A Little Something

...to get you in the Christmas mood. Although, I am pagan, my childhood has left me with a love of Christmas carols that is with me still. These are my favourites...



Gaudete by Steeleye Span is just fantastic. My friend Gee will whack me on the head because she thinks it and Steeleye Span are too cheesy by half. But I still love it to bits.



This is the most amazing version of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen I found in my surfing today. Quite a few arrangements change the 'ye' to 'you', which irritates me beyond belief.



This is a fanvid. Ignore the Harry Potter references. What gets me about this carol is the eerie sense of urgency behind the carol.



And thanks to Savannah, this is the version which has stuck in my brain. Thanks for that sugar.

MCW Muppet's Christmas Carol

This is my favourite Christmas movie. Yes, it does make me cry at the end. For I am of soft heart and brain.

Enjoy!

Winter Solstice Blessings

Blessings of the Winter Solstice to you and yours.

May the returning sun bring with it joy, laughter, love and prosperity to you and your loved ones.

The Party Season

As I sit here blogging this morning, the roof-tops are hidden under a couple of inches of snow, my garden is all white and I'm cosy and warm.

Yesterday, I spent preparing slowly for the night ahead. I took my preparations at a leisurely pace. I did my nails while watching Criminal Minds. I timed my preparations with military precision. Down to when I ran my bath, getting my clothes laid out on the bed, laying out the make-up to put on. My timing was impeccable. I had two minutes after I was ready before the taxi arrived. And that's when the fun began.

I had a smoke in the garden an hour before hand. There was only the sprinkling of snow from the night before. When I poked my head out the front door to see if the taxi was there, there was two inches. In that hour, the arctic conditions hit. My taxi driver, a real sweetheart, said the taxi firm were suspending service from 8 pm. The drivers were not risking going out and about. I had booked that morning, and I got him to call into base to confirm that they would be able to pick me up again. As I told the driver, I had come unprepared for an overnight stay. No toothbrush, no clean undies. He laughed. They gave me instructions to ring in at 11 pm to check they were still running. They assured me they would honour the booking. Yes, I did have my credit card, I could have booked a room for the night. But frankly, I was craving my bed. Plus, having breakfast in full evening gear in a hotel dining room the morning after, seems a bit sleazy, especially if there was nothing to feel sleazy about.

Given the twenty minute journey took forty-five minutes, and I was technically late, I was pleased to see there were only a few others already there. My Financial Services company knows how to throw a good party, let me tell you. I was greeted with champagne at the door, the room was fantastic. I'm really pleased I made the effort. People took the 'black tie' seriously, and dressed up to the nines. Everyone looked fantastic. I think their hiring policy must be biased to the attractive.

There are about 50+ people who work in the company. One of the people I work for keeps telling me he's in his 70s and I'm still waiting for proof. Until I see it in black and white, I'm sticking to my guns that he's in his late 50s. The youngest member of staff is 16. I'm still getting used to the very corporate environment, but it has such heart. I never expected the kindness I've found there. People genuinely care, from the top down. The directors lead by example. Anyway, if I was looking for office romance, I won't be finding it there. I think there are only 3 other single people there and the rest seem genuinely happy in coupledom.

The evening went according to plan. Though, I would have happily strangled the DJ, who seemed to have borrowed the Christmas CDs from my department store. Yes, Slade still makes me grind my teeth. Secret Santa was a success. The person who ended up with my gift was actually sitting on my table. His wife eyed up the bottle of Cava with approval, so I am imagining them sharing that over the season. I'm hoping in big bubble bath, surrounded by candles. What can I say? I'm a romantic. I got a fabulous pamper set from the Body Shop. I can't wait to use the goodies. No, I haven't found out who bought that for me. I will make enquiries on Thursday. They definitely need a hug.

We were all given £25 vouchers for the three casino tables set up in the corner. Roulette, black jack and poker. The person with the most amount of money at the end of the night could win a 7 night holiday. By that point, I was fading. I rang the taxi firm and they agreed to come pick me up early. It was good being out and glammed up, but in truth, I'd had enough. I wanted my bed.

When I left, the DJ had changed to playing good dance music and the admin girls were shaking their funky stuff on the dance floor. The taxi driver spent the journey whinging about clients and the road conditions.

We did not end up going round any roundabouts sideways, or stopping abruptly in the back of someone else's car. Nor did I end up on my arse in my heels. So, thank you for your prayers on my behalf. Unfortunately, there's more bad weather forecast, which means tonight's shenanigans has to be postponed. I'm just not happy taking my car out in this. I know I'm a wimp, but I'd really rather not.

Tonight, I will therefore be tucked up cosy and warm at home. I may just celebrate being cosy and warm with a handy bottle of cider or glass of wine.

One Down

I wonder why it is, when they predict the weather, they only get the crap forecasts right?

It rained pretty much all day yesterday, and then around 4 pm the temperature dropped. The rain turned lumpy and all that lovely water on the roads and pavements froze.

Given my luck, I knew I was in my walking boots, just as well really. Walking through fresh snow is a doddle. I did get quite a few funny looks when I got to the pub: woolly hat, long coat, boots and staff. Hey, I didn't fall over. I had a great time. I don't think I embarrassed myself. No declarations of undying love, no inappropriate affection. Though I think I did go on a bit about a hideous phonecall about an elderly client and the problems with her corns. After a conversation with a couple of smokers from another office party: two people from their team, well in their cups disappeared together. I went back to our table and complained. There's not even a sniff of any romantic work scandal going on. No salacious goings on, going on. Humpf.

All in all, it was a very pleasant evening. I do like the people I work with and for.

The walk home was not fun. The pavements were glass. But I made it home in one piece. I did laugh when we came across a group of people sliding in the road (they were doing it on purpose). They can't have been more than 20 years old in t-shirts and canvas shoes. One guy slid about 20 feet with a can of beer in his hand.  I was impressed, he didn't spill a drop.

Tonight, I've decided to go by taxi. I was hoping to drive, but I really don't like the look of the roads this morning. It also means I can have a drink or two. Tonight, is a 'best foot forward' event. I will be in full evening attire, complete with heels. I like dressing up and being a girlie. Everyone else will bring their husbands/partners etc. I think there are only 3 of us single people in the whole company. And no, there's no salacious goings on either. Ah well.

I have a favour to ask: please say a prayer to whichever deity you worship, I don't fall over.

'Tis the Season...

It's 7.39 am and it's still dark outside. Perhaps the sun forgot to set his alarm today? Maybe he hit snooze? Unfortunately, I can't wait for him.

I'm drinking my coffee and gathering my energy and courage.

For I am about to have 4 days of festivities. Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I am about to be sociable. Did I hear someone gasp? You might well. I'm not sure I'm capable of this. But I'm game, I'm willing to give it a go.

Let me give you a glimpse.

Tonight, is the Christmas Dinner for the Alternative Healthcare Practice. Fortunately, it's being held in a pub within walking distance of my home. Unfortunately, today's weather forecast is predicting the arrival of the Arctic temperatures. All plans of my going out in heels and skimpy clothing have been cancelled. I know I'll be fine once I get to the pub, but I have to survive the walk. No, I'm not suggesting I'll drop dead of cold, I'm suggesting if I make the walk in heels and icy conditions, chances are I'll end up bashing my head open after a failed triple toe-loop crossing the road.

Tomorrow night, is the Christmas Do for my Financial Services place of work. Unfortunately, that is being held in a manor now hotel, across the city. I will be driving to that, if I possibly can. Firstly, I don't know these people well enough to get drunk in front of them. I prefer to make a complete tit of myself with people I know and who will forgive me my declarations of undying love...and won't take them seriously.

Saturday night, I've been invited out with Lord Noel and Lady Jacqui. I need to pick Lord Noel's brains and any excuse to see the fabulous couple, is always a good one. I'm told we'll be hitting their local. They won't mind if I make a tit of myself, fortunately. And I get to sleep over, which is just as well. Needless to say, they have more stamina than I. Last time, I gave up all pretense and crawled into bed by 3 am.

Sunday afternoon, Dave will be calling on me. We will be availing ourselves of the delights of a very local pub.

It's all do-able people. I just need to pace myself, take things easy, line my stomach well before any alcohol. I have will power. I can have a good time without reaching for my mobile phone.

Why is my liver quaking at the thought?

Note to Self:

...when whinging about how appalling the weather...do not read other peoples' blogs.

Grab a cup of coffee/tea/vodka, pull up a chair and prepare to be whinged at. You have to understand, I feel entitled to whinge about how awful the weather is at the moment. Here in Norfolk, we've had more snow and icy temperatures. It's been as low as -3.5'C, the warm day in the beginning of the week was -1.5'C. The snow from last week (and the week before) is still hanging around. The melt soon iced over, it turned the road outside mine into glass. Wednesday night, as I smoked in the garden, it started snowing again. My garden looked like it had a bad case of dandruff. I knew I was back on the bus for work the next day.

Oh boy was I glad I didn't drive it. I nearly busted my arse three times taking the wheelie bin out (and I was in walking boots). As I walked to the bus stop (bobbly hat, long coat, staff) I stopped on the corner and watched a guy in a small car, try to stop before the junction. As he kept coming towards me, I realised I really should move just in case he couldn't stop. And no he didn't. Not until he sat in the junction facing the way he travelled down. If I were him, I'd have taken my guardian angel out for a pint and a curry that night. He'd have been in severe do-do if there was any on-coming traffic at that point. He was one lucky bugger.

The day before, I felt confident to drive in. Unfortunately, the paths around work and the parking lot that separates the two buildings that house the Financial Service company were like a skating rink. And I'd forgotten my ice-skates. By the time I'd crossed over the car park a couple of times, I felt there were a panel of judges holding up score cards, marking me out of 10.

I am not enjoying this Winter. The snow and ice have got old and it's only fecking December damnit. I've got another 3 months of this...or should I say, you've got another 3 months of me whinging.

Then I read Macy's experience of the weather in Scotland, and Pearl from over the water and then I realised if I had to live with weather like that every year, it wouldn't be a question of if I immigrate, cause I'd already be sitting on a sandy beach, drinking a Carib.

MCW: Best Detective Movie

Inside Man, I suspect the pedantic will argue is more Thriller than Cop Movie. However, it's about a couple of hostage negotiators, the fabulous Denzel and Chiwetel, trying to save hostages in a bank from Clive and having to deal with the shark-like Jodie along the way.

It has a fabulous cast, the dialogue is sharp, you know there's a twist in the tale and you can't wait for the reveal. Plus, the music is fantastic.

It's one of my favourite rainy-day movies.

Rubbernecking at Car Crashes

I am not what you would call trendy. I choose comfort over style any time. If I had my way, I'd go to work in jeans and trainers. If it's cold, I layer up starting with my M&S thermal underwear. Nor do I watch soaps, reality tv or anything vaguely 'now'. My conversation in an office is limited. I refuse point blank to spend my hard earned cash on fashion, celebrity or even women's magazines.

Am I interested in what Katie Price did next? No, not really. Do I care which X-Factor star is trying to cop off with Simon Powell? If I say I couldn't give a flying fuck, it would indicate too much emotion on my part.

And yet...

I can't wait to get to the doctor/dentist/orthodontist's waiting rooms. I always arrive early. Not because I'm a punctual person (I'm not. I operate on Pagan time, which means I'm always late), but because I love to read the magazines I publicly revile. Hello and OK draw me like a slice of double chocolate cake, seduces an anorexic.

The older these magazines, the better. I've found myself happily reading about Peter and Katie's fairy tale romance in a waiting room this year, the grumbling when I was called in for my consultation, was audible and expletive-ridden. I don't know why Angelina being reviled for seducing Brad pulls me in.

I pour over pictures of minor celebrities, major A-Listers and members of the upper echelons of British society, decked out in their best formal-wear as they 'lounge' around their humble weekend pad that is the size of my house X 4. I tut over Camilla's choice of dress to an opening event. Openly mock the stylist who convinced the Queen that the apricot suit and matching hat really worked for her. The recovering alcoholic rock-star in his mid-forties with his new soulmate, who has 2 years on his oldest child from his previous soulmate, is not above my bitchiness.

The article in Cosmo on the top 10 tips to have the best orgasms with him, her or them, gets read from beginning to end. As does the 'How to have a perfect Christmas' in the 2003 edition of Woman and Home. I've shaken my head at the 75 year old woman who has been having an affair with the same married man for the last 35 years. I've been suitably horrified for poor 19 year old Chardonnay whose 17 year old rat-bag husband ran off with her mum (aged 30) in Take-A-Break. The best 10 minute exercise to get my body ready for the summer. The latest fad diet: no carb, no proteins, food combining, starvation and upchucking as the best ways to loose weight for the LBD for the Christmas party. Serious debates about plastic surgery, size 0, curvy women, skinny women, real women choose botox. I can't get enough of it.

I realise that I can do this because of one fundemental fact: this is environmentally friendly trash. It's all recycled. It doesn't matter if I don't buy the newest copy of Elle, because the content will be pretty much the same in 5 years time. It'll still be filled with cosmetic ads, the latest anti-aging product from Olay, and articles on how to attract the right bloke, keep the right bloke, get over the wrong bloke and carry on without a bloke.

It doesn't stop me getting to the waiting room early and reaching for the copy though.

Tribute to Leslie - Naked Gun

I know this is not the MCW. But I loved Leslie Neilson and the Naked Gun travesties.

It's a bit long, but enjoy anyway.

Global Warming

Ladies and gentlemen, it is snowing again. The sky has been regurgitating the white stuff since Tuesday. Today, however, the snow looks here to stay.

Snow is not my natural element. Growing up in Trinidad where it got a bit chilly at 26'C, has made my living in a cold climate a bit of a challenge. I like to be warm. Being warm makes me happy. When people come over to my house to be fed, watered and entertained, they tend to have to strip their layers (no it's not a ploy, you have such suspicious minds. Would I do such a thing on purpose?) and complain about the heat. My house is heated to tropical temperatures. I like to wake up in the morning and not see my breath, or have to scrape the ice off the inside of the windows.

When I first moved to Norfolk to work for my dad in his pub, the locals regaled me with tales of the Winter of '86: 10 foot snow drifts, customers skiing to the pub for their fix of Adnams. I bought thick tights, thermal vests, a good winter coat and waited for the snow. I waited for two years before I experienced a decent, settled snow. Mostly, winters in Norfolk tend to be cold, grey and occasionally frosty. Sometimes it snows, mostly it doesn't. Until the last couple of years.

Last winter, it snowed four times; heavily enough to hang around for weeks at a time. The trouble is no one can ever tell whether it'll be a harsh or mild winter until it happens round these parts. Yes, I can buy winter tyres, but I don't know about you, there's more I'd like to spend £450, on the off chance we might be snowed in.

This winter seems a might enthusiastic. This is the earliest wide spread snow in 17 years. Now 17 years ago, I wasn't taking too much notice of the weather. I was hugely pregnant and waiting impatiently for Boy to evacuate his nice warm abode and come and meet me. Anyway, you'd think being snowed in the City, would be less of a problem than being snowed out in the countryside. You'd be wrong.

The part of the City where I live, is gently undulating. There are quite steep hills upon which row on row of Victorian terraces perch. These hills aren't very high at all, those of you who live in proper hilly areas are probably mopping your keyboards by now. Hope you haven't choked on your pastry darling. The problem with this arrangement is two-fold. Firstly, parking. The roads to get to my house only allow single lane traffic, due to the cars parked either side. Secondly, because they are tertiary roads and narrow, they don't get gritted. Do you begin to see the potential for problems? Sliding towards a parked car is an interesting experience. Let me tell you, when my heart beats that fast, normally it's usually due to firemen or Robert Downey Jr. I would rather make those noises under different circumstances.

Walking around in the snow is not a pleasant experience either. Especially if it's had 24 hours to sit around. It means it's melted a bit and frozen overnight and if there's more snow...oh goody. I look like a right knob when I go out and about in the snow. I have a woolly hat, long wool coat, gloves, scarf, stout walking boots and a staff. I am the silliest upright woman on the street. I would rather be upright, than be sprawled in the dirty snow. I'm a single woman, and I don't care about fashion when it comes to not bruising, spraining or breaking things in my body. It just tends to mean people walk a little ahead of me when we go out. I can live with it.

So yes, this Global Warming. I'm unimpressed. I would have looked forward to the UK becoming more Mediterranean. I have lots of summer clothes I'd like to wear. I look so much better with a slight tan. More summer afternoons sunbathing in my garden would be welcome. But this....snow and cold business...it just doesn't work for me.

Save Me!

So, the Government want to make tobacco packets plain. Apparently, it will make it less 'sexy', less attractive to smokers and wannabe smokers. Really? Funnily enough, I don't smoke because of the cool factor. I don't think smoking makes me sexy. Really. I don't smoke the brand of rolling tobacco I do, because of the packaging. I wouldn't care if it was white or if they made the pouches pink and sparkly. 

I'm so damned tired of the constant nagging. Believe me when I say, I understand the hazards. I've seen the effects first hand. And if watching my dad die from lung cancer didn't make me stop immediately, then forcing tobacco companies to change their packaging to plain, really isn't going to make the damnedest bit of difference to my smoking habits. I'm tired of being tutted at, lectured and made to feel like a social pariah. I will stop when I'm ready and nagging me is only going to make me roll and light up another one. 

You see, here's the thing: I'm an adult. It means I get to make decisions for myself. Good, bad and indifferent.

I'm getting heartily fed up of scaremongering in the media. I had a look on-line and unfortunately I can't find these ads, you'll have to take it on faith they exist. Apparently, there are germs that live on the top of hand wash dispensers. Oh yes, ladies and gentlemen. This is Bad. The company involved is busy marketing one of these motion-sensitive dispensers for the home. 

For anyone who got bullied into buying one of those, to you I say PT Barnum was right. Sucker!

Let's look at this logically. The product is sold as an anti-bacterial hand wash and claims to kill 99.9% of all germs. So when do you touch the pump of the hand wash? Oh, just before you wash your hands. Hopefully, when you wash your hands you'll do a good enough job to get rid of those 99.9% germs. Where exactly does this need for a hands-free dispenser come from?

Last night, I sat with my jaw open watching an ad for a stain and anti-bacterial clothes detergent. Not only do I need an anti-bacterial surface cleanser, but now I have to wash my clothes with anti-bacterial soap powder. Great.

Where does this fear come from? How the hell did the human race survive this long in this wilderness of germs? I mean, how did I make it to adulthood washing my hands with a scummy soap bar (when I bothered to wash my hands at all)? Did I tell you I grew up with four dogs and a cat that used to sit hopefully next to my mother on the counter as she prepared food (the cat, not the dogs. They used to sit round her feet)? I played in a drain where people threw their trash. I drank water from a hosepipe. I used to share food with the dogs and let me tell you, labradors are known for showing their gratitude with lots of tongue. How did I survive?

Now, don't get me wrong, I can be sarky about this because I don't have a compromised immune system. But people with compromised immune systems do not make up the majority of the populace. Most of us walking around, are relatively hail and hearty. It's normal to get a cold. To sometimes not feel well. What isn't normal is this whole 'I need to keep going' business. If you're ill, be mean, keep it to yourself. Don't carry on as normal, don't go into work and share it with everyone. This, I saw first hand. One person comes into work with a bug and next minute you know, everyone's pretty much got it. Employers, take note: instead of having one person off ill, you have a room full of sick people and how productive are they? Really? Not very. They're too busy mustering the energy to remain upright. I guarantee you, the mistakes they've made those 5 days they came in ill, would have been best avoided by having a couple of days off in bed.

Perhaps the marketing people have got it all wrong. They should be selling the germ warfare stuff to the workplace.

Oh look, this has been a post in two rants. It's a Buy One Get One Free special offer. You lucky, lucky people. Have a good week. Try not to kill anyone.

MCW The Worst Sequel: Highlander II

Don't you just hate it when you go to a film now and the ending sets it up for another one? Especially if you're already regretting the cost of the ticket and the loss of 1 and a half hours of your life. There are some really awful sequels around. Really awful. But for me, this one is the biggest stinker of them all.

I loved Highlander. It was a fantastic film. Highlander 2...well, it killed it for me. So much so that I have never been able to look at the first without cringing.

Feathering the Nest

Boy isn't talking to me.

I don't blame him really. It is my fault. After a long talk about the state of our finances, we resigned to tighten our belts and be sensible when it comes to money. We both sounded terribly grown up.

Which is why he isn't talking to me.

You see, I'm still nesting.

This week it's not been plants. No trips to Nottcutts this weekend. This week it's been about dressing the table. For a few years now I've been looking for decent crockery and cutlery. Yes, we have a couple of sets. I started buying Habitat's Blue Loft. Unfortunately, I ran out of money before I could buy the complete set and then when I did have the money, they discontinued the line. Bastards.

I like stoneware. None of that delicate bone china business. I like my tableware to inflict damage if I was inclined to have a marital. That's what I tell people; the truth of the matter is I'm clumsy when washing dishes. If I had anything delicate, it would end up looking like a jigsaw puzzle at the bottom of the sink. Or chipped to buggery. At least with stoneware, it can take a bit of abuse.

Imperial Blue has been on my lust list for some time now. I love the weight and texture. Denby, is a fantastic brand; hard wearing and stylish. Plus, I can add to the collection as and when needed. One never knows when one must have a divided dish. I like the idea of saying to people 'if you want to buy me something, get me a tea set.'  Or a tea pot. Or a small jug.

Obviously, we have cutlery. We haven't been eating with our fingers all these years. After a particularly drunken celebration at a pizza restaurant, I became the proud owner of a set of cutlery and a large pepper grinder. Don't ask. The problem with this, apart from the obvious felony committed, was I liked that set above all else. That, and the pizza restaurant changed their cutlery. I have been on the look out for 4 years for a set like it. To no avail. Last weekend, I thought I found it. I just wasn't prepared to take the risk paying that amount of money for something I hadn't seen and stroked before purchase.

Today, I popped into the department store where I used to work. I strolled around the cutlery section...and there it was. It was not the cutlery brand I was considering. It was Robert Welsh's Stanton Satin. I picked it up and fondled. The curves fit neatly into my hands. It's heavy and very well balanced. The satin finish means it'll cope with abuse during washing up and I won't have to be precious about it.

My mother was of a mind that the good stuff should be used every day. No point just breaking it out for a special occasion. Having said that, she did have her Wedgwood, her wedding china,  for special occasions, but for every day stuff she used the antique bone china from her childhood.

I know I shouldn't have. But I'm not sorry. Je ne regrette rein.

Update: I read the small print (with difficulty, my arms seem to be shrinking in my old age) on the purloined set of cutlery. It's the same cutlery I bought today. It is the cutlery set I wanted! I shit you not.

Memed!

The fabulous Ms Scarlet has tagged me for a meme. She wants to know what are the ingredients for my secret recipe for my perfect man. I had to leave this one and think about it all day. I finally came up with this:

1. Must not be a bright and chirpy morning person, but must not be grumpier than me. In other words, will bugger off and leave me to wake up in peace
2. Must know how to make a cup of coffee to my exact specifications. And deliver it with a smile
3. Must think pink, fluffy dressing gowns, worn with silver, woolly booties are the sexiest thing ever
4. Must like chocolates with cream centres, leaving me the nutty ones. On a similar note, must think buying olives, sun dried tomatoes and anchovies as gifts are normal
5. Must like red wine, for drinking, or cooking, or drinking with
6. If  he must have an interest in competitive sports, must adhere to strict gender role and not insist on boring me with a) the details or b) the events, either live or televised
7. He does not need an orienteering course but doesn't mind getting lost occasionally
8. Must be a more than competent driver of a vehicle that is lustworthy (and doesn't mind getting lost occasionally)
9. Will have interesting hobbies that include etchings, but not require a 3 day lecture or an instruction manual (or props). This does not include bottle cap, assembling flat pack furniture, stamp collecting or trainspotting
10. Must have a music collection that complements mine. Celine Dion fans, need not apply
11. Must not think it odd when I curl up in bed with nothing than a good book for an afternoon (delivering coffee and/or red wine a bonus)
12. Must think dirty dishes are the scourge and downfall of civilisation and it is his civic duty to keep the sink clear at all times (laundry basket, double points)
13. Most importantly, must believe that 'weird' is normal and 'normal' is weird.

I nominate:

Cyberpete
Hayward
Dave
XL

Please adjust the meme for your sexual preferences. Let me know if/when you've memed.

An addendum: should any readers meet these requirements, please apply in writing, with a recent photo, supply good references and prepare for a panel interview. Opening date May 2011. Thank you.

The 'C' Word

It's hard to miss from decorations in the shops and beginning of the relentless adverts on the telly, once again we're hurtling towards that time of year again. Yes, ladies and gentlemen in 6 weeks time it will be Christmas.

The season of madness and mayhem. I lose Norwich city centre to hoardes of stressed people. Grumpy children dragged behind desperately stressed parents. People buying presents neither wanted or needed, with money they don't have. Planning for a Christmas meal with family that won't appreciate the effort, being forced into close proximity with people they'd rather not spend time with. They're tired from the work they're holding on to, or from the work they're looking for so desperately. All with the concept of the 'perfect Christmas' being shoved down their throats.

So much for the season of good will. Bah humbug, I say.

Yes, my two years in retail has generated a severe level of loathing for Christmas songs, bordering on homicidal rage. Two years on, I still want to shove the CDs down Nobby's throat. I am desperate to apply a swathe of duct tape over Bing, and Goddess help the idiot who starts with Mistletoe and Wine. If you think my violence is a little over the top, try spending 12 weeks of your life listening to the same 2 Christmas CDs over the tannoy in a department store. I'm sure there's a clause in the Geneva Convention about such torture.

Needless to say, the main topic in the AHCP (Alternative Healthcare Practice) has been the onslaught of this festive time of year. Safe behind my desk, drinking coffee I've been able to talk to other people who are also bemused by this annual train wreck.

It's my first Christmas without my dad. Boy will be with his dad. I will be spending the season on my own. I used to feel that Christmas was the World's way of grinding my nose into the fact that I'm a single parent far away from my family. Please note the past tense.

The Great Ursus and his lovely and I talked about celebrating the Winter Solstice round theirs. On the 21st of December, we'll all rock up, bearing dishes prepared earlier, pile around the table, drinking, eating and being merry to celebrate the Longest Night. I'm already looking forward to it.

Boy and I, in recognition of our skinthood have decided on a competition. Rather than buy each other Stuff, we are going to find the most outrageous present for under £5.00 for each other. The more camp and tacky, the better. You should have seen Boy's face when I suggested it - he cracked up and mischief lurked in his dark eyes. We are going to have fun.

Sensodyne

Sensodyne adverts have to be the World's most boring adverts. Ever.

Actors pretend to be 'real' people and deliver their scripts in the same straight delivery bordering on monotone.

The ad begins with said boring person bemoaning the agony of sensitive teeth. How it turned them into social pariahs unable to drink and eat the hot and cold food that normal people take for granted. Sensodyne, it turns out, saved them from a life-time of drinking with straws, saved their love-life as they were now able to eat Italian ice-cream, ice cubes and frozen vodka from the belly button of George Clooney (it's not my fantasy, who am I to judge?).

I've always been mildly irritated by these ads. Until now.

After the last adjustment of my braces, I have sensitive teeth. Yes, it's me now wincing when I drink cold things. It's not a lot of fun I have to say. So I bought a small tube of this wonder toothpaste.

Now these ads make me grind my teeth with rage.

It doesn't bloody work.

I've been conned.

Warm Hugs

Thank you all for remembering the ones you have lost with me and each other.



I didn't reply to each comment, because this wasn't about me.


Blogging for me is about communication, connection and community. No post has been a better example of all three. Together we shared and mourned. I hope you were able to take some comfort away from acknowledging your grief, as I was able.

I will put word verification back on in an effort to keep the spammers at bay. But do feel free to leave a comment on the Samhain post, if you wish.

Samhain Blessings

Every year on this blog, I celebrate the Pagan festival of Samhain by noting the names of those who have gone on.

This year, my father passed away, so it is a particularly poignant day for me. Please join me by writing the name of those you love who are no longer here.

I have been a witness to the deaths of three of my parents. Death itself holds no fear for me. Dying is the hard part. For everyone involved. It's hard to say the final goodbye, to know that I'll never be able to pick up the phone and talk to them, never be able to have a cuddle, or share a joke with them ever again. Living remains the far greater challenge.

Whatever your spiritual flavour, or even if you have none. Leave their names and if you wish, their relationship to you. Today, is about remembering. The dead will never be forgotten as long as the living still speak their names.

I dedicate this post to Henry.

I miss you every day, Henry. I wish more than anything else that we had more time.

Update: I'm going to have an early night. Please feel free to write your names tonight, and in the coming week. I'll put the word verification back on next weekend.

Toxic Soup

A few weeks ago I told you I abandoned my desire to be a more eco-friendly gardener for slug pellets, weedkiller and weed'n'feed. The day after I put down the slug pellets, there were tiny invertibrate corpses rotting on my garden beds. I have been trying very hard not to feel guilty about it, but frankly, there were a helluva lot of dead snails and slugs. No wonder they were reducing my pride and joys to mere sticks. I haven't put any more down. Truthfully, as much as I did rejoice to see the murder and mayhem around me, I'm loathe to decrease their numbers further. After all, what will the toads and frogs eat?

The pond area looks fab. The pond itself has definitely benefitted from the clean-up and new plants. It's so clear, I can actually see the bottom. The frogs are still unimpressed, despite my getting them some more cover, in the shape of a floating plant and varigated mint. Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them. There wasn't even a Prince Charming in that lot. Let me tell you, frogs are cold on the lips this time of year.

My lawn, instead of being many shades of green, thanks to the 5 or 6 different species of grass and moss, is now a patchwork of green grass, bare earth and dead brown moss. I'm scratching my head here people. How is this supposed to be an improvement? I suppose, if I feel energetic at some point, I should rake it. Would you care to put money on the likelihood of that happening?

I went to see my IFA (Independent Financial Advisor, otherwise known as Wednesday to Friday Boss). It was slightly harrowing. He was obviously feeling a bit paternal. I got a lecture. He stopped short of waving a large pair of scissors and demanding my credit card.  I got the picture. No more retail therapy. No more buying house plants. No more Nottcutts.

*sigh*

Yes, I did promise I'll try to behave.

Lindsey Buckingham ~ Big Love

Enjoy his completely awesome fingering technique.

Co-Existing with Other Species

The Palais de Roses is an interesting place to be. You know from your visits here that I have a plethora of new house plants and The Cat and The Boy and a bunch of frogs I've kissed and refused to turn into Princes. Yes, I know Boy is now much taller than me and he's looking forward to his 17th birthday and driving lessons, but he's still The Boy to me, and I suspect he always will be.

But The Boy comes with added extras: friends.

There's his best friend, who quite frankly for all intents and purposes lives here. My couch is his bed most nights. He's so at home here, he puts away the groceries, does my dishes and doesn't mind being roped into gardening duties.

It's not unusual for me to go to bed and there are 2 teenagers stretched out on the floor killing things enthusiastically on the XBox. When I stagger down in the morning looking for my dose of Eine, there can be 4 or 5 bodies snoring gently in my front room.

It's not unusual when I cook, for me to prepare enough food for a few days. Or at least there was when I went to bed. In the morning, the pot is empty. Apparently, they like my cooking. Now when I do the shopping I make sure I get enough snacks in to feed a small army. Let me tell you, 3 or 4 teenagers eat enough for a small army. I'd go as far as to say a Plague of Locusts is nothing compared with a couple of hungry teenagers. They'll go through everything immediately edible and if it's not, they'll get the pots and pans out.

I like da yoof of today. They are lively and fun. They are apologetic if they've got too excited whilst killing things on the XBox and then face the grumpiness of me at 4 am. They'll cheerfully clear off, if I tell them I need some space and come back when I'm sociable. They ask me how my day has been, and tell me all about theirs and the latest encounters with chavs. We have indepth conversations on the meaning of life. I find them generous and caring, behind all the teenager speak. They'll spend hours on the phone with each other. They are loyal to a fault.

These are precious days.

In a few years, these teenagers will be adults. They'll be going off to university, getting jobs, travelling round the world, getting married, having children. That they choose to spend their time here on my living room floor, is just amazing. They fill my house with laughter and fun. I hope in the years to come that that we won't lose track of each other. That they'll continue to visit. Hopefully, with partners and then children.

Casulties

My teenagers have long memories. When I announced I was off to B&Q to get a replacement bulb for the shaving light for the downstairs bathroom, there was much rolling of eyes. I think bets were placed because when I came back with yet more plants and pots, money changed hands and there was much muttering.

The Streptocarpus, which quite frankly sounds like a condition requiring antibiotics, and the Calathea haven't survived my ministrations. On the other hand, the orchids, the african violets, ivy etc. seem to be doing very well. They haven't died off yet. It's a fine balance to be had, watering. It seems I have two modes: desert and tropical downpour; and for some reason some plants just don't like that. Fussy buggers.

Despite that, I'm very pleased with my mini-home jungle. Boy, is bitching that having a shower in the morning requires a cutlass and pith helmet. I don't know what's wrong with the teenager; here I am providing him with cheap adventures. After all, flights to the Amazon aren't cheap and there are the mosquitoes to contend with out there.

Todays purchase was a large devil's ivy for my bedroom (as well as some smaller ones and some half-priced orchids). I've a mind to wrap some fairy lights around it too. It's all very odd, but I'm going with it. Even if my credit card is shivering in the corner of a darkened room, whimpering and rocking. Poor thing.

The House of Love - Shine on 1987

In a garden in the House of Love....almost. But not quite.

Death and Destruction

Before I let myself loose on the weekend, I thought given the hideous amount of money I've spent on my garden and house plants (and accessories), I really ought to get out there and be productive (yeah I know, what's that about?).

First, I dealt with my greenery indoors. Jeez, what is it with houseplants? They're so bloody fussy. I've got one bitching I've over-watered it. It's curling up it's leaves and makes drowning noises every time I walk past it. I've got another bitching I'm not watering it enough. Ungrateful bastard, started gurgling when I watered it and moaned it's not a pond plant. Honestly, damn thing insisted the water level should not be up to the top of the planter. I had to empty it out again. Huh. Watering them apparently isn't good enough either. The orchids and foliage plants moaned their leaves were too dry. Please could I mist them? Bloody hell. Who do they think I am? Their bloody slave? And then, and then, (get this) they whinged about needed a change of view. Mug that I am, I had to turn them round. Ungrateful wretches, see if I re-home any more of these bloody strays.

That shenanigans left me in a grumpy mood. So out I go into my garden. Long term readers will know what my garden means to me. It's my Happy Place. Unfortunately, all the local snails and slugs also agree. Those nasty little invertebrates seem to think my only reason for existence is to feed them. The slimy buggers have done their best to reduce my spring planting to twigs. So much for my winter flowering pansies and rose-coloured bellis. Humpf. If they can't eat the leaves, they're eating the flowers. Well, I fixed them. Like a demented Tinkerbell I floated through my garden sprinkling blue fairy pellets to ruin their dinner. Hah! Take that; you pretties-munchers. Bwhahahahaha!

What passes for my lawn, which is actually a collection of different grasses and moss (lots of bloody moss, there's more moss than grass), it needs to have the last dose of weed'n'feed. I've been glued to the weather reports for 3 dry days for the month since I've been back from Trinidad. Yesterday was the first dry day forecasted. Unfortunately, due to the fact I have to work for a living (yeah, I know, commiserate with me) I couldn't get into the garden til the evening, at which point I didn't want to. This morning I go to do my sprinkly business and then, three quarters of the way through, I bloody well run out of weed'n'feed.

Oh come on.

You know what this means don't you? It means another trip to the damned garden centre. It means having to find the will-power to walk past all the pretties. Given I'm struggling with 'no' at the moment and my poor credit card is huddled in the corner rocking, crying and muttering to itself, I really don't hold out any hope of making it through with just the one item.

Working for a Living

What can I say? I'm deeply unimpressed by this working for a living lark.

It means I have to get up in the morning! Not only that, but there are two 6.30s in my day! Appalling. I mean fancy having to be up, and thanks to the change of seasons, before the sun? No more sleeping in, rolling out of bed at 9, maybe 10 o'clock. No more wandering around in my pink fluffy dressing gown and getting clean and dressed a few hours later. No more casual surfing on my favourite blogs and waiting to see what response my comments get. No more staring at my navel, Facebook, the garden, the Cat and my To Do List.

They expect me to turn up on time! What is it with these employers who expect people they've paid (reasonable) money and expect me to arrive at the same time every morning? Unreasonable. Everyone knows my time keeping is hampered by my West Indian heritage and my Pagan beliefs. I arrange all of my social activities with an 'ish' attached to the time agreed. Depending on my level of organisation that day, that 'ish' could be up to half an hour. Also, also, get this...they expect me to stay all day. Bitch please. Why would I want to be in one place that isn't my bed, for the whole day?

Not only that, they insist I be smartly dressed. Now I'm not opposed to dressing up, as well you, my loyal readers will know. But I'm a woman of extremes. I'm either comfortable in jeans and trainers or dressed by Karen Millen. My employers expect me to wear skirts, trousers and proper shoes. My less-than-sociable habit of having the odd unwashed day has had to be relegated to the weekends.

That leads me to my other major complaint about working Monday to Friday, 9 to 5.30. How the hell am I supposed to fit in my other necessary appointments? Like getting my hair done and the essential wax? Not to mention coffees in my favourite deli, 103. When am I going to be able to fit in going to the cinema in the afternoon with the Great Ursus and his Lovely? There goes our leisurly lunches in the Turkish cafe. Not to mention being able to call in and annoy Dave...he gets busier at the weekends seeing his new grandbaby and saving souls. It means if I want to do Yoga or a martial art I have to do it after work.

It's ridiculous. It really is. My employers want me to be pleasant. Both to their clients and to my colleagues. If you work, do tell me how you've mastered this art. I'm genuinely interested. I'm pushed to be civil to Boy and to the Cat before mid-day. I'm not a morning person. I come with a health warning before my first cup of coffee. No one wants to be around me until at least 11 o'clock. Why do you think Boy goes to school? I'm not even polite to the milk man for Heaven's sake! Jeez.

And then, to top it all off, they want me to work. As if the sacrifices I've laid out above, aren't enough. Being graced with my presence isn't enough for them. Oh no, they want me to do stuff. Imagine that? Answer the phone, sort out problems, find things, do filing, the list goes on. Ungrateful bastards.

I have to do all of this for a pay check?! Really? Humpf.

Reminder

You may or may not remember that every year on here, I celebrate Samhain by writing the names of those I love who have passed on.

The theme this year seems to be predominantly one of loss.

Yesterday, I learnt of the sad passing of Infomaniac Bitch, Piggy. He was much loved and will be sorely missed.

I invite you to join me in remembering those we love, who have gone before. I will take off the word verification and allow Anonymous comments. Please leave the name of the person you would like to remember, it really is up to you how little or how much you want to write. If you want to write a little something about them, your relationship or a favourite memory, please do.

Join me on the 31st of October in remembering those we have love and lost. Let us remember together, grieve and heal each other.

Quirks

This post from the most fabulous Savannah started me thinking about quirks; my own in particular. When you walk into the Palais de Roses, you'd be forgiven for thinking I'm a lazy, good for nothing shite. There are piles of unopened post by my front door. It's generally messy. There are usually piles of unwashed dishes stacked in my kitchen. Housework is one of those things that I get around to eventually; and eventually hasn't quite happened yet.

However, there are somethings which I have to do, or have to have or Life suddenly becomes unbearable. Things that drive me nuts. I realise I'm not so lazy, laid back or accepting. I am prepared to go to war for these things.

I must have my smoking tin organised. The papers have to be a particular thickness, the brand of tobacco can not change and the filters must be the extra-slim. Additionally, I must have a particular brand of match to poke the tobacco down and I can't use anything other than the Poppell click brand of lighters (I prefer their blue and dark green lighters).

I must have one good cup of coffee to start my day. No suprise to you, I'm sure. I can cope with all the instant crap in the world, but if my day doesn't start with that first cup of ground, filtered coffee I might as well go back to bed.

Toilet paper must be positioned on the roll holder so the paper drapes over. I have been known to go to other peoples' houses and re-position their loo rolls for them. No, it's not negotiable. Yes, I do recognise peoples' rights to be wrong and misguided, but no, that's the only proper position for a loo roll.

I can't abide newspapers, books or miscellaneous items on sofas, chairs or futons. I collect them and put them on the floor or nearby table. Drives me nuts. Don't ask me why, I have no idea. I don't have a problem with a messy floor, I do with a messy couch.

I will straighten pictures hanging on the wall.

I am especially fussy about stationery. I will not write with anything other than a purple pilot V5 pen in my Moleskine journal. I will take into places of work, my own pens, mechanical pencils and eraser and God help the person that tries to walk off them. I nearly committed violence yesterday when I realised one of my clients walked off with a pen. Black ink for work, blue for personal correspondence.

I will only wear silver jewellry. I always wear my new moon. I will take it off for massages, but that's it. I don't wear a watch and don't like bracelts, they always feel like handcuffs to me. I wear one silver ring on my 'status' finger, even though I am neither married nor engaged. It confuses the hell out of people and I have no problem with that.

When I read books, I don't fold down corners to mark my place or bend the spine. I won't lend my books to people who do. Most of my books look like I've never read them, when in fact I've read and re-read them. I will only let go of text books or books that are so awful that I've never finished them, or would never read them again. Probably why I have 5 book shelves, double stacked in places. I'm still in mourning for the books I had to leave behind in Trinidad, I just didn't have any room for them. No doubt, Amazon will be getting another large order from me soon. When I find an author I like, I will buy up their entire list, credit card allowing. I have to read series in order from the first one. I don't borrow books from the library because I like to have the books sitting on my shelves waiting for me. Yes, it means I occasionally get caught with a complete dog, but I'm still not willing to change, even with my credit card moaning pathetically.

In my study, I have three corkboards upon which I pin lyrics from songs, poems, quotes, cards and mementos from good times: train and plane tickets, posters etc. They are pinned with ladybird pushpins (thumb tacks for you over the water). I can't not have the ladybirds. Every Samhain (31st of October), I strip the boards, put all of the bits and pieces away in a box file and start again.

I paused in my writing, to go over and edit. I'm going to stop now. I think I understand now why I'm single.

Walk on the Wilde Side

Now, I'm not one for competitions. Firstly, I'm not terribly competitive. If you want to dash across that field, go ahead by all means. No, I don't care how far you can throw that stick. Excuse me? You want me to run? Secondly, I'm not much of a gambler. I did do the Trinidad National Lottery when there was an oportunity to win $13 million TT, and spent a pleasant afternoon spending the imaginary money, but wasn't terribly suprised when I didn't win. I don't even bother to do the Lottery in the UK. Quite frankly, I have more chance that Robert Downey Jr will walk into my local cafe, catch sight of me and fall madly in love. And let's be honest, that ain't never gonna happen. Blog competitions, I tend to pass on. Mostly because MJ is really scary when she wants to win something and I'm really not woman enough to take her on.

However, on the 22nd of July. XL changed my mind. He was offering an Oscar Wilde action figure. I thought 'bugger it' and entered. Of course there was the inevitable cat fight and I'm not sure Savannah has forgiven me. Ladies and Gentlemen, I won! No, really. I won. How excited was I?! I had to explain to my brother's family why I was jumping up and down and squealing like a teenage girl. They still thought I was bonkers. I don't think that has anything to do with my winning Oscar though.

XL posted the winner on the 28th of July. You may remember that I was in Trinidad at that time, caring for my father. Bless him, XL offered to post it out to me, which would have meant I'd never have got him. XL and I had a brief flurry of e-mails. I asked him to hold on to Oscar until I made it back to the Cold and Grim. Pretty much as soon as I landed in London Gatwick, XL was asking if he could post Oscar over.

Last week Monday, I got a note from Royal Mail telling me they were holding a parcel for me. Queue much girlie squealing. But, I was going to London to visit a friend on Tuesday and I knew I couldn't get to the post office for a couple of days. My night out in London turned into a few days as my friend and I got hideously drunk (my liver has written a letter of complaint to my MP) and staying on seemed like a good idea at the time. I finally staggered back to Norwich Friday night. Second thing, Saturday morning I went and picked up Oscar.

He was lovingly packaged, along with a really sweet note from Lola, RJ and XL. I was especially touched to find, Oscar hadn't got bored and munched the box of chocolates. XL had kindly included some postcards for Oscar to write home, which he declined to do.

Since then, Oscar has been regalling me with his famous quotes, the most applicable to me being:

'I can resist anything but temptation'.

The one that had me in stitches was: Anyone who lives within their means suffers from a lack of imagination.

Many thanks to XL for Oscar, he looks quite content next to my laptop.

Hi Hoooooo!

I have a well earned reputation for being a Lazy Shite. Given any opportunity I will assume The Position on my sofa, which is very, very comfy. I don't like mornings and will happily potter around smoking and drinking my coffee until...well...the afternoon. My Get Up and Go, got up and left years ago, slammed the door on it's way out and hasn't been seen since. Not even a postcard.

This reputation has been shaken and stirred Ladies and Gentlemen. I am once again gainfully employed with The Alternative Healthcare Practice. I have a long history with them. When I was doing my Creative Writing qualifications that led to my degree, I would be their emergency receptionist. When I wasn't working for them I was sampling the many treats of accupuncture, osteopathy and hypnotherapy. Earlier this year, I thought some accupuncture would be good for me. And it was. After a treatment, I casually dropped into the conversation that I would be available again for any work they could throw my way. The few days work then turned into a 2 day a week job. Before I had the chance to get to comfortable, I got the phone call from my brother, saying it looked like my father had lung cancer.

I went to my employer, explained the situation and then said I was going to Trinidad for 2 months. Any other sane employer would have thanked me for my time and bid me farewell. He did not. He sent me off with his blessing and said the job would be waiting for me when I got back. I did say to him if he got someone he liked, to hang on to them. It's a small business and they can't afford not to have a key member of staff. I understand the pressures that running a small business brings.

As soon as I was coherent the day after I landed, I rang to say I was back. Did they still want me? Would they mind if I had a week to get my shit together before I started (if they still wanted me back)? Yes, they wanted me back and of course I could have a week before I started. Not only that, but if I needed to take more time, I could have it. I was both suprised and pleased.

The Monday after my return, I went along to have a financial review with my financial advisor. In the course of our meeting, after he finished telling me off for going through my cash reserves like a wolf in a sheep's pen, he offered me a job. Temporary, for the other days of the week I'm not working. The temporary part is a convenience on both sides. We need to see if we like each other and to see if it's going to work.

So much for continuing my life as a bum.

Since I've come back from Trinidad, I've gradually been getting the house and garden sorted. Jobs which were piling up have now been dealt with. I've not been terribly energetic about it, less blazing and more of a gentle pottering, with Couch Time being factored in.

I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up. For the moment, that's okay. I'm not in a position to make any long term decisions right now. One way or another, this year has been hard work. I've been battered and blown about. That's okay too. I've learnt a lot and I hope with the learning I am a wiser and stronger woman for it. Time will tell. Everything is as it should be.

Our Survey Says

I have been suffering from a lot of spam recently. Must get some pills for that - oh yeah, I can get cheap pharmaceuticals from viagra to panadol, a Russian doxy to mud-wrestle the Nigerian Princess who wants me to launder her inheritance, to compete for the honour to feed the pills to me, while I drink margueritas on the island I bought with that suprise prize draw millions courtesy of Microsoft.

So it was with some trepidation I opened the e-mail titled: Internet Research Project. What can I say? I walk on the wild side. I opened it up and was curious to see the contents. Not curious enough to follow the link though. Instead I sent an e-mail and asked if the sender was a real person as I had enough pills, Russian babes and money. Very quickly, I received a reply. It is indeed kosher research for a PhD thesis on the personality traits of bloggers. After I did the survey, I asked whether the PhD student would like me to put her survey out there. I've copied and pasted the contents of the first e-mail. It would be really cool if you bloggers could follow the link (sorry lurkers)and complete the survey. It would be even cooler if you would copy and paste the link on your blogs.

Go on, make this your good deed for the day.

Dear Blogger,

I am a doctoral student in the psychology department at the University of Texas at Arlington. I am completing my dissertation research on the topic of the personality characteristics of bloggers. One of my goals for this study is to contact actual bloggers and record their self-reported personality traits, and view information posted to their blogs.

I am writing to ask you to take a few minutes to participate in this study. As a participant, you will be asked to follow the link in this e-mail to the Survey Monkey website, where you will complete several personality questionnaires, and provide some information about your typical internet use. At the end of this survey, I will ask you to provide a link to your blog so that I can match the personality data that you provided with information that appears on your blog.

It is important for you to understand that no personal information will be collected in this project. You will not be asked to provide your name, address, e-mail, or any other identifying information. I will ask you to provide the URL to your blog so that I may access it after you complete the survey, and record information from your profile (such as gender, age, and location). I will also download two of your blog entries for further analysis; however, identifying names and information will be redacted. I will not specifically identify any single blogger in the reports of this research. In other words, I intend to talk about bloggers in general, but not any one individual in particular.

If you are interested in participating in this study, please follow the link below to the Survey Monkey website: http://www.surveymonkey.com/s/L7M59GV

Thank you very much for your time. If you have friends or colleagues who you believe might be interested in participating in this study, feel free to forward this information on to them. You may also contact me with any questions that you have about this research project.

Best regards,

Return Of The Mack

One of my favourite tracks at the moment.

Don't you just love a comeback?

Catching Up

Sooo....how has Norwich been while I've been away?

By the looks of it, nothing's really changed apart from the seasons. It's definitely autumnal out there. Boy, his mate and I walked into the city centre. There are more shops shut, but lots of people bustling about.

We went in to look at televisions. Ours was a hand-me-down and the time has come to bid it farewell. It's huge and while it was good to have, it's time for a change. We trooped into the electrical store that sorted out my white goods last year before we moved to the Palais. Buying stuff can be such fun. I was expecting to have to fork out a small fortune and was pleasantly suprised once I did some negotiating, how much I saved. The brand spanking new, flat screen, HD ready idiot box will be delivered and installed next Friday. I also negotiated with them to take the old tv and stand away as well. I am very pleased.

I gatecrashed coffee with Alix and her family and Gee's second son. He's off to his second year at uni and was saying goodbye. I then walked back with him to have tea with Gee. She is the sister of my heart. It was fantastic seeing her and her family again.

After the visit to the orthodontist yesterday, I'm back on soft foods. When the Great Ursus and his lovely dropped Boy back from school, Lovely and I went for a walk to do some shopping. I had an urge to make some soup. I went to the butcher and he sorted me out with some chicken bones. I made the stock from scratch and then went on to make a sweet potato soup from intuition, rather than recipe. It wasn't a bad attempt (if I say so myself). It can't have been that bad, because Boy and mate finished off the lot this morning on their return from a sleepover. Tonight it's a lentil, potato soup thang.

Comfort food is a wonderful thing and I'm really enjoying cooking in my own kitchen again. Though, I'm constantly finding Boy used the necessary ingredients and hasn't replaced them. I've been very indulgent and am having Sainsbury's deliver a mahusive shop tomorrow. The idea of pushing a trolley around a supermarket for a couple of hours fills me with dread. Just can't face it. On-line shopping is definitely the way to go.

My body clock is still on Trini time and my sleep patterns are shot. But it's early days and I'm finding great comfort in being home again.

Shaking With Rage

After 27 hours of travelling (it's another story), I've made it back to 2 months worth of post and 2171 e-mails waiting in my primary e-mail address which I've been unable to access whilst I've been away. After a poor night's sleep, a smoke and a cup of coffee I settled down in front of my laptop and ran the gauntlet. All of the posts and comments from my two blogs are directed to my primary e-mail and as a rule I always save them. I'm a hoarder by nature, it runs in the family. As I waded through the mire, mostly Facebook, spam etc, I've come across quite a few e-mails from Anonymous. A couple have been from new readers who haven't plucked up the courage to say hi in their own right and that's fine. When stepping into the blogging world it can be quite scary and I'm cool with that, we all have to start somewhere and I do my best to make everyone welcome. Most have been spam, I can't be arsed to delete them off the old posts, I've got too many to wade. I delete them when I find them. And then I found one which has my blood completely boiling.

One of the issues when blogging, especially when putting personal stuff out into Blogland, is that it's open to interpretation. I don't expect everyone to agree with me or even to like me. I'm big enough and ugly enough to take it on the chin. However, this comment was completely out of order. I believe I know the person who left the comment personally. What pisses me off (amongst the other issues) is that they chose to leave the comment anonymously. If you're going to be personal, own up to it. Say it to my face.

Many thanks to eros who did see it and did reply.

The comment was left on Confirmation. My brother, the vet tested a sputuum sample provided by my father and found small cell lung cancer present.

This is what Anonymous said:

to be fair, you haven't actually had confirmation. no offence to your brother, but he is a vet. if they were as good as regular doctors, why aren't they allowed to treat humans?your dad should speak to his doctor. yes treatment for cancer can be very draining, and can sometimes be worse than the cancer itself, but treatment for other problems can be much less invasive - like the antibiotics he is already taking for example (PLEASE don't tell me your vet brother provided them/wrote the prescription, that is illegal, not to mention potentially very dangerous).get a diagnosis from a proper, qualified doctor, and then (and ONLY then) your father can make an informed decision about any treatment that may be available to him.scarred lungs can be caused by infections or injuries/disease other than cancer, so do not presume the worst until you have no choice. after all, aren't we always told that positive thinking is instrumental when dealing with ill health?
17 July 2010 00:09

I am incadescent, but will try to take this in a logical fashion. Forgive me dear readers if I go straight into rant.

Firstly, after my father endured the trip to the medical centre to have the x-rays done, there were three doctors present: my father's lung specialist, my father's GP and my brother. My father's lung specialist had the x-ray from 2 years ago to compare. There was a mass, pretty much encompassing his left lung. The way the mass presented, my father's lung specialist was 99.9% certain it was lung cancer.

For the 100% confirmation, my father would have needed to have undergone an MRI and a lung biopsy.
My father found the whole experience exceptionally distressing and chose to stick with the 99.9% diagnosis. In days before MRIs, it would have been sufficient. A biopsy would have been painful and distressing for my father and also risky. Quite frankly, given my father's fragility it could have killed him off there and then. My father, on the basis of that consultation with his lung specialist and GP decided he would not undergo the trauma as HE didn't want to undergo either chemotherapy or radiotherapy. Surgery, given his poor lung function would not have been an option. Of the people with the diagnosis that he had, 75% die within a year of diagnosis. It is an exceptionally aggressive cancer and highly resistant to treatment.

My father felt that treatment would not buy him any more time or any quality of life. He felt at 73, he'd lived his life. He wanted to die at home, in the environment he felt safe, with the people he loved and who loved him around.

My brother, the vet has a state of the art practice. He remains at the cutting edge of medical technology, his is the practice other vets send their patients to when they want intricate blood tests, ultrasound and x-rays.

Eros is right, it is easier to become a human doctor than it is a vet. Quite frankly, I would rather see my Cat's vet than I would my own GP over here. GPs over here aren't interested in their patients, they just want to keep to time, keep the numbers up and hit the stats laid out by the government.

My brother's training enabled him to work with the specialitists and my father's GP. He understood what they were saying and when my father struggled, he was on the phone to them, able to accurately describe the symptoms, to be able to follow their advice to the letter. He absolutely did not write out prescriptions for my father.

When my father was fading fast, he begged my brother again, to let him stay home. He did not want to die in hospital, subject to a medical system's regime. He didn't even want nursing care. He wasn't in pain, he just couldn't breathe. He was on oxygen constantly in the last 10 days of his life. Oxygen, that my brother was able to source and hook up, because of his training and his practice.

Anonymous, and I believe I know who you are, you should have said this to my face. I don't know who you think you are to question my father's care; or who you think I am that I would let this slide. You are very much mistaken.

If you think we should have packed him off to a hospital to be prodded and poked and put through a whole lot of stress and pain which would not have made a difference to the outcome, against his wishes, well that's up to you.

My brother and I respected my father's wishes: to die in comfort, at home, with us.

An apology wouldn't go amiss. Let's see if you've got stones enough for that, shall we?

So Long, Farewell...

The time has come. No I'm not packed. I've got half my suitcase filled and another three quarters waiting to go in. I hate packing. So, I procrastinate. That, I do exceptionally well.

The last few days I've been saying goodbye.

I spent the weekend with my aunt and cousin. My cousin took me Down de Islands for a last trip and we had an absolute ball. We rang his partner-in-crime as we were heading down the road, he dropped everything, grabbed his stuff and came to join us. We all piled into my cousin's boat, went Down de Islands, picked up partner-in-crime's daughter and fiance and headed out to fish. Once again I was reminded it's called 'fishing' not 'catching'. Even though we only had one bite and didn't manage to land the fish, we had a fantastic time. Yes, there are pictures. When I get home I'll put them up.

Sunday, I spent with my aunt. She gave me back a piece of my childhood, when I would go and spend the afternoon with her, we talked and talked. Saying goodbye was so hard. I really, really did not want to leave them. My cousin has been such a support to me. He doesn't do emotional intelligence, he does that big, gruff, manly thing. But it was just what I needed. I could be exactly how I was and that was all that was necessary. He took me out and about. We teased each other, nagged each other and got very, very drunk together. I will never forget him standing behind my father's coffin, sweating in the heavy wool suit, trying not cry.

Today, my brother and SIL headed off to work. They can't make it to the airport. That was hard. I'm going to miss them so much. I'm going to miss Trinidad so much. But I miss my Boy, the Cat, my friends and Norwich dreadfully. I know it will be good to be home.

Day at the Races

The Grim Times led to my father's death and funeral and all of the chaos and confusion that surrounds these events. I did try to hop on a plane to get back to the UK a week earlier, but British Airways and I have a difference of opinion about the definition of 'amendable'. The travel agent and I will be having words upon my return.

In the meantime, I have been trying not to mope. My cousin to the rescue. He's just been fantastic. He's the one who has the boat and took me down the islands, where I ended up camping on a dock for the night. I will just say he's been very bad for my liver and lungs, but very, very good for my heart. While he's not on the oil rigs, he stays with his mother (my aunt) here in Trinidad. Basically, my cousin has been picking me up, taking me out, getting me (very) drunk and then I've crashed in his mother's spare room.

On Tuesday, Trinidad celebrated it's Independence Day. He decided he would by hook or crook, get us into the VIP stand at the Arima Racecourse, to watch the day's races. He told me I had to be smartly dressed: no jeans, t-shirts or flip flops. What a drag. So I dressed to impress. We had a blast.

We rocked up in time for the 3rd race. The stand was boiling hot, boy was I glad I wore a skimpy dress, any more cloth on my skin, I'd have melted. The balcony of the stand over-looked where the horses were walked before the race, and where they got the colours and jockeys. We tried to assess the horseflesh, look in the racing catalogue for the stats, the names and make our choices. I would go and place the bets and then, we'd make our way to the other side so we could watch the race. My cousin said he brought lots of cash with us, but in the end we bet $105.00 in total. We finished the day with $120.00, not bad for a couple of novices. It was fun. We ate, we drank, we smoked, we were merry.

One of my cousin's horses decided it didn't like the jockey and left him staring at the sky at the starting gates. Another spooked itself when the gate opened and threw a right girly strop, good thing neither of us parted with good cash for that one. The point is: my friend Gee used to work in a betting shop. She horrified me at the stories of men coming in with the Title Deeds to their houses. That's a mindset, I just don't get. To risk a huge amount of money, to risk your house on a four-legged temperamental creature, that might just be having a shitty day, I don't understand it. Actually, I don't want to understand it. I can cope with hard drinkin' and smokin' kind of men, but a man who could one day come home and say 'honey, pack up. We have to be out of here before 9 am tomorrow morning'. Nah. That's just a whole new level, I couldn't deal with.

I can't believe in a week's time I'll be back in the UK. The time here has gone so quickly. I'm going to miss my Trinidad adventures. Hopefully, there will be a few more before I leave next week.

Normal Service

I think it's time I take some time out from this blog. Things are tough and I think the hard times have overtaken the good.

Please don't desert me completely. I will be back, posting on here soon. I will try and pop in to see what you're all getting up to.

In the meantime, do something mushy for me: find the person you really love and give them a mahusive hug. If I've learnt anything recently, it's that Now is all the time we have; and never, ever pass up the opportunity to let the person who's really important to you, know how much you care. To the people who love you, be gentle with them, it's a precious gift; you lucky buggers you.