Wednesday 30th December 2009
Yesterday had a phone call from someone called Jilly. Jilly Cooper the famous novelist ringing me about my comic novels?! I thought, in desperate hope. But no, it was Jilly Searle an Australian lady who explained she was a friend of Jill and Geoff Sparks, our very old Australian friends, 'Old' in both senses of the word, i.e. we've known them for years and they are knocking on a bit. Though not as much as us I hasten to add in case they read this. 'I arrived from Oz yesterday,' this Jilly Searle said, 'and I leave on Sunday, so can we meet up?' 'How about tomorrow?' I recklessly replied, adding 'but how will we know you?' 'I shall carry an outstanding turquoise bag,' she said. 'And my husband looks like Father Christmas,' I offered, so be sure, in case more than one person carried an outstanding turquoise bag
'Perhaps she's an imposter,' we worried. But, no worries mate, we met up with the outstanding turquoise handbag (which was actually beautiful and I hankered after it) and Jilly Searle at Woods on the Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells, and straight away knew she was dinky di straight. She knew more about our family than possibly we did and we spent a very pleasant hour conversing with this glamorous, very nice lady who was in Tunbridge Wells because her partner, the man she will marry next year, is playing Captain Hook in the Peter Pan pantomime in TW. Those pantomimes are blooming good, so I was impressed. And even more so to learn that he is the actor who plays Alf in 'Home and Away'.
After we had said our fond farewells, we mooched back to Sainsbury's car park in the pouring rain to fill in time eating sandwiches in our car, doing a cryptic crossword and filling up with petrol (the car that is, not us) before going to collect two of my paintings that hadn't sold and couldn't be picked up before 2.30pm. Miles out into the country which ensured a few spats between the driver, Morry, and me in deciding the right lane to turn. Anyway we got there.
When we arrived home, our daughter Janice came round with the balance of my Christmas present - a wonderful-looking book on Science mysteries that I'm dying to read and which arrived late from Amazon despite her paying extra on postage, plus a huge bunch of red and white tulips with notes from the children thanking us for a good Christmas. So, that was a lovely surprise and despite the fog, greyness and drizzle, we've had a very satisfying day. Except that my pictures didn't sell. Humph.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Monday, 28 December 2009
Christmas-every-thirteen-months idea
Yesterday morning Terry and Paul came with my birthday card and present, delayed for nine days by snow, ice, Christmas festivities and fatigue. It was very good to see them and the birthday present.
Here is a thought to help people, such as myself, who have birthdays near to, or actually on Christmas Day, and also to help people, again such as myself, who find that Christmas comes round too quickly. Why not have Christmas Day every thirteen months? As the actual birthday of Jesus isn't known, it wouldn't matter on that score. So next Christmas Day would be 25th January 2011, the following would be 25th February 2012, then 25th March 2013, etc. This would be a much fairer system for those poor unfortunates who have to more or less share their birthday celebration with that of that special Jewish child. If there were more than two followers of this blog (it comes up as three but one of them is accidentally me - don't ask me why or how, it's a mystery) we could run a Christmas-every-thirteen-months campaigne. But currently there are only two, so that's that.
Here is a thought to help people, such as myself, who have birthdays near to, or actually on Christmas Day, and also to help people, again such as myself, who find that Christmas comes round too quickly. Why not have Christmas Day every thirteen months? As the actual birthday of Jesus isn't known, it wouldn't matter on that score. So next Christmas Day would be 25th January 2011, the following would be 25th February 2012, then 25th March 2013, etc. This would be a much fairer system for those poor unfortunates who have to more or less share their birthday celebration with that of that special Jewish child. If there were more than two followers of this blog (it comes up as three but one of them is accidentally me - don't ask me why or how, it's a mystery) we could run a Christmas-every-thirteen-months campaigne. But currently there are only two, so that's that.
Saturday, 26 December 2009
Christmas 2009 is over
26th December 2009 late - that's the time, not me. I'm still here.
A great Christmas Eve. Manevolent lumps and bumps of snowy ice still abound in the roads around our high hill abode but they gradually petered out as we approached the Fairlight home of our nephew where he and his wife and sons' welcome was warm enough to melt a large snowman.
Great Christmas Day too. All the family bar one who isn't well. Mounds of presents and people filled every square inch of our space. Like Janice's chickens that turned into meercats when they encountered snow, we have all grown taller with longer necks to fit in. Some of us got down to a game of poker, the others watched Matilda on a DVD. Roald Dahl has a lot to answer for if the violence that was bombarding our ears was anything to go by.
A great Christmas Eve. Manevolent lumps and bumps of snowy ice still abound in the roads around our high hill abode but they gradually petered out as we approached the Fairlight home of our nephew where he and his wife and sons' welcome was warm enough to melt a large snowman.
Great Christmas Day too. All the family bar one who isn't well. Mounds of presents and people filled every square inch of our space. Like Janice's chickens that turned into meercats when they encountered snow, we have all grown taller with longer necks to fit in. Some of us got down to a game of poker, the others watched Matilda on a DVD. Roald Dahl has a lot to answer for if the violence that was bombarding our ears was anything to go by.
Wednesday, 23 December 2009
http://artistricky.blogspot.com
23rd December 2009.
Yesterday, having written my first blog, I tried to email friends giving them a link to my fevered outpourings. However, despite kind help from a far-off friend, the link didn't work. She has emailed again, patiently spelling out in more detail how to set it up but I am too despondent to have a go yet. Instead, I made a creme caramel which is much more use.
It is raining, but lumpy ice still abounds. Humph!!
23rd December 2009.
Yesterday, having written my first blog, I tried to email friends giving them a link to my fevered outpourings. However, despite kind help from a far-off friend, the link didn't work. She has emailed again, patiently spelling out in more detail how to set it up but I am too despondent to have a go yet. Instead, I made a creme caramel which is much more use.
It is raining, but lumpy ice still abounds. Humph!!
Tuesday, 22 December 2009
Woke up to a winter wonderland last Friday, 18th December - which happened to be my birthday. Very pretty, though not convenient.
Today is Tuesday 22nd and the winter snow and ice on display outside my windows now shines with a kind of evil menace in its sly gleam. 'If you haven't slipped up and broken your hip yet, you will soon you old person, you,' it seems to spark. And I know that at my age, if you fall down, even on something soft like your husband or your cat (if I had one, which I haven't), let alone unforgiving hard ice, your bones will more than likely break into pieces and then the medics will take you into hospital and you will never return. Not alive, that is. So, I'm taking no chances because, currently, I'm quite enjoying life (even though Strictly's now ended. Good old Chris. And, to be fair, good old Ricky too).
My dear husband has only recently unplugged his ears from listening to the South African test match commentary. Apparently it ended in a draw - so that was a waste of time then. I often plug my ears into the afternoon play or a science programme and, though we live together, we are in quite different worlds. Sometimes he watches some sport or other on TV, say snooker, then he overlays the picture with teletext results of, say, football, and in his ear he is listening to some other sport, probably rugby because they all overlap these days and there's never a single day when there's nothing on. Still, you can tell by the soft smile on his lips and the occasionally opened eyes that he's a very happy man. That's blokes for you.
Referring back to my birthday, my darling daughter, mindful of my accumulating years, trudged round in the snow with birthday greetings and present and was a warm colourful sight for my myopic dry eyes. And my equally darling son and his little son rang from where they live 100 miles away and sang quite beautifully and loud enough for my deaf old ears to hear. I'm pretty sure it was a rendition of Happy Birthday.
That's it for now. So much to look forward to, though not tonight's TV because there's nothing worth watching on. So I'll set to work making a chocolate mousse instead, for those who don't like Christmas pud. Which is most of them. Nine expected for lunch and fifteen later. If we all stand up straight we should just about fit in!
Today is Tuesday 22nd and the winter snow and ice on display outside my windows now shines with a kind of evil menace in its sly gleam. 'If you haven't slipped up and broken your hip yet, you will soon you old person, you,' it seems to spark. And I know that at my age, if you fall down, even on something soft like your husband or your cat (if I had one, which I haven't), let alone unforgiving hard ice, your bones will more than likely break into pieces and then the medics will take you into hospital and you will never return. Not alive, that is. So, I'm taking no chances because, currently, I'm quite enjoying life (even though Strictly's now ended. Good old Chris. And, to be fair, good old Ricky too).
My dear husband has only recently unplugged his ears from listening to the South African test match commentary. Apparently it ended in a draw - so that was a waste of time then. I often plug my ears into the afternoon play or a science programme and, though we live together, we are in quite different worlds. Sometimes he watches some sport or other on TV, say snooker, then he overlays the picture with teletext results of, say, football, and in his ear he is listening to some other sport, probably rugby because they all overlap these days and there's never a single day when there's nothing on. Still, you can tell by the soft smile on his lips and the occasionally opened eyes that he's a very happy man. That's blokes for you.
Referring back to my birthday, my darling daughter, mindful of my accumulating years, trudged round in the snow with birthday greetings and present and was a warm colourful sight for my myopic dry eyes. And my equally darling son and his little son rang from where they live 100 miles away and sang quite beautifully and loud enough for my deaf old ears to hear. I'm pretty sure it was a rendition of Happy Birthday.
That's it for now. So much to look forward to, though not tonight's TV because there's nothing worth watching on. So I'll set to work making a chocolate mousse instead, for those who don't like Christmas pud. Which is most of them. Nine expected for lunch and fifteen later. If we all stand up straight we should just about fit in!
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