me emerge from the cubicle behind him he panicked and attempted to shake and zip at the same time. Ladies having witnessed the results, I can tell you that this most definitely is not a good combination. As I could see that he was in a great deal of discomfort, and being a saint, I of course offered to assist. The poor chap bolted for the nearest cubicle and locked the door. He left as I was washing my hands, walking not unlike John Wayne as he headed for the door.

Just as he got there the door burst open and in walked a rather distinguished looking chap followed by two very harassed looking gentlemen, who I recognised from earlier when I had been spotted in the mirror.

"Excuse me madam, but may I ask what you are doing in here?" the distinguished looking chap enquired seriously,

"I have no intention of going into any detail, suffice to say that I have been using the facilities,"

"but you have your own across the corridor,"

"have you seen the queue?" I asked,

"that is beside the point madam, they are your facilities and you should use them, these are the gentlemen's facilities and they are unsuitable for ladies,"

"why ever not, they worked just fine for me thank you,"

"you misunderstand madam, these are the gents," he persisted

"so you keep saying dear, why on earth can I not use them?"

Just then a voice piped up from behind the door, it was the John Wayne impersonator, "because you don't have any ruddy balls woman,"

"Oh I beg to differ my dear, I just don't keep them in a pair of crusty old y-fronts...!" I gave him my most saintly smile before taking my leave to join his Lordship at the bar.

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

Gasbaggery - Kates Review

2007-02-04T12:38:00.000Z

This week it is the turn of Kate to entertain us with her review of the Shopaholic Series by Sophie Kinsella. Only Kate could review a whole series of books!!! It's great so get on over there.

Have you read a book that was truly awful, seen a film that sent you running for the exit after five minutes? Think you could write a review and save mankind from having to endure this rot? Then follow this link.

If you would like to catch up on some of the previous reviews then go here.

Cherubs.

2007-02-02T19:15:00.000Z

I finished work slightly later than normal today. I like to catch the earlier bus if at all possible, the following being the reason why.

The bus is always pretty full by the time it gets to my stop so I headed to the back, not my favourite spot but this time it didn't look too bad. A lady reading her paper, a young woman playing with her phone and a Goth. I settled into my seat, I could hear the metallic thumping of the music pulsing through the earphones of the Goth seated in front of me. I stared out of the window and watched the city sites go by. We had gone a short distance when a rather grumpy voice chirped up;

"Is that your music, turn it down," a grey haired lady who was sitting two seats in front of the Goth demanded peering over her shoulder at me.

"I'm sorry it isn't me." I replied. She spotted the young woman behind me, who had earphones in.

"You, you," she said gesticulating wildly, "yes you, turn your music down,"

The young woman flushed red and turned down her music, but the noise continued. The grey haired woman determined to get to the bottom of this spun around in her seat again, she had her sights firmly fixed on the Goth.

"Will you please turn that awful racket down now,"

The Goth finally twigged that he was the cause of the disturbance and without any argument he apologised swiftly and taking out his earphones he turned his music off. The grey haired lady nodded her gratitude and returned to her paper.

We travelled a few more stops and an elderly black gentleman got on, he found his way to the back of the bus and took the vacant seat next to the Goth. A few stops more and I was bracing myself for the 'onslaught', the school bus stop! The bus pulled up, and 'they' piled on. A group of girls made their way to the back of the bus. Most of them looked to be fourteen or fifteen but there were two or three who where obviously younger, twelve maybe thirteen. One of the twelve to thirteen year olds, a particularly angelic looking girl with flowing blond hair and rosy cheeks over porcelain skin, I have had the misfortune to meet several times before on the bus.

Before she had even reached her seat she had started! A stream of profanities preceded her to the rear of the bus. She plonked herself into her seat on the opposite side of the aisle to the Goth and the elderly black gentleman. She did not hold back, even when her friends, who had also congregated at the back of bus, attempted to curb her language. The elderly black gentleman, as is his right, politely asked her to refrain from using such offensive language. She merely offered him a sneer much to the amusement of her 'posse'.

He turned to the Goth, "I am not sure what they teach them in school these days," he reflected sadly, and a little shocked.

"Certainly not manners Sir," replied the Goth.

I looked across at the blond haired 'cherub' spewing profanities as if they would go out of fashion, language so natural to her that she did not realise it's effect on those around her. The grey haired lady making her way to an alternative seat at the front of the bus, intimidated by this child, when only minutes earlier she had felt easy enough to challenge a young man dressed as a Goth. The elderly black man, on asking the bus driver if he could do something was faced with a blank admission that he, (the bus driver), would prefer not to confront the girl! I might add that he was also met with laughter from the huddle of adoring cherubettes at the back of the bus.

At that moment I took a long look at the blond haired cherub. Where did she learn such language, was it her peers? I think not, they appeared to some extent to be as shocked by her behaviour as the rest of us. Her family? I noted that the area she got off the bus was not the most affluent. The bus pulled up at her stop she and her posse disembarked as did the polite young Goth. If his parents could instill in him such attributes as politeness, good manners and respect for other people, then why could her parents not do the same.

I wonder if his parents are proud of their son, if they appreciate what they have achieved? I know that I for one would like to thank them, and all of the parents out there who still strive to instill the value of respect, courtesy and manners into their children.

I would like to clarify a point here, I am not a prude, I am not a 'snob', please remember that I work with the morally challenged everyday. I am used to this language, although I choose not to use it myself, I am subject to it everyday. But I have to say that the language used here was highly offensive, to hear it, and also witness the behaviour, (she was drinking alcopops at 3.15 in the afternoon, on her way home from school), as it was being used by a child, yes she is a child, disturbs me. I can't help wondering if one day she will be walking through my door!!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'Novelty' Writing Update

2nd Feb word count = 1133

3rd Feb word count = 1019

'Novelty' Writing - Day 1

2007-02-01T14:54:00.000Z

Well today is the first day of my journey into 'write a novel in a month' with BBC Scotland. (Thank you Kim for your suggestion.) I am supposed to write 1000 words a day... ha, that doesn't sound much... does it? Thank fully they have chosen the shortest month of the year, how awfully nice of them. I am not sure how far I will get or how long my fingers are going to be after all of this typing but what the heck you have to just take a leap into the dark sometimes.

Word count today = urm that would be zero so far ;0{

18.14pm updated word count = 1068

Not so Secret, Secrets!!

2007-01-28T08:42:00.000Z

For my Gasbaggy review I have chosen 'The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets' by Eva Rice.

It is an 'amiable' read set in the 1950's and centres on the life of Penelope who lives in a crumbling old ancestral home named Milton Magna.

Basically she meets Charlotte, who becomes her best friend, whilst standing at a bus stop. Charlotte invites her round for tea, so she goes, (who wouldn't follow up an invitation to tea by a complete stranger), at tea she meets Aunt Clare and Harry.

Before I go any further here is a list of characters:

Penelope - a teenager madly in love with Johnny Ray and she has big hands

Charlotte - another teenager madly in love with Johnny Ray, somewhat scatty but very intelligent

Harry - odd eyes training to be a magician, what a catch

Aunt Clare - she has scaly hands... it says so in the book, 'Aunt Clares tiny hand was as delicate as a budgies claw in my great paw' Penelope on greeting Aunt Clare for the first time.

Talitha Orr - Penelope's mother, very beautiful but has a pole up her rear desperately trying to hold it all together and figure out how to save crumbly Milton Magna

Inigo - Penelope's younger brother who wants to be like Elvis

Rocky - he's American, very rich and an agent in the music and movie business... wow what a coincidence maybe he could help Inigo out..yawn!

Marina Hamilton - another American portrayed as rather vulgar who it transpires is Harry's love interest and an alcoholic to boot

So do I need to go on, have you figured out the plot yet. Oh for heavens sake it's obvious, so obvious in fact that the writing talent of Ms Rice is actually wasted. She might as well have written a recipe book!

Here goes then, deep breath;

Penelope falls for Harry, Harry is in love with Marina, Charlotte and Aunt Clare put their heads together to get him together with Penelope, which he ends up doing after a bit of a chase. Talitha gets the pole extracted from her rear and falls for Rocky who is passionately in love with her, he arranges for Milton Magna to be burnt to the ground thereby setting her free of all the debt. And Inigo gets a recording contract in the States. Oh and Marina marries a sop called George and Aunt Clare drops dead in France leaving Harry her son a nice wedge of inheritance. Didn't see any of that coming? Well if you had read the book you would have by the second chapter.

I'm not entirely sure that in light of the transparent plot that the title is very apt. Hey ho, it passed a few soggy mornings travelling to work on the bus!

2007-01-25T00:03:00.000Z

IT'S MY 1ST BIRTHDAY

Yes this blog is one year old today... yipee!

You are all invited to the party,

yes JT that includes you and the Captain, see I promised I would.

I've organised party games,

I thought we could start with a game of musical chairs

Just remember it's my party I might cry if I loose!!! By the way Atilla is that you 'hogging' the show, yes I can see you dear waving at the camera, it's ok you're my oldest blogging chum I forgive you... but just this once.

Ooh, ooh look it's time to light the candles on the cake

altogether now,

Happy birthday to you

Happy birthday dear St Ju-ude

Happy birthday to you

Did you get me a pressie, did you, did you... something sparkly, exotic, did you, eh, eh.

It's ok there are enough party bags for everyone, yes JT that includes you big Sis xx

My Daughter, the 'Treehugger'.

2007-01-22T08:17:00.000Z

One day a couple of weeks ago her Ladyship had to take an exam for one of her college courses. She studied hard in the days leading up to the exam and burnt the midnight oil making every effort to ensure that she was ready. The night before I tested her and 'teased' the answers from her tiring brain. Now at this point I should say that it does help if you have a smidgen of understanding of the subject that you are testing on. Psychology was never one of my preferred subjects and sadly I have to say that more of it probably remained in the text books than in my brain. However I did my best, and when all else failed I valiantly filled in the 'blanks' with my own theories!

The morning of the exam arrived and her Ladyship seemed remarkably relaxed and calm. Confident in her abilities I headed off to work. At 11.30 she called to say that she had finished her exam and although not altogether happy about how it had gone she did remember some of the theories that I had filled in for her, and she was most grateful, eek! In particular she favoured my theory that Pavlov's' experiments were by their nature flawed and that he did not in actual fact create a trigger to make the dogs salivate on command, dogs drool constantly and his time and effort would have been far better utilised in trying to find a trigger to stop them drooling, especially on furniture and work clothes.

This said she informed me that a bunch of her college friends were heading to the pub to get a bite to eat and a drink to celebrate and that she would see me at home in a couple of hours. I gave her the usual 'Motherly' advice, make sure you eat something, don't drink too much at lunchtime, check your rear view before leaving the Ladies, etc. So I went back to my work. When it was time to leave I called her to see if she would like to meet up and we would go home together. A slightly tipsy daughter answered,

"Hello Mum," she answered.

"Hello Sweetie, I've finished work and I just wondered if you wanted to travel home together?"

"Oh Mum, I'm having a great time, everyone is such a laugh. I'll be home in a little while."

Hmm, "Ok Sweetie, just don't drink too much will you," Famous last words spring to mind.

During the course of a very long and somewhat fraught afternoon awaiting the homecoming of her Ladyship and several increasingly drunken phone calls ranging from "Hi, Mum, we're heading to another pub I'll call you in a bit" to "Hello mummy, you're the besht, you reeally, reeally are, aren't you,"

"Hello Sweetie, yes I know I'm the bees knees, now do you think I should come and pick you up?"

"Ok, what time?"

"NOW, would be good for me dear,"

"Hic, urrm, achewally, I'm not entirely shure, hic, where we are, hic!"

"Try asking somebody Sweetie," I could feel my halo tightening.

Eventually I managed to establish where she was and I headed off to pick her up. After twenty minutes I was at our meeting point and as I pulled the car up I was relieved to see that she was on her way out of the pub. On seeing the car she broke into a jog, unfortunately at that very same moment a nearby tree also decided to go jogging and ran directly into her path. Whallop!! She hit it 'head on', I watched helplessly as she staggered backwards arms clawing at the air, then just in the nick of time she managed to regain her composure. She is her mother's daughter. Courteously she turned to her 'fellow jogger' and apologised for not seeing him, then she happily skipped over to the car and 'slipped' into the passenger seat beside me grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Hello dear, how's your head?" I asked trying to mask the impending fit of giggles.

"Whow! You musht, hic, musht be p-shy, p-shck, p-shy, hic, a mind reader," she said turning to me in awe, "how did you know my head hurt?"

"I'm you're Mother Sweetie, I know everything,"

As we drove home a large bruise began to develop on the side of her face, several times she queried it's creation and several times I recounted her 'treehugging' encounter. Finally we were home and being the kind Mother that I am I tucked her into bed. At 2.15am I was woken by a rather pathetic little voice issuing from the door,

"Mum, I don't feel well, I don't feel well at all, I think I have concussion,"

"Really darling. So what are the symptoms?"

"I've got a banging headache and I've been sick," she pleaded woefully,

Hmm, nothing to do with the copious amount of alcohol then! So once again I tucked her back into bed, cold flannels pressed to her aching head and bruised face... and of course the obligatory bucket. Then I headed back to my own bed, I'm a saint I know, but there are limits.

I left her the following morning tucked up on the sofa with a bruised face, fractured dignity and a hangover, sorry concussion. As I walked out of the door she was deep in conversation with her cousin, who it appears she had called the night before telling her that she had been attacked by a mad duck named George!! The duck in question resides next to our telephone, he's never shown any signs of aggression before.

The Sunday Trumpet

2007-01-21T06:37:00.000Z

It's Sunday so it's time for another review. Check this one out, it's Tom's first review. It's the book Nemesis, by Bill Napier if you're having trouble sleeping then this is definitely one for you.

If you would like to join the Gasbags then go here you can also catch up with the previous seasons posts and an explanation of how it all began.

Catalogue of Errors.

2007-01-20T09:35:00.000Z

A few days ago I returned home from work to find two very large catalogues on the doorstep. So I picked them up and took them inside. On the doormat were two letters from the catalogue company addressed to the lady who lived here before us. She had obviously forgotten to inform them that she had moved.

So being the nice bod that I am I thought that I would call the catalogue company and inform them that she no longer lives here. One minor point, I don't have a forwarding address or telephone number for her. Oh well, at least they can have their catalogues back, from the size of them there must be at least half a tree in each one. So I called the company;

The disembodied voice on the other end of the line kicked in on the third ring, "Thank you for calling Big Fat Catalogues, if you are calling to order a cataloge please press one on your telephone pad? If you are calling to place an order from your catalogue please press two on your keypad" and so it went on. Why is there never an option that simply asks do you want to talk to a real person? After several attempts to actually speak to someone and bypass the automaton, I finally got through.

"Good evening, may I take your account number please?"

"Oh I don't have an account with your company," I replied

"Please dial again and press button one on your telephone keypad to set up a new account, thank you," Click...

Excuse me! She had hung up on me. Alrighty, let's try again.

After navigating through the myriad of options once more I was through to a 'real' person.

"Good evening, may I take your account number please?"

"Oh I don't, (no don't do it), actually I'm calling to let you know that I have recieved a catalogue, but it isn't mine, the person you sent it to has moved."

"What's the account number?" I reeled off the account number on the letter they had sent. "Ok Mrs B, what's your new address?"

"I'm not Mrs B, I've already told you that I am calling to let you know that Mrs B has moved. I'm sorry but I don't have her new address,"

"We will need proof," she demanded.

"Proof!" I asked

"We'll need proof that you are not Mrs B and that she has moved."

"No you don't, I am telling you that I am not Mrs B that should be enough, I'm merely calling to let you know that your catalogue is here, it's not mine, and if you want it you can come and collect it, ok!"

"Yes Madam, but we will need proof that you not Mrs B and that she has moved," she repeated

"Hello, hello, is there an echo in here. Look I don't want to get into an argument about this dear, but I am happy to keep them until someone collects them, ok."

"I'm sorry but we don't collect. You need to take it to your post office and send it back to us."

"I don't think so, there's half a tree each in those tomes do you know how much it is going to cost to post them?"

"I'm sorry but you do need to return it. The catalogue does not belong to you it is still our property, which you must return,"

"I didn't ask you to leave them on MY doorstep, and I am certainly NOT going to pay the costs of returning them to you." I said calmly in my most assertive of voices. "If you would like to collect them then I will keep them for five days, however if you have not collected them by then, I will put them into the recycling bin."

"You can't do that, it's not your property," there was a distinct note of panic in her voice.

"Then make sure that they are collected within the next five days." Click...

So the catalogues have sat in my hallway waiting for their 'owner' to collect them. They waited and waited but alas no one came. So as promised the two half trees were deposited into my recycling bin. Who should turn up this morning? Yes you've guessed it, the catalogue delivery / collection bod. I did feel a slight tinge of guilt as she rooted through my recycling bin, but hey ho, it wasn't a full on pang, don't be ridiculous!

A Little Adventure into an Unknown World.

2007-01-17T09:06:00.000Z

For longer than I can remember people have been telling me that I should get my 'work' published. My normal reaction to this is to smile sweetly and reply "hmm, maybe I'll give it a try". But to be honest I never have. There are I think probably two reasons for this, firstly I have never really thought that I had anything 'special', I never had faith in the things that I wrote, not that I wasn't personally happy or on occasions proud of my writing, but I just never really thought of any of it as being that special, or something that anyone would particularly want to read. The second reason and probably more pertinent is that I had no idea how to get published! Silly I know, but on reflection I think being honest if I had been that driven I would have found a way. Actually there is probably a third reason, more important than the other two, I didn't have a 'voice', you can only write convincingly if you know your own 'voice'.

When I was younger, quite a bit younger as it goes, my dream was to write a novel, get published... I'm sure that there are many of you out there who know exactly what I am talking about. However that would never have happened when I was younger, quite simply I didn't have the life experience to be able to write convincingly. As I have grown older I have as happens to us all faced many situations, (some good, some bad), that have affected my life and provided me with the 'seasoning' to be able to give life to situations and characters that I write about.

I suppose what I trying to say is that I am a late developer, I have as I always do come late to this particular party. Having spent time preparing to the 'enth' degree, I am now buffed and polished and ready to enjoy myself. Perhaps it is time to dip my toe into the whirling waters of the publishing world. Who knows what could happen, maybe just soggy feet! You never know unless you give it a try.. here's to a new adventure!!!

Mrs Beeton goes to Bingo.

2007-01-14T09:50:00.000Z

Yes the man upstairs has obviously decided to get his own back on me. Last night I had to take Mrs Beeton to bingo. Actually it was her ladyship's suggestion and I will give her, her due, she came along too. Now this is not I have to say something that we, (by we I mean her Ladyship and I), are used to, neither of us have ever set foot inside a Bingo hall before. We have only heard the rumours!!!!

We pulled up outside I queued behind the other drivers depositing their elderly passengers at the door to the 'Hall of Dreams'. Her Ladyship duly wrestled Mrs Beeton from the car and escorted her inside as I went to park. As I entered the foyer I searched for them amid the jostling crowd all desperately trying to get to the desk so that they could get their hands on the 'dream ticket'. A selection of geriatric blond man eaters still hopeful that they might pull even though they outnumbered the men ten to one, the men in question all either being attached to a formidable other half or having dubious parentage denoted by the odd arrangement of their facial features, (three ears and a nose an ant eater would have been proud of are not a good starting point).

Before we were allowed to enter the hallowed hall, we had to join. For this we needed to head to the membership desk. We ushered Mrs Beeton over to it and took our place in the line. After what seemed like an eternity, the several elderly 'virgins' ahead of us in the queue had a hard time filling out their forms, hindered by the lack of reading glasses, arthritis, and several senior moments forgetting names, (their own), addresses and one actually forgot where she was. Joy, her Ladyship smiled benignly as her elders giggled at their predicament and chatted to one another oblivious to the impending countdown to the start of the bingo fest. It was our turn and so we stepped up to the counter.

The rather surly young woman pushed the forms towards us and a pen, hmm. So with only one pen I was delegated as the chief form filler. Her Ladyship's form was first to complete so as I was completing the others I passed hers back to the aforementioned surly young woman. It was at this point that Mrs Beeton tugged at my coat,

"I need to go," she whispered softly.

"But we've only just got here, you haven't actually played yet!" I replied.

"No I need a wee,"

"Oh, can you hang on for a couple of minutes?" What was I thinking, of course she couldn't.

So as I continued with the form filling her Ladyship offered to escort her Gran to the toilet. Slight problem, the toilets are inside the hall and as we were not technically members they could not get inside. After several desperate minutes of frantic form filling and the agony of gauging the moment when the now dancing Mrs Beeton would have an 'accident' on the floor we had our membership cards and as her Ladyship and her dancing Gran headed for the toilets I entered unknown territory and procured the bingo tickets. Fortunately there was an old 'pro' ahead of me so I just followed her lead and took what seemed like a small forest of paper through to the now relieved Mrs Beeton and her even more relieved Granddaughter.

We managed to find a table towards the back that offered us a view of the big screen but that also allowed easy access to the 'facilities' should Mrs Beeton be taken short again. I now had the opportunity to take a look at the forest I had purchased. There were books of tickets, flyers, showbirds, earlybirds, and the 'dream' ticket. I glanced at her Ladyship who was also perusing the small pile of paperwork in front of her. Mrs Beeton was busily emptying her handbag onto the table.

"Have you lost something?" I enquired

"I'm just looking for my glasses,"

"You did put them in didn't you?" Panic was only a heartbeat away.

"Yes... oh!"

"Oh!!!"

"No it's alright, I did put them in my bag, but I remember now I decided not to bring that one. Never mind you can help me out can't you."

With that statement her Ladyship confiscated Mrs Beeton's bag and after a mad rummage discovered the back up pair. Calm once more restored she set about putting the contents back whilst I set about putting the tickets into the order that they were to be played. Having done this I handed Mrs Beeton her stack. Without time to explain the caller announced that we were about to start the first game. Fortunately I had remembered to purchase three 'dabbers' when I got the tickets. We sat dabbers at the ready hovering over our first ticket, then the caller started. My giddy aunt, I wasn't prepared for the speed at which they went, neither was Mrs Beeton. It quickly became apparent that she was not up to the task and was by now several numbers behind, amid a flurry of dabbing, her Ladyship and I managed to get her back on track until thankfully someone called and we could take a breather.

After a couple of games more where it was discovered that Mrs Beeton was playing on the wrong ticket I decided to take charge of her tickets and pass them to her when needed. She appeared to be getting into the swing of it now and was managing to keep up. We were onto the earlybird now whipping through the games at breakneck speed. The caller announced the next number and Mrs Beeton in most uncharacteristic fashion jumped to her feet shouting. Stunned her Ladyship and I looked on as the assistant took her ticket for checking. The hall fell back into the quiet buzz of expectation. Mrs Beeton sat amid the admiring gaze of those about her as her ticket was flashed up onto the giant screen. As I stared up at it an awful realisation swallowed me up, I wish the floor had! Mrs Beeton had indeed got a line no argument about that, sadly the line had gone, and we were playing for the full house.

It took several minutes to convince Mrs Beeton that she had not won. I think it was to the relief of those around us and the staff that Mrs Beeton announced after the next game that she had, had enough and it was approaching her bedtime. After much whispered conversation during the next game and some frustrated sshing from her once admiring fans, we made our way out of the 'hall of dreams' heads bowed and for once we were all in agreement. Never again!

Another Big Fat Wedding - Only Gaelic!!

2007-01-11T16:53:00.000Z

This weekend we have been in Ireland, Northern Ireland to be exact, attending the wedding of his Lordships' nephew. He is the Bravehearts son, a Scot, he married a beautiful Irish girl. As you can imagine it was a wild weekend, with kilts, whisky, and lots of dancing.

The weekend started at 4am on Friday morning... yes I did say 4am!! We had decided to get an early start so that we could make the most of our time and do some exploring before the wedding. It seemed like a good idea at the time, however it was a rather grumpy St Jude heading off to the airport that morning. I think I finally woke up somewhere over the the Irish Sea. Forty minutes after the flight took off we were heading into the baggage hall and twenty minutes after that we were heading for the east coast and a lovely morning exploring. All I can say is that if you ever have the chance to visit Northern Ireland go for it.

After lunch at the Giants Causeway we decided to head to the hotel. This was also the venue for the wedding so we were going to meet up with the family. We were also going to be meeting up with a strong contingent from the Scottish rugby team, as our nephew had played rugby for Scotland. After checking in and a little snooze later, we headed to the bar for a little light refreshment. It would appear that the rest of our side of the wedding party had, had the same idea! So after half an hour of introductions to a variety of Gregs, Duncans, Iains, Ians, Judys, Maggies and all manner of people in between we finally managed to make it to the bar. After a couple of small snifters we decided to head back to the room as we were all meeting for a meal later in the evening. Well we're not getting any younger and we need to pace ourselves. The meal passed without any difficult moments, this was possibly down the fact that several of the 'rugby' team had been given strict instructions to behave nicely.

After a good night's sleep it was the wedding day, it was also my birthday :0) An Ulster fry for breakfast, (make that two Ulster frys for the rugby boys), and we were set for the day ahead. Some last minute finishing touches to the outfit courtesy of his Lordship, were completed with nail polish and a tooth pick. One of the stones fell out of the clasp of my jacket and in the absence of glue I can highly recommend nail polish... just make sure that it is the clear stuff!

We headed off down to the wedding room and took our places. I was excited to see not only the bride's outfit but also what 'party games' we would be playing at this wedding. Never fear I didn't have to wait too long, glancing about the rows of chairs it became obvious with all of those kilts, yes! it was a knobbly knees contest. Little did I know that this would later metamorphosis into something entirely different!!! Sadly the wedding was over all too quickly the vows recited and the readings performed then out into the garden and the now glorious sunlight for the photo shoot. I have to say however that it was somewhat cold. Talk about 'chapel hat pegs', I hope they can be airbrushed out of the final photographs otherwise they won't know whether they were attending a wedding or a sex worker's conference.

The photos taken we headed inside to the wedding room once more, this time the party game was musical chairs. It would appear that there is a limited stock of chairs in the hotel so they have to move them around, they were now on their way to the reception room. So with that we headed through to the next room where they were serving mulled wine and pink champagne. Neither I have to say are particular favourites of mine, but you have to join in don't you. After some amiable chatter to an already inebriated Irish chap with an accent so thick you needed a dictionary, it was time to move onto the reception and the speeches.

It had been decided that they would 'do' the speeches first, I think this was to enable those doing the speeches to a) remember them, and b) not slur their way through them. The Brides Father gave a glowing eulogy about marriage and it's charms, under the omnipotent gaze of his wife. Then the Groom said his piece, thanking all manner of people and presenting the usual flowers to his new Mother In Law, however when it came to his own Mother he was as caring as ever, merely pointing her in their direction. It fell to a gallant young Scots man on our table to rescue her and present them on bended knee. Then came the best man... the entire room fell silent, the Groom head in hands trembled slightly in anticipation. All was going smoothly until the final moment when the groom recounted the story he had heard of how the young couple had met. It would appear that they had met whilst on a trip with a number of friends to London. The 'now' Groom had decided that he would like to take a trip to Soho, he was in his youth, and so after perusing the delights on offer decided to head for the nearest bar to ponder, whereupon he got into conversation with 'one of the girls', now his Wife. Wrong!! Accompanied by much stuttering and stammering the Groom blushing furiously stood up and attempted to explain that this was not the truth. Much to the amusement of the gathered Rugby contingent, who were actually in on the joke with the Bride. Shame nobody thought to let her Father know beforehand.

Needless to say after some posturing and a little pushing the Rugby contingent and the Bride owned up and all was well again. That part of the entertainment over and the meal complete there was nothing left but to play musical chairs again as they slowly made their way to the ballroom with the rest of us following on. As we seated ourselves the band struck up, and all at once there appeared to be what can only be described as a 'scrum' on the dance floor, kilts swinging violently this way and that and not the lightest of steps thundering around the room, and with that the dancing had started. With only a moment to catch our breath his Lordship and I were catapulted into the fray and twirled, whirled, jigged and reeled to within an inch of our lives. I have to say that if you have ever had a go at Scottish dancing you will know that there is no escape once you are up there, and if in doubt just hook the nearest arm that comes your way, it worked everytime.

By the end of the evening we were exhausted, it was just as we were leaving that the Rugby contingent decided to get into full swing, and I mean that literally... what on earth is it with men in kilts, everytime I turned around there was yet another grinning mischievously as his kilt headed skyward. There was more 'tackle' on display than at a fishing contest! As the raucous revelry continued into the night a very saintly St Jude headed for her bed.

Beta Blogging

2007-01-11T07:15:00.000Z

I mistakenly changed my blog to the new beta version of blogger and since then I have had real problems trying to comment on other peoples blogs. I can't even sign in half of the time. Has anyone else had any similar problems?

That is partly the reason I haven't been blogging since New Year. The other reason is that I have been in Ireland for another big fat wedding. It was great fun, lots of men in kilts, pickle juice and dancing. I'll give you the full low down in my next entry.

A Warm Fuzzy Day...

2007-01-01T20:08:00.000Z

Today has been lovely. We have had another family get together, it is so good to be able to have our family around to visit.

For those of you who have your families living nearby this is perhaps not a luxury you are aware of. But having spent a decade living apart from them with a four to five hour journey, (and that is a good journey, sometimes it could take upto seven hours), this is heaven for us. Virtually every weekend has been booked with family and friends visiting.

The packing fairies came for a long weekend with our grandchildren... I can't say anything more than it was heaven, I miss them terribly. Then his Lordships siblings came over for dinner and to stay for the night, the bravehearts from Scotland his sister and her husband, the international chefs his eldest brother and his wife, and the 'chuckle' brother his middle brother, (for those not familiar with the chuckle brothers they are slapstick children's performers who always botch everything they do, I'll say no more). We had a night of good food, wine and an hilarious pool tournament with the 'girls' against the 'boys'. Our team won thanks to her Ladyship being something of a pool demon. We didn't tell them that she had won trophies... oh come on I'm not that saintly!

On Christmas day I actually got to spend time with the beloved Captain something I haven't done for ten years. Being able to take his present over on the day and watch him open it was wonderful. Then the international chefs arrived with Mrs Beeton, (re-christened 'Humbug' especially for the Christmas season, don't ask), and the chuckle brother. Now this was something of a canny move on his Lordship's part. You see he invited them around on the proviso that they do the cooking. No that is not a comment on my abilities, but I have been doing the whole Christmas dinner thing for the last twenty five years and bless him he thought that after the year we've had I deserved some time off. Well almost, I cooked the turkey and the stuffing, damn fine stuffing even if I do say so myself, chestnut and cranberry, even the international chefs were impressed. So we sat down to a lovely dinner together even Humbug couldn't find anything to whinge about.. well almost, she didn't like the smoked salmon starter, the fact that she had never tasted it before wasn't going to put her off saying that she didn't like it. Oh and the stuffing wasn't Paxo, and the cabbage was off, it was red and not green!!!! Ho hum.

Last night we spent at home, I personally don't do the whole New Year thing, for me Christmas is the time that I love. New Year is a time for reflecting on past mistakes and 'if onlys' and plans for the future that never quite turn out as you would have wanted or expected. I have to say that I am a bit of a party pooper with the whole New Year thing, and tend to be in bed before the clock strikes midnight. But I do understand that it is a celebration for many and I am happy to ensure that they enjoy themselves. However this year I did see in the New Year more through endurance than entertainment. Humbug was in full swing, numerous phone calls to tell us how depressed she was, numerous phone calls to everyone in the family to tell them how depressed she was. We spent the night on the phone explaining to all of her grandchildren that she was not about to 'cut her wrists' and that we are looking after her. IT WAS HER CHOICE TO SPEND NEW YEAR ALONE. This did not prevent her from doing the usual and spoiling the fun for everyone, chiefly her grandchildren.

Today however, as I said at the beginning has been lovely. I cooked dinner for my family, initially it was only going to be seven, but at the last minute an extra, very welcome three turned up. So ten it was. I knew there was a reason that we bought a huge dining table. The Captain came, along with the international playboy and Cruella, (his Moscovite playmate, who I have to say is actually a lovely person), JT and her husband the legal eagle, their son my nephew and my neice and her husband. I have to be honest, JT has got me nailed to rights, shortly before they were due to arrive she called to say that she had sorted out the dessert. She knows that whilst I love cooking I never if rarely do dessert. You see I don't have a sweet tooth, I hate chocolate, I don't eat cake or sweet things. Thankfully she knows me well enough to be prepared. I have to be honest and own up to the fact that dinner at my house is also a bit of a DIY affair. Whilst I love to cook, I tend not to do the detail ie; setting the table is often when the guests have the opportunity to chat over the cutlery and napkins. Thankfully my family are the sort who just dive in and enjoy each others company. Something my beautiful mum was very proud of.. and now I fully understand why. They say that you can't choose your family but you can choose your friends. Well I can only say that I have obviously been very lucky and even if I could have chosen differently, I would not. Oh and that includes his Lordships' siblings and their families.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE.

Life on the Mean Streets - Bah Humbug

2006-12-28T18:02:00.000Z

Yes I am still here, and I am finally back up and running again. Santa brought me a wonderful new toy, a wireless notebook, so now I can do my blog in the bathroom if I want... don't panic I'm actually in my new sitting room in front of a roaring fire. Ah the joys of technology.. but enough about that, here's an update.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well I am still working with the morally challenged and they are still coming up with new and interesting ways to amuse. Take the lead up to Christmas.

This is of course 'traditionally' the time of year when burglers are at their most active. All those lovely pressies stowed at the bottom of the tree, (unless you're in Albert Square, then you get a Pauline Fowler under your tree.. sorry to those of you who either don't or can't watch the soap Eastenders.. actually you are the lucky ones!), nicely wrapped and ready to go. There is nothing more festive than a tree laden with presents and promise.

And so it was decided that we too would have a tree in the reception area, to give all those nice little offenders a warm and fuzzy glow when visiting, ahh! Carols and Christmas songs were playing daily in the lead up to the big event, everyone was getting into the spirit. Well for some the spirit of choice was whiskey, Morrisons own brand the cheapest they could get their hands on. Excitement all the way.

Wrong! Now it is obvious that the aforementioned offenders are possibly somewhat lacking in the braincell department, how else would they have ended up on our doorstep? But for some this is taken to the extreme, for example the young couple who having both completed their appointments with us decided that they liked our tree so much they would like it to adorn their own little 'des res'. They were caught on camera in a corner of reception attempting to take the tree apart and stash it under their coats. A little naughty on our receptionists' part to allow them to complete their little task before putting out the following security announcement;

"Any available officers to the reception area please, the Christmas tree is attempting to make off with two of our devine little offenders... it's carnage!"

On entering the reception, which by the way had the best alert response that I have ever seen, we were confronted with the sight of two rather embarrassed young people who did indeed look as though they had been attacked by the tree, the young man had the 'trunk' stashed down his trouser legs the stand jammed down the back of them and a branch up either sleeve. The young woman had numerous branchs and ornaments stowed about her person. Needless to say after being where the sun doesn't venture to shine, another tree was acquired.

Sadly this tree was also destined to meet a sticky end. Yes that would include the mop and bucket again, actually several mops and buckets, (for anyone not acquainted with that last reference read the entries entitled Life on the Mean Streets). And so it went on until finally it was decided that something else would have to be done, the poor reception staff couldn't face wrestling with anymore tree rustlers. Then a cunning plan was hatched. What could you get the morally challenged for Christmas? Presents of course, lots and lots of lovely presents, all beautifully wrapped and laid at the foot of the tree. And that it how I whiled away my spare time in the lead up to Christmas, I wrapped for England, you name it I wrapped it.. old telephone directories, a box of paperclips, (the rusty ones from the back of the stationary cupboard), empty toilet rolls, oh and a couple of old used mop heads, don't worry I did leave them to dry out nice and crusty before I wrapped them.

Oh how those little darlings loved our pressies, every night we'd creep down and leave our little stash at the bottom of the tree and every morning their little faces would light up at the sight of all that plunder. Well I guess it must have worked because no one attempted to make off with the tree again and they must have liked our pressies, because no one has come back to complain.

A belated Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all my blogging friends.

AWOL

2006-08-21T08:56:00.000+01:00

Sorry I haven't been around for some time. We were into the final stages of completion on our new house, we should have been moving this weekend. Yes, that's right, should have been. Unfortunately the surveys and reports came back a couple of days ago. Only a couple of minor hiccups. Firstly there is mineworkings planned in the next year or so under the house, secondly it is built on a flood plain and has been flooded twice in the last ten years, they forgot to mention that little detail, and lastly it's built on landfill. Needless to say we have pulled out.

So we are back to househunting big time, as our lease on this house is running out soon. So I'm sorry but I will probably be out of action for some time to come. Just another week in St Jude's household.

It's A Bit Serious!!

2006-08-10T21:58:00.000+01:00

Well after todays events... for those who have been napping or getting to grips with nature, the critical level security warning and the problems at the airports. I think we should re-jig our security level warnings, because those we have at the moment are a tad boring, so here it is...
Lowest level - Urm it could be a bit serious.
Medium level - Serious
High level - Very Serious.
Maximum level - Very, very serious.
Top level - Ok, that's it, you're going to get a plastic bag now!!!

By the way they say that mummies carrying on baby milk have to test it, (ie taste it), in front of security. Excuse me but does this also apply to mummies who are breast feeding?

Catching Up...

2006-08-07T06:03:00.000+01:00

Well I don't know how it happened but I appear to have been out in the old ether a little longer than I had intended. Just when you think you have all the time in the world everything piles up. So where do I begin?

Big Fat Greek Wedding.
It was great, everyone turned up, there was the International playboy and Cruella, (his latest girlfriend), JT and her family, us of course and oh, half the Greek community of London milling about either inside or outside the church. Sometimes, inside and outside. The ceremony was fun, we got to play party games like pin the ribbon on the bride and groom, and hide the ring, all coordinated by a rather surly chap who sang everything in a not too tuneful way whilst wearing some very dodgy headgear. It was great fun. The reception was lovely, lots of greek dancing, the old legs got in a bit of a knot when the music got faster, I nearly caused a pile up at one point but I recovered my poise just in time. All in all a lovely day.

Life on the Mean Streets.
What can I say... I have been working full time for the last week or so, hence the rather long sebatical from blogging. It's the holiday season and so a lot of people are enjoying a rest in far off exotic locations, such as Clacton and Brid. Even the morally challenged have decided they need a break, unfortunately not the sort of break that the rest of us have been having. I took a phone call the other morning:
"Hello St Jude speaking"

"Hello, I think I've done something stupid!" It was a rather flustered young man.

"Ok, I'm listening,"

"Well I was in A&E, and I was just getting it looked at,"

"Hmm,"

"I didn't mean to do it, honest, he was just getting a cuppa for me, so I just did it."

"Sorry, sweetie, can you give me your name?" I typed it in and brought up his record. "Urm where are you now?"

"I'm just heading up towards town. I don't know what to do, I haven't got any money and me arse is freezing,"

"All righty. By the way how are you making this call?" I asked hesitantly.

"I 'borrowed a mobile from some bloke in the hospital,"

It would appear that this particular young man was in actual fact an inmate, (make that previously an inmate), at a local Young Offenders Institution. He had been at A&E with an officer, who stupidly had left the aforementioned inmate unattended. So what did the little horace do, he upped and walked out... in the hospital gown. Panic hit and a nasty draft around the nethers, so he phoned 'home'. It all turned out well though, I told him to head to the nearest Police Station and turn himself in. I did phone them on his behalf though just to make sure that he had a reservation.

Then two days later I received a nice little note from Custody at another local establishment, informing me to kindly update my records. One of their inmates was no longer with them, he had transferred out. In actuality, he had absconded but as they are going through an audit, they didn't like to use that word.

And finally whilst in reception the other day one of morally challenged stopped me and asked if I could tell the Officer who was coming down to see him that he had just gone to take a pee. With that he waltzed past the toilet and headed out into the front doorway where he relieved himself. Later on checking his file I noted that he was N.F.A. (no fixed abode), it may not always be mean on the streets, but sometimes it is messy. Another mop and bucket job for me then.

Mrs Beeton.
She has been having a little rest over the last couple of days. Over the latter part of last week her daughter, my sister in law came to visit with my neice and her beau. On Friday night we decided it would be nice to catch up with said s.i.l. so we arranged to go out for a meal, just the three of us as the kids were attending a wedding and Mrs Beeton normally retires at 9pm. However upon hearing of our plans, she decided that she would like to accompany us. Just one slight issue, we were going to a Cantonese restaurant! What's the problem with that you may be asking? Well you see the Fat Controller was a strictly meat and two veg man, he would not even remotely entertain anything that did not conform to this, and so neither could Mrs Beeton.

So with some trepidation we sat down to eat. The starters arrived and we showed Mrs Beeton the mechanics of chopsticks. She was game and after having deposited several won tons and a spare rib on the table opposite, she managed to come to an arrangement with her chopsticks. They also work rather well when used in the fashion of knitting needles. She had created her own version of chopstick kebabs. The king prawns were another new experience for her and after declaring her liking for them she happily sat back and demolished the entire plate of them that had been intended for the four of us. Her hunger now sated, she announced that she was rather tired and that we should be getting home so that she could retire, it was 8.40pm, we sat down to eat at 8.20pm. After several attempts at negotiating an extension of her bedtime, we managed to agree that we would leave at 9pm. So in a flurry of chopsticks and much to the amused interest of the surrounding tables we ploughed through our meal in record breaking time. We did manage to get her home by 9.15pm and she was soundly asleep by 9.30pm. We on the other hand spent the entire night tossing and turning with volcanic indigestion.

He, He, He...

2006-07-24T17:01:00.000+01:00

As I have been working today, her ladyship was appointed honorary shopping chaperone to Mrs Beeton in my absence. I have received three phone calls so far.

Call number one;
"Mum, where's the pomegranate juice kept?"

"Urm, aisle two I think sweetie, who's that for, it's not on my list, and Grandma doesn't drink it does she?"

"No, an old guy just asked me where it was. Thanks. Bye."

Call number two;

"Mum, mum she's got the trolley, I'm sorry she just took it while I wasn't looking. Gran, GRAN, don't..!" Click.

Call number three;

"Ok, if you ever offer my services again, I'll put myself up for adoption or I'll call childline."

"Oh come on sweetie, just remember you are your mother's daughter, and by the way, nobody wants to adopt 22 year olds they're too expensive, and I don't think childline will be interested either."

"It's no joke mum, do you know what she did to me?"

Stiffling the urge to giggle, "No, what?"

"Are you laughing at me?"

"No, no darling I would never,"

"She made me hold her hand when we were crossing the road,"

Excuse me while I go and pour myself another tall cool drink... it's a dirty job but someone has to do it. ;0)

Pre Big Fat Greek Wedding

2006-07-22T10:58:00.000+01:00

Next weekend I shall be attending a big fat Greek wedding. It is my nephews wedding to be exact. He is not the Greek in question, none of our side of the family are in actuality Greek. His fiances family are though. The service will be at a Greek Orthodox Cathedral in London, followed by a reception at the Hyatt Regency in Portman Square.

Everyone will be there, His Lordship and I, JT and her husband, and the international playboy, my brother, the grooms father. He will be flying in from Moscow where he currently lives with his latest girlfriend. Well I assume she will be in tow unless he has traded her in for the newest model. The women in his life are somewhat akin to his taste in cars, sleek and racy. They rarely survive past the MOT stage. The Captain sadly will not be able to attend, the travelling would be too much. But we will report back in full and with glossy photos and he has of course been party to our research, mainly in the form of watching 'My Big Fat Greek Wedding' and 'Zorba the Greek' whilst snacking on copious amounts of Greek food downed with ouzo. So everything is running along tickety boo?

NO! I have just discovered that I haven't a thing to wear... no really I mean it, I have nothing to wear. You see in the packing frenzy of just a couple of months ago I put all of my dresses into storage, even my beloved 1950s designer numbers, the girls are currently languishing in a storage facility heavens knows where, in the dark, alone and unloved. Sniff. So today I will hit the shops in an attempt to find something befitting the occasion. It's an absolute nightmare, not only do I have to find something that I like, but it also has to be co-ordinated with JT's outfit.

You see the problem is that we do look very much alike, we have been mistaken for each other on numerous occasions. Slightly distressing for her taking into account some of my more recent shopping excursions! So in order to avoid the whole 'peas in a pod' reaction I asked her the other day what she would be wearing. She hasn't decided yet! My lovely sister is the Queen of indecisiveness, but only when shopping. A shopping trip with JT is a marathon of hope and despair. Hope that we will actually buy anything that she has picked up, tried on or mused over. Despair that when she does manage to get to the till with it, you know that you will probably be returning the following week to said till with the same item to be returned. I have however managed to narrow down the colours that she may, or may not, be wearing.

So wish me luck in my little quest, I have no doubts whatsoever that as on past occassions, we will manage to turn up in very similar outfits. One or both of us will have a last minute change of outfit, what can I say we're sisters.

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Shopping Trip Update

Well there I was laden with prospective little candidates for my wedding adventure. I had just entered the fitting room and was standing in my undies sifting through the prospects when CRASH! the lights flickered for an instant and then went out. One of the many thunder storms we have had today managed to take out the electricity to the entire mall.

Have you ever tried to find your own clothes in the pitch dark in a fitting room full of clothes. When the assistant finally managed to locate a torch and lead us out onto the shop floor, I felt positively relieved with my make shift ensemble, ok so none of it matched and only one item of clothing was in actual fact my own, but one poor woman emerged with a pair of trousers that were two sizes two small so they were not fastened and a T-shirt that was on back to front and inside out.

However the worst part was being forced to leave the shopping centre and stand in the car park. We did get some rather funny looks. Not least because we were coralled together by the security gaurds, just in case any of us should have any naughty thoughts of making off. I have to say that I don't think any of us would have gone anywhere. The lady with the tiny trousers and big bottom was'nt going anywhere fast, and the rest of us would have made excellent stand ins for the dummies in a charity shop display.

Ah well better luck tommorow.

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Just as an additional note, has anyone else been having problems uploading images to blogger. I have tried on several occasions of late and although it says it's done it the images are not appearing?

A Little Cultural Exercise - Batteries Not Included

2006-07-18T15:06:00.000+01:00

Now before I go any further I have to point out that the content of this post is of an adult nature, if you are easily offended then may I suggest that you don't read on. Those who know me will obviously vouch for the fact that this is not the normal content for my posts. However you will be pleased to know that I have throughout retained my saintly persona.

It was a post by my friend kim over on her blog that got me thinking about this one, thanks Kim. We have certain laws that protect consumers, one in particular which states that an item must be fit for the purpose for which it is sold. Simply put it should basically do what it says it will do or perform as it says it will perform. If it does not them you are entitled to return it and either get a replacement or a refund. Simple. However it occurred to me does this law also apply to sex toys? So in the interests of consumer knowledge I set off to the high street and our local Ann Summers store.

Now although this is a 'sex shop' it does have the ability to carry itself with integrity in high streets and malls thoughout the country. Therefore one would assume that as it has shaken off the sleazy mantle that most of it's kind previously had it should offer the consumer the same protection as other high street stores.

On entering the shop I was greeted by a very pleasant young woman who kindly offered me a basket and a leaflet with their latest special offers. As I glanced through the leaflet I pondered in what shape the 50% extra free came!! I meandered through the racks of lingerie with their frills, feathers, leather, PVC, peek a boos and open crotches then on further into the depths here they kept the dressing up clothes, nurses, schoolgirls, catwoman, bunny girl, clown... clown! I'm sorry chaps but have I missed something here? Eventually I stumbled upon the 'toyshop', hurray my quest begins.

After a brief recky I discovered that there are quite literally hundreds to choose from, handbag sized, pocket sized, small, medium, large, superdooper, king kong, pink, red, luminous lime green, in case it's dark, five speed gear box, hydraulic breaking, sorry just kidding. So without further ado I began to select a variety for my basket. I chose what I considered to be a reasonable cross section of what was on offer. In the interests of fair play you understand. With my basket of goodies I headed for the till. I smiled my most innocent smile,

"Do you have a returns policy?" I enquired

"What do you mean?" The sales assistant asked cautiously.

"Well I assume I can return them if they are not 'right',"

"Not.. right. In what way?"

"Well until I've tried them out I won't know if they, well you know dear, work!"

She blushed furiously, "We, we couldn't possibly accept them back if, well I mean in the event, they've been used madam,"

"But how will I know if they 'work'?

"Work!" She stammered.

"Well if I were buying lingerie, you would let me try them on wouldn't you to see if they fit properly?"

"That's different madam, you see we have fitting rooms,"

"Oh, I hadn't seen those dear, can you direct me to them?" I asked.

Suddenly I had the feeling that old sinking feeling, as a door just to the right of the till burst open and out walked the Manageress. Suffice to say that she had at some point in her past had a humour bypass and was in no mood to discuss the matter further. Even when I did point out that as a consumer I have rights. Fit for the purpose, performs as it is supposed to perform etc. And so I was left to venture home with my little bag of goodies and no hope of returning them, as apparently in relation to dildos and vibrators there are in actual fact rather hazy performance criteria. Ah hem not wishing to be indelicate, but is it a case of hmm, that was nice, fancy a cuppa, or at the other end of the scale Meg Ryan's cafe scene and then some!! Obviously as a saint dear readers I am unable to comment. All was not lost however on my shopping trip, in their special offer sheet they were offering three packs of rechargable batteries for the price of two!

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

...and finally for the gentlemen reading this, I can unequivocally reassure you that size does not matter. Speed settings on the other hand... ;0)

Life on the Mean Streets - Air 'Con'

2006-07-17T15:39:00.000+01:00

When I arrived in my new job, they were just completing the installation of air conditioning throughout the building. There are several floors and it had been a mammouth effort apparently to get the work done in time for the summer. That was in May.

The air conditioning units are located at the back of the building, a large bank of them. During my first week there I watched as they erected a high metal fence around them with spikes on the top. No body was going to get into those little babies. Then two weeks later I noticed that the fence men were back. I watched with intrigue this time as they began to put a series of flat metal bars directly over the spikes, and then a few days later a roof over the entire area. I watched with some incredulity as the fence men clambered up the side of the fence and hoisted themselves onto the roof. Giving the occasional wave to those people inside the first floor offices.

Hmm, there is something not quite right with this scenario, even more so when you take into account the work that we do and the people that we work with. Safety is paramount. It would also appear that the safety of the morally challenged when going about their business is paramount. Some bright young Herbert apparently felt that the nasty spikes could cause injury to one of the aforementioned MC's if they were attempting to get into the air conditioning units. So as this is government and health and safety not to mention the abject fear of being sued, is all important, the 'top brass' decided it should be made ultra safe. Now they can't hurt themselves on the nasty mean spikes anymore and they can't fall into the units as there is now a roof.

I wonder if the same bright Herbert considered that the MC's can however now access the windows to our first floor offices thanks to the lovely ladder and platform that has been provided!! Under a barrage of protests from the first floor, an email was sent out which informed them that they are now barred from opening the office windows at the back, for 'health and safety' reasons.

It's alright though I hear you cry, they have air conditioning now and so they don't need to open their windows anymore. WRONG!! this is a government department. It would seem that nobody enquired to see if the electricity supply is up to the new task. It isn't. So by a stroke of genius, some one, possibly the same young Herbert on the fence front, has come up with the 'ideal' solution. We have the air conditioning on a rota basis. Last week it was our turn, this week it is the fourth floor, and so on, it will be the second week in August before we get to play with it again. Until then, in temperatures today of over 35 degrees, the poor devils on the first floor couldn't even open their windows, unlike the rest of us who do not reside on the fourth floor. But there is hope, the electriciy supplier has said that they should be able to get the upgraded cabling done in September!! Thanks chaps, roll on the second week in August then.

Senior Shopping.

2006-07-15T07:49:00.000+01:00

Yesterday I had to do the shopping thing with Mrs Beeton. She enjoys shopping, grocery shopping that is. For years it has been the highlight of her day, and she and the Fat Controller would take off to their various haunts stalking the bargains, 50% extra free, buy one get one free, three for two, they were skilled hunters. The fact that a lot of what they purchased is still languishing in the garden shed is beside the point. For them it was the thrill of the chase and the occasional fight with the other hunters to get there first and snaffle the last three cans of aerosol dairy cream, that stuff wouldn't know a dairy if it jumped up and bit it on the bum. However since the demise of the Fat Controller this little task has fallen to me.

So yesterday after yet another day sitting in a training room, I steeled myself for the role of supervising pensioner shopping. On arrival at her house we had to do the 'pre-flight' checks, reading glasses, check, shopping list, check, purse, check, toilet... several minutes later, check, cardigan, check, oh come on it was only 25 degrees outside. So after much manouvering she was safely belted into the car and we were on our way.

"Are you sure you don't mind taking me, you've been at work all day?" Mrs Beeton ventured as we backed out of the drive.

"No, no it's fine," I reassured her.

"I don't mind if you want to go another time, I don't want to put you out,"

"No it's ok honestly,"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes,"

There was a silence for a few moments.

"We always liked to go mid afternoon, that's when you get the best bargains. Everyone will have gone from work now and they'll have got there first," she announced. Have I mentioned that Mrs Beeton likes to get her own way!

"Well unfortunately I can't take you during the afternoon. I'm sure they won't have run out of milk or bread, or anything else on your list." I reassured her.

"I need dog food,"

"You don't have a dog!"

"No but I like to have some in. Just in case."

At this point I decided that my mind would be better utilised concentrating on the rush hour traffic. Pulling into the supermarket car park my heart sank. There were obviously a lot of people doing their shopping. This meant that we would have to park some distance from the door. We would have a bit of walk. Mrs Beeton has two speeds when walking, doddery old lady, and infuriatingly slow old lady. Today she chose the later. By the time we reached the trolley pick up there was a traffic jam as far as the main road.

Mrs Beeton stood to one side waiting for me to bring her a trolley. Having taken care to select one that had all four wheels in tact and pointing in the same direction I handed it over to her. Now I don't know about anyone else, but I remember when certain supermarkets used to provide miniature trolleys that had huge poles with brightly coloured flags on them, for children. The flags warned other shoppers to watch out for them. Well I suggest the same rule be applied to pensioners when given charge of trolleys, in particular Mrs Beeton. So several deep breathing exercises later we entered the affray.

By the end of the first aisle, she had managed to cripple two people and left them hopping for cover, and place half of the items she had selected into several 'unattended' trolleys, none of which were hers, with me in stealth mode attempting to retrieve the items before the trolley owners were any the wiser. I did unfortunately get rumbled on the last occasion much to the chagrin of the aforementioned owner, who happened to be a burly six foot chap with tattoos covering most of his exposed arms. After withering under his glare, I hot footed it to the bakery section. Too late, Mrs Beeton was up to her waist in Warburtons finest. Loaves littered the floor, other shoppers could only stare in disbelief as the store assistants frantically tried to clear a path for the sweet little old dear now ploughing her way through them in the direction of the cake section, oblivious it would seem to the carnage she had just caused.

After several attempts to wrestle the trolley from her grasp, without success, I decided I had, had enough and so I headed to the book section for some respite. I had barely had time to read the blurb on a couple of jackets before a tannoy announcement tore my thoughts back into focus.

"Clean up required in aisle's 3, 5, and 8... just a minute, make that 10 as well."

Hesitantly I emmerged from my refuge and went in search of Mrs Beeton. I didn't have to look far as another casualty hopped into view from the direction of the freezer aisle. As I passed aisle 10 the clean up party was in full swing, an entire centre display of cream cakes now lay battered under an upturned table. I finally caught up with Mrs Beeton as she was being escorted to the checkout by the store manager and a security guard. For one moment I thought about escaping and running for the car, unfortunately the sight of her looking rather flustered and not a bit peeked at the indignity of being 'helped' out made me change my mind. Several more 'sorrys' and a promise not to leave her unattended or to let her push the trolley in future secured our re-admission for our next senior shopping trip. Oh goody I can't wait.

Fangs For The Memory.

2006-07-13T18:51:00.000+01:00

When I was a girl, and no that was not in the days of gas lamps and horses and carts thank you, I enrolled on a pre-nursing course. This involved part of my time at college and part working in a hospital. The idea was to give us some experience of nursing and to allow us to complete some of the academic work required before we reached eighteen at which age we could apply to train as nurses.

I was placed at a hospital in the next city to ours on the male medical ward. It was, as many still were in those days, a very large sprawling old Victorian hospital with gothic arches and turrets. The wards were still then very much as they had been in Victorian times, large, long rooms with very high windows and ceilings and wooden floors. Each ward had about twenty beds running down either side. At the entrance to each ward there was a sluice room to one side and a kitchen to the other, then there would be the store room and opposite Sister's office. The nurses had a work table in the centre of the ward. This was in the days when Sister ruled the ward and Matron ruled the hospital.

As the 'baby' on the ward I was assigned the tasks that were befitting my station in life. Flower arranging, taking temperatures, help with feeding, bedpans and bottles and last but by now means least the dreaded ritual of the nightly cleaning of the false teeth. Oh how I relished that task. In the evening just before I was due to finish and it was lights out, I would go around the ward with my little trolley and collect the pots from the bedside cabinets with the false teeth in them. Then it was off to the sluice room to give them all a lovely brush and polish so that everyone would have nice shiny gnashers ready for doctors rounds the following morning.

Well that is how it was supposed to happen. It was nearing Christmas and I had arranged to meet my new beau, his Lordship, we were both seventeen and of course we were both the only thing on each others minds back then. So as the clocked ticked ever closer to 7pm and the end of my day, my mind began to wander. I was in a hurry and so I dashed from bed to bed collecting the little pots of goodies and stacking them onto the trolley. We had a lot of toothless chaps on the ward back then and there were a lot of pots. My mission complete I raced back up the ward, trying to hurry but without directly running, Sister would have had my guts for garters if she had caught me running on her ward.

It was now 6.30 and as I stared at the mound of pots , the realisation dawned on me that I was going to be late. How was I going to get them all brushed and polished and back in time to leave at 7.00. Then I had an idea! Back in those days we didn't have disposable bedpans, they were metal, we did however have a whizzy bedpan washing machine. It consisted of a sink with nozzles all around that sent high power jets of boiling water into the pan. Hurray, my salvation. And so without further ado I set about emptying the contents of the twenty nine little pots I had acquired into the bedpan washer. With a satisfied smile I put down the lid and turned it on. A few minutes later I lifted the lid to find lovely gleaming teeth. A quick polish with a cloth and they were all safely popped back into their pots. Happily I skipped back down the ward delivering them back to their owners bedside. Now I think I should at this stage point out that I was a mere child, who in those carefree days of youth knew very little about false teeth, they all looked very much the same to me.

His Lordship and I had a lovely evening together and with a warm glow that only young love can give I meandered into college the following morning. I was greeted with a note on my locker telling me that I should report at once to the Senior Nursing Tutor. So as the dutiful student that I was I made my way to her office. I knocked and was summoned to enter. At once I could see that she was flustered, the red face and hand wringing might have given the game away. She told me that she had received a telephone call from Sister, it appeared that none of the patients ate their breakfast, they were all experiencing problems with their teeth. I was flabbergasted, I assured her that I had cleaned them properly, in fact I was so impressed with my ingenuity that I explained the new and time efficient way I had discovered to clean the patients teeth.

Suffice to say that neither she nor Sister were as impressed with my problem solving abilities. Apparently it took several days of swapping and testing to match the right teeth to the right owners. One old boy had a permanent grin for three days until another patient's wife realised that he was wearing her husbands teeth. I left the course shortly after that and decided that both nursing and I would be better suited on different paths. It was the right decision, I would never have experienced the wonderful variety of work that I have if I had taken the time to brush false teeth instead of using a little lateral thinking.

Life on the Mean Streets - Heatwave.

2006-07-03T16:54:00.000+01:00

It is official, we are in the grip of a heatwave. Those nice people on the BBC have said so. Yes two consecutive days with temperatures over 30 degrees constitutes a heatwave here in good old blighty!

So it was with this in mind that I donned my body armour before entering work today. You see the heat has a decidedly nasty effect on the morally challenged. They become increasingly more irritable, increasingly more drunk and increasingly more dangerous. The heat brings out the worst in them. Ok so I accept that we can all get a little irritable when we are hot, but remember that these people already live on the dark side of society.

So I headed down to reception with not a little trepidation, but hey ho, I'm a grown woman I can handle this. As the lift opened I just knew that this was not going to be a good day. Two young men had already succumbed to the heady delights of too much sun and alcohol, it was 10.00am. They were laid face down in the foyer. Don't worry, I checked, they were ok, so I stepped over them and headed through into reception.

"Did you know you have a couple of bodies in the foyer?" I asked Betty the receptionist.

She stood up and leaned over the counter, sighing, she nodded. Yes, she knew as well as I that today was going to be fun.

"Still breathing?" she enquired as she sat back down.

"Still breathing." I replied.

I looked around the seating area, the usual array of shady characters, each trying not to make eye contact, checking out the detritus under their fingernails, contemplating their navels, picking their noses. Armed with the trusty swipe I let myself into the reception office. The phones were ringing off the hook. Always happy to help I picked up the phone nearest me.

"Hello how can I help you?"

Thirty five minutes later and several cancelled appointments with miscellaneous excuses ranging from mum not leaving the bus fare, ah bless, to not being able to get their backside out of bed, and the absolute top of the league,

'I woz out wi me mates last night when some bloke broke me nose', hmm, the bloke in question broke the aforesaid nose whilst being head butted by the nose owner!!

Heading back to the lift I was pleased to note that the foyer ornaments had managed to crawl away somewhere less conspicuous. Unfortunately one of them had left a rather yukky deposit before departing. Once again I headed back to reception, now half full, and the bucket cupboard. Copious amounts of lovely lemon scented detergent was the order of the day for this little job. Just as I finishing up my Mrs mop routine, I felt a shadow fall silently across the foyer. Turning I saw a huge giant of a man looming large in the doorway. I smiled nervously.

"Hello," he said smiling benignly.

"Hello. Reception is through those doors," I motioned with my marigolded mit.

"Are you the cleaning lady?"

"Well at the moment it would appear so wouldn't it." I collected up my assorted cloths and bucket and went back into the reception office. Betty looked up, distracted again by the phone. Back in the foyer waiting for the lift, I noted the familiar shadow once again.

"Hello nice lady."

"Hello there," I replied

"Where are you going now?"

"Upstairs."

"Why?"

"I work upstairs. You need to go and check in with reception dear, and I need to be getting back to work." I hit the lift call again.

Oh goody, I'm having a conversation with rainman's best friend.

Suddenly the shadow was a presence, rather too close for my liking. I stepped to the side a little, I felt arms length was in order.

"I'm not supposed to talk to ladies," he announced suddenly

gulp, "well then maybe you should go and sit down and wait for your officer to come and get you,"

"I don't want to, I want to talk to you... you're nice aren't you."

I could hear the lift coming, I could also hear the words of my Manager ringing in my ears, 'don't let anyone you don't know into the lift, gunman, rapist...' I decided the lift might not be the best idea. So once again I turned toward reception, rainman's pal following. I looked over to Betty for a little moral support, no joy she was deep in discussion with a rather inebriated young woman. Who, despite her condition and the situation, brought out the Grandma in me, I pushed a hankie in front of her, and motioned that she might want to wipe away the milk moustache she had acquired while trying to sober herself up a little before her appointment. Giggling she swatted her lip, Betty glowered, the girl must have been no more than seventeen.

I turned and headed to the door leading to the back stairwell, Rainman's pal a few paces behind. As I reached the door I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"Where you going now nice lady?"

"I've told you dear, I have to go back to work. Now go and sit on a chair and wait for your officer. You'll get into a lot of trouble if you don't behave yourself."

"I'm not supposed to talk to ladies. They make me feel funny. I like feeling funny." At that his hand descended to the depths of his trousers.

Alrighty, a new tack was definitely in order, "Right, plonk your arse down on that chair now or you'll be in BIG trouble, do you hear me," I ordered.

His eyes hit the floor and he scuttled away to the nearest chair. Out of my eye corner I could see a young man frantically re-engage his nose in a picking frenzy,

"and you stop picking your bloody nose, your head will cave in one day."

With that I bustled out into the stairwell with the reassuring clunk of the door as it locked behind me. As the day proceeded to heat up so did the tempers of those in reception, only a minor riot, a couple of broken chairs and a lot of shouting and door slamming. I suddenly discovered that I have a new respect for Betty the receptionist, her cool, seemingly offhand manner, her lack of engagement with the 'clients'. We all have to learn the tactics that will protect us, they may be physical, verbal, or when you are on the front line emotional.

Lest We Forget.

2006-07-01T18:04:00.000+01:00

This year is the 90th anniversary of the battle of the Somme.

It began on the 1st of July 1916.

There are a handful of survivors through whom this battle still lives and breathes. Soon their words will be consigned to the pages of history too.

'As the 11 British divisions walked towards the German lines, the machine guns started and the slaughter began. Although a few units managed to reach German trenches, they could not exploit their gains and were driven back. By the end of the day, the British had suffered 60,000 casualties, of whom 20,000 were dead: their largest single loss. Sixty per cent of all officers involved on the first day were killed.'

Can you imagine 20,000 people, men and boys. If not then the next time you are in town, at a shopping mall, or walking through the city, take a look around you. Imagine everyone of those people that you see just disappearing, it still won't be 20,000! Now imagine them lying on the ground, dead, bloodied from the machine gun rounds that have shattered their bodies and torn them apart, imagine you are clambering over them to get to where you need to be, some of them you have known all of your life, your brothers, cousins, uncles, father, sons, friends, neighbours and work colleagues.

Can you imagine it now?

No!

Then read on.

'It was a baptism of fire for Britain's new volunteer armies. Many 'Pals' Battalions, comprising men from the same town, had enlisted together to serve together. They suffered catastrophic losses: whole units died together and for weeks after the initial assault, local newspapers would be filled with lists of dead, wounded and missing.'

When Kitchener's recruiters arrived then the 'volunteers' poured in. They were sold on the idea of a jolly jaunt to a foreign land, heroic and patriotic endeavours. They were sold the idea that they would be home for Christmas. They were sold down the river, without a paddle, a prayer or a care. As their Mothers, Wives, and Sweethearts bid them farewell it was with a sense of pride in their menfolk, pride that they were going to fight for their country, defend the honour of a nation and a way of life. They would roust the Hun and be victorious. Too soon that pride turned to grief, as those same menfolk they had cheered on their way were cut down in a matter of hours.

Whole villages and communities found themselves without men, the men who had supported them. There was no state assistance in those days. The women had to fend for themselves. It wasn't just the women who suffered. When I lived in Kent, I lived near a small wood that had for centuries been coppiced and worked. Then the men of the village joined up to their local pals battalion. They never returned. The wood fell into disuse and became overgrown. Not only were there not the people to work the wood, but in their passing they took with them the knowledge of how to manage the woodland. It was only after decades of research that the generations that followed discovered some of that knowledge and again, in their honour' began to work the wood again. I spent many hours there, wandering among the trees that they had planted and cared for, walking the ditches they had dug to soak the young branches. As I walked I felt their prescence and thought of them often.

Before Action

By all the glories of the day and the cool evening’s benison.
By that last sunset touch that lay upon the hills when day was done.
By beauty lavishly outpoured and blessings carelessly received.
By all the days that I have lived make me a soldier, Lord.

By all of all man’s hopes and fears, and all the wonders poets sing.
The laughter of unclouded years, and every sad and lovely thing.
By the romantic ages stored with high endeavour that was his.
By all his mad catastrophes make me a man, O Lord.

I, that on my familiar hill saw with uncomprehending eyes.
A hundred of thy sunsets spill their fresh and sanguine sacrifice.
Ere the sun swings his noonday sword must say good-bye to all of this.
By all delights that I shall miss, help me to die, O Lord.

Noel Hodgson

(A member of the Leeds Pals who died just two days after this poem was published in July 1916)

Just take a moment from your day, and think of them and the families they left behind.

Busy, Busy, Busy.

2006-06-21T07:36:00.000+01:00

I apologise for the rather sporadic posting of late, I have been caught up in a whirlwind of training, house hunting, training, dogs & vets, more training, oh and some work. By the time I have actually managed to sit down of an evening my brain has been so addled that the only thoughts worth acting on have been those of my lovely cosy bed.

However I have been giving my next little cultural experiment, by the way thank you for the suggestions, some thought. I will be reporting back on that in the not too distant future.

Ooh.K.!

2006-06-09T21:19:00.000+01:00

I've just been looking at the weird things people put into searchs. The following are the top searchs that have found my humble little place!!! Should I be worried?

Bury St Jude in Back Yard - Baltimore (any advice from my friends across the pond?)
Wife Swapping in England - New Delhi (Slightly worrying,)
Man eats pooh - Manchester (They are from the wrong side of the Pennines!)
Boobs Experiments - Czech Republic (Say no more.)

Talking of experiments, I think it is time for another little cultural experiment, if you don't know what on earth I'm talking about check this out.

Any suggestions??

Suggestions:

Widescreenboy - Go into a large sports shop and ask, (in an American accent), for a 'fanny pack'.

Nikki -HA! I've got one. It does however, entail another trip to the butcher.Instead of asking for rump roast, ask for a lump of cow butt.

Kate - You could go up to one of those scarey women on a department store beauty counter and ask whose toilet the toilet water comes from.

One Ear - Ask your local crack dealer for an ounce of "happiness." hmm, thanks for that one, let me think about it...