Opera Sideline

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!!

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!

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.

(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

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.

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.

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.

'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.

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.

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!

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.