roseys posey

I made a mess of the message!

2010-02-07T11:58:00.006Z

Hiya, and greetings from Africa.

Oh gosh, I really am a bit embarrassed to tell you about this, but when I saw Sunday Scribblings was asking us to write about a message I suddenly remembered something that happened when I was teenager.

You see, I used to have a little weekend job in an old folks home. We used to call it the home for the bewildered because most of the residents were rather ancient and didn’t have much idea what day it was, let alone where they were! I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but that was pretty well how it was.

As I recall I got a message from my supervisor with a few things I had to do as soon as I arrived at work. Now either I was given the message wrong or I misunderstood it and got muddled up. My first job was to wheel Mrs Grimshaw (I've forgotten their real names now so I'll have to make some up - it was a very long time ago) down to the little hair salon we had in the home, and I was to explain that she was to have a curly perm and a wisteria rinse. I thought at the time it was bit odd because Mrs Grimshaw had longish grey hair which made her look a little like a witch, and I couldn’t imagine why she’d want to change her look. Actually she had what I thought was a crystal ball in her room, but it turned out it was one of those glass things you shake to see a snowstorm! Anyway she wasn’t too keen on being told to change her hairstyle but I explained that it was treat from her son and as he paid for her to be there and was visiting her in the afternoon she’d better have it done. I'll never forget that look she gave me!

While she was being transformed I got on with the next job from the message and gave a couple of old dears an early lunch, I can’t remember why. One of them, Miss Trubshaw was to have a special soup brought in by her daughter. Apparently it was her favourite, not that you’d have thought so because she said it was disgusting, and in any case she told me she was allergic to tomatoes. I laughed and told her not to make silly excuses!

What was next? Oh I know. I had to get Mr Potter to take some pills to calm him down! I know that sounds funny, but the message told me that he gets overexcited on visiting days and has been known to pinch the nurses bottoms! There was one other job. What was it? Oh yes I was to take Mr Bumstead for a walk in the garden to get some fresh air. He really enjoyed it at first. I was a bit shocked though when he slapped my behind and told me what a pretty little filly I was! And then he started sneezing. Not once or twice, but over and over again, so I took him back to his room.

About two o’clock the visitors started arriving. All the residents were sitting in the day room. First in was Mrs Grimshaw’s son, and he couldn’t find her. I pointed to her, and he said that she wasn’t his mother; his Mum had grey hair not blue. I said it wasn’t blue it was wisteria. Well don’t know about wisteria, hysteria would have been a better word! He was not happy when he saw what we’d done to her grey locks. Then it was the turn of the Trubshaws. I saw them clasp there hands over their mouths and I realised what they had seen. Mrs Trubshaw had turned a shade of bright red! And it got worse. Mr Potter was fast asleep and snoring like a good’en and his family were trying to shake him awake. As for Mr Bumstead, he was still sneezing but despite that he still managed to give his daughter in law a goosing.

Then everything began to fall into place. I was asked to go to my supervisors office where I was given a bit of a telling off. I still claim I was given the message wrong. It seemed that Mrs Trubshaw should have gone to the hair salon, and she did have an allergy problem with tomato soup. The soup was for Mrs Grimshaw. As for Mr Potter, he was supposed to go out into the garden for a walk. Those calming pills which sent him to sleep were for Mr Bumstead who was normally kept clear of the garden as he suffered from hay fever.

It was suggested to me that perhaps my talents lay elsewhere and we came to a mutual decision that I should leave and get a job in a shop or something! Whether or not the fault was mine, I didn’t feel I wanted that sort of responsibility at my tender age!

Must go now, I’m running out of change with which to feed this rickety old computer!

A note from afar!

2010-01-26T16:25:00.004Z

It’s me! Rosey! I’ve found an internet cafe in a village not far from where I live. I use the term cafe lightly! It’s certainly not the sort of place you’d come to for lunch! I just had a cup of coffee – it was SO bitter it nearly sucked me inside out! They sell a local beer here. I don’t know what’s in it but a few feet away from me a group of men are sitting at a table covered with empty bottles and they are sort of swaying. Actually it could have something to with what they’re smoking! I’m trying to ignore them but right now all I can see out of the corner of my eye are ten sets of grinning teeth and twenty swimming eyes! It is a problem being the only white-skinned blonde-haired female in the area. That’s not strictly true, because I’ve never really felt threatened in any way. Having said that I never stray far from home on my own, and right now my friend who is a fellow teacher from school with me. His name is Nangwaya which apparently means ‘don’t meddle with me’ so I feel pretty safe when he’s looking out for me! Apparently the web is not a very reliable round here. Broadband doesn’t exist in the parts so if I suddenly stop midsentence don’t worry!

Oh golly-gosh, have you heard about those full body scanners they are putting into airports? How embarrassing. They were trying them out at Heathrow when I flew out a couple of weeks ago and was asked if I minded going through one. I didn’t think anything of it at the time and I said I didn’t mind. After all it was bad enough having to stand there barefoot and holding my jeans up (they made me take my belt off), I didn’t think it could get any worse. When I got through someone commented that I’d been brave to volunteer. I asked what she meant and she explained that the person looking at the screen could see all of me – underneath my clothes! I had no idea. Thank goodness I had clean underwear on! Apparently it’s soon becoming compulsory so I have decided to try and track down some lead-based wool so I can knit myself a lead bra and knickers! That’ll fool them!

At school we’ve been practicing native songs to sing to group of tourists that are visiting the village tomorrow. The songs we normally sing are pretty much the same as kids sing back home, but I don’t think our visitors would be very impressed if we treated then to an African version of Row Row Row the Boat or The Wheels on the Bus go Round and Round! We’ve also been making handicrafts which we sell to provide extra funds for the school. Guess what, I’ve even got some of them involved in my hobby, knitting, although the demand for woollen gloves and scarves is pretty limited in these parts!

I’m out of change and the computer will switch itself off in a moment, so I’ll stop now. Hopefully I’ll be back on my blog thing again soon.

Love

I'm home for Christmas!

2009-12-21T00:00:00.003Z

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It’s me, Rosey! I’ve come back for Christmas. I’ve only got a couple of weeks here and then it’s back to Africa for a few months. So much to do and so little time.

I’ve got to see Keithy, visit Fuz and Scruf, take a look at the allotment, meet up with my friends, buy some wool and knitting needles, and pop into school before the kids break up on Tuesday.

I’m hoping there will still be some snow on the ground. I remember having a snowball fight in the playground last winter. It was so embarrassing – I got snow in my eyes so I couldn’t see where the snow I was throwing was going! (that rhymes!). It took the head teacher all afternoon to dry out!

It’s strange to think that the children in my school in Africa have never seen snow, except in pictures. Most of them never will. It would be wonderful if there was a way I could take a snowman back with me!

Must go, things to be getting on with. I’ll try and leave a few words here before I fly away again. In the meantime, have a great Christmas. I know I will!
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2009-09-06T22:42:00.008+01:00

I don’t like long goodbyes so I’ve decided to slip away quietly. When the sun comes up on a brand new day I’ll be above the clouds and on my way to my new life 8000 miles away working with children in Namibia.

I bade farewell to my parents this afternoon, and before travelling to the airport I met my friend Keith who thought I was still to be here for a few weeks more. In fact I had told him a little white lie. For once he was speechless!

And just for once I was able to quote from a poem! ‘Don’t speak’ I told him. ‘Words will only steal the moment’

I’ll leave you with a photo which for me says more than words can ever do.

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Will you miss me?

2009-09-02T22:36:00.003+01:00

I’m in a rut! I really am. I’m thirty years old and I’ve done nothing with my life. So I have decided to break free!

Loads of my friends are married - several have children, but I haven’t, so I reckon this is the moment to add a little adventure to my existence.

I love my job to bits. Working with kids is great fun, but I’m not a real teacher and to be honest my job could never really be termed a career. I’ve got my allotment which is fab, but giving it up is hardly going to make an impression on third world starvation. I knit like crazy, but I’m running out of people who want scarves and mittens.

So I’ve decided to take a few months out, and use my freedom to do a little bit for the planet or its people. I want to get away and look at my life from a distance. Then I can hopefully make a contribution somewhere in the world whilst at the same time decide exactly where I’m going from here.

I love penguins so my friend Whitesnake suggested I see if there were any opportunities down in the Antarctic. He thought that with nothing but ice and flightless birds around me I’d have plenty of opportunities for reflection. And he thought that maybe I could do my bit to help save the planet down there where things seem to be going wrong.

Trouble is, I can’t see myself going anywhere without things like my hairdryer. Call me vain, but that’s how it is. It occurred to me that every time I turned it on I’d melt a bit more ice and that would defeat the object of the exercise! And of course, if I took my fabulous water bed it would probably freeze solid!

Then I heard about something called VSO. I believe it stands for Voluntary Service Overseas. Actually it was a teacher at my school who told me about it and she thought that I could get a job similar to the one I have now, but working in a village in Africa with children less privileged than those I currently look after.

That was several weeks ago and I’ve now applied for a placement in Namibia. They told me that education there is suffering due to high incidence of aids in the country. Many teachers and assistants are unable to work as they have either contracted the disease themselves or have to look after family members who are sufferers.

If all goes to plan I’ll be away in three weeks. My cats Fuzzybut and Scruff are going to stay with a friend and I’ll rent out my flat to give me a little income whilst I’m away doing unpaid work.

I’ve decided not to continue with my blog while I’m away. Instead I’ll keep Keithy up to date with my goings-on and he’ll let you know what I’m up to.

So, please don’t forget me! I certainly won’t forget you and I hope you’ll all still be around when I get back. I’m missing you already! xxx

Always the bridesmaid!

2009-08-23T18:20:00.007+01:00

Hey, it's Sunday Scribbling time again! Today we have a one word prompt and it's ADULT!

Over the last few years I’ve been to lots of weddings. So many of my mates and cousins have got themselves spliced. Then they seem to go from being fun loving party animals to rather dull couples who enjoy nothing more than a night in beside the telly with a nice cup of tea.

I have of course,become an expert in the duties of the Bridesmaid and the (wait for it) Matron of Honour! Me a matron! Wooo!

And I every time I perform my role my Father says the same thing ‘Miss Rosemary Pinkerton, always the bridesmaid never the bride’. Grrrrrrr!

Most of the nuptials take place in damp dark grey walled churches where a bored looking vicar spouts the usual stuff about obeying and procreating children. And almost without fail a nervous friend of the couple will go to lectern and read a piece from the bible – a book they have probably never seen since they were in RE classes at school!

And it’s always the same bit – Corinthians Chapter 13 which goes on like ‘love is patient, love is kind, is not jealousies, not pompous, it is not inflated (beg pardon?) it is not rude (he-he!)

But the bit that makes me want to stamp my size eight on the floor is the bit which says’ When I was a child, I used to talk as a child, think as a child, reason as a child; when I became a man, I put aside childish things’.

Obviously I’m not a man, but it’s not that makes me cross. You see, the thing is I still like to talk as a child as many of you are only too aware! I have no intention of putting away childish things - my Teddy stays exactly where it is!. And when faced with a problem I find it much easier to work through it if I reason like a child. I have no problem with being a child and an adult at the same time. And ok, I admit it - I still suck my thumb when I go to bed. If all that has to go, then marriage 'aint for me!

You always hear people saying ‘Ooo, I love children’. But how often do you hear someone say ‘Ooo I love adults’. It’s just not the same.

As many of you know I enjoy the best of both worlds because I landed the best job in the universe. I’m a classroom assistant to a teacher with a class of seven and eight year olds and I spend my days at play whilst getting paid for it.

When I’m shopping I see many of the kids from my class in the mall and so often they are dressed like mini adults. If only they realised how precious the innocence of childhood is, they wouldn’t be in such a rush to leave it behind. I rest my case!

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This is a bit rude ......sorry!

2009-08-21T20:03:00.008+01:00

George and Mary had never been abroad before. They didn’t trust foreigners, and they heard that the food in other countries was different from ours. They didn’t mind the odd Indian curry, but they really preferred English things like fish and chips and sausage and mash. They weren’t sure how they’d get on with the language either but someone told them not to worry because in Spain everyone spoke English. So when they decided to be adventurous, the Costa del Sol it was. Viva Espana!
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They soon found out that almost every restaurant in their resort offered English food - the all-day breakfast fry up and Steak and kidney pie appeared on almost every menu. But one day George decided that they should be a little more adventurous so they wandered into a Spanish restaurant in search of something a little more local.

The menu was written in two languages but even in his native tongue George found it a little difficult to work out quite what was on offer, so when the waiter approached they thought it best to ask for his recommendation.
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‘¡Buenas noches!’ he said with a flourish of his arms ‘iu‘nuestra comida especial es hoy guisado de la bola' He could tell by the look on Mary’s face that he was not getting through to them. He started again. ‘Good evening madam and sir’ he said ‘today spezial deesh eeze guisado de la bola’
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Rather than get into a difficult conversation with the waiter they decided to order two of the special dishes.

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Well, they were pleasantly surprised. They were each given a thick stew with two enormous meatballs in the bottom. It was delicious although there was a little more than Mary could manage. They asked the waiter to tell them what exactly the meatballs were and through by using a combination of ‘Spanglish’ and hand signals (some which embarrassed Mary) he explained that when the matadors killed the bulls at the local bull ring the unfortunate animals testicles where supplied to the restaurant to use in their special dish.
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Anyway, the day before George and Mary were due to return to the UK they thought it would be fun to go back to the restaurant and order two more portions of guisado de la bola. But when it arrived they were a little disappointed. Instead of two enormous meat balls in each there were two tiny ones. George called the waiter over and asked why it was different from the last time they had it
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‘Ah señor’ he said ‘Today ze unfortunate matador he lost’

Now you are probably wondering why I told you that story! Well, it’s because I came across a great recipe for this under rated and very cheap cut of meat . It's a Spanish twist on Hungarian goulash and I thought I’d share it with you!

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cocido húngaro del testículo

2-3 tablespoons vegetable oil
4kg of bull testicles
2-3 onions chopped
A beef stock cube
1 clove garlic crushed
ground pepper
thyme chopped
mint herb chopped
small can tomato puree
salt
1 tbsp plain flour
200ml Spanish white wine
1 tablespoon honey
2 squares cooking chocolate

Cut testicles into thin slices. Fry briefly, adding finely chopped onion, garlic, black ground pepper, tomato puree and chilli pepper. Cook while gradually adding water. When nearly finished, add white wine. When wine evaporates a bit, add beef stock cube, pepper, thyme, red pepper, mint herb and a tablespoon of flour. Mix all well until wine completely evaporates and at the very end add honey and chocolate.

Serve with crusty bread and a bottle of Rioja!

My dinner party

2009-08-16T21:51:00.019+01:00

Here is my Sunday Scribblings post. It's about a fantasy dinner party

Now this is fun! I’m going to hold a pretend dinner party for eight people including me. I’m going to have a mixture of people including a couple of dead ones! Obviously I don’t want corpses sitting there. I’ll get a few batteries to make sure they get going! I think it will be a good idea to chose people who each have a talent which they can use to entertain us.

I’m sure if Keithy has started reading this he’ll be busily scanning down the page to see if he’s invited! Well, I’ve not decided yet. We’ll see how we get on..

Did I tell you I’ve got a karaoke machine? I love it although I’m not so sure my neighbours share my enthusiasm! I reckon a couple of songs would be just the thing to get the party going, and the best person to kick it off would be Luciano Pavarotti! Actually he’ll probably need more than a couple of Duracell's to get him fired up. I might have to plug him into the wall! I think he should start with Nessan Dorma. Keith once tried to tell me that it was a song about the Loch Ness monster! Another time he told me it was about a new Japanese car. But I know exactly what it’s about because Nessan Dorma means ‘you shall not sleep’ in Italian. So I think that’ll be the perfect tune to set the theme of the evening. As he is Italian he probably likes spaghetti and meatballs so I’ll put those on the menu .

I could take the easy route and just invite my blogging mates, but I’m not going to do that. The only one I might bring along is Whitesnake. Actually I might have to warn him to behave himself. He can be a bit rude at times. Hey, did you see his Carry On Tuesday poem last week? I was so embarrassed when I read it. You can click here to see it if you want but it’s not for the easily offended! I’ll put him in charge of jokes and witty remarks and just hope he behaves himself. Now, he comes from down under so I’d better get some kangaroo meat.

We need a thespian. I love that word. Thespian! I think I’ll invite Johnny Depp. I’ll insist he comes dressed in his pirate fancy dress from his films. I want him to have a parrot on his shoulder and a hook in the place of one hand! What food can he eat with a hook? I know - sausages! I’ll get him to stand up and recite Shakespeare ‘What's in a name? That which we call Rosey by any other name would smell as sweet’.

Do you think the Queen would come? Last year I went to her garden party at Buckingham Palace so I suppose it’s only polite to ask her in return. I know she likes cucumber sandwiches and fairy cakes because that’s what she gave us but I don’t they would be right at my dinner party. There is a dessert called Queen of Puddings, so we could have that.

Now there’s one person you won’t have heard of. He’s Jeremy Dawson and we know him from the pub. He is a children’s entertainer and does amazing things with his balloons! He also paints kids faces and I thought it would be fun if he were to paint ours. I’d like to look like a cat. Quite what he’d do to the Queen I don’t know! His party piece is to produce a rabbit from down his trousers. Actually he’d probably like us to have some of my famous rabbit pie!

I thought I’d also invite Alice. You know, that pretty little girl with the looking glass who comes from Wonderland. She must have some amazing stories to tell. She should feel quite at home sitting at the table with us because I remember seeing a film of her at the Mad Hatters tea party. As she’s a child she’ll probably want a McDonald's.

Do you remember me telling you about Bert? He’s got the allotment next to mine and he has grown the most amazing vegetables this summer. Mine haven’t really got going yet. The other day he had in his hand the biggest carrot I’ve ever seen! It made my eyes water! His curly kale is legendary and as for his cucumbers – words fail me. I don’t think he’ll be a bundle of laughs at my dinner party but if I invite him I should get my vegetables for nothing. I suppose he could have half an hour of so answering our gardening questions. I understand the Queen is quite an expert in the cultivation of radishes. At least I think that’s what I heard.

How are we doing? We’ve got Pavarotti, Whitesnake, Johnny Depp, The Queen, Jeremy the balloon man, Alice , Bert and me. Great. That’s eight of us. Any minute now my phone
will ring and it’ll e Keithy asking why he’s not invited! I have an idea. He used to be a chef so I’ll get him to cook for us! Sorted.

Now this is going to be fun!

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I love my cats!

2009-08-10T21:34:00.012+01:00

This is my go at Carry On Tuesday 13

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We think we know the ones we love
I thought I knew my cat
Until one day he left for me
A dead mouse on my mat .
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Actually I’ve got two cats, Fuzzybut and Scruff and I love them to bits. But I couldn’t rhyme cats (plural) with mat (singular)!

And I do love my cats; it’s just that I don’t know them very well. I know what they like to eat, I know where they find most comfortable – on my bed or on my lap! But what goes on in their devious little minds is a mystery. I mean, they should know that I hate mice, dead or alive. I thought they hated them too because one day when a mouse ran across my bedroom I jumped up on my bed and they jumped up too! So I really didn’t expect them to deposit one on the rug in front of my fireplace!

My friend Keith is a bit anti-pussy (oh! that sounds terrible!!) He thinks that cats are inherently evil and they prowl around planning the day when they’ll rule the world. I’m not certain he really thinks that, because he does have a habit of winding me up in the hope I’ll believe him then make a fool of myself in front of our friends! I’m not convinced.

Someone once told me that cats are loners. They only sit on you because the like the warmth from your legs. They say that cats are only affectionate because they need you to feed them! They also say that dogs have masters and cats have servants.

I suppose dogs are quite clever. After all, if you throw a ball they’ll fetch it and bring it back- I can’t imagine Fuzz and Scruff doing that. And dogs help blind folk cross the road and that’s very clever too. But when I look into my cats eyes I get the feeling that they are thinking deep thoughts. Perhaps cats are the clever ones and they have a little smile to themselves when they see dogs performing for their masters while they sit around just purring, preening and being waited on.

So what I’m saying is that I love my cats but I’ll never really know them. As for men they are even more difficult to get to know. On second thoughts I’m not going there! Hey, I feel another poem coming on!.

Dogs they bark and cats just purr
Dogs have hair and cats have fur
But when it come to which is best
I know which pet that I prefer!

The journey

2009-08-03T00:27:00.003+01:00

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This week I've combined Carry On Tuesday with Sunday Scribblings!
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It was several years ago. Quite a few in fact. I could only have been about sixteen, but I remember it as if it was yesterday.

My parents decided that we’d go away for a weekend camping. I was so excited. Up until then the only holidays I’d had were in posh hotels – we even went on a cruise ship once. All of my friends had been camping and I’d always been envious of them. All those stories of spooky noises in the night, creepy crawlies tickling you and having a pee behind a bush! It sounded GREAT!!! I was so anticipated! (Oh dear, that doesn’t sound right but you know what I mean!). But my story is in the journey, not the destination.

My father being my father would never have been satisfied with any old tent. No, ours was the size of a bungalow! It had two bedrooms and a main room – my mother called it a drawing room! In a tent, whatever next! Well, we had quite a big car but it wasn’t big enough for our tent to go inside so he tied it to a rack thingy on the car roof! I was crammed into the back seat surrounded by cases and bags, but I didn’t mind because I was so excited.

So off we went, charging up the motorway heading for the New Forest in Hampshire. We hadn’t got very far before I became aware of lots of hooting noises behind us. I looked out of the back window and I noticed that the cars behind us were falling back and the drivers seemed to be waving. I waved back thinking that they were being friendly, but then I realised that they were pointing at the roof of our car. I told Daddy that there was something wrong and he told me not to be stupid and suggested we play Eye Spy.

Then I heard the screeching of tyres, and through the back window I watched cars going this way and that like so many dodgems, and our tent was bouncing down the road between them. I thought it was so funny!It was like something out of a comedy film! Daddy however was not amused. He was more worried about his tent than the possible carnage he could have caused.

The police were not too impressed. Gave him a lecture which he didn’t exactly enjoy. We eventually got it fixed back on the roof and when the police were satisfied it was safe, we carried on our way.

A few miles later we had to turn off into a narrow road. It was very windy and went up and down a lot. We climbed up one hill and when we got to the top there was a sharp corner then a steep drop downhill. Daddy went around and down a little too fast and we almost ended up in a ditch. And then a tractor pulled out of a gateway right in front of us and Daddy slammed the brakes on so hard that I nearly shot out of my seat! You should have heard the language! Then the funniest thing happened – the tent broke free again and catapulted through the air and straight into the trailer on the back of the tractor! I was desperately trying not to laugh, so much so that I nearly wet myself!

We eventually stopped the tractor and got the tent back. Dad had a word with the farmer driving the tractor and we arranged to pitch our tent on his farm instead of going to the New Forest.

The holiday was a letdown. It rained, my clothes got wet and my magazines got wet too. Peeing behind a bush was not nearly as much fun as I thought it would be and I got stung by a wasp. Mummy couldn’t get the hang of the camping stove and the final straw was when a gust of wind blew the tent down.

But the journey to the camp was fun and it made the whole thing worthwhile. I’ll certainly never forget it.

I went to Goodwood!

2009-07-29T15:37:00.009+01:00

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Hey, I had a great time yesterday! I went with Keithy and his daughter and our friends to the horse racing at Goodwood! I used to go quite often with my parents when I was younger and that was always boring because my father used it for ‘networking’ or so he said. As far as I could see it was a way he had of splashing the companys money around then claiming it as business expenses at the end of the year.

But this was much more fun, because we went there in a big black sausage of a car which was filled with champers and chardonnay! Heaven on wheels!
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When we got there we spent the evening either at our table near a jazz band (they were awful, but Keith seemed to like them. Can’t think why! They were so ancient they had to stop to get their breath back between each number) or going down to the trackside to place a bet or watching the races from the grandstand.

Have you ever done betting? It’s so confusing. Most people take it so seriously. Apparently they study something called form. They agonise over which nag to put their cash on then they watch their chosen horse lose! Me? I go for the nicest names! But it’s the numbers that confuse me. You have to make a decision on whether or not to bet based on numbers called ‘odds’. It can be like 100 to 6 or whatever. On the first race I didn’t know what to bet on so I went for a horse with a funny name, and the odds said even! What’s that all about? Anyway it won so I went down to get my winnings and he said I didn’t get anything except my ‘stake’ back, another word I hadn’t used before except when talking about grilled meat. After that I decided to take someone with me who understood such things.

It’s really funny watching the race because everyone gets so excited and they shout a yell. Things like ‘come on my son’ or ‘yes, yes, yes’. I joined in with the screaming during one race and Keith told me I was shouting for the wrong horse. I told him I knew but the one I was cheering on had a jockey with a nice bum and a pretty coloured shirt! Well, it’s only natural isn’t it girls.

It’s funny watching the people between races. Lots of the women had obviously spent fortunes on dresses and hats so they could look sophisticated a sheik. But by the middle of the day after they had sunk a jug or two of Pimms their hats were all skew-wiff and their dresses all over the place!

Oh, you must see this picture! As you can see Keith was really enjoying himself! I don’t know who they were or where he found them!

Anyway, I have to go now. I’ve got to get down to my allotment and dig some dirt! Bye.
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Where in the World quiz!

2009-07-24T21:18:00.009+01:00

The Sunday Scribblings post this week is Where in the world.

Hey gang, listen to this! A survey this week found that one in five British children could not find the UK on a map of the world. What? That’s a disgrace.

So I thought it would be fun to have a quiz called Where in the World. I’ve got a few pictures, 20 I think, and I want you to look at them and then tell me where in the world they were taken. It's so easy!! (it is for me ‘cos I’ve got the answers!)

To make it more interesting I’ll offer a prize. In fact I’ll make it even more interesting and give a prize to the 3 people with the highest scores! The prizes will be limited edition Rosey Pinkerton china tea/coffee mugs!

The pickies are a bit tiddly and for some reason clicking on them makes them smaller! Hopefully though you'll be able to make them out. If anybody gets more than 5 right I'll be very surprised and more than a little impressed!
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When you have finished leave me a comment at the bottom and email me your answers to me at roseypinkerton@aol.com ! What a hoot!

So, here goes. The time starts..........NOW!

Keith will probably moan at me. I can hear him now.'The Sunday Scribblings prompt is to encourage and promote literary prowess and excellence young Rosemary, and you my girl are trivialising it'.

But I don't care. Have fun!

The big plan!

2009-07-19T19:37:00.011+01:00

This weeks prompt at Sunday Scribblings is The Plan which is quite funny because last weekend I had a plan, but unfortunately it didn't ecxactly go to err.. plan!

Last weekend I devised a plan. It was all to do with my newly acquired allotment. It was some time ago that I got the keys but I’m ashamed to say I’ve done nothing with it. Obviously I’m not going to be up and running in time for this year’s flower and vegetable show. The plot has been left to grow wild for some time, and it’ll take a whole season to get it back to a suitable condition in which to produce award winning specimens.

I think I was a little overambitious when I came up with the plan. I wrote it out in verse to make it sound less daunting and I pinned it to the wall of my shed. This is it:-

To pull the weeds

And dig the ground

To sow some seeds

Put fence around

Plant some plants

and paint the shed

and drink some wine

Then home to bed

I didn’t tell you did I? I found some really funky pink boots to wear when I’m gardening and I also found some quite glamorous gloves too! I bought a terribly pretty apron and I came across the prettiest straw hat to keep the sun off my head.

Meanwhile back to the plan. Well I started tugging at the weeds but they just kept snapping. Several times I pulled and pulled and then suddenly they came free sending me flying backwards and onto my derry air! (Why is ones hind quarters often referred to as a derry air? Perhaps Danny Boy knows!)

Anyway I soon got fed up with that. Old Bert in the next allotment watched me for a while. He leaned on his spade with a little grin on his face. After a while he came over and suggested it might be better if I treated the plot with weed killer. I said there was no way I would put anything down that would kill the little creatures of the undergrowth except possibly those creepy things with a hundred legs. (imagine if they needed socks and trousers! It would take all day for them to get dressed!)

He said there were some orgasmic weed killers (I think he meant organic, at least I hope he did! He was looking at me in a most peculiar way) so I decided to heed his advise and leave it for next weekend.

I managed to dig some of the ground but not a lot. I need to put that off too until the weeds have gone. As a result my plan to sow seeds fell on stony ground (that’s quite funny!!!)

I did manage to hammer in the little panels of fence. They are like wooden uprights with points on top and only about 18 inches tall. But they mark my territory well. I am even considering painting the fence to match the shed but that might be a little over the top.

Fortunately the weed situation didn’t stop me planting the plants my Dad gave me. They are already established and just needed a hole in the ground and some water to get them settled in.

Then the time came to paint the shed! I went inside and changed into some old clothes. I had to crouch down below the window as old Bert was still looking in my direction and I haven’t got round to knitting my curtains yet. There are just some of those net ones that old people like.

When I paint I do make a bit of a mess! I suppose I should have done a bit of preparation but I was so excited that I decided just to crack on. In all honesty the shed is a bit past it. I’ll probably have to buy a new one next year but in the meantime I’ll make do and make it as homely as I can.

The result is really quite ...startling! After all a pink shed is a little unusual on an allotment. I don’t think Bert is too impressed. He said it looks like a knocking shop whatever that is. He asked if I was going to hang a red light over the door. I told him not to be so silly. I've had to throw out a few old chairs and things ready for when I install my chaise longue (have I spelt that right?)

Actually its quite funny because I now have lots of pink weeds too and they are extremely rare!

The next part of my plan was the simplest. I took with me a couple of bottles of white zinfandel because the colour of the wine goes so well with the newly rendered exterior of the shed (why isn’t it called pink zinfandel? Another of life’s mysteries). Silly me forgot the most essential tool on my allotment – a corkscrew, but Bert came to rescue by pushing the cork down into the bottle with a screwdriver. Unfortunately it resulted in a plume of my wine shooting up into the sky and down again into my eye! What a waste. My friends Josh and Kate suddenly appeared, I swear they have a special radar which tells them when I’m opening a bottle! Bert sloped off and the three of us toasted my new venture – or should that read ADventure?

I wrote a little rhyme to end the day. Sadly I can’t remember it but I seem to recall it ended with the lines

Paint upon my chinny-chin

Paint upon my wrists

I’m sitting here

And drinking wine

I feel quite pinky pissed!

Bye bye for now!

Moan moan moan

2009-07-11T00:00:00.004+01:00

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I don’t ask for much. All I wanted was an early night. Just look at the time, it’s nearly midnight. It’s no good trying to go to sleep now, the moments passed. And do you know why? Because Keith just came on the phone and moaned because I forgot his birthday today!

Well, Actually I didn’t forget it. How could I? It was my birthday today too. And mine was more important ‘cos it hit the big three-oh! I had a lovely time tonight with my parents by the way.

Ok, so he posted me a card and sent some flowers. But there was no point in me sending him anything because he was away on a training course. I knew it finished today but I didn’t think he’d get back today because I’m certain he said it was in Switzerland. Now he tells me it was actually in Swindon and he said I must be going deaf! Bloody cheek.

Anyway I’m seeing him tomorrow night so he’ll just have to wait until then.

Oh my goodness – guess what? The other night, Thursday I think it was, he told me that they had a sort of jam session in the hotel bar (why do they call it a jam session? It’s not as if they sit eating strawberry conserve on toast!) Seems the two trainers both brought their guitars down and they had a sing song. If you know Keith then you know what I’m about to tell you. Yep, he sang that awful Ole Shep song again.

Did I tell you how that started? In case I didn’t I’ll tell you again (that doesn’t make sense but you know what I mean) Well, when Keithy was a mere lad of 17 he entered a charity talent night, and that’s the song he chose to sing. He always tells everybody he had the audience in tears. If you’ve ever heard him sing it you’ll quite understand why! Anyway, the charity the contest was raising money for a dog rescue centre. Only Keith could have chosen a song about a dog getting shot!

Well I am going to bed now. I must get some beauty sleep because tomorrow night we are having a joint birthday do, and I need to look my best. Actually, it's tonight, I've just noticed the time! Night night.

I’m back! I heard a dog joke the other day and I don’t get it. I know what you are thinking ‘Rosey never gets jokes’. But this one is so short it should be simple to get. It goes, ‘Why didn't the dog speak to his foot ? Because it's rude not to speak to your paw'. Is that funny? I don't think so.

About cousin Henry

2009-07-03T00:59:00.005+01:00

Fiction Friday this week wants us to write a story in which our character is committed to a drastic or extreme change. This is not actually fiction but I'm sure you won't mind!

I was very young and I didn’t understand. I had this cousin whom I adored, his name was Henry. He was much older than me. I was about six and he was at least sixteen. I used to think that when I was old enough to have a boyfriend I’d like one just like Henry.

Well, Henry’s family moved away and I didn’t see him for a couple of years. I say I didn’t see ‘him’, in fact I never saw ‘him’ again. I saw Henrietta!

I was little confused to say the least. I didn’t realised that boys could suddenly change into girls. I was more than confused, I was really worried. I mean, I loved being a little girl and the last thing I wanted to happen was for me to turn into a spotty scruffy boy!

My parents didn’t really talk about the dramatic change that happened to Henry. They didn’t seem particularly keen on his new look and when I asked what had happened they did that ‘you’ll understand when you’re older’ thing.

In my youthful innocence I didn’t realise that Henry had decided for himself to become Henrietta. I assumed that he’d woken up one day and found he was girl. Now this is where it gets a bit embarrassing. I was so terrified of changing that I used to keep a close watch on what was happening ‘down below’. I was convinced that one day I’d look down and see the start of one of those horrid boy things!

Obviously I understand all about it now. After all I’m thirty next week! I got used to Henrietta eventually and I even dressed up as fairy when he – sorry, she got married. However the wedding confused me even more because instead of her (he) marrying a fella, she (he) married a girl. That one I’ve never got my head round.

I’ve just remembered a joke. How do you define a transvestite? A man who likes to eat, drink and be Mary!

Bye x

Toys!

2009-06-28T21:27:00.003+01:00

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Sunday Scribblings has come up with the word 'Toys' as the prompt this week
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I’ve been on writing strike! My friend Keith (hey, I’ve done my first solo link!) had women problems (again) and said he’d got writers block (actually I think he was playing the sympathy card). Anyway I refused to write until he got his act together. Not that it did any good; I don’t think he even noticed!

Anyway, up popped this prompt about toys and I suddenly remembered that I had a box of my old toys stored away in my Ma and Pa’s attic. ‘Let’s dig it out Rosey’ I said to myself. Do you do that sometimes? You talk out loud to yourself and then feel a complete idiot! Fuzzeybut and Scruff (my kitties) looked at me as if I was mad!

While I think about it, have you ever heard Keith boast that he was married for twenty one years? What he doesn’t always say is that it was in three lots of seven!

Where was I? Oh yes, my toys. To cut a long story short I got the box from the attic (I don’t like going up there ever since I trod between the beams and put my foot through the ceiling plaster!) then blew the dust off the lid causing me to sneeze in a violent fashion, put it in my little car, took it home, opened it, sneezed again, and there they were! Lots of my childhood toys.

Unfortunately this is where my tale goes downhill. I was so excited about what I’d find, but as one by one I took out the toys, I thought that I must have been a very boring child indeed. I mean, most little girls had sparkly tiaras and angels wings. I had a policeman’s helmet and a strange back pack with a picture of a train on it. I’d forgotten that I never owned a Barbie doll or a jewellery box with a pirouetting plastic fairy on it. But I had an action man and an Oxo tin full of silly badges instead of girly necklaces and bracelets. I did find a Teddy bear, but even he had a sarcastic smirk on his face. I had a few toy cars, a cowboy gun and a book about tying knots. There was a catapult and a magnifying glass and a broken plastic skeleton.

It was SO depressing. Anyway, I packed it all away again and right now it’s sitting by my front door so I can take it back to my parent’s loft next time I visit them.

I’m sorry if I’ve made a few mistakes. Usually I run everything I write past Keith but right now it’s not worth the bother. Actually I don’t think I did too bad (sorry Keithy – I think that shoud read badly!)
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About my Aunt's cat.

2009-06-05T20:32:00.006+01:00

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The folks over at Fiction Friday have given us the following prompt.'Don't sit there' she commanded 'that's the cat's chair'
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I once had an ancient aunt. Great Aunt Maud she was called. Fortunately we didn’t often see her because she lived in an old folks home in the north of England several hundred miles away. Just her and her big round tabby cat called Moucher.

Now don’t ask me where she got that name from. I investigated it once and I found out that to moucher means to blow a child’s nose in French. But more interestingly it is also the name given to someone who smokes other people cannabis. I remember Great Aunt Maud used to smoke, and Moucher was probably a passive smoker, but weed? Not so sure. Mummy used to call it Mousetrap!

When I was a kid I was terrified of her. She was a little deaf but refused to use a hearing aid. She was clearly unaware of how loudly she spoke. Did I say spoke? Bellowed would be a better word to use!

I was, believe it or not a shy child, particularly when I was in the company of my Aunt. She would yell a question at me and I would start to answer, but as I spoke she would glare at me and my voice began to tail off! ‘Speak up gal!’ she would scream.

I suppose I was about twelve when I last saw her. It was our yearly visit and I can still see my parents and me filing into her room for our annual audience. There she sat, arms folded over her ample bosom and dressed in a blue and yellow floral dress the size of a tent! Her hair was skillfully sculpted and tinted in her favourite lilac colour. Wisteria she called it. ‘Sit child’ she boomed ‘you are making the place look untidy’

I backed toward a chair and started to sit down. ‘Don’t sit there,’ she commanded. ‘That’s the cat’s chair’. Unfortunately it was too late and I felt a soft lump of something under my bum. I jumped up again, turned round a there was Moucher, motionless,looking somewhat flatter than usual with its mouth open and two glassy eyes peering up into space.

I was mortified, and began crying uncontrollably. ‘Stop grizzling child’ she yelled. ‘Just plump him up then go and sit over there. I paid good money to have him stuffed when he passed over , but I didn’t intend him to be a cushion’.

When I told her I thought I’d killed Moucher she actually smiled. I’d never seen her smile before and I never did since. She also passed over. It wouldn’t surprise me if she’s still sitting there in her chair next to Moucher, both of them comfortably stuffed!

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My friend Keith asked me to remind you about Carry on Tuesday. The new prompt will be up on Sunday to give you plenty of time to compose your piece!
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About my dreams

2009-06-02T23:24:00.006+01:00

It's Carry On Tuesday again! If you want to know what it's all about click on here. This weeks prompt is There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams. What seems on not always as it seems...

Dreams are curious things. There are sleeping dream and waking dreams.

I mean, the other day I looked down and noticed I was wearing one black shoe and one blue shoe. I thought ‘never mind, it’s only a dream’. I actually was dreaming, but I was having a day dream in which I thought I was having a night dream. And I was wearing odd shoes much to the amusement of the kids in my class.

Waking dreams have often got me into trouble. I’m the first to admit that I am prone to daydreaming, and what makes matters worse is that I talk to myself during my daydreams! I get really carried away sometimes and do all the voices of the characters in my dream. How embarrassing! I also speak home truths during these little outbursts and they don’t always go down terribly well.

My sleeping dreams are usually good fun. Always when I hop into to bed I curl up and wait for my dream to start. It’s like going to the movies but without popcorn! I have the odd nightmare now and again, but that’s fine. After all, I love horror films.

The trouble with waking dreams is that they usually happen when you should be doing something else, and often you are convinced you’ve done something that you should have done when in fact you haven’t done it at all.

Just changing the subject for a moment, the other day I went into the school kitchen to see if I could find something to nibble. Chef wasn’t there and I noticed a big pot of something bubbling on the cooker. Ah, soup I thought. I found a ladle and put some into a mug. When I tried it YUC!I realised that it was the water in which chef was boiling her dirty tea towels. And the moral of this story? What steams is not always as it seems!

Covert Cheryl

2009-05-30T23:12:00.004+01:00

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It's Sunday Scribblings time again! This weeks word is Covert .

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I’ve got this friend called Cheryl. She’s got several jobs including one as a Special Needs teacher at my school. She also works behind the bar at the Bicycle Arms a couple of sessions a week, but the reason I’m telling you about her is that she also has a little job as a Mystery Shopper! You know, those sneaky covert people who walk into businesses pretending to be a customer when they are actually doing a secret appraisal of their hapless victim.

When she first told me about it I imagined her disguising herself by wearing a false beard and stuffing a cushion up her shirt in case she got recognised, but they usually send her far away from home so it can’t happen.

I thought she would get a voicemail which started "Your mission, should you choose to accept it..." But she doesn’t. She just gets phone call asking to go here or there and pretend she need a new cell phone or something.

She gets all manner of assignments. I get to go with her sometimes. The other day I went to a shoe shop with her and a few weeks ago we tried a restaurant! What A great job!

The funniest one was a weekend at an upmarket camp site. She had to take two friends with her for a whole weekend and stay in a holiday home which looked like a trailer but it didn’t have any wheels. Julie made up the three of us.

Soon after we got settled in Cheryl filled out her forms about the reception we got, the cleanliness of the home, what we thought of the bar and those sorts of things. Then it was time to party!

She popped down to the village and got some essential supplies. Cheryl came back with a take-out Chinese meal, chardonnay, champagne and chocolate (Gosh look at all those words beginning with ‘ch’! Ch ch ch ch ch - I sound like a steam train!)

A couple of hours later a party was in full swing. We turned the music up, (maybe a little too ‘up’) and that attracted a couple of guys who persuaded us to let them join in. Actually they were Australians and one of them was called Steve just like Whitesnake – you know, the bloke that leaves sarky comments at the bottom of my posts?

Anyway they brought some grog with them, a case of long necks, and in no time at all they were zonked. Then there was a bang on the door. Steve opened it and there was a sheila outside. She was a bit of a grizzle and told us to go bite our bums. Steve said she was bloody galah but probably bangs like a dunny door!

The upshot was that in the morning we were asked to leave the site. Not surprising really! I asked Cheryl if she’d get the sack, but she said of course not because the site owners thought she was a private customer. Between us we filled in the remaining forms, guessing about the standard of things like the entertainment, the swimming pool and the shop so her boss thought we'd stayed all weekend! How naughty! We had a ball and Cheryl got paid! Reeeeesult!
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About Keithy's Big 500

2009-05-28T23:02:00.011+01:00

Hey, have you seen Keith’s blog? He’s just published his 500th post! What? Unbelievable.

Mind you he does spend an awful lot of time hunched over his computer. Take my advise and don’t ever ring him when he’s being ‘creative’. You’ve probably heard him complaining about people who use swear words. ‘Pure laziness’ he says. ‘Shows a poor command of the English language’ he says. He certainly gets lazy if you ‘interrupt his thought processes’!

Oh, I must tell you what happened today. I felt a complete idiot. I was buying a ticket for the train, because I was meeting Keithy for lunch in Bexhill (because that’s where he lives) and whilst I was queuing I couldn’t help noticing that one of the guys behind the ticket counter was pretty cool. Well when I got to the front of the line that funny electronic voice screeched ‘please go to position five’. Guess what? It was Mr Cool’s position! He gave me a lovely smile and said ‘How may I help you?’ I decided against saying the first thing that came into my mind (it was a little rude) and told him I needed a ticket to Eastbourne. He pointed out that this was Eastbourne and chuckled. How embarrassing!

So I tried again and asked him for a ticket to Bexhill. Then he looked at me with that great big smile and said ‘Single?’

I thought ‘Wa-hey! I think he’s chatting me up’ so I looked him straight in the eye, moved my hand to where he could see I had no wedding ring, and half whispered ‘Yes, single’.

Then he went all serious and started tapping the keys on his machine and a ticket popped out. ‘£4.60 please’ he said. I said it was usually £6.20 and he said that £6.20 was the price of a return ticket. I said that I needed a return ticket so I could come home and he said ‘You asked for a single’. I felt a right prat, I can tell you!

Where was I, Oh yes, Keith’s big 500. That’s it really, not much else I can say about it except that he asked me to tell you that there is a glass of champagne for you if you care to join him in his celebrations. I said that was daft, nobody is going to travel half way around the world for a sip of bubbly. He raised his eyes to the ceiling (the way he does) and said he was joking. And anyway, he doesn’t have any champers. All I got was a bottle of luke warm beer.

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About Molly Sue's great performance

2009-05-24T23:06:00.007+01:00

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My friend Keithy has been trying to persuade me to join in Carry On Tuesday, so I thought I'd have a go. The prompt is the opening of Siegfried Sassoons poem entitled Everyone Sang - Everyone suddenly burst out singing, and I was filled with such delight ..

She was the smallest child in my class. Little Molly Sue was knee high to a grasshopper we used to say! But what she lacked in stature she made up for personality, and when she smiled she could light up the dullest day. Having said that, she never really said very much. She didn’t need to. Her personality spoke for her.

What makes us different from the other schools in the town is that we encourage the kids to throw themselves into art. Our register is to say the least multi-national, and art is a way to involve and integrate children from many different cultures. And performance art is one of the most popular parts of our curriculum.

Every year we have a school concert. Like most schools it used to be held in our assembly hall, but such was the reputation of the show that a decision was made a few years back to move the production into the towns largest theatre so that the audience could include members of the public as well as family and friends.

And this is where little Molly Sue comes into the story. Every year she found herself as one of the background singers or dancers. Somehow, no one ever thought to push her to the front. Until she joined our class!

It was her final year in our school. In a few months she would be joining hundreds of kids at the ‘big school’. I decided to give her a starring role in the finale And the song we thought suited her best would be Castle on a Cloud, the song from Les Miserable sung by the young Cosette.

Straight away we began rehearsing. Her little voice was perfect for the song, and in no time at all she had made it her own.

The big night arrived. Every act during the performance had the audience shouting for more. And then it was time for the big finish.

Behind the closed curtain all three hundred children squeezed themselves onto the stage. The curtain went up and there, kneeling in front of them, was Molly Sue in her ragamuffin clothes bathed in a pool of light.

The soundtrack started. Molly opened her mouth and.....nothing. I can still see her face now.

Two thousand people looked on in silence, and she stared back. Tears began trickling down her cheeks as she tried to see me amid that sea of faces. I got out of my seat and walked toward the stage, but before I got there, the children behind her realised what was needed! A few at a time they started singing and then a few of the audience started joining in. Then suddenly everyone burst out singing.

Molly Sue wiped the tears away with the sleeve of her shirt and began to beam. By now I was standing in the wings. The song finished and I decided to start the soundtrack again, and she started to sing.

It was like listening to the voice of an angel. I couldn’t see for tears. It was spellbinding; there was hardly a dry eye in the house. When she finished the crowd remained silent for a second or two whilst they got back their breath, then two thousand people stood as one. The applause was deafening. I was filled with such delight.

I don’t have any pictures or film of her singing that night, but I have found this video on YouTube which is so like her performance that it could be her! I hope you enjoy it.

Am I worried? Well, actually, yes.

2009-05-22T23:27:00.004+01:00

On Sunday Scribblings this week we've been given the word Worry to write about.

' don't worry - be happy' by claudia alves on deviant art

I keep telling myself that I should worry more about the big things. I don’t mean elephants! (although perhaps I should because they are still being cruelly hunted) No, I mean big things like global warming and disappearing species and the global monetary crisis and poverty and emmisions and terrorism. Those sorts of things. But they all seem so much bigger than me. Does that make sense?

I get told to recycle things, use low voltage light bulbs, save water, use public transport, re-use my supermarket bags and ya-de-da-de-ya-de-da. I say “what difference can little ‘ole Rosey make?” and they say “if everyone took that attitude where would we be?” and I say “I suppose”, but I’m just not very good at being good.

Know what? I worry about not worrying enough about those great big things.

But I am a worrier (is that how you spell it? I’ll worry about that now!). If worrying was an Olympic sport I’d win gold for England! I worry about my nails, my clothes, my hair, and my makeup. When I go to bed I worry about oversleeping and being late for work in the morning. When I leave for work I worry in case I’ve left something turned on at home which should have been turned off. When I’m at work I worry about some of the children in my class when they seem upset about something. When I leave work I worry about whether or not I’ve done my job well enough, and when I get home I worry about eating the wrong food (bad food tastes so much better than good food)

Gosh, I sound a right misery-guts!

Anyway, I’ll leave you with a few words about worrying. I didn’t write it. You may have seen it before, I certainly remember it from years ago and it’s always remained in my mind (heck – what a clumsy sentence! Am I worried though? No!)

It’s called Two Things to Worry About.

There are only two things to worry about:

Either you are well or you are sick.

If you are well, there is nothing to worry about;

but if you are sick, there are two things to worry about:

either you will get well, or you will die.

If you get well, there is nothing to worry about;

if you die, there are only two things to worry about:

either you will go to heaven or to hell.

If you go to heaven, there is nothing to worry about.

But, if you go to hell you'll be so darned busy shaking hands with friends you won't have time to worry...

Its easier with the legs disconnected!

2009-05-13T18:56:00.007+01:00

It's Sunday Scribbling time again and I'm writing about disconnected legs

I walked past a store selling men’s suits today and it made me think about the fun I had when I worked for in a tailors shop for a few months after leaving my finishing school. It was called Frobisher, Purveyor of Gentlemen’s Attire. My Father was one of his customers, and I remember him telling me that his real name was Foster. He changed it to Frobisher because it sounded grander but no one was fooled!

I had to wear very dull clothes for work. It was during a stage in my life when I wore gear to shock, clashing colours, short skirts and enormous clomping shoes. At the shop I was in black and white with a tape measure around my neck.

Frobisher specialised in hand made suits. There was a workshop at the back which was run by Naylor. That's what he was called, not Mr Naylor or Nathaniel Naylor or anything like that. ‘Naylor the tailor could have been a sailor’ I remember saying one day. He had a couple of men sewing for him. I never spoke to them. They turned up at nine, quietly got on with the job then went at six. I’m not sure what their job title was. Seamstresses are ladies who make dresses, so perhaps they were seamen. No, perhaps not!

Part of my job was to measure the customers. Naylor stood next to me with a clipboard, and as I measured the clients arms and chests and things, he would lick his pencil (the way old people do) and write the figures down. The tape measure was a special one with the first six inches made rigid so I didn’t have to hold the top. This was so I could measure the inside leg without nudging ....... you know what!

Always when it became to this part, Naylor would say ‘Would Sir prefer to have a gentleman take this measurement?’ They usually said yes which was quite fortunate. I mean, the rigid part was only six inches long. I mentioned this to Naylor and he pointed out that most of our customers were elderly and shrinking, so six inches was more than sufficient! He thought that was funny and he said he was only pulling my leg.

Talking of pulling legs I didn’t realise that you could pull the legs off the dummies which stand in shop windows. We had four, two white, one black and one which was old and turning yellow and cracked. Actually I found them rather grim. They had no heads! They just stood there like victims of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre!

Anyway, I was told to change the suit on one of them. It felt odd standing in the window. It was like being on stage and everyone outside stared. I took off the tie, I left the shirt (Mr F said I could) and then I came to the trousers. I looked over my shoulder and noticed I had an audience of grinning young men. Well, I wasn’t sure what I was going to find inside the trousers. I loosened them, looked inside and found to my horror discovered that the dummy had no underwear on! ‘Be strong Rosey’ I thought, and with a flourish I yanked down the trousers. To my relief there was very little detail down there!

Then I had the job of putting the new trews on. As I said I didn’t know that the legs pulled off, so there I was with a virtually naked plastic man over my shoulder, heaving and pulling as hard as I could. Well, I came out in a sweat, I can tell you (actually ladies don’t sweat, they glow. It’s like they don’t fart, they let out love-puffs). When I eventually succeeded, I realised I’d put them on back to front! I thought that once the belt was on with the buckle facing forward, no one would notice. Wrong! Mr Frobisher was ‘not best pleased’ (one of his favourite expressions). He looked at me over his little half spectacles and said 'It's easier, Miss Pinkerton with the legs disconnected. He proceeded showed me how to take the dummy to pieces and from then on I never had a problem again. I tried to demonstrate my expertise at trouser removal in the pub one night, but I couldn’t find a volunteer!

Oh, I must tell you, one day we had a posh old lady enter the shop. ‘Girl’ she shouted ‘do you sell ladies intimate apparel?’ Well I didn’t know what she was talking about, so I glanced over to Tom, one of the assistants and he hissed ‘knickers’. I told him not to be rude to me, and then he whispered that the lady was asking if we sold knickers. Anyway, I told her that we only sold men’s clothes and I sent her on her way.

Tom told me a funny story about something he saw once when he had to hand some clothes to a man who in a changing room. The man was standing there in lacy knickers, stockings and suspenders! Honestly!

That reminds me, I once had a customer ask me if we sold suspenders. I said we didn’t, and that he needed to go to shop selling ‘ladies intimate apparel’ (my new favourite expression). 'Not for stockings my dear' he boomed, 'socks' He smiled then pulled up his trouser leg, and just below his knobbly knee he had a stretchy band with a strap attached which clipped onto his sock! ‘These are sock suspenders young’ lady he said. I’d never heard of such a thing. And guess what, Frobisher sold them! It’s amazing what secrets men keep hidden under their trousers!

That reminds me we also sold trouser braces in lots of colours and patterns. I didn’t realise people still wore them. Actually my friend Keith does now and again. He’s got a red pair which he loves. Once I couldn’t resist the urge to ping them! ‘Ouch’ he shouted. I told him that if he didn’t have those man-boobs he wouldn’t have felt a thing! We also sold bow ties which you had to tie yourself, not the ready made ones. But we didn’t sell spinning bow ties or those fabulous ones which squirt water!

We specialised in formal wear, morning suits which people wore to weddings (even in the afternoon) and dress suits. That’s an odd name. You’d expect a ‘dress’ suit to have a skirt! As far as I’m aware the only skirts men wear are those kilts. Did you know, men don’t wear anything under kilts? There was a shop which sold kilts just up the mall. I was thinking how embarrassing it would be if a man was trying one on and the curtains in the changing room weren’t quite closed. I asked if they had any jobs but they didn’t! Only joking!

One day an old fellow came in and said he needed a wescott.

‘A what-cott?’ I said.

‘A wescott’ he said ‘a white wescott’

‘Weally,a white wescot. Well, I’ll encwire’ I said (I didn’t really, I just made that up!)

I had no idea what he was talking about (again!) so I explained that I needed to ask Mr Frobisher. He told me that wescott is the correct pronunciation of waistcoat. How about that?

There is so much more I could tell you but I’ve taken up enough of your time already. I only stayed at Frobisher for a few months, but boy, I had fun!

PS. It occurred to me whilst writing this that my friends overseas may become a little confused by some of my terminology. For instance, suspenders in the UK are devices for holding up stockings (and socks!) and nothing else. Those stretchy things which stop men's trousers falling down are braces, and what Americans call pants, we call trousers. Pants to us are men's underwear. Its like US purses are our handbags and our our purses are those little chaps you put your money in. Confusing or what?!

If I could turn back time

2009-05-08T00:44:00.005+01:00

This is the prompt on Fiction Friday this week ‘A man is given the ability to go back in time and change one event in his life’. Well, ever the rebel, I’m going to change it! My piece will be fact not fiction, and about a woman not a man – moi in fact! I won’t be changing an event, but I’ll tell you about an event I wish I could change because it cost me money!

It was a few years ago, and I was wandering down the street with some loose change in my hand and somehow I dropped a penny on the pavement. As it was falling I thought ‘it’s only a penny, I’ll leave it’. And then I heard my grandmothers voice in my ear (not literally, she’d been dead ten years). ‘Look after the pennies and the pounds will look after themselves’. In retrospect I thought an awful lot in the few seconds it took for the penny to hit the ground!
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So, heeding Gran’s words I bent down to pick it up. Okay, so I did stop rather suddenly, but even so the woman behind me with a baby buggy shouldn’t have been following that close. She ran into my bum with a bump and knocked me head first onto a lamp post. ‘Ouch’ I said (actually that was not exactly what I said!)

And then I saw stars. Now I’m used to seeing stars at night, but not on a sunny summer’s day. Clearly all was not well. I also felt something wet and warm trickling down my chin. Last time that happened it was chocolate fondue but it didn’t taste like melted Cadbury’s so I figured it must be bloooood!

Next thing I know I’m sitting on a wheelie bed thing in Accident & Emergency at the hospital. To cut a tediously long story shorter, all I’ll say is that I was not terminally injured (obviously) and in no time at all I was sitting up wondering how the hell I was going to get home!
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Then it happened. An extremely good looking young man smiled at me! I smiled back, you would have too. He stopped and asked me if I was alright (my eyes had glazed over again!). I said I was fine considering my ordeal, and explained my predicament i.e. I was miles from home with no means of transport. He told me that he’d just visited his friend. My hint worked and in no time at all I was in his Merc heading towards town. (I noticed a sticker on his car which said he’d bought it from my father’s car dealership)

So that’s how I met Samuel. We became an item and it was nice.

We had a great time. I remember once he took me to a concert, but we didn’t stand in the auditorium because he was friend of the star and we stood in the wings (why do they call the side bits of a stage ‘wings’?). He was obviously very famous. I have to admit that when choosing a CD to play, I like Liberace best and find Ludacris ludicrous so I had no idea who he was.
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In fact I’ve forgotten again! You must know him. He’s tall, black, has a gold front tooth and loads of bracelets. He doesn’t sing, he’s a rapper and he sort of talks in a jerky way to loud backing music and says ‘man’ a lot.
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We went to a backstage party afterwards and I expected a sordid and debauched affair, but it was all very respectable. People wandered around with glasses of champagne and talked about the performance as if it had been fine art!

I got to know his parents quite well. His father knew my father, they both belonged to Rotary. He was an accountant (probably still is) and I remember thinking he didn’t look boring enough to sit looking at numbers all day. I told him it didn’t add up! Well I thought it was funny. Anyway, his family were clearly very high up the social scale because they had been invited to a garden party at Buckingham Palace as guests of Mr and Mrs Queen. I was invited too! How about that?

It was nice. We had little tiny sandwiches and bite size cakes. You could have a cup of tea or a glass of wine. I had wine. They didn’t have any of my favourite supermarket chardonnay, so I made do with a drop of Berrys' Chablis, Domaine du Colombier, Premier Cru 2006, a cheeky little number with a smooth texture and aromatic bouquet I was told. Sam said it was made from chardonnay grapes so I said I’d make do with it.

There was press photographer wandering around and he took a picture of me! Great I thought, Hello Magazine here I come!

I love to boast that I’ve met the Queen. Actually that’s not strictly accurate, because there were hundreds of people there I only saw the queen. At least I think I did. She was a long way off and from a distance one old lady in a hat covered with ribbons and bows looks very much like another!

As my friends know, Samuel and I didn’t last long. My fault, I’m not the settling down type. And I didn’t make the front cover of Hello, but a picture of me at Buck House did pop up in a minor national newspaper. By an amazing co-incidence an old school friend spotted it and managed to track me down. Sheila was her name. She was living in Ireland and she was about to get engaged to someone who was ‘in horses’. She insisted I jump on a plane (jump in a plane I think that should be) and go to the party, so I did.

We were in a big manor house with a classical string quintet playing in the corner. There were loads of people there all making idle small talk. Actually it was little boring, although I’ve never said as much to Sheila.
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Well, there I was giggling over my glass of champers when I felt a tap on my shoulder (makes me sound like a sink!). I spun round spraying a bit of the bubbly stuff on some old fellows shoes, and there behind me stood Sheila with her parents. They didn’t remember me from our childhood, but then I didn’t remember then either! They did look a bit stuffy. Then Sheila said she wanted me to meet her fiancé Michael. I looked around expecting to see a wealthy horse trainer striding toward me, but I saw no one. Then I felt a kick on my shin. I looked down and there was Michael! ‘Oh’ I stammered. ‘Michael, you must he a jockey’ (it was the first thing that come into my head)

‘Oy am, ello dare’ he said (quick tip, if you read those words phonetically they should sound Irish for ‘I am, hello there’) I thought I’d lighten the occasion by cracking a couple of jokes ‘Well jockey Michael’ I said ‘You’ll soon be trotting down the aisle. Sheila getting married, I canter believe it!’ They didn’t get much of a reaction so I went for the big one. ‘So Michael, bet you can’t wait for your wedding night – you’ll have the ride of your life then!’

It got a mixed reaction. Sheila’s father looked down at the floor hoping no one would see his grin, Michael laughed, Sheila looked embarrassed and her mother’s mouth dropped open!

A little later I asked little Michael if he could give me any betting tips for the races the next day. I like a bet now and again. He said he was feeling lucky (I looked at him and agreed!). He told me he was putting some money on a horse called Wedded Bliss in the 3.20 at Newmarket. I said I’d do the same.

Well, I handed the bookie my £10 stake. I lost the bet. Wedded Bliss did win, but when I went to place my bet I saw that there was another horse in the same race called Chardonnay, so I bet on him instead. He fell in the final furlong.

You probably thought I’d forgotten the subject of this piece. Well I haven’t and there is a moral to my tale. If your granny ever tells you to look after your pennies so the pounds will look after themselves, don’t believe her.

And if I could turn back the clock I wouldn’t have picked up that penny, and right now I’d be £9.99 better off.
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Time to own up!

2009-05-01T23:41:00.005+01:00

This week's word on Sunday Scribblings is Confessions

Do your eyes sometimes see what you want them to see? When I first read this week’s prompt, I thought it said confection! Yum yum I thought, I’ll have a great time with this. I’ll write 400 words about chocolate.

And then I put my specs on. Confessions it read. Oh well, never mind.

By the way, I bet you didn’t know I wore glasses! I have to admit that I don’t wear them that often. They make me look a bit geeky if you know what I mean. Years ago I thought that wearing glasses would make me look intelligent. I once wore a pair when I went for a job interview. I actually bought them from an up-market charity shop. They had designer frames, Chanel I think.

Trouble was they had very strong lenses. They were as thick as coke bottle bottoms! Everything I looked at through them took on a strange shape and they made me feel a little dizzy. Not just that, but when people looked at me close to, I looked like a bug-eyed frog!

Anyway I was called in for my interview and I was horrified to see not one, but four people sitting behind a long desk all staring in my direction. An interview panel I thought. I wasn’t expecting that! They were all wearing red blouses. I assumed it must have been a company uniform. As red’s never really suited me, I remember hoping they also supplied them in pink! But then as I walked towards them they blended into each other, and when I suddenly and unexpectedly bumped into the desk I realised my glasses had been playing tricks with me and there was actually only one lady sitting there. I won’t bore you with what happened next, but suffice to say I didn’t get the job.

Listen to me rambling on. I suppose I aught enter into the spirit of the prompt and confess something. Where do I start!! Well there was the time I was left to look after my aunt’s budgerigar when she went on holiday. I’m sure you have already guessed what I’m going to confess to. You are right; it snuffed it, literally dropped off its perch. And like hundreds of people in similar situations have done before, I replaced it with another identical one before she came home.

At first I didn’t think I’d get away with it, because the original bird could sing the national anthem whilst standing on one leg, and swear like a trooper. The replacement was virtually mute! But my aunt decided this sudden silence was due to the distress caused by her going away for a month. She wasn’t too disappointed though, because the original’s foul mouth regularly caused her embarrassment when the vicar called round!

But the funniest thing is that she now thinks she has the oldest budgie in existence! The one that died was already due to meet its maker and one I replaced it with was very young. Imagine how awkward I felt when I saw an article a couple of months ago in my local paper about this amazing bird that seems to be living forever!
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Gosh, there are so many things I could confess to. Being accident prone means I often do things which need a little covering up. If Keith knew what actually happened to his......no, forget it!
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Suffice to say I’m something of an expert at papering over cracks and I think I’d be wise right now to keep my cracks covered up (oh my goodness, that sounds terrible!)

I think I’ll stick to confections!

Time to start growing!

2009-04-28T23:15:00.009+01:00

I’ve got them in my hand! I can’t believe it. I’ve waited yonks for today. I have the keys to my allotment at last and I’m soooooo excited!

Actually I have two keys, one unlocks the gate to the site and the other is for the padlock on my shed. Listen to me, “my shed”, doesn’t that sound cool?

As I’m sure you recall I applied for an allotment ages ago. I was using a patch of ground in my parent’s garden to grow things, but after my success at the village flower and produce show last year I thought it would be a good idea to expand my horticultural endeavour and adopt a more professional approach.

Trouble is allotments are hard to come by. They are provided by the local council on life-long leases which can be handed down to younger relatives and therefore rarely become available. But old Bert Hestlethwaite had no one to hand his down to and yesterday the council called to say I could have it!

Thing was he insisted that he hand the keys over personally. He’d had the plot for 55 years and he wanted to see who was taking it over.

Well dear old Bert lives in a local home for the bewildered, so I had to visit him there. Queen Mary House it’s called, and as soon as I walked through the door my mind wandered back to last year’s Glastonbury Rock Festival. It wasn’t so much the music I was reminded of, more the toilet tent. Eeew!

Anyway, I was pointed in Bert’s direction, but the row of elderly people all looked a little similar to one another so I had a certain amount of difficulty locating him. However, find him I did. He was a small man with a shock of white hair and a very white face to match. He had deep set round eyes which looked a little like pee holes in the snow.

‘Mr Hestlethwaite’ I said. No reaction. ‘Mr Hestlethwaite’ I said, a little louder this time. He kind of jumped then said ‘Who are you young lady? Have you come to change my dressing?’

I explained that I was Miss Pinkerton and I’d come for the keys but I didn't think that he'd heard me properly.

‘What is it you want?’ he said.

‘The keys’ I shouted 'the keys'

‘Bless you’ he said.

‘No’ I said ‘I didn’t sneeze, I need the keys’.

Well after a while a care assistant came to help me out and before long Bert and I were chatting like old friends albeit at a fairly high volume! He seemed to like me which was good. He explained which keys were which and told me he’d left his tools in the shed for me. That was nice, wasn’t it? He also made me promise to bring him something I’d grown now and again. I said I would.

So there it is. I am now the proud owner of a patch of soil and a shed on the road up to Beachy Head in Eastbourne. I can’t wait to get going on it. Next weekend I’ll start digging and preparing the soil ready for planting. I’m so chuffed. I need to make some curtains for the shed window – I suppose I could knit them, we’ll see. I need a rug, an arm chair and one of those camping gas stoves so I can make mugs of tea.

At the moment it looks a bit of a mess. I don’t suppose Bert’s been here for a year or two. But I’ll soon have it looking spick and span with vegetables standing proud like rows of soldiers and a rainbow of flowers to brighten up even the dullest of days. I’ve decided not to take a photo for you just yet. I’ll leave that for a week or two. I will however show you a picture of the gate to whet your appetites!

I found this poem. I didn’t write it but I think it’s rather sweet and I’m thinking of printing it out and framing it for my shed wall. What do you think?

This is my garden,

I'll plant it with care,

Here are the seeds

I'll plant in there,

The sun will shine,

The rain will fall,

The seeds will sprout

and grow up tall.

Oh dear, I've upset Keith!

2009-04-21T09:51:00.007+01:00

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Oh golly gosh! Dosey Rosey is in deep shi....(err, woops!) trouble with my friend Keithy Weethy :(

Look, back me up here guys, please! You knew that my revelations about him were just written in fun, don't you? He even left a good humoured comment himself down there at the bottom, but then he went all hoity-toity in an unexpected phone call to me just now saying I'd gone too far.

Do you remember the days before I had my own blog? He took the pee out of me something rotten. Did I object? Did I complain? Well, actually I did, but it made no difference.

So there he is, streched out on a sun lounger thousands of miles way being waited on hand and foot by his long suffering daughter in law Alice and he has the gall to complain about little 'ole me having a bit of innocent fun 'at his expence' (quote)

Anyway, just to keep the peace I apol.....apol...... apol.....this is not easy dammit....apologise. There I've done it. I won't tell his adouring public ( disciples he calls you!! what do you think of that?) anything else about him. Done. Over. No more. End of story.Promise.

Actually I must tell you this - I bet you didn't know that he claims to have once seen a flying saucer! And I don't mean one his ex-wife threw at him! It was back in the 60's apparently. He really thought he saw it and he went to the police and reported it. Then the local press turned up at his house and wanted him to tell their readers all about it. He even drew a picture which they published! What makes it all the funnier is that he had been at a party at the time. Nineteen-sixties? Parties? Draw your own conclusions!

Oh listen to this! He goes on his own to The Five Ashes Inn on his day off each week. Because he's old he gets a free bus pass. That's funny in itself but there's more. Firstly he's so well known to the bus drivers that if he's not standing the bus stop to go home at 4.50pm on a Monday, they have been known to stop outside the pub and toot their hooter to get him out! And there's more. This happens regularly. He falls asleep on the bus and if it's a driver that doesn't know him he is left undisturbed until the end of the route in Hastings six miles past his house!

Now this is a hoot. Actually I'm not sure I should tell you, but I think I'm in so much doo-doo now that a bit more won't matter. Well, when he phoned me from Dubai just now to have a moan about my last post ( not the bugle sort - I don't play the bugle!) he told me that he'd had a panic sitution a few hours ago. It seems he woke up at four this morning suddenly convinced he'd lost his passport! All morning he's been going through his bags, looking under beds and searching all his clothes. He couldn't find it anywhere so he called the airport and contacted the British Embassy to report it missing. A couple of hours ago his patient d-i-l Alice told him on the phone from work that she had it! He'd forgotten that he'd handed it to her on Sunday ready for a security check when they drove into Oman for the day! Plonker or what?

Oh well, I'd better stop there although I'm itching to tell you about last month when......... perhaps I'll save it for the next time he goes away!
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Peace at last!

2009-04-17T11:38:00.006+01:00

Hey guys, has he gone? By now my friend Keith should have flown away for one whole week, and for the next few days he won’t be watching over my shoulder and making those tutting noises. I reckon this a good opportunity to put the record straight on one or two things. Things you don’t know!

For instance I bet you didn’t know he types with one finger. It looks so funny. And you should see all the red underlining put there by the spell checker! Spelling is not his strong point.

He’s lazy too. Get this, he eats his food off paper plates and uses disposable cutlery to avoid washing up! I mean, come on. It’s not exactly the thing to do in these green awareness days.

Not only that, but he eats in front of his PC. You should see the state of his keyboard. There’s enough dropped food between the keys to feed one of the smaller starving nations for a week!

He also tells awful jokes. You’ve probably noticed that he accuses me of not understanding his witty quips. Well, the reason I don’t laugh is because they are not funny, and unlike his mates I’m not going to pretend they are.

I tell you what’s really annoying. He never swears. I’ve never heard an expletive leave his lips. It’s all an image thing I’m sure. I don’t mind admitting that the odd naughty word does on occasions leave my otherwise pure and clean mouth. What’s wrong with that? If I stub my toe I say... well, I’ll leave it to your imagination. And if I get overexcited when I’m telling a tale, my language can become somewhat colourful. What do I get?

‘Rosey my dear, you really shouldn’t use a swear words as a substitute for a carefully chosen one. Not only is it lazy but it may suggest to some that you have a very poor command of the English language which of course you have not’.

Obviously they are not his exact words; I’m trying to give you a flavour of what I have to put up with. Bloody cheek.

Anyway I may let you have a few more snippets later in the week. We’ll see!

ps. In case you read this while you are away Keith I'm sure you know this all meant in fun! It's all true of course.
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boo!

2009-04-10T19:32:00.006+01:00

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This week's word on Sunday Scribblings is Scary
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I’m a little bit wary
of things that are scary
of ghoolies and ghosties and things
The ultimate fright
is a bump in the night
and a certain old lady with wings.

She’s Mary the Fairy
she’s haggard and hairy
and wizened and wrinkled and smells
She’s not like the others
She’s got seven brothers
who make her cast unpleasant spells

With a wave of her wand
kids fall in the pond
and they trip and they skid and they fall
Her brothers just giggle
when her nose does a wiggle
and lets out the air from their ball.

I’m hoping one day
that she’ll fly away

with her brothers her potions and things
There’ll be one less thing scary
when Mary the Fairy
takes off with a flap of her wings

2009-04-08T00:17:00.013+01:00

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Heyyyy - it's True Colours Thursday again. My, how the weeks fly by (I sound like my Gran!) This week we are having a go at Black and White. I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be posting black and white pictures, or pictures of black and white things (if you see what I mean) Anyway, I've gone for the latter!

I didn't take this picture. I lifted if from DeviousArt. It's a little black dress, not dissimilar from mine. Actually I always have trouble with mine. It's a bit tight and has an annoying habit of riding up when I'm not concentrating! Fortunately I have little black undergarments to match!

This is a blackboard. I only mention it because more and more schools are now using white boards (I'm sure the politically correct minority no longer approve of these words but hey-ho) We still have some in our school. I avoid using them because I hate it when I scrape my finger nails on the surface - I'm cringing just thinking about it! Anyway, I thought you'd find this picture of me amusing. Thanks Leyla!

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I just LOVE this white dragon which is crawling up a pole in our local shopping mall.

I took this picture of swans and cignets almost a year ago. Time I went back to the park to see how they are doing.

That's black and white done. Next week we are doing Lime. Now, what goes with lime? Why, gin and tonic of course! Sante!.'

Not the best party I've been to.

2009-04-04T21:37:00.005+01:00

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Sunday Scribblings wants us to Celebrate this week.

I love to celebrate. I don’t need much of an excuse! A sniff of a bottle of chardonnay and a bowl of nuts and I’m there!

I have had the odd embarrassing situation. It’s usually when I’ve misunderstood the wording on the invitation. A couple of years back I was asked to attend a farewell get-together. It was from an aged aunt whom I was very fond of as a child, but had not seen much of in recent years. The invite said something about their son, my second cousin going on a journey.

Well, Cousin Jonathon was always something of an adventurer. He was constantly trekking across continents, climbing mountains and plodding across deserts on the back of a camel. There was even a film about him on some obscure TV channel which people only watch by accident!

That reminds me, I was channel hopping ‘tother day and I found this odd programme called Insatiable Sister Ignatius. Well, I had a nun-type teacher at my boarding school called Sister Ignatius who was extremely fat and she always said it was because of her insatiable appetite. (She was always spilling food down her front and we always said she taught us dirty habits!) I obviously didn’t think that the film would be about her, she’s probably burst by now, but I was curious. Well, I was horrified at what I saw. Call me old fashioned but I really had no idea what modern nuns get up to!

Where was I? Oh yes, Cousin Jonathon’s farewell bash. I thought it would be a good idea to turn up in mild fancy dress – a friend loaned me an explorer’s hat (at least, he said it was, although I’m not entirely sure what explorers where on their sensible heads. It looked a bit like an upturned green canvas shopping bag to me!) I hung a pair of binoculars around my neck (actually they were opera glasses but they are the same thing) and an Ordnance Survey map in one of those see through covers. I found a great farewell card in Hallmark which played So Long Farewell from the Sound of Music.

When I arrived the front door was open. It seemed a bit quiet but I thought ‘I’ll soon liven this party up’! So in I went.

Oh dear. How embarrassing. There I was, huge grin on my face and Julie Andrews singing at the top of her voice from a greetings card. I think the invite should have been clearer. If I had known that Cousin Jonathon had met an untimely end in the jaws of an alligator in an Amazonian swamp ,I’d have dressed in black. I certainly wouldn’t have taken my crocodile skin handbag.

Seemed there had been a private memorial service earlier in the day for the immediate family and I was a guest at a celebration of his life with wine and canapés. Fortunately another cousin of mine was there and saw the funny side of it. He said I’d received a wake-up call!
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Reddy when you are!

2009-04-01T23:13:00.017+01:00

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When I told my friends that this week’s theme on True Colours Thursday was to be scarlet someone said that it was the perfect colour for a scarlet woman. Everyone laughed and I did too although I wasn’t quite sure what was so funny. I thought they were referring to my similarity to Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind – strong, feisty and sexy. Anyway I thought I’d Google ‘scarlet woman’ and I was horrified to discover it means a woman of easy virtue. Actually it said worse than that but I couldn't possibly print it here! Just wait ‘til I see them.

As soon as I saw today’s colour I thought ‘Shopping!’ I’d find plenty of scarlet things to photograph in a decent store. So that’s what I did. I went shopping!
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I just had to buy those scarlet shoes......

.......but I didn't buy this scarlet bag

I couldn't resist this scarlet dress and I almost bought some plates and things, but I did resist resist those.

Would I have made a good air stewardess? I often think I’d would. A dolly with a trolley. I must admit that one of the attractions has to be that gorgeous scarlet uniform the Virgin girls get to wear. But I'd get very embarrassed checking that the men have their seat belts fastened.

Do you reckon black and white are colours? No, nor do I, but that’s the theme for next week. Best put on my thinking cap!

We only wanted a bit of fun!

2009-03-31T23:18:00.006+01:00

Oh dear, some of the lads aren’t talking to me. I’m in the doghouse, in the dog poo even.

Well, I thought what we did was funny and so did my mate Amanda. I mean, have you ever been to a football match? Not the American game where huge hunky guys look even huger and hunkier thanks that sexy armour they wear! No, that boring game in which twenty or so hairy sweaty blokes run around in baggy shorts, swearing like troopers whilst kicking a ball backwards and forwards between them.It just needed lightening up a bit.

Anyway we agreed to turn up at the match because some of our friends were playing. Apparently it was the final of some local village competition. Now I’m not talking about a big stadium game. Not even a little stadium game. We met on the village green and stood in the middle of a row of onlookers who were spread out along a white line at the edge of the pitch.

Now, put yourself in our position. It’s cold enough to freeze the do-da’s off a brass monkey. The game was going nowhere with not a single goal being scored in over an hour. And then the ball dribbled straight towards Amanda and me.

We didn’t need to look at each other, we didn’t even speak. We knew what had to be done and we did what came naturally!

I tapped the ball toward Amanda and then ran back a bit. Amanda nudged the ball back to me, I kicked to Amanda and we were away. At last we were having fun! Both teams came lumbering after us as we ran all over the green and beyond. The footballers tried all sorts of moves to get their ball back, but our footwork was too nifty for them and all they did was trip over their own feet and bump into each other!

Then Amanda pointed towards the abandoned football pitch with its two empty goal net things. We knew what we had to do.We ran straight for the pitch and Amanda booted the ball high into the sky right over the heads of the lads. They just stood there looking up, helpless to do anything. It was like slow motion. Then it fell from the sky right above me. I just butted it with my head and the ball shot straight into the centre of an open goal!

Now, there are two schools of thought about what went on that day. The football fans say that we ruined the most important game of the season. We say that thanks to us it turned out to be the most entertaining game of the season. Right now the jury’s out, but I’m sure we’ll have the last laugh – just as we did on the day!

Aging - it's just a matter of time

2009-03-28T23:42:00.005Z

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I so wish this Sunday Scribblings prompt hadn’t come up. After all what do I know about aging?’ I’m still a kitten, a rosebud!

And then it hit me. In 2010 I’ll ............I can’t bring myself to say it..........I’ll hit the big three-oh!

You know what that means. Gravity will begin to take control where taut flesh once ruled. Bits which are now peeping upward will start to head south (do Australian and New Zealand woman’s bits head north? I’ve often wondered)

I’ve just looked in the mirror. What I’ve been calling laughter lines are beginning to look like the start of wrinkles! Help, wrinkles. I need to get some lotions and potions. Baby cream won’t be able to keep up. Wikipikipoo says that I need (listen to this) Alpha Hydroxy Acid which helps to dissolve the intracellular glue that holds the dead cells together on the skin. Eeek!

I’m getting shorter, I know I am. Old people shrink and I’m starting already. And my ears are growing. I look like bloody Dumbo! I’ll be flying soon.

Eyes. My eyes. Can I still read a car registration plate from 25 yards? Err, no. My hair. I spotted a grey one the other day. It’s only a matter of time until it looks like my granny’s. Soon I’ll be off to the pensioner’s hair dresser for a blue rinse and a curly perm over a nice cup of tea and a digestive biscuit.

And I’m shrinking. Oh no, I said that just now. I’m repeating myself!

Did you hear about the old couple on the beach? She said to him ‘what do you think of my flip-flops?’ He said ‘Shut up and put your bikini back on’

This is all too depressing so I’m stopping right now!
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Let Bill decide!

2009-03-27T00:11:00.008Z

This is my first go at proper fiction - most of what I've written up 'til now has been more or less factual! Hope it's OK.

This is the prompt on Fiction Friday this week. Setting: An office building - A secondary character says: “Look, somebody has got to make a decision.” Your main character offers a solution.

'Tea break ladies’ chirped old Bill as he pushed his trolley into the typing pool. Bill had been doing the tea round for ever, or so it seemed. ‘What shall I have Bill, a piece of that cake or one of those chocolate biscuits? Help me decide!’ said Carol.

Ten minutes later and Bill heaves his trolley into the post room. ‘Hi Bill’ called Jim. ‘Help me decide Bill, which of these new logos should I pick for the franking machine?’

Morning girls and boys he shouted. Suddenly all went quiet in the call centre as they all took off their headsets and formed an orderly queue for their elevenses! ‘Bill’ said Julie ‘We can’t decide who should represent our department in the bowls contest next week. You chose’

Next stop was packaging. ‘Tea up lads’ called Bill. George put down his roll of tape. ‘Thought you were never going to get here Bill. A word in your ear mate’. George cupped his hand close to Bills ear. ‘Can’t make my mind up mate. Who should I take to the company party tomorrow night? Sue or Brenda? It’s not easy being in such demand!

'Bill tapped on the boardroom door. No reply. He tapped again a little louder. ‘Come’ called a voice from within. Bill pushed open the fat mahogany door and wheeled his trolley to the back of the room. ‘Coffee ladies and gentlemen’ he called. ‘Hang on one minute Bill’ said the MD. ‘Before we break for coffee we need a decision on which of these two designs we should go with. Somebody has got to make a decision. We’ve been scratching our heads for ages and we are split down the middle. So Bill, you decide’.

It had been a typical working day for Bill. It seemed that no one could make a decision without Bill helping them. On his way home he wandered into the Frog and Sparrow for his nightly pint. ‘Evening Bill’ yelled the landlord as Bill strode toward the bar. ‘What’ll it be? Bitter tonight or a drop of lager?’‘Ooo’ said Bill ‘Can’t make my mind up. Tell you what, you decide’.
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Beige - not the most exciting colour!

2009-03-23T21:47:00.011Z

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True Colours Thursday is all about Beige this week. It’s All Rinkly Rimes fault – she suggested it. Watch out for Rosey’s Revenge!!

I was racking my brain (should that be wracking? not sure) Anyway I was really having trouble thinking of something beige. ‘Beige’ I said to myself, ‘beige, beige, beige’

The only thing that came into my mind was Beijing! But that’s not a colour. Then I remembered that there was a Chinese Restaurant called Beijing and I was sure the sign above the door was beige. And it is!
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I was eating a bowl of peanuts yesterday. They looked beige so I photographed them. Then I remembered something funny that happened a couple of weeks ago. We were in the pub (again) and a lady started choking on a peanut. ‘Yes’ I shouted. ‘Fantastic, I can practice my Heimlich manoeuvre!’

It was suggested that maybe a simple slap on the back might be the first course of action, so that’s what I did. I have to admit I gave her quite a hefty wallop but it seemed to work.

Unfortunately it wasn’t just the offending nut that shot out. So did her false teeth and they landed plop in the middle of her husband’s spaghetti bolognese.

A couple of year’s back I was given a CD called Big Beige Car. Yawn or what? It should have been called Big Beige Bore. So depressing. It’s by an outfit called The Lennings. Aren’t they the little critters who jump off cliffs? They must have heard this CD too! Oh no, they were lemmings!Gosh - I hope I haven’t offended any Lennings aficionados, or any lemmings for that matter!!

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So, next week it’s Scarlet! Yipee! Lippy at the ready.

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Where did you come from?

2009-03-20T22:16:00.008Z

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This week on Sunday Scribbling we have been given the words 'I come from......' That set me off!

People often discuss what they would like to come back as in a future life. Me? I like to try and work out where I came from.

Obviously I know where I came from when I was born, but previous lives are fun to ponder on.

For instance, when I was little I had two front teeth. I still have two front teeth of course, but when I was little they were somewhat prominent. Not just that, by my dear mother always made me take a carrot to school in my lunchbox. Needless to say all my friends were convinced that I was descended from rabbits!

When I was little older I discovered boys. I was always a bit awkward with boys, and whilst I’d prefer not to go into detail, I was known for getting my arms and legs all over the place. So much so that I got known as the octopus!

More recently my knitting has been the cause of considerable mirth among my friends. I wear so much wool that I was told the other day that I must come from a family of sheep!

Tell you what though; I’d love to have been born an Empress. The Empress of Eastbourne! All those robes and jewels. People would bow to me. The only time they do that now is when I deliberately drop something when I see a good looking bloke and he bends down to pick it up!

Actually I do happen to know that my family comes from a long line of yokels. I love that word! Yokel. According to the dictionary, yokel is an offensive term which insults a country dweller. But I like the word. It doesn’t insult me. My family didn’t always have money. My grandfather was a gardener which probably explains my interest in things horticultural. My grandmother was ‘in service’, she worked at the big house in the middle of her village. Yokels!

So this is where I think I came from;

Rabbits

Octopuses

Sheep

Empress

Yokels

Green things!

2009-03-17T23:19:00.012Z

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It's Green this week on True Colours Thursday. What a bit of luck!

Tuesday I went to a St Patricks night party at the pub and everything was green! I helped behind the bar and had to wear a massive green tee shirt. There's a couple of photos of me holding it down there. There is no way you are going to see me wearing it!

Sorry these photos are a little out of focus. I'm not much of a photographer at the best of times, but after a Guinness or two taking pictures becomes something of a challenge!
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This is my friend Chris in her Guinness hat

This is Chris modelling this years Guiness hat!

and this is my enormous shirt!.

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Next weeks colour will be beige. Now what on earth will I do with that?

dear past me, dear future me.

2009-03-13T19:25:00.016Z

It's Sunday Scribblings time again!.!.

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A hole in your pants

just look at you!
Grubby knees
and just one shoe

The loudest voice
it's always you!
a piercing scream
and a giggle too

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A lucky hand

your cards were good
you reached your goal
I knew you would

Those fabulous legs
just look at that wiggle!

Wonderful hips
and you’ve still got that giggle!

Voodoo something to me

2009-03-13T10:32:00.008Z

I’m having a go at Fiction Friday this week. The prompt here is always a sentence which starts you off on a fictitious story. I won’t say what it is because it’ll spoil my merry little tale!

As you know there’s nothing I like more than a bit of knitting. And despite what a certain fella has been telling you, I really am getting pretty good at it, even though I say so myself.

A friend of mine has recently had a baby. Can’t say I envy her, babies aren’t really my thing, but she’s really chuffed. Not as ‘chuffed’ as she was when she was podgy-preggers, she was enormous then. I remember back in the summer when she was almost ripe, we went to the beach and I was seriously worried in case Greenpeace turned up and tried to refloat her.

As I was saying I’m a bit of a knitter and I decided to knit my friend’s baby a doll. I was staying away for a long weekend with a mate and we stayed in a posh hotel and I spent hours sitting on the balcony looking out at the sea with my needles a blur.

I was making quite a big doll. I didn’t mean it to be a big doll, it just kept growing and if I’m to be honest it was looking a bit ugly and I was seriously worried about it scaring the poor child rather than comforting it! When the day came to leave I’d just started the stuffing and sewing together process.

But when I got back home and unpacked my case I discovered the wretched doll had disappeared! I was certain I’d packed it. I must have dropped it and left it in the room. Maybe it had taken on a life of its own like Chuckie and gone off on its travels.

A few days later I got a call from the hotel. It seems that a businessman had rented the room after we had vacated it. He was staying several days. On the third day, he dropped something down the back of the huge leather armchair in the room, and he had to pull it away from the wall to get whatever it was back.

I’m told the ambulance crew arrived just in time. Seems he had a dicky ticker, you know, a weak heart and when he peered down behind the chair he saw what he thought was a voodoo doll complete with needles sticking in to it. He was convinced his ex-wife had planted it there!

Anyway, the hotel receptionist remembered seeing me knitting the doll and was able to assure him that it was a harmless unfinished child’splaything. (I’ll never forget the expression on her face the day she looked at it close up. I’m sure she shivered!) She told me what had happened and said she’d send it in the post to me.

That was two weeks ago and as yet the package has not yet arrived. I wonder where my doll is now?

Oh by the way, the prompt was 'During his third night out of town, a traveling businessman discovers a voodoo doll in his hotel room'.

My violet

2009-03-09T19:32:00.016Z

True Colours Thursday is all about violet this week. It doesn’t get any easier!

My immediate thought was ‘crocuses’ but then I thought ‘no, everyone will do crocuses'. But then I saw this little fella all alone in a sea of white ones and I couldn’t resist him!
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Another pretty violet flower is the Iris. Although it’s huge compared to the little crocus they are actually the same family – Iridaceae. Irises are grown in lots of colours and they are named after the Greek Goddess of the Rainbow who is also known as Iris. And in case you think I’m being very clever I’m afraid I have to confess that I looked all that up in Wickipickipoo!

Look – violet chockies! Well a violet box. Presumably those scrummy foil wrapped, sugar coated and nut-topped portions of heaven are actually chocolate coloured! You do get some with violet soft centres but I’m not so keen on those. It’s like swallowing perfume! Good for the ‘ole breath though!

I’ve agonised over whether or not I should post the next one, but I do love violet undergarments. So to spare the gentlemen’s blushes I’ve made it very small and turned it upside-down.

I’ve saved the best for last! I took this very short video in the Five Ashes Inn on Monday. It’s Teddy Elvis and he’s showing off his fabulous violet cloak! It only lasts twenty seconds or so and I’m certain you’ll enjoy it!

Well that’s it. Next week it’s green. Now that will be fun. I may even photograph my green wellies which I got to help me to reduce my carbon footprints!

An arresting performance!

2009-03-06T10:54:00.006Z

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Sunday Scribblings this week wants us to write about 'Listen up' We don't say that here, but Keith reckons it's ok if we just say 'listen'.

This was so embarrassing. I was with my friends having a drink as I often do and the landlord, Jack flapped his hand in my direction. I thought he was giving me a little wave, so I waved back.

Then he did it again and put a finger up to his lips like you do when you want someone to say nothing. Odd I thought, then I realised he was discreetly beckoning me. Anyhow me and my big mouth. ‘Jack wants to see me’ I said. I instantly realised by the scrunched up look on Jacks face that I’d done the wrong thing. Mind you his face is pretty scrunched up anyway, but this was kind of double-scrunched.

So I changed the subject by way of a distraction, and then said I had to go and powder my nose. That’s a funny expression isn’t it? My Mother always says it when she needs a pee. She doesn’t powder her nose at all!

So I walked over to the bar, checked that wasn’t being watched and stood with my back to it the way private detectives do in the movies when they want to pretend that they are not talking to anyone.

‘Tss tss - Rosey’ Jack hissed. I’m not sure if that’s how you spell a hiss but I’m sure you get my drift!

‘Why are you whispering? Jack?’I asked.

‘Shh’ another hiss. ‘Listen, I need to tell you something’.

I leaned against the bar and Jack approached my shell-like ear. He whispered something.

‘You’ll have to whisper louder’ I said, and several people turned in our direction.

Well, I couldn’t really understand what he was saying. It was like ‘listen carefully, this is very important’. Then he carried on and even accidentally spat in my ear which was not very pleasant.

I worked out that he was planning a surprise for some girl’s birthday, and knowing that our group are always the life and soul of the party he wanted us to start cheering and clapping when a male stripper dressed as a policeman arrived in the pub. I explained to my mates what we had to do.

I must state here and now that I don’t approve of such things. But I daren’t say anything against it because I get teased.

Anyway an hour or so later a ‘policeman’ came in. Quite a dishy one actually. That was my cue. ‘He’s here’ I said and we started shouting – well, I didn’t shout, but the others were shouting ‘strip strip strip’.

An red faced girl wearing a big badge with 21 on it and a pink helium balloon tied to her wrist was dragged from her chair and plonked down on a stool in front of him, then everyone except me formed a circle around them. Jack turned the music up loud. I did not particularly want to witness this lewd spectacle so I stayed in my seat.

Then someone said something behind me. I turned round and there was another policeman. ‘This is the Three Bells isn’t it?' he asked. 'If so they seemed to have double booked’

It was when the first policeman put his walkie-talkie to his mouth and starting shouting for assistance that I realised I’d made a mistake.

No one was watching me, so I slipped away.
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Mellow yellow

2009-03-04T21:52:00.017Z

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I can't believe it! It's True Colours Thursday again, and today our colour is yellow - I've even given my header picture a hint of yellow!

This first pickie I took in the pub on Monday. It's a box of little yellow daffodils which you can wear if you make a contribution to Marie Curie Cancer Care. I'm wearing mine now - the daffodil that is, not the box!

Now I know you are excited. I promised to unveil the painting Giggles did of me in today's yellow post. Well I haven't forgotten but you will have to wait while I show you my other yellow efforts. NO PEEPING!!

Oh, this was funny. I saw a police car and I thought 'look, yellow'. I took a quick pic of it and then suddenly I felt a tap on my shoulder (no, not water tap!). I turned round and at first I saw no-one. As you know I'm quite tall and when I peered down I saw a little policeman! They say that policemen get younger every year, but this one looked like a boy going to a fancy dress party! He was so sweet I felt like patting him on the head and tickling him under his chubby dimpled chin. Anyway he wanted to know why I was taking a photo of his little car. I supposed I did look a bit like a terrorist, after all I did have my sunglasses on and the collar of my coat turned up. Once I'd explained why I took it he seemed alright about it, but he did suggest I don't make a habit of taking pictures of cop-cars again!

Last week Keith did an article about Eastbourne seafront. He took a picture of the yellow trucks on the beach shifting the shingle in readiness for summer. His picture was DREADFUL! So I took this one to show him how it's done.

Roll of drums - fanfare - tug on the rope to drop the curtain, and here it is. Giggles picture of me. Cool eh? I'll be using it instead of my photo which I hate. You must drop by her blog by the way. It's a great place to visit, and certainly the most colourful one you are likely to come across.

That's it for this Thursday. Next week it going to be violet. Now that is going to need a bit of thinking about.

It's no laughing matter

2009-03-02T22:27:00.010Z

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There’s a club in Eastbourne called The Screaming Blue Murder Comedy Club. At least I think that’s what it’s called. Odd name really. Murder and comedy don’t normally go together! Having said that the compare did say to one of the acts ‘go knock ‘em dead’

So yes, I went to the SBMCC with a group of friends. Well, I can’t tell you – I’ve never heard bad language like it. And some of the so-called jokes were really rude. At least I assume they were jokes. I didn’t find anything particularly funny about them, but then jokes aren’t really my thing, not ‘my bag’ as they say.

Trouble is I don’t always get jokes. Actually that’s an understatement. I rarely get jokes.

For example or par exemple as they say in France. Oh, that reminds me, did you see Keith’s blog about on-line translators? Well I used one of them just then so I probably didn’t say ‘for example’ at all! He used to have a translator in the sidebar of his blogamy-jig but I noticed that it disappeared a couple of days ago. I guess he was worried about how his posts were translating!

Where was I? Oh yes. Jokes. I was going to give you an example of the problems I sometimes encounter in the hope you will tell me that I’m not as stupid as my friends think I am.

One of our group of mates works at the local crematorium. One night when we were all at the rub-a-dub (that’s cockney for pub by the way) I joked that she’s lucky she doesn’t work in 'dying trade', although hers was a bit of a 'dead-end job'. I thought that was quite amusing but the others just groaned.

Well that night she invited us all to her staff summer party. It was to be a barbecue at the crematorium. The others all laughed their heads off! Ok, I know it’s a little ironic having a barby in the crem, but not very funny. In an effort to join in I made what I thought was a mildly amusing comment. I simply wondered if we would be using the cremator thingy to cook our food to save that all that fuss trying to get the charcoal to light. Once again I was laughing and they were not.

Then John said ‘I’m not putting my meat in there – I’m fussy where I put my sausage’. And they laughed so much that Sandy started choking on her wine and John said she was having a coughing fit. Afterwards I realised he actually said ‘coffin’ fit, but even then I didn’t find it particularly funny.

Do you see what I mean?

Oh I just thought of something. The other day I said I would be unveiling the painting of me that Giggle’s done at the weekend. I didn’t forget, I just decided to use it in my piece for True Colours Thursday so you’ll just have to wait a couple more days.

So back to the crematorium thing. I did actually have the last laugh because I suddenly remembered a joke I’d heard some time ago.

There was an old man who always stirred a spoon of gunpowder into his cup of tea. One day he died and at his funeral were his wife, three children, six grandchildren and a fifty foot crater where the crematorium used to be.

We all laughed at that!
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Win or lose?

2009-02-28T00:01:00.009Z

Sunday Scribblings wants us to get lost this week! In the nicest possible way of course.

I’ve never been very good at games. I don’t really like them very much. Games like Draughts leave me cold and I’m no good at Snakes and Ladders because I don’t like heights. Noughts and Crosses make me tetchy and last time I tiddled a wink my little counter flew out of the window. I even lost when I played Solitaire last night!

But there is one exception. I never lose at Scrabble. As you know I LOVE words. Short words, long words, silly words and words I can’t even pronounce. Take me on at Scrabble at your peril.

A couple of years ago my friends heard about an Inter-pub Scrabble contest and we decided to enter a team. There was me, Jo, Rob and Keith. I decided we needed loads of training so went spent hours doing spelling exercises by playing lucky dip with the little tiles. I have to say, they were pretty useless.

But we persevered and by the time the competition came to our pub I was feeling quietly confident. Unfortunately we were drawn to play against a team of teachers from a local school of English. I was mortified.

My game went well, but the others struggled. They weren’t really taking it seriously enough and kept trying to use swear words and things so as captain I banned all alcoholic drinks during play.

Suddenly things improved. Some very high scoring words came from both sides, and the whole thing became very tense (minimum 5 points!). Three of us had played and it was two nil to them. It was all down to Jo!

We were in the middle of her game and she was beginning to fall behind. You could have cut the atmosphere with a knife. It was so quiet you could hear the pub parrot breath. Then suddenly Rob sneezed!

To say he was unpopular would be an understatement because both players jumped out of their skins, bashed into the table and sent the tiles flying everywhere! The teachers said it was a deliberate act so that we could start again, and tried to accuse us of cheating.

Anyway we did start again and this time the teacher facing Jo really went for it. And so did Jo. There was nothing between them. And then it was over.

I suppose you are expecting me to say we lost. After all, that’s the theme of this week’s Sunday Scribbles. But we didn’t - we won!

Down amongst the brown

2009-02-25T00:04:00.014Z

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It’s True Colours Thursday and this week we are doing brown.

I once dreamt that I lived in a chocolate house. It was such a realistic dream. I remember licking the walls and nibbling the mantelpiece over the fireplace. It was then I noticed that the fire was burning chocolate logs, and the heat was starting to melt the ceiling. Then I woke up. I wonder what would have happened had I kept dreaming. I thought of that dream when I saw this picture on deviantArt

I don’t know how men drink it. I’ve even seen girls drinking it. Beer. Not the fizzy stuff in bottles that you see in America and across Europe, but the British beer that comes from a barrel via a pump with a long handle. Ale they call it. Ale or Bitter. It’s always at room temperature and smells like – well, I won’t say in case you are eating.

This is a pint of Keith’s favourite, Harveys Sussex Bitter which is brewed locally, and its sitting on a table in the garden of one of our fave pubs, The Cricketers Arms.

Most girls like clothes shops the best. Some like shops that sell makeup and smelly stuff. I like chocolate shops and the best ones of all are called Hotel Chocolat. I didn’t forget the E, it’s apparently the French way of spelling it which is strange because it's an English company.

As I was saying, they are unbelievable emporiums. There are only 33 in the country and recently they’ve starting selling their wares online in the USA.

And get this – they have a tasting club! Truly. You join up, and every month you get a selection of their goodies through the mail and you fill in a form to say what you like or dislike about them. Now you would think that they would pay you, after all you are providing them with a service. But oh no. You pay them a whopping £180 a year to belong! In dollars that’s errr – a lot! Worth it though.

And finally there is our Prime Minister Gordon Brown, though hopefully not for much longer. I mean, he always looks and sounds so miserable. No wonder the country’s in such a state. Listen to me! I sound a right old moaner..

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I don’t know the first thing about politics. In fact when I was younger I thought politics was a parrot shaped clock! .

That’s it for another week. Next Thursday we will be featuring Yellow! I like yellow.
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I have seven things to tell you!

2009-02-23T22:03:00.010Z

Giggles wants me to list seven things that you don’t know about me. Do you think that’s her real name? Giggles? I’m not so sure myself.

It’s not an easy call as Keith has made it his business to tell you everything he can about me during the last year or so warts and all. So it’s on with the jolly old thinking cap!

I’ve thought of one thing. I used to play the guitar. I was quite good, as long as it was in C. Nothing fancy you understand. I didn’t have to plug it in, and I specialised in chords.

I remember one day thinking the guitar felt funny. I could only feel wood under one of my fingers. I thought maybe one of the strings had jumped ship, so I counted them – I had five. Then I counted the little screw things at the top and I had six! How long I’d played with a missing string I really don’t know! Anyway, it sounded alright so I never bothered to get it replaced.

Talking of missing things, I don’t think you know that when I was a child I had a three legged cat. Really!
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By the way, what do you call a three legged donkey? Give up? Wonkey!

We got the cat from a rescue place I think. Mummy said we should call it Tripod but I said that we shouldn’t make fun of its missing leg. Well, it trotted with the front two, and it had to hop along on its back one. She then suggested we call it Cassidy and I thought that was quite a nice name so Cassidy he was. It was years before I realised that Hopalong Cassidy was a famous cowboy.

That’s two things. Let’s think? Oh yes, number three. I don’t do a lot of fancy cooking but I do have a couple of Specialites de Rosey. One is Vegetarian Lasagne which is double-delish, and the other is a meat dish which I do when meat-eating friends come round – Toad in the Hole. I don’t know if you have it in Canada Giggles, but it’s a delicacy here in England. Actually, that’s probably a bit of an exaggeration, but I give it a bit of delicate touch!

In case you don’t have it I should explain that we don’t actually eat toads. That would be like eating frogs and only the French do that. And even then they only eat their legs. Yuc. They also eat snails! What? I mean who would want to eat snails? That’s not all. They eat horses.

No, Toad in the Hole is a deep batter pudding with sausages poking their heads above the surface. I have to confess I once made it and forgot to put the sausages in! It was like a six inch deep pancake. Spot the sausage!

Now I’m struggling. Oh yes, number four. I have a beautiful gold and porcelain carriage clock which my Granny left me. It works perfectly well but it is missing the hour hand. I always know when it’s half past, but half past what?

Five, I love jigsaw puzzles but all of my favourites ones have pieces missing. I remember once I tried making replacement bits but it’s not as easy as you think.

Six, I love cycling. Actually Keith did tell you about a cycling adventure of mine once, but I don’t expect you read it. Unfortunately my bike’s missing its handle bars right now. I left it outside the corner shop for a couple of minutes and when I came out – gone, bell and all.

I’ve just realised there’s a pattern emerging here.

Now for number seven. Nothing missing here!

Leonardo da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa. Vermeer painted the Girl with a Pearl Earring and a dodgy looking bloke with greasy hair painted a nude picture of the lady at number seventeen.

But Giggles has painted me! Painted a picture of me that is, she hasn’t covered me in emulsion! As you know I don’t like having my photo taken, so I thought a little cartoon would be a nice alternative. I'll be unveiling it at the weekend and you will be the first to see it – or the second or third depending on when you visit me.

Thanks so much Giggles. My next project will be to do a picture of you! I've found my paints but I can't quite lay my hands on my brushes.
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Ps. I'm supposed to list seven people to join me-me in this me-me, but I'm going to ask for volunteers instead. Hope you-you will take up the challenge.
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Trust me!

2009-02-20T22:57:00.004Z

It's Sunday Scribblings time again. I know it's only Friday but I'm ready so here's my piece

Trust me to keep opening my mouth and putting my foot in it.

That’s a funny expression isn’t it? I mean I’ve never seen anyone actually putting their foot in their mouth mid-conversation.

Now I think about it, that’s not quite true because I do it myself sometimes. Not metaphorically either, but actually. It’s one of my party tricks. I’m fairly bendy so I can do it quite easily.

Hey, I can bend over backwards and pick up a glass of wine in my mouth, then straighten up and drink it without using my hands. Cool or what? To be honest I spill more than I drink, but it always gets a laugh!

As I was saying, last time I put my foot in my mouth was when I asked Keith to buy me some peanuts in the pub. Well, I didn’t have any money on me and he’s always loaded. He says he isn’t but I’ve seen in his wallet. Anyway I said I was starving and he said ‘tough’, or ‘hard luck’ or some other put down.
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By the way, I wish he wouldn’t make those little comments to me. Mind you I do get my own back sometimes. Like the time at the karaoke night when I predicted I’d win a prize and he said ‘if you win a prize I’ll eat my hat’. And I did win a prize. Okay, it was the Wooden Spoon for coming last, but it was a prize.

So I grabbed the salt, pepper and tomato sauce from the food bar and sprinkled it on his cap. I told him it might make it more palatable! ‘Trust you to do something like that’ he grunted. It was so funny I nearly – well, you know!

Where was I? Oh yes. I was famished, he wouldn’t buy me some peanuts so I said ‘alright I’ll eat myself’ and that’s when I opened my mouth and put my foot in it!

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Blue

2009-02-16T20:16:00.014Z

This weeks colour on True Colours Thursday is Blue!

I don't take many photos and I couldn't find any blue ones so this week I pinched them all from Google Images!

BLUE tune

BLUE tree

BLUE moon

BLUE sea

BLUE spoon

BLUE bee!

Next weeks colour is yucky old brown but I'm sure I'll find something.

Me and sport don't mix

2009-02-15T00:48:00.013Z

I've got to write about sport for Sunday Scribblings this week. I hope you like this piece.'

I was never very good at sport when I was a child. I was a gangly kid, quite a bit taller than my peers with bits and bones sticking out all over the place.

I remember the embarrassment of sports day when I always came last in everything. Although I was very tall for my age I had a problem with brain/leg coordination. They sort of flapped around and my arms kind of joined in.

The egg and spoon race was always a disaster. I simply couldn’t keep the pesky egg from dropping to the ground every few steps. One year I decided to cheat rather than face the annual humiliation of bringing up the rear. I secreted a bit of that blue sticky stuff in my shorts and when nobody was looking I stuck the egg to the spoon!

It was great. I ran for all I was worth legs and arms flailing all over the place and the egg stayed put. Okay, I still didn’t win, but I didn’t come last. I was so thrilled when I crossed the line that I flung both arms up in the air in a sort of victory salute, pointing my egg and spoon toward the sky – and the egg magically stayed in place. I got into trouble for cheating.

I ought to have been good at the hop skip and jump. They call it the triple jump now - why’s that? I hop reasonably well, skip was a bit of a challenge but the jump not bad at all.

Trouble was I always got them in the wrong order! I’d skip when I should have hopped and jump when I should have skipped.

I liked the three legged race. Not because I was good at it, but because we always ended up in fits of giggles rolling on the ground!

Oh I must tell you about this. One year I was entered in the sack race. I put everything I had into hopping along. Hop, hop, hop, higher and higher and I didn’t do too badly. When I got to the end I dropped the sack to the ground and stepped out. Well, several of my friends were laughing at me! Suddenly my teacher rushed up to me and said ‘Rosey where are your shorts?’ It seemed that I had leapt up down so enthusiastically that they had fallen down and remained in the bottom of the sack.

When I went to big school my sports consisted of hockey, lacrosse and archery and I quite enjoyed it. My parents wanted me to take up polo but I think that was more to boost their standing in the local community. Royalty play polo so if it’s good enough for them it was good enough for me!

How things have changed. The school were I work has a non-competitive sports day. I ask you, whatever next? It’s supposed to be fairer towards the less sporty members of the school. But to really succeed in life you need to compete in just about every area, and where better to prepare yourself than in school. It did me no harm. I was useless at sport, but good at English. In that subject I shone. In that subject I always came first.

And that’s not all. This year we can’t do the sack race or the three legged race because the Health and Safety spoil-sports consider it too dangerous. What they are really worried about is possible claims being made against the school if little Johnny twists his ankle or sweet Jessica breaks a finger nail. What strange times we live in.

Let's hear it for Saint V!

2009-02-14T01:16:00.009Z

It’s Valentine’s Day so I thought I’d drop by and tell you what I got!

I got – wait for it – 6 cards!

I had a pink one with hearts signed ‘xxx’.

A sparkly one signed ‘??’

A little one with a bow signed ‘Guess who’

A big one with a kitten on it signed ‘I’m yours’

A sensible one with picture of roses, unsigned - thanks Daddy!

And a jokey one with this written inside

I love your lips

your eyes so bright
I even love your cellulite

Now I wonder who that was from?

I also got a box of Belgiun chocolates, a bunch of pink roses (whoever sent them knows me well enough not to send red ones) a bottle of Chardonnay with a ribbon tied around it and two wine glasses (how romantic) and a heart shaped helium balloon which I accidentally let go of! If you see one passing over head it’s mine!

And I must mention the huge card I got from all the children in my class. They decorated it with hearts and flowers and inside it just says ‘We love you Miss Pinkerton’ I had a little cry when they gave it to me yesterday.

I hope you are enjoying your day. Happy Valentines!.

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Valentines Day!

2009-02-13T00:03:00.007Z

I’m glad I’m single on Valentine’s Day. I can get heaps of cards without having to explain anything to a jealous male!

That’s assuming of course I get lots of cards this year. But then I’ve done rather well in the past after all.

One card I know I’ll get will be from my Daddy. I know it sounds odd, but there’s a good reason for it. When I reached thirteen or so he decided that his little girl would never suffer the disappointment of a Valentine’s Day without a card dropping on the mat. I didn’t realise it was him for years, but even though I get more than my fair share each year, he’s kept the tradition up and I LOVE it!

Last year I had a card with this verse in it

How do I measure

The love I have for you?

I thought, while idly watching

A sparrow sippin' dew

And as I pondered thoughtfully

I gave my head a rub

And then I thought "Oh sod it

I'm going to the pub!"

Now I wonder who that was from Keith?

We’ve had great fun at school this week. All the kids in my class have made Valentine Cards. Some are excellent and some are a little rude! We gave them a whole lot of verses to chose from and write inside like

What kind of flowers do you never give on Valentine's Day? Cauliflowers!

What do you call a very small Valentine? A Valentiny!

Anyway, they put then in envelopes unsigned, and now they are sitting in a pink cardboard mail box which we’ll open Friday before they head off home.

The best thing about Valentine Day for me though is finding chocolates and flowers outside my door. I have to admit I prefer the chocolates to the flowers but that’s natural isn’t it!

This year four of us are going out for a meal together. We’ll have pink champagne and sexy food like asparagus and oysters, and we’ll have a giggle at all the lovey-dovey couples billing and cooing across candlelit tables.

And then we’ll raise our glasses to being single and loving every minute of it! (until Mr Right comes along!)

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A few silver thoughts

2009-02-10T21:46:00.010Z

This weeks colour on True Colours Thursday is silver.

I found this fabulous picture of a silver angel on deviant art and just had to copy it./

The shimmering boughs of a silver birch

sway lazily in the breeze above a sparkling

stream which dances and splashes

down a stairway of rocks

and glistening stones.

Did I really write that? Heck, I’m getting the hang of this!

Now, Whitebait suggested in a recent comment that I should write a piece about Keith’s silver hair. What a hoot!

Whenever anyone comments about his hair he always trots out the old cliché ‘there may be snow up on the roof but there’s a fire down in the cellar’. In his dreams! I tell him it’s more like slush up on the roof and ashes in the cellar!

Talking of silver and hair, what do you think of this hair slide? It’s from the Northumbrian Holy Island of Lindisfarne and I have been told it’s about two hundred years old – the slide that is, not the island!
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Next week True Colours Thursday will be Blue.

silver angel by slekt at deviant art

All Dali could paint was melting clocks and things

2009-02-06T22:17:00.006Z

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I have to write about Art for this week’s Sunday Scribblings.
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Do you remember me telling you about the flower and produce show in my parents’ village? One year as well as my vegetables and things I entered a painting in the arts and crafts section. Don’t laugh!

Well a few years ago I joined an art class. Up until then the nearest thing I’d done to a picture was painting by numbers or filling in a colouring book. But my Mum always thought I had flair. She liked the way I added my own interpretation the picture I was colouring . I was flattered of course, but if the truth be told I used to get muddled with the colours and had great difficulty staying inside the lines! She took that to be me expressing myself.

Anyway, I religiously went to the village hall for my classes every Wednesday night and really came on well. I didn’t always understand my teacher’s one word comments. He would say ‘yessss’ or screw his eyes up and say ‘mmmm’

The highlight of the six week course was to be a life study. I didn’t really know what a life study was but I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to appear stupid. So you can imagine my shock when a handsome young man came into the room and took his kit off!

At first I thought a streaker had invaded our class, but when no one else seemed particularly alarmed I realised that we were about to paint a nude. I was SO embarrassed. I didn’t know where to look. Actually, I did know where to look and ....wow....!

I thought I did a pretty good job of it. Ok, my painting was not exactly life like, It was a painting after all, not a photograph. But I was encouraged by my monosyllabic teachers comment – ‘I say!’ he muttered. I took that as quite a compliment.

So back to the village art and crafts competition. I entered my life study, in fact I titled the piece ‘Life Study’.

I didn’t win. The first prize went to my Mother for her dull water colour of a boring bunch of flowers. Second was a landscape which I reckoned was copied from a post card and third was a portrait of a man with big ears. It was called ‘Prince Charles’ but I couldn’t see any likeness - except for the ears!

Just as I turned to walk away a special prize was announced for the most original painting in the competition. As I kept walking I heard the name Rosemary Pinkerton called out. I thought lucky Rosemary then realised the prize was going to me!

I turned to see the Vicar holding up the painting with a huge grin on his face. ‘Strewth’ I thought. The vicar is smiling at a picture of a naked man! Whatever next?

Then he said something along the lines of ‘It’s not often we see impressionist paintings in our annual contest’

I was about to call out that it was not intended to be an impressionist painting, when my friend Keith appeared from nowhere and clamped his hand across my mouth. ‘Don’t say a thing’ he whispered. ‘Just smile and accept your prize graciously’

The vicar continued ‘The judges could not fail to be charmed by this amusing yet understated image of a.....of a.....’

Then he paused, looked at the picture and then at the judges. They all looked blank and old Major Trumpleforth shrugged his shoulders.

He continued ‘this image of .....of......a pig. Yes, a prize pig’

I gave up art. I clearly never was going to be the next Picasso or Constable. I still have the prize, a little silver sculpture of a dog – or is it a cow? I’ve never really been sure.
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Oranges are so a-peeling!

2009-02-03T23:28:00.007Z

This week True Colours Thursday is all about Orange!

I love oranges. Big juicy Jaffa’s, little tidley mandarins. Gorgeous. I adore crepe suzettes because of the orange sauce and duck l’orange is just yummy. There’s nothing like a glass of Grand Marnier orange liqueur, and I quite like Orangeboom Dutch beer even though it doesn’t taste of oranges.

And how about those Terry’s Chocolate Oranges? Whack and unwrap! As for Jaffa Cakes – I’m dribbling at the thought of them.

Orang-utans are kind of orange. Well, I suppose they would be. So are carrots.

I went to a fancy dress party as a carrot once. I already had some orange jeans, and I got an orange shirt from a charity shop. I then decided to dye my hair orange and tie some green ribbons in it to look like leaves! Someone asked me if I had matching collar and cuffs and everyone laughed. I didn’t see what was funny because I was wearing short sleeves and had no cuffs.

Anyhow,I thought the dye I used would wash out but it didn’t and I was known as ginger nut for weeks afterwards!

That reminds me of the time my friend Keith dressed up as the Incredible Hulk for a New Years Eve bash. He used green food dye on his face and hands and arms and legs. But the next morning it wouldn’t wash off and he had to take time off work until he looked less like a lettuce! He was not so much Incredible Hulk – more like Incredible Sulk!!

So, next week our colour is silver. Why don’t you join in?
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Regrets

2009-01-31T01:26:00.002Z

I'm writing this for Sunday Scribblings'
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What about this for a quote!

“I would much rather have regrets about not doing what people said, than regretting not doing what my heart led me to and wondering what life had been like if I'd just been myself.”

I have to admit it took me ages to make out what it was saying, it’s certainly a mouthful! But I like the sentiment – I think!

I assume it means that some regrets are more important than others. I think, correct me if I’m wrong, that not doing what your heart says is more regrettable than not doing what your friends tell you to do.

Actually I’m not sure I agree. Doing what my heart has told me has got me into all sorts of trouble. I often deeply regret listening to myself.

On the other hand, my friends have often given me advice which I have stupidly ignored and regretted like crazy.

Are you following this or are you beginning to regret starting to read it?

It also talks about wondering what life would be like if I’d just been myself. Wow, it would be a disaster! I’m a bit accident prone, and I get myself in all sorts of scrapes. If I hadn’t listened to what people suggested to me I dread to think what would have happened!

I’ve just found a simpler quote. “Forget regret, or life is yours to miss”. And another, “If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world.”

But the funniest quote I came across was this one by an actor I’ve never heard of, Denis Leary – “My biggest regret in life is that I didn't hit John Denver in the mouth while I had the chance.”
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think pink!

2009-01-28T23:37:00.012Z

My friend Keith found a weekly meme called True Colours. Each week the contributors post photos and say a few words about the chosen colour. As this week the prompt was my favourite colour pink, he suggested I join in. So here goes!

With a name like Pinkerton is hardly surprising that my favourite colour is pink!
My favourite shop is called Pink. It’s in Brighton.

My new car is pink. I love it

I saw these pink shoes in Spain. Aren’t they lovely?

I love stretched limos, and this little Trabant I saw in Prague
really made me giggle!

I'm off for a glass of pink champagne. Cheers!.
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I'm weird and I'll tell you why!

2009-01-26T23:44:00.011Z

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I’ve been tagged– yes me! And I’ve been given a badge to display. Mind you, I can’t read a word of what it says in the small print, so I hope I haven’t just agreed to do something I’d rather not! This is it.

It was given to me by Tanya Gwen Minnick - what a fabulous name. It seems I have to list seven weird or random facts about myself. Why anyone should think I do one weird let alone seven defeats me! But I’ve had a go, and these are they! (gosh that was posh!)

1. I walk under ladders for good luck. Most people walk around them but I did that once, kicked the ladder by mistake and the guy at the top fell off!

2. I got home late one night after a having a few drinks. It was dark in my entrance hall and I tried sticking my feet into my two white kittens thinking they were my slippers. It made their eyes water!

3. I spent a year at a finishing school in Switzerland. Now that was weird, but at least I know how to arrange flowers and curtsy for the Queen.

4. Not only do I not get jokes, I don’t know when people are telling jokes which can be very embarrassing.

5. Right, nobody else knows this except the teddy bear I sleep with, and I hope my parents don’t read it – but I’ve got a tattoo! It’s on my bum cheek, my left one I think, although I always get a bit confused when I look in the mirror! It’s quite cute, it’s a little fairy!

6. I can talk like a duck. I know ducks can’t talk I’m not quackers, but you know what I mean!

7. I learned Latin at school and I can still remember the basics. I’ve always loved this saying - struit insidias lacrimis cum femina plorat - when a woman weeps, she is setting traps with her tears. I’m giving our secrets away, aren’t I girls?

I think I am supposed to tag seven people now. But as I am fairly new to this blogging palaver I think I’ll ask for seven volunteers instead. Any takers?..

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Wooooo, woooooo - scary stuff!

2009-01-25T21:26:00.007Z

I wrote this for Sunday Scribblings
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I noticed the clock on my kitchen wall had stopped. Apart from that, the morning was pretty much the same as any other.

I rummaged through the drawer in search of a new battery. I found AA’s, D’s and an old No.6, but the only A I came across was a lumpy sticky one!

Anyway I carried on with my routine – showered, got dressed and had breakfast. Toast it was. I prefer croissants, especially the pan-au-chocolat type, the straight ones with square ends and two chocolate worms through the middle, but I didn’t have any.

As I’ve told you before I have a bit of a short term memory problem. That’s why I often end my blog posts with a different subject to, woops, from the one I started with!

Where was I? Oh yes, I was just about to put my coat on and leave for work when I looked at the clock on the kitchen wall and thought ‘Oh, I’m early. I’ll have another mug of coffee’. It was only when I switched the telly onto News 24 I discovered it was nine o’clock and I was very late for work!

But when I got to school the children were still arriving! ‘How odd’ I thought. ‘I’m not late at all’

It was a normal kind of day and on my way home that afternoon I purchased a couple of new batteries for the clock.

When I walked in the door it felt odd. I can’t say exactly what it was, but something made me shiver. It was a really strange sensation.

I took my coat into the bedroom, and there on the floor was a white bed sheet, the one I’d folded up and placed on the chair the day before. Again I shivered, I don’t know why.

I joked with myself about there having been a phantom in the house while I was away, and a strange aura had remained!

I remembered being told once that ghosts pop white sheets over their heads when they want to be seen. When I told my friends they all laughed, but I thought there may just be some truth in it.

And right then the hair was standing up on the back of my neck. At least I think it was. I’ve never actually seen the hair on the back of anyone’s neck stand up!

I then noticed that the TV was turned on. It was tuned into Ghostwatch on Channel Four. Now I know I am in the habit of forgetting to turn it off so I wasn't entirely surprised. But ‘weird’ I thought, because the last thing I watched was BBC News 24 this morning. I was now getting more than a little spooked.

I went into the kitchen to get a bottle of chardonnay from the fridge and I noticed a cereal bowl with a few soggy cornflakes in the bottom. But I’d had toast for breckie and had fantasised about pan-au-chocolat. And the mug – it was half full of cold tea. I’d thought I’d had coffee.

Something was playing with my mind. I grabbed a jar of dried garlic to keep me safe – I didn’t have any of the real stuff, but I hoped it would have the same effect.

I was feeling a little shaky so I went back to my bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. It was then it happened. I could not believe my eyes.

The white bed sheet on the floor began to move!

I was petrified.

Then slowly a head appeared from underneath the sheet, a fluffy head with big round eyes.

It was my cat Fuzzybutt looking as frightened as me! Then a tail appeared from the other end of the sheet. I couldn’t help laughing – it looked as if Fuzz was six feet long! But it was Scruff’s tail. They both came out and jumped on my lap. They were shaking.

‘Let’s all pull ourselves together’ I shouted. I stood up and the cats jumped onto the floor. I remembered the battery for the clock and thought that then was the perfect time to stick it in. So the three of us went back to the kitchen.

And then the oddest thing of all. The clock was merrily ticking away. And not just that, the hands were showing the right time. ‘Oo–er’ I thought. Fuzzeybutt and Scruff looked up at me with their tails between their legs.

What happened that day, I really don’t know. Did time stand still? Did nothing I thought I’d done actually happen? Had a spirit – a phantom been in my home?

I guess I’ll never know, and if you believe that story you’ll believe anything!

A very blind date!

2009-01-23T21:11:00.006Z

I've written this for (Fiction) Friday.
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I’ve had a few boyfriends. Well, at my age I am bound to have done. But I’ve never found anyone special. No young man has ever frothed my coffee, showered me in fairy dust or carried me away on a cloud of candyfloss.

In fact I’ve not had much luck in the bloke department.

For instance there was Pete the Geek! I told myself that the anorak and his bobble hat didn’t matter. After all he was an interesting person. He once announced that he was going to give me a treat. We were going to the airport. I of course assumed that we were jetting off for a romantic night in Paris or somewhere.

Wrong. He took me up to the observation platform where I sat shivering under a blanket with earplugs in, whilst he gushed over Boeings and Airbuses and other assorted flying machines.

Then there was Jimmy the Joker who always had a funny comment in every situation. Unfortunately I have a problem differentiating between tragedy and comedy and cried when I should have laughed, and giggled when I ought to have pulled a sympathetic expression.

There was Trevor and his tandem, Freddy who suffered from flatulence and Julian. The less said about Julian the better, except to say that he had an unusual physical ‘problem’ which I couldn’t keep my eyes off!

Should I tell you about it? I’m always afraid of saying something which could offend my readers! Okay, Julian had a strange twitch. One eye brow shot up and down quickly followed by the other one, a bit like the brows on a ventriloquist’s dummy! There I’ve told you.

Well, I couldn’t stop staring at him and once I kinda went into a trance and he had to wave his hand in front of my eyes to break me out! So that was that.

What I came here to write about was blind dates. I’ve had a few of those I can tell you! Keith wrote about one last week – he called it He’s not for Rosey or something. It was a pretty accurate account of yet another disastrous encounter.

But the one that I remember almost was a blind date! It was arranged for me to meet my date at the bench alongside the second rubbish bin in the park. At the appointed time I sat down and waited and then I saw a couple of guys coming towards me. They were arm in arm so I assumed they were, well, you know! Batting for the other side!

Then I noticed one was wearing a blindfold – it must have been my blind date.

And it was. He was introduced to me as Toby, and then his friend made a discreet exit left! He clearly wanted to take the blind date bit really seriously, so I played along. He asked if he could feel me which took me back a bit! Then I realised he wanted to feel my face to get an idea what I looked like. I said it would be easier if he took the blindfold off and took a look, but he was adamant that he wanted to act blind.

So I steered his hand to my cheek and he started feeling around which tickled a bit. Then he suddenly stuck a finger up my nose and poked me in the eye with his thumb! Wow, that hurt!

Now I couldn’t see either because my other eye had closed in sympathy. Talk about the blind leading the blind.

That broke the ice and we did go on to see each other a few times, but it wasn’t to be. Sorry about the anti climax!

I wonder what they’ll find for me next?
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If I could change one thing

2009-01-22T00:08:00.006Z

If my Fairy Godmother suddenly appeared and asked me if I would like to change one thing about my life I would say in all honesty, no..

But if she said I could change something in somebody else’s life, then I would grab the chance with both hands.

In my class at school, there is a small child. They are all small of course but this child is smaller than all of the others.

I’ll call him Tommy although that’s not his real name.

He is quiet, and spends most of his time in thought, staring at the ground, in a world of his own.
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Exactly what goes through Tommy’s mind I don’t know, but I would guess he’s thinking about his Mother.

You see, his Mother is unwell and unable to care for herself. Tommy’s father left long ago, soon after his wife became ill.

While her son is at school, a nurse pops into give her what help she can, but once school is out it’s down to Tommy to tend to her, cook for her and carry out all manner of duties which a child of nine should not even have to think about, let alone do.

From his window Tommy can see his school friends kicking a ball around in the street, or playing tag. But he never complains. He just gets on.

If I could change one thing for him, it wouldn’t be for him to have the advantages I had when I was growing up. It’s not money he needs. He doesn’t need any more love than he gets now from his mother, she couldn’t love him any more than she does.
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No, I wish he could have a normal childhood just like his friends. A childhood where nothing really matters except scoring the winning goal.

But I guess that’s all a dream.
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Based on a true story
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My pilgrimage

2009-01-16T22:16:00.010Z

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As soon as I saw the prompt ‘Pilgrimage’ on Sunday Scribblings my mind went back to my schooldays. I remembered the hymn that was our school song, To Be a Pilgrim.

I just looked up the words because it occurred to me that when I was a kid I had no idea what the song was about. It was all written in Olde English with heaps of words that meant nothing to me. Even now I’m struggling a bit!

I can remember that we all found the name of the writer a bit funny. Well, when you are ten you are bound to find someone named after a swollen toe somewhat amusing. Who on earth could be called John Bunion even if it is spelt Bunyon!!

Actually I’ve quite surprised myself. I remember that it was written in sixteen forty-something, about the same time as Keith’s fave pub The Five Ashes Inn was built.

I also recall that 'Billy' Bunion wrote it in prison as part of his book Pilgrims Progress though I can’t remember why he was there.

I also know that someone altered the words, and someone else, Vaughn Williams I think it was, changed the tune!

That reminds me of the character Trig in that TV sit-com who was a road sweeper and said that he’d had the same broom for twenty years and it had only needed six new heads and four new handles!

Looking at the words again I realise that the second line says Let him in constancy, not Let him incontinently! I also thought there was something about fancy flees in the last verse, but now I see it’s when fancies flee away.

I also thought that the third line of the second verse was about no foes staying the night. Wrong!

My journey through school was a pilgrimage. It was a journey beset (I like that word) with angst and acne. They say that the journey is more important than reaching your destination, but in my case the getting to my destination was one of my life’s greatest moments. I made it – I left school!
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He who would valiant be ’gainst all disaster,

Let him in constancy follow the Master.

There’s no discouragement shall make him once relent
His first avowed intent to be a pilgrim.

Who so beset him round with dismal stories

Do but themselves confound - his strength the more is.
No foes shall stay his might; though he with giants fight,
He will make good his right to be a pilgrim.

Since, Lord, Thou dost defend us with Thy Spirit,

We know we at the end, shall life inherit.

Then fancies flee away! I’ll fear not what men say,

I’ll labour night and day to be a pilgrim.

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Just around the corner

2009-01-15T23:19:00.007Z

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I've written this for Writers Island.
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Just around the corner from my flat is the shop where I buy my newspapers, sweeties and milk when I run out.

Just around the corner from the shop is the pub where I meet my friends for a drink or two.

Just around the corner from the pub is the cop-shop where I had to take my driver’s license last week because I got stopped for speeding and I didn’t have it with me.

Just around the corner from the cop-shop, sorry, Police Station is the park where I play on the swings when no-one is watching.

Just around the corner from the park is the school where I work.

Just around the corner from my school are the allotments where I will soon be growing things.

Just around the corner from the allotments are the public loos (hang on, I’m just nipping in!)

Just around the corner from the Public Conveniences (I love that old fashioned name!) is the church with the noisy bells that wake me up on Sunday mornings.

Just around the corner from the church is the sea front.

and just before the next corner is my flat!.

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Memorable mnemonics

2009-01-14T22:58:00.005Z

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I was doing some laundry the other day and I noticed water all over the floor It seemed to be coming from the cupboard next to the washing machine. Strange I thought. I looked in the cupboard and I saw it was squirting from the pipe which sends water to the machine.

Now I’m a pretty practical person. Usually I carry out minor DIY things around the flat without too much trouble. Ok, I did have a problem when I smelt gas. It was dark so I looked for the leak with a cigarette lighter. I needed to re-grow my eyebrows anyway so it wasn’t a problem.

And I once I drilled a hole in the wall to put up a shelf and I hit an electric cable. My friends said that frizzy stand-up hair suited me.

I was pretty confident with the leaking pipe because I remembered a mnemonic. Mnemonics are sentences that help you to remember spellings, useful bits of info and things.

And I remembered how to spell mnemonic because of a mnemonic - Macabre Neanderthals Eviscerate Mammoths On Nocturnal Icy Coasts, or an easier one is Monkeys Never Eat Mayonnaise On Noodles In Canada.

Anyway, I knew I had to tighten the pipe so I said ‘Lefty Loosey, Righty Tighty’. Unfortunately I was a little over enthusiastic and I tightened it too much causing the connection to come off in my hand, and I ended up looking like a drowned rat.

Talking of mnemonics, when I recently wrote about birds I was a little unsure about the difference between rooks and crows. I looked up the mnemonic and it goes ‘a crow in a crowd is a rook. A rook on its own, is a crow’. That led me to look up others.

If you can’t decide whether to use Affect or Effect just say RAVEN – Remember Affect Verb – Effect Noun!

And Fahrenheit temperatures to Centigrade ‘30 hot, 20 nice, 10 cold, 0 ice!’

How to spell Necessary – one collar, two socks!

I after E except after C - but not in Keith, weird!

Draw a circle in the air – Never Eat Slimy Worms, North East South West!

Here’s one I learned at First Aid classes so I’d remember what to do in an emergency – DRAB stands for Danger, Response, Airways, Breathing. I can’t quite recall how it’s supposed to help though.

The order of the planets - Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, Pluto, My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas!

To spell Rhythm – Rhythm Helps Your Two Hips Move

If you have any favourites I’d love to hear them!

By the way, the plumber who came to mend my washing machine pipe was a really nice guy and very understanding.
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I'm going organic!

2009-01-08T23:53:00.009Z

Very soon I will have my own allotment! I can’t wait, but unfortunately I’ll have to because until someone dies there are none available. I am told that an old fella by the name of Harry is pretty close to meeting his maker, and I have mixed emotions because although it will be very sad for his family when he pops his clogs, it will be a great day for me.

When I saw this week’s prompt on Sunday Scribblings it got me thinking. We have to write about organic things, and I thought - ‘I know, I’ll have an organic allotment’

The first thing I have researched is organic manures. I didn’t realise there were so many types. I can’t start making it just yet because it may stink a little, and setting up a ferty-factory on my appartments balcony could prove unpopular with my neighbours!

For organic compost I will need to keep all my waste things – leftover food, dead flowers and things. I’ll get an old bin and then I have to buy some worms! What a hoot! You need a special make called (wait for it) Red Wrigglers! True, I promise you.

I can get them by mail order. I wonder if they are cheaper on EBay. Anyway, I’ll bung them into my bin and see what happens.

Fertilizer is different from compost. Did you know that? I didn’t. It has to come from something which once lived. Dried blood, crushed bone, and old fish skins for example. I’m not sure I know how to crush bones. There's a guy who drinks at our pub they call Bonecrusher, perhaps that's what he does for a job. I'll ask him. I think I can buy it readymade too– Bones2Go!

Another good fertilizer is horse poo. We don’t get many horses trotting past my apartment, and even if we did I’m not so sure I’d want to follow them with a shovel and bucket. I do have a plan though. I know someone with stables, so I’m sure I can get some there.

Actually cow pancakes are probably good too. I’ll gather some of those from the farm near school. I could get the children to help me, and then I wouldn’t actually have to pick them up myself. It would be great fun day out for them too, I’ll mention to the Head.

I also read that something called Humanure is good. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll give it a miss. Can you imagine....no I’d rather not!

Then there is crop cover. That’s when you plant something alongside your plants which insects and bugs find tastier. My book tells me that this is used a lot in vineyards, but I won’t be making my own wine – it takes too long and gardening is thirsty work!

So soon I’ll have organic carrots and cabbages and lettuces and tomatoes. I also want to grow flowers. I’ve never heard of organic gladioli so I could be on to something new. One of my aims is to grow the world’s tallest sunflower. I may just have found the answer!

I let you know when I get my allotment; hopefully it will be before the spring. Perhaps I could take old Harry some poisonous grapes to speed things along.

Did I say that? That’s terrible, I should be ashamed. You know I didn’t mean it. Honestly Harry!
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One plain one purl

2009-01-07T23:47:00.011Z

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I thought I’d give an update on my knitting. I am getting quite quick at it now. I found this wonderful wool shop inside an indoor market and I thought you might like to see a picture of it.
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They also sell all sorts of other crafty things as you can see from this picture. Incase you are wondering, that’s not me standing at the counter. Well, it couldn’t have been, I was taking the picture!

Anyway, I made all my friends little cell phone socks for Christmas and I was chuffed to see everybody using theirs when we all met up the other day.

My latest project has been a pair of gloves. Very complicated. You have to make sure each glove has five fingers. Then I joined them together with a long piece of elastic which I feed through my sleeves so I won’t lose one.

Unfortunately when I tried them on for the first time I realised I’d made two left hand ones by mistake. So now I’ve got to make two right hand ones, and then I’ll have a spare pair.

Actually Keith always says he gets cold hands at work, so he might like them. I know they are pink, but I’m sure he won’t mind. I saw his laundry drying the other day, so I know they wont be the only pink things he wears.

That reminds me, I saw a man the other day who was wearing one brown shoe and one black shoe. I commented on them and he said that he had another pair the same at home. Actually that’s a fib. I didn’t really see him, it was a joke someone told me.

I’m looking for unusual things to knit and if you can give me any ideas I’d be well pleased. Things like place mats, lamp shades and even a cover for my computer.

I was thinking earlier that as my fruit bowl is always empty I could knit some bananas and apples. Grapes might be a bit difficult, but oranges very easy. Well, they make decorative artificial fruit from other materials so why not wool?

I do eat fruit, in fact I love fruit. It’s just that I keep it in the fridge ( I thought I’d write that in case Mummy reads this!)

I tried a pomegranate the other day. What hard work. All those pips and all that squirty juice! Never again.

What’s that fruit that stinks? I had it on holiday once. I remember – durian. Wow, what a pong. I am told however that they are an aphrodisiac. They wouldn’t be if they were in the same room that's for sure.

A few years ago I tried planting some apple seeds. They didn't grow.

I must get back to my knitting now.

For richer or poorer

2009-01-03T21:39:00.007Z

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I wrote this for Sunday Scribblings.

For richer or poorer
she married a snorer
he snored for the whole of the night
One night he stopped snoring
she thought he’d stopped breathing
It gave her a terrible fright.

In sickness and health
his fabulous wealth -
it constantly played on her mind
Now if he stopped snoring
because he stopped breathing......

no, how could she be so unkind?

For better or worse
she looked in her purse
and saw nothing but buttons and bills
She knew when he died
that he would provide
a fortune by way of his will.

Through joy and through sadness
she knew it was madness
to hammer a stake through his heart
(metaphorically speaking!)
For now she’d just wait
til that faraway date
when one day his death would them part.

This is not a true story! Please take it in the light hearted way it's intended!

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I'm a twitcher!

2008-12-30T19:34:00.021Z

Have you heard of Observer’s Books? They were little pocket books for youngsters and they were about all sorts of subjects. I think they started in the thirties and there were 100 different ones to collect.

Well several years ago I was given my Grandfathers collection when he died – I’ve got 67 and two thirds (one seems to be missing forty pages). Look, I’ve taken snaps of four of them, ones that I really like.

My absolute fave is the one on birds. I live a couple of floors up in my apartment block and I see lots of birds. In fact they often sit on my balcony, probably because I put food out for them.

Until I looked through my little book I didn’t realise how many makes of birds there are.

Up until now the only birds I could actually recognise were chickens and turkeys (I see them in the supermarket minus their feathers) and the usuals like robins and sparrows and gulls.

I don’t like gulls and I see lots of them because I live over the road from the sea. They are HUGE! And greedy, and noisy and a little bit scary. They have a habit of swooping down on unsuspecting sun-worshippers on the beach and stealing their sandwiches and things!

Out of my back window I look over our communal lawn. There’s an old biddy on the bottom floor that puts out bread for the birds on the grass. I need to tell her that you shouldn’t feed birds on dry bread. Apparently when they drink water after eating dry bread it swells up in their tummies and that is not a good thing. I read that on a sign down on the promenade asking you not to feed the gulls with bread.

Well, I’ve got some little binoculars on a stick – you know what I mean, I think they are called opera glasses. Anyway they are perfect for bird spotting.

Today I’ve seen several robins (why do they say ‘robin red breast’ when their breasts are actually orange?) some jays, a blackbird or two and a pair of tits (no Keith, I wasn’t spying on the topless sunbathers. Anyway it’s the middle of winter and freezing cold so there aren’t any)

I also saw a gaggle of crows - or rooks. Even with my book I can’t see the difference. I know that one of them likes the company of others, and the other is a bit of a loner – a ‘billy no-mates’ as we say. I remember once learning a poem which helps you tell the difference;

A crow on its own is a rook
A rook in a crowd is a crow

At least I think that’s how it went, but it could be;

A rook on its own is a crow
A crow in a crowd is a rook

So that doesn’t help.

I also saw a magpie. I think I’m right in saying that if you see one magpie you have bad luck until you see another. No that’s wrong, because the old superstition has just come back to me. It’s to do with number of magpies you see at once, and it goes like this;

One for sorrow, Two for joy, Three for a girl, Four for a boy, Five for silver, Six for gold, Seven for a secret never to be told.

I was never quite sure what to expect if I ever saw eight or more!

I also happen know that they are ‘tea leaves’ - thieves (did you like my Cockney rhyming slang?) They like to steal bright things like diamond rings and tiaras.

I’ve made notes on the birds I need to look out for. I want to see a jenny wren, a thrush, a starling and a black-chested buzzard eagle genus geranoaetus melanoleucus, although the chance of seeing one of them is not very high.

Anyway, I am now a fully fledged (joke) ornithologist. We are also known as Twitchers by the way! I prefer that name.

All that bird spotting has made me hungry. I think I’ll boil myself a couple of eggs.
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I think I believe in Father Christmas

2008-12-26T21:58:00.007Z

I’m dying to tell you about my Christmas stocking! When I woke up on Crimble day, there it was on the floor by the wall exactly where it would be if I had a chimney, only I don’t.

It was bulging! Now if you are thinking ‘silly mare, she filled it herself on Christmas Eve' then you obviously didn’t read my composition called Things I like about Christmas because Thing 2 (or was it Thing 3?) explained that I buy and wrap my own Santa presents a year in advance. It is well documented that I am somewhat challenged in the memory department, so when the time comes to open them I’ve forgotten what I bought! Clever or what??

As I was saying, there it was on the floor and I was so excited that a little bit of wee came out! How embarassing.

Then Fuzzybut and Scruff jumped up on the bed – they must have realised that Santa had brought them some gifts too, catty things, you know.

The first thing I got was a backscratcher! I love it, it’s like a finger on a stick. Then I un-wrapped a CD. It was by Basshunter and called ‘Now You’re Gone’. It was number one in the charts last January, but I obviously forgot it would no longer be number one when I received it.

And then out popped a squeaky rubber mouse. I guessed that must be for the cats, although I must admit I quite like it myself. Just think of the fun I could have with that in the pub!

And then came a packet of cigarettes - Santa clearly didn’t realise that I gave up in March. That was followed by a miniature bottle of vodka, so I took off the top and necked it!

And then a sort of muesli bar. The excitement was making me a little peckish, so I tore off the wrapper and took a bite. Yuk! It tasted dreadful. I picked up the wrapper and saw the words ‘Canine de-worming treatment’. I spat it out; Scruff sniffed it then ran out of the room.

There was a lippy, a Snickers, a notebook, a game.
A pen and a key ring, a brooch with my name.
A hair clip some chocolates a book and a comb.
A toy for the cats, and a photograph frame.

Right at the bottom there were some nuts and an orange – Father Christmas always left me those when I was little. And that, as they say, was that! Oh, I forgot the hat! A red Santa one with a sprig of plastic mistletoe that hangs over my head! You never know who might pop round.

So that’s it. On Monday I’ll go shopping for next Christmas’s stocking fillers. I’m just waiting for a call from Father Christmas telling me what to get!
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It's Christmas morning!

2008-12-25T02:05:00.003Z

I can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s 1.30 am on Christmas morning and instead of being in bed asleep I’m writing. And before you say “if you don’t go to bed soon Santa won’t come” well, ha-ha-ha! Very funny. I’m not stupid, he never gets to me until 4.

The reason I am up is that I have just been to midnight mass with Keith. We were going with his Mum, but when I called to pick him up he said that his Mum had decided not to come. I think he thought he was going to get out of it, but I was having none of it.

Anyway, we eventually set off up the road with him moaning and groaning about being cold, which was daft because it wasn’t cold at all. We got to the church about 11.15 by which time there was hardly a pew to be had. But we found a couple of spaces near the back. Well, at this service we only have candlelight, and he started complaining that he was too far away from the nearest candle and he couldn’t see. But then he choir burst through the door to our left, and his little face light up. I think you know that he is passionate about church choirs and the one at our church is exceptional.

All was going well, despite Keith yawning rather a lot. But I did have a bit of a scare when at the end of a long prayer we all sat up but Keith didn’t! He stayed head-down. Then I realised he was asleep. Fortunately he didn’t snore like he does at the movies. He is the world’s greatest authority on the beginnings and ends of films. I swear he thinks that movies are all 20 minutes long and don’t make sense!

When I’d called for him he was just writing an email t our friend in Oz, Mr Whitesnake. Steve the snake said that at midnight UK time he’d raise a glass to Keith. Keith replied that he would be at Mass at the time, and said that he’d toast Steve with the communion wine. I assumed he was joking, but I swear that as he took a sip of the ‘blood of Christ’ he muttered ‘Cheers Steve’. He strongly denies it, and says ‘Amen’ sounds like ‘Cheers Steve’. Nonsense I say. I told him he’ll never go to heaven if he gets up to tricks like that.

When I mentioned recently to his daughter Rachel that I was going to church with him, she broke into a grin and suggested I pretend not to be with him because he insists on singing the harmony during every hymn – loudly! She said that when she was young she found it a bit embarrassing. But it wasn’t a problem tonight. I think he was too tired to bother, until.......

The final carol was that biggy, the loudest one in the book ‘Oh Come all Ye Faithful’ and suddenly Keith perked up. He harmonised quite quietly at first. But during the carol the choir processed toward our part of the church and as they got louder, he got louder. Well the last verse is huge, and now the choir were standing behind and beside us. You would have thought he was auditioning for a leading role! He belted it out.

Anyway, I made sure he got home safely and now I’m back in my apartment. I really do have to go to bed now, suddenly my clock tells me its 2am and Mummy and Daddy will be here at the crack of dawn demanding coffee and things. Why do old people get up so early?

Anyway have a great day – Happy Christmas!!
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Santa's here!

2008-12-22T00:07:00.004Z

Shhhh a sound up on the roof
Ringing bells, a reindeer hoof
Santa’s come I knew he would
He said he would if I was good

It started with a piece of liver

2008-12-20T01:01:00.007Z

This week Sunday Scribblings want us to write using the word late. Writers Island has asked us to use the phrase slipped through my fingers. I've used them both in one piece. I'm not stupid!!!

I was late for my first aid course the other day. I had to do some shopping on the way because I wanted to get some liver from the butcher for my supper.

Now call me odd if you wish, but I just love the feel of liver. It’s sort of slimy in a tactile kind of way and I simply couldn’t resist a grope as I scurried through the mall.

So there I was with this chunk of liver in my hand when the pesky thing made its escape - it slipped through my fingers.

I stopped and turned to pick it up from the floor, when some poor fellow trod on it and went skidding uncontrollably towards an old lady sitting on a bench. I can still see the look of horror on her wrinkled little face as he suddenly tripped and fell with his face in her lap.

Well, she was holding a bag at the time, and I think it must have had something very solid inside it because when he twisted round and gazed up at me he had the beginnings of a pretty nasty black eye.

Rosey to the rescue! I remembered that a good way to ease an injured eye is to plonk a piece of steak over it. I didn’t have a steak, but it occurred to me that liver might just have the same effect. I couldn’t find it at first but then I noticed it stuck to the soul of his shoe. I peeled it off and carefully placed it over his sore peeper.

He made a strange sound, I can’t really describe it, but I got the impression that he was suffering a little discomfort. I suppose it must have been a bit gritty.

An onlooker noticed that I had a water bottle sticking out of my bag. She said we should use its contents to rinse out his eye as quickly as possible. I started to take the bottle from my bag and she grabbed it before I could explain that it was not just water. In fact it wasn’t water at all. It was lemonade. Oh, and it was liberally laced with vodka. You see, my first aid classes can be a bit boring, so I sometimes – well, I usually take a little tipple with me in the guise of mineral water!

It was getting worse. By the weird noises he was making his eye was obviously stinging rather badly. I thought it might help if we could sit him up, so I grabbed his arm and tugged. I’ve never heard a yell like the one he let out then!

By now quite a crowd had gathered, and fortunately most of them had not witnessed the liver incident which set off this whole sorry situation. So I turned to the nosey lady next to me, tutted, and made a comment about what a shame it was that he’d injured himself. Then I discretely made my escape by backing away through the assembled mass and blending into the folk walking past.

A couple of days later I was back in the mall when hobbling in my direction came a man walking with a crutch, his eye bandaged and his arm in a sling. I nipped into the nearest shop, and intended staying in there until he’d passed!

Unfortunately I was looking over my shoulder rather than where I was walking, and that’s when the display shelves toppled over showering a child with dozens of teddy bears. I don’t have much luck.

Silent night? I don't think so!

2008-12-18T01:59:00.005Z

I’ve just come across this funny record of someone called Tom Waits singing Silent Night. Silent Night? He’s yelling his head off!

Actually he sounds just like old Arthur at the pub on karaoke night after he’s had a bevy or two!

When I first heard it I had this image of a scruffy old fella with a bent cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, crawling up to the crib in Bethlehem, peering in at the baby with his bleary eyes and starting to sing at it with his beery breath.

I could imagine the baby thinking “perhaps that plan I’ve got to turn water into wine when I grow up is not such a good one after all!”

Ps. The other carols on my playlist are quite unusual too - especially the Chinese kids singing Hark the Herald Angels Sing!

Things I like about Christmas

2008-12-16T20:36:00.009Z

I got this lovely award from Shadow, and she’s asked me to write about my favourite Christmas things. I stopped at 6 although I could have gone on for pages!

First I have to explain the rules

* You must be a true Christmas lover to receive this award
* the person to whom you give the award must also be in love with Christmas
* you must link back to the person who gave you the award
* you must list 5 things that you love about Christmas. if you can’t limit it to 5 things, then keep going till you run out of space!
* pass the award along to as many people as you like. That can be 1 or 50. It’s up to you. But, you must pass it one to at least one person in order to keep the Christmas cheer going!* Let your recipients know that you have tagged them by leaving them a comment

Five things I love about Christmas…plus one!

1. Putting out a glass of sherry and a mince pie for Father Christmas at bedtime, then drinking the sherry and eating the pie before going to sleep, then seeing the empty plate and empty glass in the morning!

2. Opening the presents in my stocking. Don’t laugh – I know I put them there myself, but I always buy them and wrap them a year ahead so by the time I open them I’ve forgotten what they are!

3. Going to the pub before lunch. It was best when Keith had his pub, but even so, I always get a welcome at my local and a free drink on the house!

4. Going to Mummy and Daddy’s for their fantazmagolical lunch! I’m dribbling just thinking about it! My Grandma is always there and she usually falls asleep before the Christmas Pud comes out. She fell asleep IN the Christmas Pud once!

5. Crackers! Do you have crackers? I love them. We are still sitting around the table and we all cross our arms and hold each other’s crackers in a circle and pull -except Grandma who’s still asleep. The loud bang usually makes her jump and she says something like “there’s someone at the door dear” then goes back to sleep again! I must admit to cheating slightly. If you hold the crackers in a certain way you usually get the contents from two of them!

6. Turning on the TV at 3pm for the Queen’s Speech. Like most English families we never miss it. The Queen appears on screen and Daddy insists we all stand up, except Grandma who is still asleep. Her Majesty wishes us all a very heppy Christmas (she says heppy instead of happy because she’s posh). Then she talks about lots of things that she’s done and places where she’s been Queening during the year

6. I like the bit after the Queens Speech too, because we usually all doze off in front of the log fire, except Grandma who wakes and asks what time the Queens Speech will be on! She hasn’t seen it for donkeys years!

Now who shall I pass on this award to? I know, Jadey loves Christmas because it gives her an excuse to bake cakes and things! She’ll probably list her five fave Christmas recipes.
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I'm learning my lines

2008-12-15T23:31:00.004Z

As I think you know, I am teachers little helper in a class of eight year olds at a local school. Right now we are getting ready for this year’s nativity play which the whole school will perform to an audience of doting parents next week.

Normally it’s all-kiddie affair, but for some reason I have been told that I have to take part in it. As far as I know the children said they would go on strike if Miss Pinkerton didn’t join them on stage!I really can’t think why, but I must confess I’m getting quite excited about it.

Right now I’m taking a break from learning my lines. I have been cast as the second tree from the right! The other trees are quite a bit smaller than me, so I do look a little odd up there with my leaves in the clouds!

Oh, I should point out that I am the only tree with a talking part as the others are made from papiere mashe. I don’t think I spelt that right, but you know what I mean – it’s that fabulously gooey stuff made from old newspaper and water and glue paste which you make models from, and stick on kids noses when teacher isn’t watching!

Anyway, I have to point to things with my branches (which are actually my arms but you’d never know it) and I say – let me get this right – “Look, a bright star.... something something” I haven’t quite got the lines in my head just yet!

I know that at one stage I have to say “Look, three wise men are approaching” And later I say just say “Look”. That’s my shortest line.

When I was small I was always given little parts in my school nativity plays. Things which couldn’t go wrong like a sheep or something. One year I was a fire! I was dressed all over in brown so I looked like logs and I had red and yellow gloves which looked like flames. I had to hold my arms in the air and wiggle my fingers, but I could never resist pinching the boys bums just as they were about to speak their lines.

In my last year of little school, my Father insisted I had a starring role. (not being the star silly!!) He was a school governor so he had a bit of clout. Well I got the job of being Mary. And if I say it myself I did it pretty well.

At least, it was going well until I had to pick up the baby Jesus from the crib, and as I did so his head fell off and rolled to the back of the stage. I had to think of something pretty damn quick!

As it happens I was sitting on some sand under a plastic palm tree which was supposed to make the set look deserty, and alongside me were a few hairy coconuts, so I grabbed one of those and held it where Jesus’ head used to be. I thought I’d got away with it until Wise Man 2 looked at it and ad-libbed “I didn’t know Jesus was born with a beard”

Well back to the matter in hand. I have to carry on practicing my lines ready for the rehearsal tomorrow, so you’ll have to excuse me. Bye for now.

my-my! I'm doing a me-me!

2008-12-13T23:54:00.008Z

Giggles has asked me to take part in a me-me or a mi-mi thing-thing.

I wasn’t entirely sure what it was, so I looked it up and I read that “a meme ( pronounced /mi:mi/) is a unit or element of cultural ideas, symbols or practices that transmit from one mind to another through speech, gestures, rituals, or other imitable phenomenon”

I was more confused still after reading that! So I thought I’d just do exactly what the rules say, which is open the nearest book to page 46 then write out the fifth sentence on that page, and also the next five on that page. Still not very clear but here goes.

Nearest book is The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K.Rowling. It’s her book of five fairy tales, and the book shop girl told me that it’s one of this Christmas's biggest selling books for young people – like me! Now let’s look at page 45, no 46! Silly me!

The warlock gloried in his indifference and the sagacity that had produced it. ( oo-err! Some long words there!)

The first freshness of youth waned, and the warlock’s peers began to wed, and then to bring forth children.

“Their hearts must be husks” he sneered inwardly, as he observed the antics of the young parents around him, shriveled by the demands of these mewling offspring!”

Now I have a problem. The book is quite a teenie weanie one and I’ve got to the bottom of the page. Actually the two next sentences are quite short, so I’ll copy them from page 46

And once again he congratulated himself upon the wisdom of his early choice.

In due course the warlock’s parents died.

Now, if you have the faintest idea what that’s all about you are very clever indeed. I haven’t a clue!

I’m supposed to ask five more people to have a go, but I don’t really know everyone well enough yet. Keith said I should ask for volunteers so that’s what I’ll do. I know he’s been tagged (technical term) by Lucy to have a go so I can’t ask him.

I hope I got it right!
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Sunday Scribblings - 'I knew instantly'

2008-12-12T23:19:00.006Z

I knew instantly that I’d like it. I needed a little piece of music for my bloggie so I typed the word Fairy into a site which Keith told me about and up it popped! A song called Fairy Rain by someone called Yoko Asada. As you know I love fairies, but I don’t think I’ve told you that I like rain too.

Do you like walking in the rain? It’s fun. There is nothing I like more than jumping into puddles and looking up into the sky so the raindrops tickle my nose.

About the song.I’ve listened and listened but I can’t hear any words about fairies. Actually I can’t make out a single word!

Do you think perhaps she singing it in Fairy-ish? A language that only those little winged wonders understand. (Little winged wonders!! I like that)

Talking of other languages, someone came up to me the other day and asked me something, but I couldn’t understand her. That’s it really. I don’t know why I mentioned it.

Anyway, I decided that although I can’t make out the words of Fairy Rain I’d keep it because it’s such a pretty song. I hope you like it too.

Ps. I don’t really believe that there is such a language as Fairy-ish! I’m not that stupid. Fairies speak English! Don't they?

Tall cop, fat cop

2008-12-09T23:54:00.005Z

Hey listen to this. Well, you know I’ve got a new car? Come to think about it I didn’t tell you about it, so I guess you don’t! Well, I have. It’s a pink Smart! It’s so cute I smile every time I see it.

As I was saying, listen to this (I think you say ‘listen up’ in the States – at least they do in the movies)

Last night I was volunteer driver when I went with my friend to the pub. This means I can’t have drink. After I dropped her off I made my way home. It was very dark and it was raining so I drove very carefully.

Well, there I was singing away when I was suddenly half-blinded by a blue flashing light in my mirror. I thought it couldn’t be a fire engine because it was too small, and it wasn’t an ambulance because it didn’t have ECNALUBMA written on the front. Why do they do that? I mean you should be able to tell if you have a blood- wagon behind you without them having to write it backwards for the sake of your mirror. Also if I was helping with an emergency in the street (I am a qualified first-aider don’t forget) and had to call an ambulance, I wouldn’t recognise it because it would just look like a truck delivering Ecnalubmas.

Where was I? Ah, I worked out it was a cop car (I love saying that! It sounds far better than saying police car. I got that from the movies too). The road is very narrow so it couldn't get past me. It occurred to me after a mile or so that perhaps they wanted me to stop, so I pulled over and dropped the window. I didn’t actually DROP the window of course, I wound it down.

“Good evening boys” I said, but they didn’t smile. One of them said rather crossly “Get out of the car please love”

Well I don’t like being called love. I don’t mind when my Gran says it, but I don’t expect it from someone I don’t know. “I’m not your love “I said. In retrospect (that means in hindsight) it was probably not the right thing to say, because they looked slightly rattled. So I got out.

The conversation went something like this.

Me “Why have you stopped me?”

Tall cop “Because you were driving too slowly”

Me “I was driving carefully because I am not used to the car”

Chubby cop “Is this your car love - sorry, madam” (sarcastic turd)

Me “Not really"

Well that was almost certainly the wrong thing to say. Actually it was the right thing because it actually belongs to my Father’s car dealership and he lets me use it as if it were mine, but under the circumstances it was the wrong thing to say. I explained the situation and he asked if I was properly insured to drive it. I said I thought I probably was, and again I think I should have thought it out before I opened my cake-hole ( If my mum reads this she’ll tell me off for using a vulgar expression!)

So the tall cop got on his walkie-talkie thing and spoke to someone called Over, until he reluctantly conceded that I was permitted to drive it (did you spot my joke – someone called Over!)

Then to add insult to injury fat cop asked if I had been drinking. I should have just said no. After all, that would have been a truthful answer. Instead I said “Well, I have spent all evening in the pub” So he went back to his car and got this thing you breath in to – a breathalyser I think it’s called.

Fat cop “Blow in here until I tell you to stop”

Me “I’d rather not I don’t know where it’s been”

Tall cop “Just blow madam”

Well I blew as best I could but it seems I wasn’t blowing hard enough. The thing is, at finishing school (I love saying that – it sounds so posh!) we were told never to blow out our cheeks because it looks unladylike. “One puffs, not blows ladies” Anyway, I gave in and did as I was told, and they reluctantly agreed that I had no trace of alcohol on my breath.

Eventually I got away. They said they wanted to leave first as they did not want to get stuck behind me for miles as they hoped to be back in time for breakfast.

That’s it really. Now I read it back it’s not that interesting, so if you haven’t made it to the end I’ll understand, not that you know I understand because you won’t have read it!

Here is a photo of my car. Bye bye.

sunday scribblings - tradition

2008-12-07T20:46:00.006Z

Now this is a tradition I love. Hanging up a bunch of mistletoe at Christmas! I got mine yesterday and I’m eagerly awaiting my first mistletoe kiss of the season.

The priest popped round just now with a leaflet thing about Christmas services at his church, and I saw him looking at it. He had me worried for a moment I can tell you! His wasn’t the first kiss I had in mind.

I thought I’d try a write a serious composition about mistletoe (are bits of writing still called compositions like they were at school?) so I looked up on that wicki-picki-poodle thing. Wow! It was full of Latin words and ancient history. Hardly a thing about kissing! I did find out that it’s the national emblem of Oklahoma – I bet Missy gets sore lips this time of year!

So I’ll stick to what I already know. I know that you are allowed one kiss for every berry on the sprig. Some years this is good, some years this is bad and I have to buy artificial ones! One year berries kept falling off on the bus going home! What a swizz! I also know that you are supposed to remove a berry after each kiss. I don’t really hold with that tradition so I don’t stick to it. (What do you call a tradition that’s no longer a tradition? I thought of extradition but that means something completely different)

I heard on the radio today that in England we get lot of our mistletoe from France. I also heard that you have to ‘French kiss’ under French mistletoe. NO THANKS! Tongues – yuc! It’s especially bad if the kissee has been indulging in that other French tradition, chewing garlic.

That reminds me. I recently bought a lovely necklace. Well I think it’s lovely. It’s like large brown balls on a string. Someone said I looked very French so I said ‘what do you mean?’, and he said it looked like I had a string of onions around my neck. I didn’t understand, so he said ‘that’s what the traditional image of a Frenchman looks like’. I said that when I was in Paris last year I didn’t see any girls using stinky onions as jewellery.

Anyway, my sprig of mistletoe looks fantastic and I’ve been practising puckering up in front of the mirror. I’m ready lads!

Keith has written a story about me for Sunday Scribblings. I've not read it yet, I'm saving it for later. If I've done this right you can click here and find yourself there - if you see what mean

Sunday Scribblings - A Winter's Tale

2008-11-29T21:59:00.004Z

This is a true tale about winter. Well, an almost true tale, but I have added extra bits here and there otherwise it would be pretty boring!

When I was small, well not very small, but smaller than I am now, my mum’s church used to send us children to visit the old people in the village just before Christmas - people like my friend Keith!

We used to make cards at Sunday School and wrap up bars of chocolate and things. I remember one old lady; her name was Lady Dorothy Battersby-Smythe. (Actually it was old Dottie Smith and that was the first of my ideas to make the tale more interesting!). Well, I went into her drawing room and we sat in front of a roaring log fire crackling away in an inglenook fireplace (my nose is growing! To be honest is was an ancient electric fire in her kitchen)

She told me that when she was a girl Santa Claus used to come down her chimney on Christmas Eve when she was asleep. I told her that he came to me too, but she said that one year something unusual happened.

While I think about, what do you think about Father Christmas? I worked out for myself at a very young age that there wasn’t such a person as this jolly old man with a beard and a beer belly wearing a red frock. I mean, all that talk about Santa’s little helpers making toys in a workshop was nonsense. He didn’t make the Barbie doll which I got one year any more than he is busy knocking out Wii machines right now, I think Nintendo would have something to say if he was. But I always had a sneaking feeling that there was some strange force popping little bits and pieces into my stocking after my Dad had crept in with some presents from the shop. I never said anything; I hid them under my bed. Now just suppose there is someone or something out there that we adults don’t know about and kids keep to themselves?

Now, back to the Winter’s Tale. On second thoughts I don’t think I’ll carry on. As I said it was a bit boring and I don’t really like lying to make it more interesting. If it was a piece of fiction like Harry Potter, then making things up is okay, but mine was a true story. So I think I’ll stop here.
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it snowed today

2008-11-23T17:35:00.006Z

It snowed today
hip hip hooray!
I built a snowman,
rode my sleigh

I made some snow
into a ball.
Lobbed it ‘cross
the garden wall

It hit someone!
To my relief
the guy I hit
was my friend Keith

When he turned
it’s me he saw
“That’s it” he said
“It’s snowball war”

Then he chased me
‘cross the grass
Slipped on ice
fell on his... bottom

I laughed my socks off!

I was very grateful

2008-11-21T22:15:00.006Z

I’m doing Sunday Scribblings again this week I’ve got to write about the word Grateful.

I won an award once. I did – really! And I was soooooo grateful because I didn’t really deserve it. It was a runner up award. Not even that really, because I came last! I always call it my constipation award because it makes people laugh! It was actually a consolation award.

I was so grateful that when I went to bed that night I had a dream about it. I dreamt I was in a big restaurant. I was wearing a tight sexy red dress and a pair of sparkly sneakers with high heels! There were lots of people there going jaw-jaw-jaw about things I didn’t understand, but as there was lots of chardonnay I was very happy.

Then suddenly some bright lights shone on me. Everyone was staring and although I could see them clapping I couldn’t hear them. I realised I was listening to my iPod, so I took the ear things out and suddenly I could hear cheering. (Just a reminder, in case you’ve forgotten it was a dream) And then a voice called out ‘and the award goes to Rosemary Pinkerton’. It was great! I looked around and there was a lady beckoning me to go up onto a stage. I went up, and she presented me with a teapot made of chocolate. She said I had to make a speech.

Well, I seem to remember thanking my mum and dad for having me, my friends for being friends with me and all sorts of things like that. Then suddenly lots of tiny fairies appeared above everyone and scattered glitter everywhere. Everyone started hugging each other. It was lovely.

And then we all walked outside. The moon was smiling, and in the morning the sun was beaming.That’s when I woke up.

So that is my story about being grateful. Was it all right?

She who last laughs longest laughs laugh - or something like that.

2008-11-17T23:26:00.007Z

I saw something in the paper today which really pleased me because it proves I am really trendy, not the fuddy duddy Keith makes me out to be! I am officially a YAPPY! A Young Age Pensioner. It says here that the 20 to 30s who used to spend their cash in swanky bars and restaurants are now more likely to head off to a knitting club. When I told my friends what knitting clubs are called they laughed, but here it is in black and white ‘stitch and bitch clubs’
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Look here – it says wartime fashions such as tweed and wooley pullies are big news and old fashioned comfort foods are flying off the shelves. Me me me!

And that’s not all. I am about to get my own allotment. I’ve had to wait for someone to die because there is quite a list and luckily someone has. It’s not lucky for him of course, in fact it’s a bit sad, but at least I’ve got my little plot of rented ground. Now I can grow flowers and grow vegetables and have a shed. And according to this paper allotments are high fashion too. Loads of under 40s are queuing for them it says here.
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Slippers are in, hot water bottles, Pyrex and making jam. All my favourite things, and I got there first. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it!
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The stranger

2008-11-14T22:39:00.002Z

This is my piece for Sunday Scribblings

I once met a stranger
Dressed like lone ranger
A cowboy hat on his head.

A gun in his hand
He looked mighty grand
Howdee young partner he said

Over the hill
Came a stranger sight still
An Indian brave clad in red

I thought that I might
Get caught up in a fight
So I turned on my heels and I fled!

Embarrasing predicaments

2008-11-14T22:01:00.006Z

This is my piece for Writers Island

I seem to get in one embarrassing predicament after another. My friends always tell me that I should think before I speak. Well, I do. It’s just that sometimes what I think and what I say are different. And things happen to me that just don’t happen to other people. Fortunately I can laugh at myself. If I got worried or upset every time I got in an embarrassing predicament I would have a very miserable time indeed!

If you read Keiths Ramblings you’ll know that he takes the Mickey out of me all the time. I don’t mind, in fact I quite enjoy the fame! In the last year he has told you about the time I knocked a display of priceless orchids over, the time I broke some poor chap’s ribs when I was practicing a recovery technique at first aid classes, and when I got the giggles when I saw a big red spot on the end of a girls nose. I still laugh when I think about the time I threw some tin cans on my bonfire which exploded and sprayed next doors house with soup and peas! And the time I covered everyone in chicken curry at a restaurant was too funny for words.

At the time things usually seem terrible. It’s only when I read Keiths account of them that I see the funny side. The worst one was when I was riding my bicycle and I had to swerve to avoid an elderly lady. That simple act set off a train of events which were so alarming that if you didn’t know me it would read like a piece of pure fiction. But everything Keith said actually happened! I’ll try a link thing incase you want to read about it. CLICK HERE. That should do it.

Thank you for reading my piece this week. See you again next Friday xx
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I won't give this a title or it will spoil the surprise

2008-11-11T22:34:00.003Z

You won’t believe this, but Madam Two-swords (that’s not how you spell it, but it will have to do), the place with all those wax models of famous people, has a new model. I took the day off yesterday to see it being unveiled because it’s of one of my favourite celebrities! Guess who it is? Well, it’s life size but very small. I think they said it’s five and a half inches or centimetres tall, I’m not sure which. And it is so lifelike. Give up? Then I’ll tell you. It’s Tinkerbell!

There was a little girl dressed as a fairy there posing for pictures. Amy her name was and she was six years old. I would love to been asked to do it, she was such a lucky girl.

Also on the same day Disney started selling the DVD of Tinkerbell, and I joined a queue to buy one. What I’ve decided to do is invite Keith and the others around to my place for a pretend premier. I’ve got an old red rug that I can use as a red carpet up to my door. I’ll put on my plastic wings, and we’ll eat fairy cakes and drink champagne – I’m sure Daddy will come up with some for me.

It will be great. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Change

2008-11-07T21:51:00.003Z

(This is my first go at Sunday Scribblings. It’s only Thursday but Keith at Keith’s Ramblings say it will be alright. He’ll probably try to be clever and write a poem or something, but I’m doing it my way. I'm writing about CHANGE)

I save my loose change, all those little coins that hide away in the corner of my purse. Little bronze pennies and tiny silver fives. Actually I don’t always save them. Now and again someone rattles a collecting tin under my nose and I pop some in there.
But the ones I save really add up. I had fifteen pounds worth the other day. I saved them in a tin which I took to the bank. The woman behind the counter was a little grumpy with me. She told me I had to add them up for her and put them in little plastic packets. When I think how much money my Dad gives the bank, you’d think they’d do it for me.

Anyway, I took my tin home again, and a handful of packets, and set about sorting them out. It took me hours. Trouble was the piles were quite high, especially the ones with a hundred pennies, and a couple of times my cats knocked them over! But in the end I managed it and off I went to the bank again.

I hoped I’d see someone different. There were six of them peering out from behind their glass screens. But wouldn’t you know it. ‘Cashier number five’ a voice said, and once again I found myself facing Miss Starched Knickers. One by one she put them on some scales like the man on the fruit barrow in the market only she was weighing a different type of pounds. Sadly several didn’t weigh the right amount. I said they were old coins and they were a bit worn but she was having none of it. She even pulled out a few Euro type coins. I said that they should be ok, because we are part of Europe but she was having none of it. But in the end we got there, and I had fifteen pounds which I spent on two bottles of chardonnay and something we girls need which I’m not discussing here.

I can’t believe I written a whole piece. Keith said I’d never manage it. Well that showed you mate didn’t it.
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clickity clack

2008-11-06T22:42:00.004Z

I really enjoy knitting. I think I’m quite good at it now I’ve had more practice. I was wondering what to give my friends for Christmas then I suddenly went ‘Ah’ because I had a great idea. I am going to knit everybody covers for their cell phones. What do you think about that? If you speak to Keith PLEASE don’t say anything.

I’ve just finished a really pretty scarf. It took me a while. I’m giving it to my mother. I took a picture so that I could show you. Bye bye.

Oh I meant to say something else to you. I don't like the name of my blog. Thingy is silly but it was Keiths idea and dispite what he pretends, he is not always right. I prefer Rosey's POSEY. I like small bunches of flowers so I think it suits me. He says I can't change the handle whatever that is. I assume he means the code you have to type at the top of the screen. Well that stays the same and I don't care what he says, from now it's Roseys Posey

dictionary

2008-11-01T21:26:00.000Z

The other day I heard someone on the radio who said he had read all 16 volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary. He said that by doing so he had actually read every book ever written in the modern English language. I have to admit I didn’t really understand what he meant, but I thought I’d remember it for the next time I need to say something profound.

I do that quite a lot. I hear things I don’t get, but they sound good so I save them. Jokes too. I can’t be the only person who has trouble understanding what people are laughing at. But I try to memorise them, then tell them to my friends and they laugh. I laugh too and I know I get away with it most of the time, but not every time as Keith delights in telling you.

As I was saying, this bloke with the dictionary gave me an idea. I love words. I bet that surprised you. I really do, so I thought I’d have a go at reading the dictionary. I used to use a lot of long words when I was a kid and my friends used to say I swallowed the dictionary. I assured them I hadn’t, I mean it would be a bit difficult wouldn’t it, unless it was printed on that edible paper. Someone gave me some panties made of that stuff once. I didn’t fancy eating them though.

So I got my pocket dictionary and started reading. It was so boring. I got as far as D though. I noticed some odd things along the way, like abbreviated is a very long word and dyslexic is a hard one to spell which seems a bit unfair. What if a dyslexic person had to fill in a job application and needed to mention his problem? He wouldn’t be able to spell it.

The reason I’m telling you all this is because the other day we all met for a pub quiz and I was the star of the show. I think Keith will be praising me in his next post, so I won’t say any more! Cheerio new friends.
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Hello everyone - it's me, Rosey

2008-10-31T23:00:00.000Z

Hello everyone. This is my blog. I’m so excited. I feel I know a lot of you already because I read the comments you leave on Keith’s Ramblings. Do you think he’s mean to me? He does make me sound stupid sometimes. I’m not really as thick as he makes out, but he likes exaggerating all the little things that go wrong for me. I really don’t mind. Sometimes I enjoy the stories so much that I forget I’m reading about me!

Having a blog was his idea. He said I could use it to fire back at him when he is rude to me! I will too, you see. He made the page for me. I like it.

I expect you are surprised I can even type. Well surprise surprise. I don’t expect I’ll write a lot, but I’ve asked Keith to mention me on his blog when I do.

What I AM going to do is tease him sometimes. I know a lot of little things about him so now I can get my own back every time he’s mean to me. For instance we were at the airport one day and the security guys said he had to take his belt off and his trousers fell down. I nearly wet myself. See, it’s not just me that funny things happen to. I can't say anything else now because he is here helping me with my first bit of writing.

He says I must have a go at Sunday Scribbles – I think that’s what he called it. Not this week, but maybe next week, I’ll see. I think I’ll read some of yours this week and if I can work out what to do I’ll leave a remark on yours. If you see what I mean.