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| Photo by Magnus D |
I can't let the Royal wedding pass without mentioning it on the blog. I was surprised that the children were more excited about it than me. Daughter number two had to work in the morning so she cleared the Sky box and had the recorder set to record every second of the wedding coverage. The son who must not be named took advantage of the day off school to spend some time with his girlfriend, he should really have been revising for his exams, but it wasn't that sort of day. I listened on the radio, I didn't think I was that interested, but curiosity got the better of me because I wanted to see the bridesmaids, so I kept the radio coverage and watched online with the sound muted. The bridesmaids and the page boys looked lovely and behaved perfectly.
It was after the wedding that I started to get more interested. Winston Churchill once said "There is something about the outside of a horse that is good for the inside of a man". Watching all the horses involved in the ceremonial procession back to Buckingham Palace was the best bit for me. Suddenly my full attention was on the screen when I spotted what I thought was a person struggling with a horse at the side of the parade. It was such a brief glimpse that I couldn't really be sure what I had seen. Then a loose horse was mentioned in the commentary and we saw the horse break away from the other horses and thunder past the coach carrying Prince William and his new wife. It wasn't possible to see the horse after that, but the commentary suggested that the horse had rejoined the parade.
I was worried about the horse (and the rider) and I really wanted to know what had happened to them. I checked online throughout the day and eventually it was reported that the rider was unhurt and the horse had made it's own way back to the stables at Horse Guards' Barracks. So now I just have one unanswered question, how did the horse lose it's stirrup irons and stirrup leathers, did they come off when the rider fell?
There are some good pictures of the riderless horse here.
I couldn't think of anything worse than having to go to a street party, but the girls went to one and apparently they had a really good time. The star of the day for me (apart from the horse) Samantha Cameron. She looked lovely, very smart but not dressed to upstage anyone and she was brave enough not to wear a hat. I have a deep dislike of hats and there were some truly hideous examples at the wedding yesterday. During the service I noticed a woman in a huge black tilted creation that totally obscured the view of the people sitting behind her - totally selfish! Apparently some people are saying that Samantha Cameron was disrespectful for not wearing a hat. I don't think so. As far as I am concerned the outfit worn by another politician's spouse was far more disrespectful with a plunging neckline, and another wore a white dress with black dots that proved see through and showed her underwear. Why did that make the story of the Emperors New clothes come to mind? Maybe because her husbands policies are no more substantial than that dress!
I am looking forward to another long weekend. Having such lovely weather last weekend made Easter extra special. On Easter Sunday we had a family picnic in my mum's garden. Having my three year old nephew Oliver there made it extra special. My daughter had the idea of doing an Easter egg hunt for him. He is too small to have a lot of chocolate so I bought a set of hollow egg shaped chicks and my daughter bought some fun things to put inside them (or to hide near them).
Oliver went racing around the garden looking for the chicks with Grandad giving directions from his deckchair and his cousins trailing behind ready to help him. It was lovely to watch him and to see how much pleasure he got from a tub of bubbles, a balloon on a string, bouncy balls and a selection of books. I think the rest of us enjoyed it every bit as much as he did. It was so nice to have all the family together and to be able to enjoy the sunshine.
I couldn't help feeling a twinge of sadness because Oliver has come along so much later than my own children and he will only remember Grandad as old and frail. My children have a wealth of happy memories of time spent with their grandparents and their grandparents have been a very important and much loved part of their lives. When my children were little they longed for cousins and I longed to become an aunt - we had a long wait! Oliver has cousins who adore him and a whole family who love him very much and who enjoy spending time with him. His experience of childhood will be different, but the important thing is that he is surrounded by people who love him. Grandad may no longer be able to race around leading ponies or playing cricket in the garden, but he and Oliver are great friends and he still enjoys the fun of family life.
I think after recent events Robbie would be delighted to be ignored by our cats. He is the one who usually feeds them so you would think that he would be their favourite person in the world, but cats are fickle. They leave Meg the dog to look adoringly at Robbie while they give him aggravation every time he is late feeding them - it serves him right for teaching them to tell the time!! If Robbie does not get up on time Oreo meows outside our bedroom door demanding to be fed, and if Robbie stops off at the bathroom on the way downstairs Oreo head-buts the door demanding instant attention. This usually results in a stream of abuse emanating from the bathroom!
Meg adores Robbie, she has been a good dog, but now she is old, frail and more than a little senile and she does some crazy things sometimes. Robbie had bought a big bag of Starbucks coffee for a friend of ours. He had even had it ground to be used in a cafetiere, but he made a mistake and left it near his chair in the lounge. I came home one morning to find the house smelling like Starbucks and the lounge covered in coffee. It made her violently sick, so when I had cleared up the coffee, I had to clear up after her - thank goodness we don't have carpet! A few days later she stole a bag of flour from the kitchen and trailed flour all through the house, she looked like a ghost - and she almost became one when Robbie saw what she had done! Clearing up flour is harder than it sounds, especially when most of it is on the dog!!
The cats don't like to be outdone and one of them decided to go one step further with some tactical vomiting! Robbie insists on displaying his Dr Martens on the stairs, a pair for almost every step. It was just too tempting, not content with covering the front of his favourite purple boots the fat, furry feline (as Robbie called him) vomited into his blue boots. Guess who had to clean it up - I get all the best jobs!!
Without really meaning to Robbie left me feeling old and past it (whatever 'it' might be). It set me thinking about what old really means. As a child on the rare occasions that I was brave enough to ask my grandma how old she was, she would tell me that she was as old as her tongue and a little bit older than her teeth. I was never brave enough to point out that she was considerably older than her teeth - she had a new and rather wayward set of dentures! My mum (who was 29 when I was born) always claimed to be 23, in fact she remained 23 until she was well into her 50s!! My younger daughter longed to be 18 so that she could be an adult and do all the things she wanted to do. My older daughter who is 22 was furious the other day when she was asked for ID to buy a DVD with a 12 classification! She hates looking younger than her years.
So it seems to me that most people are not totally happy with their age, that is just the way life is. It is no wonder that I feel old when I have to cope with Robbie and his many and varied moods. You should have seen him today, he had a massive strop because he sat on some bird poo, but thankfully his bad mood didn't last too long. One way or the other life with Robbie is always eventful! Perhaps I have a few (or more) grey hairs, perhaps I am getting old, who cares. John Barrymore said "A man is not old until regrets take the place of dreams" I am not ready to give up on my dreams, so by that measure I am still young!
I had a very interesting discussion with one of my offspring when we were driving in the other day. It is worthy of note because most of the time all I get is one grunt for yes and two for no, so it is reassuring to find that they can manage more than a growl when the mood takes them. The subject under discussion was teenage angst, I have to be fair, none of my children have given me too much grief during their teens, it is just that teenagers are hard work. I joked that I had missed out because I was too well behaved in my teens, so I plan to enjoy a mid life crisis instead. There was a deep sigh from the back of the car, "Mother, you have already had it, it's called Robbie!"
When I clicked on the list of blog topic suggestions that I sometimes use, the subject that I was given to write about was was Guilty Pleasures. At first I thought no way, I can't write about that, but I don't give up easily and I decided to to take up the challenge. Robbie doesn't have any guilty pleasures, he has plenty of pleasures but he doesn't really do guilt. I will not list all his pleasures it would be a mix of X rated and terminally boring stuff, and I have I have written about most of them on the blog in the past. So it is confession time, I am the one with guilty pleasures.
Dave is my greatest pleasure, in some ways he is a lot like Robbie, he is warm and affectionate, and he is very determined. They both love their food and come to think of it they both have some pretty disgusting habits! They have a number of differences too, Dave doesn't abandon me in favour of a train, he always has time for me and he likes nothing better than to snuggle up next to me. He may be just a cat but he is very special to me.
I think most of my other guilty pleasures involve spending money that I can't really justify. I am not high maintenance when it comes to clothes or shoes (that's Robbie!) and I don't spend a lot on having my hair cut or styled. I can't waste my life messing about with my hair, I prefer a practical easy care style. Books are my weakness, I cold spend a fortune on books and I get very possessive about my books, I will not part with them.
I have a passion for paints too, not the sort that you paint walls with, I mean artists paints. I love to paint and always want the best quality paints, I could never have enough paints, brushes, paper or any kind of art/craft materials. Good quality paper is a must, it is an extortionate price, so yes buying art materials is a guilty pleasure.
I often write about Robbie's love of Polish Jaffa Cakes, dripping and various other types of food. I must admit that my likes and dislikes are a bit unusual too. I love liver and bacon with rich thick gravy so much that sometimes I have a craving for it. I am the only one in the family who likes liver, so having it seems rather self indulgent, but from time to time I give in to my cravings. It seems that Robbie has had a life long aversion to anything green or healthy, so he is completely mystified by my love of runner beans, spinach, swede, beetroot and tomatoes.
I do have a few other guilty pleasures, but you can't expect me to tell you everything. The only one that I am willing to admit to is John Major, I have a bit of a soft spot for him. It is true that he has a face best suited to radio, but I like the way he speaks, I think he is a powerful and sincere speaker. I have to confess to a sneaky admiration because he got his own back on his critics, misbehaving with Edwina Currie shows that he wasn't such a grey man after all!
It will not surprise those who know me that Robbie and I do not always agree. We are quite capable of arguing about everything from politics to pet care, but when you get beyond the bickering our views are not significantly different. It is just that Robbie is less willing to be outspoken than I am -yes really! I can tolerate people spouting drivel as long as I don't have to listen. I can accept their right to believe passionately in the most ridiculous things, but if they try to impose their batty beliefs on me they will get their answer loud and clear - even the Jehovah's Witnesses have blacklisted our house! The thing that really gets me wound up is when one group gets so forceful about asserting their rights that their actions have a devastating effect on others, including those more vulnerable and less able to assert their 'rights'.
That brings me on to a name which has fast become a swear word among many of it's customers - London Midland. If you type the words 'London Midland chaos' or 'London Midland Disruption', you will find countless examples of delayed or cancelled services and services that terminated before their expected destination. Their name has become synonimous with disruption, chaos and unreliability. The the drivers dispute which has been causing havock for passengers is supposedly at an end. There have been various promises about normal service being resumed from yesterday. It is that little word 'normal' that bothers me because 'normal' for London Midland is not a good customer experience. Yesterday Robbie's journey to work was one of the worst yet. I would be much more reassured if they said that they would be running the full timetabled service, on time and with working toilets. Come to think of it I wouldn't believe them even if they said that!!
Like so many others Robbie has has had a terrible time trying to get to and from work. Often it took three times as long as it should and it required considerable ingenuity to get there or to get home again. It was exhausting and extremely worrying. I understand that the drivers have issues, of course they want to be paid well for what they do. I am not anti union (but I am deeply unimpressed by the way some unions behave) and I understand that this problem is not all one sided, the company should have sorted this out long ago. In fact the faceless bods at DFT who make totally batty decisions about franchise allocation should have foreseen the problems of harmonising the pay and conditions of workers who joined the new franchise from two different companies. It is simply not good enough to treat passengers so badly.
Needless to say the chaos has generated a lot of frustration and there has been plenty of heated discussion on facebook. I was pleasantly surprised to find that even some fellow railway employees did not support the recent action. One person wrote (not a direct quote as it was necessary to tone down the language) They need to get their heads banged together. For too long the insulated world of train crew have been taking advantage of at the people who employ them as well the poor passengers stood on platforms waiting for a non-running service. A fortnight working hard in a different job would be enough to make them appreciate just how fortunate they really are.
It seems the drivers have got their deal, but at what cost. What about the people who have had to drive to work or to university because the train service is so unreliable, what about the countless people who lost pay because their train was cancelled or terminated short. Did the drivers give a thought to the people who were terrified of losing their job because they just couldn't get to work on time. I wonder if they cared that the passengers that they messed about so badly will get no meaningful compensation. It is great for the drivers that they have got what they wanted, but at what cost?
If my brain was like a computer I would be able to erase old files and junk to free up memory space. Instead I find myself struggling to remember what I went to the shop for but still able to remember useless chunks of information from years ago. On Thursday evening I found myself sitting in a parking space at the local Tesco which is attached to a filling station. As I waited for Robbie I glanced up at the signs above the fuel pumps Esso, and suddenly an advertising jingle replayed itself in my head. "The Esso sign means happy motoring, the esso sign means happy motoring, so call on the Esso sign", I dread to think how long that little gem has been lurking in a dusty corner of my brain. I looked it up when I came got home and YouTube alleged that it was from the 1950s, I will admit to being a child of 1960s but I wasn't even a twinkle in the 1950s!
Anyway by the time we got home I had skipped nimbly over the stepping stones of memory and recited a sizeable chunk of a Robert Browning poem to Robbie. I have probably mentioned before that Robbie is a man of varied and surprising tastes, but I may not have revealed that he likes me to recite poetry to him. For some reason my maternal grandmother cropped up in conversation and I told him that The Pied Piper by Robert Browning was her party piece - she could empty a room with it! For those who are not familiar with it, it is a lovely poem but it is very, very long. She knew the whole poem by heart and as a young child I thought it was the coolest thing to get her to recite it for me, it fees as if I have known that poem for ever. Reciting it brings back many happy memories, but it is no practical use.
Anyway, back to computers, I have been doing battle with my computer for some time, or to be more accurate, doing battle with the Blogger template I use for the blog. I have tamed most of the gremlins in the system or at least found ways to work around them, but when I wanted to change the layout slightly it started acting the fool. It left my text looking as if it was hanging in mid air, all I wanted to was to have a distinct dark coloured background with light text in my chosen font. It seemed like a fairly simple thing to do, but Blogger wasn't having it. I wasted hours trying every way I could think of to get it to do what I wanted without success. I don't like to be beaten and in the end I found a rather clunky solution, I created what I wanted elsewhere then turned it into a PDF file and imported it. It worked! There should have been a much better way of doing it but at least it is done.
So now I have my next battle, trying to the make the 'contact me' button work. So far it has led me a merry dance, but if I am capable of keeping Robbie more or less on the straight and narrow, I am certainly not going to be defeated by a contact button!!
When I was a very young child I enjoyed stories about a magical little man called Mr Pink-whistle who had all sorts of adventures because he could make himself invisible. I liked to imagine all the mischief that it would be possible to get up to if I was invisible. In books and comics invisibility is a common theme, from the Invisible Woman, the first female superhero created by Marvel (who just happens to be as old as me) to Harry Potter and his cloak of invisibility, the ability to disappear has brought them power, excitement and adventure. People will tell you that in real life it is not possible to become invisible, but it is, the difference is that in real life it is a very lonely and isolating experience.
There is a dutch artist called Desiree Palmen who creates amazing phots of invisible peope. I like the pictures, because they express visually how I feel sometimes, not exactly invisible, but not quite there, perhaps the right term would be overlooked. An infection in my inner ear left me with balance problems, dizziness and slight hearing loss. It has been like that for years and I cope quite well most of the time, but I don't cope well with crowds or noisy environments. I am used to the dizziness but sometimes in crowded places I feel very unsteady and vulnerable, it is almost like a shrinking feeling. It reminds me of Mrs Peperpot a storybook character created by Alf Prøysen who never knows when she is going to shrink.
The other day a friend of mine asked "if I ceased to exist would it matter?". She was not threatening to end it all, she was just feeling invisible and she was posing a very important question. I know quite a lot of 'invisible' people, people who for various reasons struggle to fit in. For some struggling with a disability makes them feel isolated especially when it is a hidden disability that is not understood by others. Mental health problems can be especially isolating and some people who are weighed down by worries, fears or sadness feel that life is going on around them but nobody knows or cares about them.
We all take life for granted until something puts our future or the future of someone that we love at risk. Then we suddenly review our values and we realise that the things that the world thinks are important don't really matter at all and we learn to value the little things and the things that do not have a price tag such as love, friendship, time, health, warmth, sunshine and freedom. It is true that each life is just a tiny insignificant speck in the sands of time and that when someone dies the world carries on just as before. However the answer to my friend's question is yes, it would matter if she or any of those invisible people ceased to exist.
It would matter to everyone who loves them and cares about them. A person who ceased to exist would live on in the memory of every life that they touched, and most people touch many lives in one way or other. Someone who had hurt or wronged them would never be able to ask forgiveness or put things right and they would have to carry that guilt through life. If someone ceased to exist, the good that they may do in the future would not happen. They could not pass on the wisdom that they had gained from their life experiences or prevent others from making the same mistakes, they would not be there as living proof that you can get through the bad stuff. They could not encourage others or set an example for others. Finally if someone ceased to exist the people who love them would be devastated, they would always wonder 'what if ...' For some it may perhaps be one loss too many and the pain and grief may change their lives for ever.
So why am I writing about this? Partly because April is National Autism Awareness Month. I have close family members with autistic spectrum disorder and I know how confusing and isolating life can be at times. However I also know that he is interesting, clever, loving and very special. Don't miss out, look around you for the invisible people, don't be afraid of difference, please don't pass them by.
No, I have not started writing film reviews, the title of this post refers to me. On Sunday afternoon we decided to stop to buy an ice lolly from the ice cream van on the way to my mum's house. I asked Robbie to get me a banana lolly, our local ice cream firm Gallone's makes fantastic banana lollies, their ice cream is really good too. As I opened the lolly I commented that they are not like they used to be, they still taste good but they are a slightly different shape and texture and the packaging is different. Robbie said that it was a shame that he couldn't travel back in time to get one for me. As we continued our journey I was quietly contemplating time travel, thinking of all the other things that tasted better in the past, opal mints, spangles and Texan bars, to name just a few.
For once Robbie's mind was not on food, but he was also contemplating time travel. He announced that if he was able to travel back in time he would make sure that the Blue Pullman and the Baby Deltic was saved for preservation. It came as no surprise that even his flights of fantasy involve diesel trains but it left me wondering what I would do if I could travel back in time. My first thought was to go back and warn my first husband and my dad to take better care of their health as both died of as a result of 'silent killers' by the time the symptoms were evident it was too late to do very much about it. Somehow I know that would be cheating, you can't change the past so , I think I would just like to go back and meet my great grandparents and find out what sort of people they were. I know a lot about them from researching my family tree, but it would be nice to know what they thought, what they did, what their homes were like, I know about some of the things that made them sad, illness, loss, poverty and war, but it would be so nice to know about the things that made them happy and the things that made them laugh.
Robbie has been up to his old tricks again alliteration on the theme of F. On this occasion the cat was not the target of his outburst - it was me! On Sunday morning when I woke up he waved a red and swollen finger in front of me and announced that he'd got a load of green pus out of it the previous evening. I didn't like the sound of that and I insisted that it has to be treated and dressed to get all the gunk out. His outburst was not because I was hurting him, I was apparently making him look like a freak by putting a plaster on his finger. Some of the F words were flaming, freak and finger, but I will leave the others to your imagination! His finger is much better now, so it was worth putting up with the indignity of a plaster after all!
