Not so Secret, Secrets!!

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!

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 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'.

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

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.

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.

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.

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!!

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

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...

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

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.

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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

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!!

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...

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...

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

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

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'

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.

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.

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.