The other day we had a visit from my youngest granddaughter. She is 18 months old and not quite used to us. She wants to be holding on to her mother's hand. I think it is a case of
'Always keep a hold of nurse
For fear of finding something worse.'
I was trying to imagine what it might be like for her by recalling my own memories of being that age.
My earliest memory is of visiting my rich Jewish great grandmother. I am told that she died when I was 18 months old and I know that as a family we visited Worcester at Christmas and in the summer, so I must have been either 9 or 15 months old at the time. I remember that I was still in napkins (diapers) and not walking. Although I understood many words I didn't know the difference between a wireless and a piano. I could speak but I was too shy to do so. I was sitting on my father's knee. I therefore suspect that this was Christmas 1943.
Even then, although I could not and cannot remember what they were, I already had memories. What I remember of the day was that everybody was talking about things I didn't understand, but at one stage of the afternoon I became the center of attention. I was asked if I wanted to play the piano which left me confused because perched on the piano was a Bakelite radio which I knew I had been forbidden to touch. I clearly didn't know the difference.
So I suspect that my granddaughter still finds life very confusing.
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family. Show all posts
Thursday, September 01, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
Family matters
The newspapers are full of the phone hacking fiasco and the public is bored by it. Newspapers think that their little world is important but nobody else does.
Let's talk about cricket instead. My son's team played in the 20/20 final of the South Northamptonshire cricket league. In a low scoring match on a rain affected pitch his team was all out for 82 of which he scored 22. Then the opposition were bowled out for 61 of which he took 4-17 in 4.2 overs. He got man-of-match, cut the grass and made the tea.
His team are top of division 5 and with only 5 more games before the end of the season look like being promoted.
He is off in Italy at the present preparing for the NASCAR series. It's a nice life if you don't weaken.
Today Karen returns from her holiday in Jamaica and Angela starts hers in the Lake District. Contrasting weather! Angela has taken her lap-top so I imagine that she will be writing up her PhD is the weather sets in.
Richard will be in the Isle of Wight when the school holidays begin.
We had a new front lawn laid over the weekend and today. Good weather for lawn laying - cool and wet.
Health has not been special these last few days. I'm very tired after meals and bloating has got worse.
Let's talk about cricket instead. My son's team played in the 20/20 final of the South Northamptonshire cricket league. In a low scoring match on a rain affected pitch his team was all out for 82 of which he scored 22. Then the opposition were bowled out for 61 of which he took 4-17 in 4.2 overs. He got man-of-match, cut the grass and made the tea.
His team are top of division 5 and with only 5 more games before the end of the season look like being promoted.
He is off in Italy at the present preparing for the NASCAR series. It's a nice life if you don't weaken.
Today Karen returns from her holiday in Jamaica and Angela starts hers in the Lake District. Contrasting weather! Angela has taken her lap-top so I imagine that she will be writing up her PhD is the weather sets in.
Richard will be in the Isle of Wight when the school holidays begin.
We had a new front lawn laid over the weekend and today. Good weather for lawn laying - cool and wet.
Health has not been special these last few days. I'm very tired after meals and bloating has got worse.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Chukka weekend
We have had a busy weekend. Our son, David and girlfriend Charlotte have been staying with us. They have been exhibiting with their company, Chukka, at the British Beach Polo Championships at Sandbanks. It was a pukka event watched by a lot of rich people. The alcohol was flowing which lubricated their wallets.
It was not our sort of event, but the sun was shining with a cooling onshore breeze and some beach volleyball to watch as well. No William and Kate though.
David has also helped me to water-blast my dirty patio and restored the water feature in the garden where the pump had burnt out.
We also took their dog down on the beach at Hengistbury Head. I have found the weekend very tiring. I no longer have the strngth and stamina that I once had. I have to pace myself.
It was not our sort of event, but the sun was shining with a cooling onshore breeze and some beach volleyball to watch as well. No William and Kate though.
David has also helped me to water-blast my dirty patio and restored the water feature in the garden where the pump had burnt out.
We also took their dog down on the beach at Hengistbury Head. I have found the weekend very tiring. I no longer have the strngth and stamina that I once had. I have to pace myself.
Tuesday, July 05, 2011
Children and grandchildren
Yesterday we had a visit from our eldest child who brought two of our grandchildren over to see us. Alex, who has just left school to go to college is as tall as me know and is a splendid and polite young man and Aby who is as old in months as Alex is in years. We really have seen very little of her and when Karen left her with us for a job interview she began to cry "Ma!Ma!"
Thankfully she settled in front of children's television after a short while and by the time that Karen returned she was happy and singing to herself and chuckling away. What a joy children and grandchildren are!
All four of our children a great pleasure to us. Karen has film-star looks and a business brain, Richard is formidably bright with a social conscience, Angela is the cleverest person I know and earnest to do good, David is the practical one who can turn his hand to any task and is loved by everyone. All four were keen athletes. All four are intelligent and hard-working. All four are pleasant to be around. All have a sense of fun.
Thankfully she settled in front of children's television after a short while and by the time that Karen returned she was happy and singing to herself and chuckling away. What a joy children and grandchildren are!
All four of our children a great pleasure to us. Karen has film-star looks and a business brain, Richard is formidably bright with a social conscience, Angela is the cleverest person I know and earnest to do good, David is the practical one who can turn his hand to any task and is loved by everyone. All four were keen athletes. All four are intelligent and hard-working. All four are pleasant to be around. All have a sense of fun.
Wednesday, October 06, 2010
Fatherhood
Motherhood is something that fathers never understand. No matter how old your children become, you never cease to be a mother. You rejoice in their successes and grieve for their hardships. Let anyone hurt her fledgelings and mother swan will hiss and spit at them, even when the fledgelings have fledgelings of their own.
Fatherhood is something different. I have been thinking of my own father. He was a serious man, tall and large. He was intimidating, even though he never struck me or even shouted at me. I remember once when I carelessly dirtied the shirt that I would have to wear to school the next day. I was terribly upset and afraid; so much so that I took myself off to bed before he came home from work. When he came home, rather than scold me, he came upstairs and persuaded me that I should come down for supper. He was kindness personified. Somehow, though his relationship was primarily with my mother not with the children. He related to us, through her. Later he was to develop a close relationship to my younger brother and to his grandchildren, but to me he always kept his distance. He was rather austere.
He was a man of the Right with strong political views, though one of his closest friends was a Jamaican. He was frustrated by his lack of an education. He had TB as a teenager and was sent to a residential school for two years at a Sanatorium. I don't think it was much of a teaching emporium. He was apprenticed to a tailor and was a skilled tailor's cutter. He was unfit for military service and spent the war making soldiers uniforms for a man who later became the father of the Speaker of the House of Commons. My parents spent the early part of the war living in a wooden 'Gypsy' caravan at an army camp in the midlands.
Later on he worked for the Royal Army Medical Corps in the Officer's Mess in a pretty menial way. He took on tailoring alterations for the chain stores to supplement his income. He worked every evening long into the night.
He was very keen for me to get a proper education and taught me to read before I was three. He sent me to a private primary school on the proceeds of his tailoring. By the time I left aged 8 I had completed the curriculum for eleven year olds.
He used to play cricket with me. After his spell in the Sanatorium he had a part time job on the Worcestershire Club and Ground, helping to prepare the County pitches. He even turned out occasionally for Worcestershire 2nd XI. He used to tell me of how he once nearly took a hat-trick, putting down a caught and bowled. He said that he was distantly related to certain Test Cricketers. I never knew how much to believe his stories. I think he was a fabulist. He was never very good at sport. He had large hands and could put a fearsome amount of spin on a ball, but whenever I saw him play, either cricket or football, he wasn't very good. I guess he was well into his thirties or even forties then and he may well have been much better when he was younger.
He used to take me fishing with him. He liked being alone by the bank of river or canal. He certainly knew how to fish. There are photographs of him with large pike and tench. My younger brothers have taken up the sport, but I admit I found it boring.
My father was a great organizer. He was obviously a lot more intelligent than the average working man that he associated with. He would become Secretary of this or Treasurer of that, Chairman of the other. He would make things happen. A community Hall got built; away matches were organized; a trip to the seaside arranged; but he was not a sticker. He would inevitably fall out with somebody and take his ball home.
I think, as I grew older and moved in educated circles, I was a bit ashamed of him. He didn't have that cultured edge that I was impressed by. I regret how much I stayed away.
I must be one of the few people in the world who has never smoked a single cigarette. My father died of the weed at 59 years old. He smelled of old tobacco. My mother gave me his old suits to wear, but the smell never left them. He had to paint his living room twice a year to disguise the brown coloration of the walls and ceiling. He used to smoke roll-ups for cheapness, lighting one with the butt-end of another. He would even extract the tobacco from the butts to make a new cigarette.
He never got cancer; at autopsy there wasn't a cancerous cell in his body. He developed a very high hemoglobin so that his blood was like treacle. Of course, I diagnosed the problem - smoker's polycythemia or Gaisbock's syndrome. I persuaded him to stop for a couple of months, but he couldn't hack it. He gradually increased his smoking again, titrating it against his angina. While he could still walk from house to car and from car to office without chest pain, he reckoned he was safe.
I wasn't surprised about the clot in his leg just after Christmas 1978. I arranged for his admission to hospital for anticoagulation. I was thinking more about having become a father for the third time myself and perhaps I should have monitored the physician who was looking after him more closely. New-years day 1979 I had a phone call that he was dead. The stupid physician had refused to anticoagulate him on the grounds that he had microscopic red blood cells in his urine. He should have known that nearly all heavy smokers have that. Of course, he died from a massive blood clot that migrated from his leg to his lungs; a pulmonary embolus.
I am still angry about it. He used to haunt my dreams for months afterwards. He would appear in his fishing clothes, getting scruffier and more unkempt as time passed. He kept asking me why?
I wonder what sort of father I have been. I am very proud of all my children but am I close to them? Or as close as I should be?
When my first daughter was born we had been married for about 15 months. At first, I thought of her as an intrusion into our lives. Because we were both working and a junior doctor's life allowed little time off - no more did a junior librarian's - it seemed that we had little time to be alone together.
I wrote this poem at the time to express what I felt.
Fatherhood
In the luminous blue of a child’s eyes
that shine at the sight of her mother
my breath is caught in sharp surprise
as one is at one with the other.
My breath returns as the sharpness dies,
and with sheer delight I discover,
in the luminous blue of my daughter’s eyes
that I am at one with my lover.
Fatherhood is something different. I have been thinking of my own father. He was a serious man, tall and large. He was intimidating, even though he never struck me or even shouted at me. I remember once when I carelessly dirtied the shirt that I would have to wear to school the next day. I was terribly upset and afraid; so much so that I took myself off to bed before he came home from work. When he came home, rather than scold me, he came upstairs and persuaded me that I should come down for supper. He was kindness personified. Somehow, though his relationship was primarily with my mother not with the children. He related to us, through her. Later he was to develop a close relationship to my younger brother and to his grandchildren, but to me he always kept his distance. He was rather austere.
He was a man of the Right with strong political views, though one of his closest friends was a Jamaican. He was frustrated by his lack of an education. He had TB as a teenager and was sent to a residential school for two years at a Sanatorium. I don't think it was much of a teaching emporium. He was apprenticed to a tailor and was a skilled tailor's cutter. He was unfit for military service and spent the war making soldiers uniforms for a man who later became the father of the Speaker of the House of Commons. My parents spent the early part of the war living in a wooden 'Gypsy' caravan at an army camp in the midlands.
Later on he worked for the Royal Army Medical Corps in the Officer's Mess in a pretty menial way. He took on tailoring alterations for the chain stores to supplement his income. He worked every evening long into the night.
He was very keen for me to get a proper education and taught me to read before I was three. He sent me to a private primary school on the proceeds of his tailoring. By the time I left aged 8 I had completed the curriculum for eleven year olds.
He used to play cricket with me. After his spell in the Sanatorium he had a part time job on the Worcestershire Club and Ground, helping to prepare the County pitches. He even turned out occasionally for Worcestershire 2nd XI. He used to tell me of how he once nearly took a hat-trick, putting down a caught and bowled. He said that he was distantly related to certain Test Cricketers. I never knew how much to believe his stories. I think he was a fabulist. He was never very good at sport. He had large hands and could put a fearsome amount of spin on a ball, but whenever I saw him play, either cricket or football, he wasn't very good. I guess he was well into his thirties or even forties then and he may well have been much better when he was younger.
He used to take me fishing with him. He liked being alone by the bank of river or canal. He certainly knew how to fish. There are photographs of him with large pike and tench. My younger brothers have taken up the sport, but I admit I found it boring.
My father was a great organizer. He was obviously a lot more intelligent than the average working man that he associated with. He would become Secretary of this or Treasurer of that, Chairman of the other. He would make things happen. A community Hall got built; away matches were organized; a trip to the seaside arranged; but he was not a sticker. He would inevitably fall out with somebody and take his ball home.
I think, as I grew older and moved in educated circles, I was a bit ashamed of him. He didn't have that cultured edge that I was impressed by. I regret how much I stayed away.
I must be one of the few people in the world who has never smoked a single cigarette. My father died of the weed at 59 years old. He smelled of old tobacco. My mother gave me his old suits to wear, but the smell never left them. He had to paint his living room twice a year to disguise the brown coloration of the walls and ceiling. He used to smoke roll-ups for cheapness, lighting one with the butt-end of another. He would even extract the tobacco from the butts to make a new cigarette.
He never got cancer; at autopsy there wasn't a cancerous cell in his body. He developed a very high hemoglobin so that his blood was like treacle. Of course, I diagnosed the problem - smoker's polycythemia or Gaisbock's syndrome. I persuaded him to stop for a couple of months, but he couldn't hack it. He gradually increased his smoking again, titrating it against his angina. While he could still walk from house to car and from car to office without chest pain, he reckoned he was safe.
I wasn't surprised about the clot in his leg just after Christmas 1978. I arranged for his admission to hospital for anticoagulation. I was thinking more about having become a father for the third time myself and perhaps I should have monitored the physician who was looking after him more closely. New-years day 1979 I had a phone call that he was dead. The stupid physician had refused to anticoagulate him on the grounds that he had microscopic red blood cells in his urine. He should have known that nearly all heavy smokers have that. Of course, he died from a massive blood clot that migrated from his leg to his lungs; a pulmonary embolus.
I am still angry about it. He used to haunt my dreams for months afterwards. He would appear in his fishing clothes, getting scruffier and more unkempt as time passed. He kept asking me why?
I wonder what sort of father I have been. I am very proud of all my children but am I close to them? Or as close as I should be?
When my first daughter was born we had been married for about 15 months. At first, I thought of her as an intrusion into our lives. Because we were both working and a junior doctor's life allowed little time off - no more did a junior librarian's - it seemed that we had little time to be alone together.
I wrote this poem at the time to express what I felt.
Fatherhood
In the luminous blue of a child’s eyes
that shine at the sight of her mother
my breath is caught in sharp surprise
as one is at one with the other.
My breath returns as the sharpness dies,
and with sheer delight I discover,
in the luminous blue of my daughter’s eyes
that I am at one with my lover.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Jaguar gone - not gone.
It has been a busy weekend. My son David, the Formula 1 engineer, was here to stay before going out to the Singapore Grand Prix later this week. It is several weeks since we have seen him - I was just recovering from my operation.
David is the practical one in the family and likes to set about the household tasks that I would have attempted (badly) in days when I was fitter. His cottage in the country is part Grade II listed in a small village in Warwickshire and he is gradually restoring it to its former glory. He has become integrated into the village in the past few months mixing with farm workers, parvenues and aristocracy. He is in his element there. His dog finds her way to the pub and sets up his beer before he arrives. He turns out for the village cricket team and helps in the country churchyard with grass cutting and weeding. He has bought an old Land Rover for the winter when the village is likely to be snowed in and is restoring a VW Camper in his garage.
He sorted out my fax/printer/copier/scanner, which was not communicating well with my computer. We eventually bought a new Epson at about a third of the price of the HP which had failed after 3 years.
Then he sorted out the front door bell, that had been playing "Twinkle, twinkle little star" every time our next door neighbor opened their electric gates. By delving into the wall he has restored the original bell's wiring and we will now know know when our visitors are outside. Last week we had visitors from church waiting outside for us to return from the shops when the bell didn't work.
Then as an encore he straightened out the doors of our kitchen cabinets, by fiddling with some screws.
We also managed to pass on to him various tools that we have no use for, like duplicate saws, a plane, a leaf blower and a some wood for his wood-burning stove.
He also took me out for exercise. Three one-hour walks over the weekend - on the beach, over the golf course and over Hengistbury Head - gave me a sore calf but a general feeling of fitness while his dog, Flo, loved it.
Our main purpose was to dispose of the Jaguar, which is 11 years old and has done 92,000 miles. Recently it has become a bit of a money pit with the last 1000 miles costing nearly two dollars a mile to run (almost cheaper to take a cab). He drove it up to Warwickshire last evening with a view to selling it. After his journey he made a telephone call telling me that he couldn't bear to do it. It has been so much part of me for the past 7 years that he is emotionally attached to it. Instead, he will do the minor repairs and servicing that it needs himself and give it back to me next time he returns.
I do love that Jaguar.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Personal matters
It has already been quite a week. I have spent my first night away from home since I returned from hospital. I went to London for the UKCLL Forum Executive Committee Meeting and stayed overnight at the Holiday Inn, Regent's Park. I can't commend it. The lavatory would not flush and a light bulb didn't function. At £136 a night one expects more.
I also attended the Clinical Meeting which was on CLL-like conditions, including SMZL, hairy cell leukemia, LGL leukemia and polyclonal B-cell proliferative disease.. I would name and shame the restaurant that I ate at, but I'm not quite sure which meal was responsible for my tummy upset.
The good news is that I had a CT scan yesterday and there is no progression from last December.
This is the latest photo of our new grandchild. She is beginning to take notice of what is going on now.
Our daughter took the new baby up to see my 90-year old mother so here we have her with her great-grandmother.
We were meant to visit my eldest son and his family at the weekend, but that had to be postponed because they had some plague or other in the house. Happily it seems to have cleared now.
Mr Darling presented his pre-election budget yesterday. It was supposedly a soak the rich to help the poor budget. In a way it was disillusioning since I am no longer rich enough to have been affected by it in any way.
I notice that Obama-care passed in America. NICE is next.
I also attended the Clinical Meeting which was on CLL-like conditions, including SMZL, hairy cell leukemia, LGL leukemia and polyclonal B-cell proliferative disease.. I would name and shame the restaurant that I ate at, but I'm not quite sure which meal was responsible for my tummy upset.
The good news is that I had a CT scan yesterday and there is no progression from last December.
This is the latest photo of our new grandchild. She is beginning to take notice of what is going on now.
Our daughter took the new baby up to see my 90-year old mother so here we have her with her great-grandmother.
We were meant to visit my eldest son and his family at the weekend, but that had to be postponed because they had some plague or other in the house. Happily it seems to have cleared now.
Mr Darling presented his pre-election budget yesterday. It was supposedly a soak the rich to help the poor budget. In a way it was disillusioning since I am no longer rich enough to have been affected by it in any way.
I notice that Obama-care passed in America. NICE is next.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
New baby!
One of the reasons that I have been relatively silent over the past few weeks is that we have been waiting for our 6th grandchild. And here she is. Abygael Katherine Johnson. She was born on Sunday at 5 am to our daughter Karen. A sister to Alex, Hannah and Ben.
We were able to spend the day with them yesterday. It was also my first ever visit to a Burger King. We took Alex and Hannah for a meal to give Karen and Tim some time alone with the baby.
Here is Hannah holding the baby and finally a picture of Alex not holding the baby!
Friday, December 18, 2009
Christmas preparations
This has been a busy week. At the weekend we attended two carol services, one at Winchester Cathedral and one at Lansdowne Baptist Church. On Monday I finished off my Christmas shopping, then on Tuesday I visited my 90 year old mother to take up the Christmas presents for my family and in the evening I attended the Tenovus Christmas dinner.
Tenovus is a cancer charity founded in Wales in 1943. Ten business men decided to raise money as a medical charity after visiting a friend in hospital. They called themselves ten-of-us, hence Tenovus. As well as a research institute in Cardiff, in 1970 they built research labs in Southampton. It was here that I did most of my CLL research over the year and the idea for monoclonal antibody treatment of CLL began. Rituximab, Campath and all the other monoclonals had their genesis there. In later years we did the work that established IGVH mutations there and developed the idea of cancer vaccines. In 1978 I founded a local branch of Tenovus here and over the years we have raised over $5 million for cancer research. Most of this has come from legacies, of course, but we have organized an awful lot of coffee mornings, sales of work, raffles and auctions. This was the 31st Tenovus Christmas dinner. We were entertained, as usual, by the beautiful voices of the Bournemouth Gilbert and Sullivan singers, singing Christmas carols.
On Wednesday afternoon I spent all afternoon broadcasting on Hope FM, the local Christian Community Radio Channel. I was able to give my testimony, read a Christmas poem, tell a few jokes and send out a couple of thoughts for the day. The audience ranges from a few hundred to a few thousand. The DJ for the afternoon is a local pastor who is also a water engineer, and regularly takes gifts to Africa - mainly water purification plants, that cannot be converted into Presidential Mercedes by the ruling cleptocracy.
On Thursday I went out to buy our Christmas tree. Normally at this time of the year, since we are so near the New Forest, Christmas Trees are for sale in every pub car park at knock down prices. I bought one there last year, but it was so bereft of pine needles that I was teased that I had imported it from Chernobyl. This year almost everybody had sold out. I was forced to go to a garden center and paid five times what I paid last year. Mind you, it is a very fine tree, seven feet tall and thick with branches and very dark needles. However it does not perfume the house with pine the way that last year's did. In the afternoon we spent the time decorating it. The glass baubles that are so prominent, derive from glass candle holders from Martin Luther's day. They were there to prevent the rats climbing up and eating the tallow. No candles on our tree. The three sets of lights that flash and flicker have lasted for three Christmases now without failing. Some things get better. The Angel at the top of the tree must be 35 years old, and various odd decorations are mementos of our children's school life.
Yesterday evening I went out carol singing with the church. We gathered in the Square in the center of Bournemouth. There were loads of shoppers walking by and many stopped for a chocolate and a chat. I was quite hoarse after an hour. It was a very cold night; out exhaled breath inscribed surtitles for those who could not hear.
Today we went to Marks and Spencer's to buy Christmas cakes for our visitors next week. And that is us almost finished. We still have to buy and cook the turkey, but all the presents are bought and wrapped. The cards are hanging over the hearth. WE will have another carol service on Sunday when our daughter will arrive as our first visitor. Our second son will come on Christmas eve and our other daughter on Christmas day. In the week after Christmas my other son will come with his family to stay.
Tenovus is a cancer charity founded in Wales in 1943. Ten business men decided to raise money as a medical charity after visiting a friend in hospital. They called themselves ten-of-us, hence Tenovus. As well as a research institute in Cardiff, in 1970 they built research labs in Southampton. It was here that I did most of my CLL research over the year and the idea for monoclonal antibody treatment of CLL began. Rituximab, Campath and all the other monoclonals had their genesis there. In later years we did the work that established IGVH mutations there and developed the idea of cancer vaccines. In 1978 I founded a local branch of Tenovus here and over the years we have raised over $5 million for cancer research. Most of this has come from legacies, of course, but we have organized an awful lot of coffee mornings, sales of work, raffles and auctions. This was the 31st Tenovus Christmas dinner. We were entertained, as usual, by the beautiful voices of the Bournemouth Gilbert and Sullivan singers, singing Christmas carols.
On Wednesday afternoon I spent all afternoon broadcasting on Hope FM, the local Christian Community Radio Channel. I was able to give my testimony, read a Christmas poem, tell a few jokes and send out a couple of thoughts for the day. The audience ranges from a few hundred to a few thousand. The DJ for the afternoon is a local pastor who is also a water engineer, and regularly takes gifts to Africa - mainly water purification plants, that cannot be converted into Presidential Mercedes by the ruling cleptocracy.
On Thursday I went out to buy our Christmas tree. Normally at this time of the year, since we are so near the New Forest, Christmas Trees are for sale in every pub car park at knock down prices. I bought one there last year, but it was so bereft of pine needles that I was teased that I had imported it from Chernobyl. This year almost everybody had sold out. I was forced to go to a garden center and paid five times what I paid last year. Mind you, it is a very fine tree, seven feet tall and thick with branches and very dark needles. However it does not perfume the house with pine the way that last year's did. In the afternoon we spent the time decorating it. The glass baubles that are so prominent, derive from glass candle holders from Martin Luther's day. They were there to prevent the rats climbing up and eating the tallow. No candles on our tree. The three sets of lights that flash and flicker have lasted for three Christmases now without failing. Some things get better. The Angel at the top of the tree must be 35 years old, and various odd decorations are mementos of our children's school life.
Yesterday evening I went out carol singing with the church. We gathered in the Square in the center of Bournemouth. There were loads of shoppers walking by and many stopped for a chocolate and a chat. I was quite hoarse after an hour. It was a very cold night; out exhaled breath inscribed surtitles for those who could not hear.
Today we went to Marks and Spencer's to buy Christmas cakes for our visitors next week. And that is us almost finished. We still have to buy and cook the turkey, but all the presents are bought and wrapped. The cards are hanging over the hearth. WE will have another carol service on Sunday when our daughter will arrive as our first visitor. Our second son will come on Christmas eve and our other daughter on Christmas day. In the week after Christmas my other son will come with his family to stay.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
wedding pictures
The happy couple should be returning home today.
There were one or two intruders on the party
Some of them making real pigs of themselves.
One last look at the venue.
Friday, October 09, 2009
Weddings again
Why is the price to dry clean a wedding dress seven times the price to dry clean an exactly similar ballroom gown?
Are there gangsters involved?
Any suspicious characters among this lot?
Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
wedding pictures
My mother eventually arrived.
There weren't really 29 pages to my speech. This was just to scare them!
Monday, October 05, 2009
The Wedding
As if my cancer weren't enough, calamity piled on calamity as we prepared for my daughter's wedding. Her main preoccupation was writing her thesis for her PhD. She was up writing for the whole night on the Thursday before the Saturday ceremony and I had to deliver it for binding during Friday lunchtime.
Early in the week I walked into the tailgate of my car and scarred my beautiful facial features which would have made the photographs even worse than we expected them to be (I will post them later). The weather was holding up though; we have had an Indian summer this September. The dresses for bride and bridesmaids seemed to be going well and the flowers to decorate both the reception and the church were being assembled according to plan. The wedding suits were another matter. In order for all the suits to be co-ordinated, the groom had gone to Moss Bros who have branches in every large town. However, something didn't work with the communication and as the ushers and groom's family turned up at various branches of the company, nobody knew anything about the order. Even on the final day one of the ushers had striped trousers instead of plain black. The correct uniform had to be couriered in from another branch. The problem is that Moss Bros have no competition nationally and their management has become slack. Tesco should branch out and compete with them.
We were watching the weather forecast carefully. After high pressure had been sitting over the British Isles for most of the month, a depression was inching in from the Atlantic. 60 mph winds were forecast with rain moving in from the north. Since the main charm of the venue for the reception was the riverside aspect with swans, ducks and geese, this did not bode well.
Then a supermarket delivery truck took off my wing mirror as it tried to negotiate a narrow street. What else could go wrong?
On the Saturday morning the skies were blue with just a little cloud. The bridesmaids look delightful in their ivory colored frocks with burgundy sashes. My suit seemed to fit. My wife looked charming in her new outfit. The cars appeared. These were replica Model A Fords with running boards. I half expected to see gangsters with Tommy-guns appear.
We loaded my four granddaughters into their limousine together with my wife and daughter and watched them depart. The weather was still dry though a little windy. My daughter then came out. Dressed in ivory with a silver headdress imported from America she looked like a queen. We were early as we boarded the second car, so the driver took us on a long route via the sea front. Passers-by waved at the strange wedding car ands we waved back. At the church the little bridesmaids aged 6 to 11 lined up behind us and the doors opened before us. We glided down the aisle to the strains of the Pachelbel Canon in D played on the flute.
The service opened with "Love Divine", then my grandson Alex, aged 14, read from Philippians 4:4-8.
Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything be excellent or praiseworthy—think about these things.
The vows were made - a mixture of old and new. She didn't promise to obey, but she did vow to submit to her husband (a better translation). As soon as we got to 'who gives this woman?' I could sit down - very welcome because my legs were swelling up. We sang "Amazing Grace".
Our Pastor, Chris Kelly gave the address. He was excellent - putting people at their ease with tact and humor but not neglecting to explain the gospel. 10 rules for wives from the 1950s cause amusement and some indignation from the women present only for them to be mollified by 12 more PC rules from the 1990s. But from the reading Chris gave the couple just three instructions: Be Joyful, be gentle and be thankful.
The we sang "Guide me O thou great redeemer" before we trooped out to sign the register.
The bride and groom marched out to Jeremiah Clark's Trumpet Voluntary played on the Allen organ. The congregation of about 170 snapped us with their phones and cameras as we processed.
The gangster-cars took us out to Sopley Mill. We were the 52nd wedding party that they had catered for this year.
The grounds are their chief feature but unfortunately the weather was closing in. We had hoped that our guests could wander around the grounds in the sunshine, and examine the menagerie of rabbits, guinea pigs and rare breeds of fowl, but it was getting too cold.
So instead we guided the 86 of them up the stairs to a champagne reception on the first floor. In the meantime my son David arranged for select groups to go down and be photographed on the lawn. This was all working well until we noticed that my 89-year old mother was missing. Apparently, they had missed a turning and the 10-minute journey from church to reception had so far lasted 70 minutes. Thankfully, they had a mobile phone and David was able to guide them to Bournemouth airport and go and collect them from there.
So to the meal of smoked salmon, lamb shank, and strawberry cheesecake, which was well received and then to the speeches. As father of the bride I went first. Here is what I said:
For those who don’t know me, my name is Terry. Diane and I would like to welcome you all to Angela and Stuart’s wedding.
We would especially like to welcome Alec and Sheila, Stuart’s parents as well as his brothers and the rest of his family and friends. We know that you have come a long way and we trust that you will enjoy your time on the south coast. Welcome also to members of our family, to Angela’s friends from school and work, and to our friends from church.
I want to thank all those who have helped to make this day special for Stuart and Angela, particularly Chris who took the service, Rosa the Registrar and Mary who did the flowers in the church. Thanks also to Best Man Gavin, Hannah, Amelia, Evie and Charlotte who were beautiful bridesmaids, Alex who read so well, and Peter, Jack and Richard who with Alex acted as ushers.
We have also to thank Sopley Mill who have put on this splendid spread. Elizabeth of Southbourne who made the dresses for bride and bridesmaid, and Alison Florists of Charminster Road who did the flowers that decorate the room here. For anyone who wants an idea for a start up business, I recommend that they go into dress suit hire. There is clearly a gap in the market. Your only competitor would be Moss Bros, whose management is so poor that they would fold if they had any competition.
One of my proud duties is to commend Angela to you. I hardly know how to begin. When she achieved the top First Class Honours degree from Oxford it was the culmination of a brilliant academic career at school and university. Angela has always won prizes. When she was very little she won an art prize. Grade 8 and a performance certificate for both piano and clarinet, it seemed an insult when music was the only GCSE that she didn’t get an A star for. She was also Dorset long jump champion and Dorset young scientist of the year when she was at school. Now here she is looking very beautiful in white like someone out of Lord of the Rings (no, not Gandalf, nor Gollum – I was thinking more of Galadriel – the part played by Cate Blanchett). When Stuart put the ring on her finger, I half expected that she would disappear!
Angela is a very determined person. If she sets her heart on something she is sure to get it. When she thought about getting married she put an advert in the local paper saying, “Husband wanted” She had 117 identical replies all from women saying, “Please take mine!”
Fortunately, that was not necessary as she met Stuart. We welcome Stuart into our family. Stuart is a great sailor. I believe they are going on a boat for their honeymoon. Just, please be careful as you go round Cape Horn. So he won’t get bored on board I have leant him my complete collection of Patrick O’Brien’s Master and Commander books. Seventeen volumes, I think.
October 3rd is a very auspicious day for getting married. On October 3rd 1899 The Boer War began. On this day 1928 the Chicago Taxicab War started with two Yellow Cabs being blown up. In 1942 the Germans launched the first V2 rocket on October 3rd and ten years later on the same date the first British atom bomb was exploded. In 1968 there were street riots in Mexico City and in 1975 it was the Thriller in Manilla when Muhammed Ali fought Smoking Joe Frazier, then in 1993 it was Black Hawk Down – the first Battle of Mogidishu in Somalia started.
It is hardly surprising that the first SOS was sent on October 3rd 1906.
I was despairing in finding anything about marriage until I came up with October 3rd in 1995 OJ Simpson was acquitted of killing his wife.
Then at last a successful marriage: In 1990 East and West Germany were reunited!
My next task is to give sage advice on the subject of marriage to the happy couple garnered from 42 years of experience.
This is what I have learnt. Marriage is the place where you get forgiven even when you don’t deserve it.
So Stuart, here is my advice: Apologise – even when you don’t know what you have done. There is no point in denying it. ‘Fess up straight away. Getting forgiven is much better than fighting, and what are you going to do if you win?
Ogden Nash put it well: To keep your marriage brimming; With love in the loving cup; Whenever you’re wrong admit it; Whenever you’re right, shut up.
Marriage is to a man’s advantage. Married men live longer than single ones, (no it’s not true that it just seems longer) but married women have shorter (though more exciting) lives than their single sisters.
Marriage is a wonderful institution. But who wants to live in an institution?
Shakespeare gave us the best description:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments. Love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove:
Oh, no! It is an ever-fixed mark.
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
it is the star to every wandering bark,
whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
within his bending sickle's compass come;
love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
but bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Finally, to get back to Angela – as some of you know she wants to be a haematologist, and one of the main concerns of haematologists these days is the stem cell. I’m not sure that I approve of embryonic stem cells when it seems that you can obtain from the bone marrow stem cells that can be coaxed into turning into whatever kind of tissue you want for a spare part – whether it is kidney, heart, liver or brain. I am sure that this was what God had in mind when He took a bone from Adam to make Eve.
But where should he take the bone from? He could have taken it from the skull, but that would have given the impression that he wanted Eve to rule over Adam, He could have taken in from Adam’s heel – but that would give the impression that she could be trampled underfoot. So he took a rib. From his side to show that they were equals, from under his arm, so that he would protect her, and from next to his heart to be loved by him.
Ladies and Gentlemen Please raise your glasses to toast the Bride and Groom.
We finally finished about 8-30 pm. I was too tired to watch the football on television.
The rain stayed away until this morning, but then it poured.
Early in the week I walked into the tailgate of my car and scarred my beautiful facial features which would have made the photographs even worse than we expected them to be (I will post them later). The weather was holding up though; we have had an Indian summer this September. The dresses for bride and bridesmaids seemed to be going well and the flowers to decorate both the reception and the church were being assembled according to plan. The wedding suits were another matter. In order for all the suits to be co-ordinated, the groom had gone to Moss Bros who have branches in every large town. However, something didn't work with the communication and as the ushers and groom's family turned up at various branches of the company, nobody knew anything about the order. Even on the final day one of the ushers had striped trousers instead of plain black. The correct uniform had to be couriered in from another branch. The problem is that Moss Bros have no competition nationally and their management has become slack. Tesco should branch out and compete with them.
We were watching the weather forecast carefully. After high pressure had been sitting over the British Isles for most of the month, a depression was inching in from the Atlantic. 60 mph winds were forecast with rain moving in from the north. Since the main charm of the venue for the reception was the riverside aspect with swans, ducks and geese, this did not bode well.
Then a supermarket delivery truck took off my wing mirror as it tried to negotiate a narrow street. What else could go wrong?
On the Saturday morning the skies were blue with just a little cloud. The bridesmaids look delightful in their ivory colored frocks with burgundy sashes. My suit seemed to fit. My wife looked charming in her new outfit. The cars appeared. These were replica Model A Fords with running boards. I half expected to see gangsters with Tommy-guns appear.
We loaded my four granddaughters into their limousine together with my wife and daughter and watched them depart. The weather was still dry though a little windy. My daughter then came out. Dressed in ivory with a silver headdress imported from America she looked like a queen. We were early as we boarded the second car, so the driver took us on a long route via the sea front. Passers-by waved at the strange wedding car ands we waved back. At the church the little bridesmaids aged 6 to 11 lined up behind us and the doors opened before us. We glided down the aisle to the strains of the Pachelbel Canon in D played on the flute.
The service opened with "Love Divine", then my grandson Alex, aged 14, read from Philippians 4:4-8.
Rejoice in the Lord always: and again I say, Rejoice.
Let your gentleness be known to all men. The Lord is at hand.
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which passes all understanding, shall guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything be excellent or praiseworthy—think about these things.
The vows were made - a mixture of old and new. She didn't promise to obey, but she did vow to submit to her husband (a better translation). As soon as we got to 'who gives this woman?' I could sit down - very welcome because my legs were swelling up. We sang "Amazing Grace".
Our Pastor, Chris Kelly gave the address. He was excellent - putting people at their ease with tact and humor but not neglecting to explain the gospel. 10 rules for wives from the 1950s cause amusement and some indignation from the women present only for them to be mollified by 12 more PC rules from the 1990s. But from the reading Chris gave the couple just three instructions: Be Joyful, be gentle and be thankful.
The we sang "Guide me O thou great redeemer" before we trooped out to sign the register.
The bride and groom marched out to Jeremiah Clark's Trumpet Voluntary played on the Allen organ. The congregation of about 170 snapped us with their phones and cameras as we processed.
The gangster-cars took us out to Sopley Mill. We were the 52nd wedding party that they had catered for this year.
The grounds are their chief feature but unfortunately the weather was closing in. We had hoped that our guests could wander around the grounds in the sunshine, and examine the menagerie of rabbits, guinea pigs and rare breeds of fowl, but it was getting too cold.
So instead we guided the 86 of them up the stairs to a champagne reception on the first floor. In the meantime my son David arranged for select groups to go down and be photographed on the lawn. This was all working well until we noticed that my 89-year old mother was missing. Apparently, they had missed a turning and the 10-minute journey from church to reception had so far lasted 70 minutes. Thankfully, they had a mobile phone and David was able to guide them to Bournemouth airport and go and collect them from there.So to the meal of smoked salmon, lamb shank, and strawberry cheesecake, which was well received and then to the speeches. As father of the bride I went first. Here is what I said:
For those who don’t know me, my name is Terry. Diane and I would like to welcome you all to Angela and Stuart’s wedding.
We would especially like to welcome Alec and Sheila, Stuart’s parents as well as his brothers and the rest of his family and friends. We know that you have come a long way and we trust that you will enjoy your time on the south coast. Welcome also to members of our family, to Angela’s friends from school and work, and to our friends from church.
I want to thank all those who have helped to make this day special for Stuart and Angela, particularly Chris who took the service, Rosa the Registrar and Mary who did the flowers in the church. Thanks also to Best Man Gavin, Hannah, Amelia, Evie and Charlotte who were beautiful bridesmaids, Alex who read so well, and Peter, Jack and Richard who with Alex acted as ushers.
We have also to thank Sopley Mill who have put on this splendid spread. Elizabeth of Southbourne who made the dresses for bride and bridesmaid, and Alison Florists of Charminster Road who did the flowers that decorate the room here. For anyone who wants an idea for a start up business, I recommend that they go into dress suit hire. There is clearly a gap in the market. Your only competitor would be Moss Bros, whose management is so poor that they would fold if they had any competition.
One of my proud duties is to commend Angela to you. I hardly know how to begin. When she achieved the top First Class Honours degree from Oxford it was the culmination of a brilliant academic career at school and university. Angela has always won prizes. When she was very little she won an art prize. Grade 8 and a performance certificate for both piano and clarinet, it seemed an insult when music was the only GCSE that she didn’t get an A star for. She was also Dorset long jump champion and Dorset young scientist of the year when she was at school. Now here she is looking very beautiful in white like someone out of Lord of the Rings (no, not Gandalf, nor Gollum – I was thinking more of Galadriel – the part played by Cate Blanchett). When Stuart put the ring on her finger, I half expected that she would disappear!
Angela is a very determined person. If she sets her heart on something she is sure to get it. When she thought about getting married she put an advert in the local paper saying, “Husband wanted” She had 117 identical replies all from women saying, “Please take mine!”
Fortunately, that was not necessary as she met Stuart. We welcome Stuart into our family. Stuart is a great sailor. I believe they are going on a boat for their honeymoon. Just, please be careful as you go round Cape Horn. So he won’t get bored on board I have leant him my complete collection of Patrick O’Brien’s Master and Commander books. Seventeen volumes, I think.
October 3rd is a very auspicious day for getting married. On October 3rd 1899 The Boer War began. On this day 1928 the Chicago Taxicab War started with two Yellow Cabs being blown up. In 1942 the Germans launched the first V2 rocket on October 3rd and ten years later on the same date the first British atom bomb was exploded. In 1968 there were street riots in Mexico City and in 1975 it was the Thriller in Manilla when Muhammed Ali fought Smoking Joe Frazier, then in 1993 it was Black Hawk Down – the first Battle of Mogidishu in Somalia started.
It is hardly surprising that the first SOS was sent on October 3rd 1906.
I was despairing in finding anything about marriage until I came up with October 3rd in 1995 OJ Simpson was acquitted of killing his wife.
Then at last a successful marriage: In 1990 East and West Germany were reunited!
My next task is to give sage advice on the subject of marriage to the happy couple garnered from 42 years of experience.
This is what I have learnt. Marriage is the place where you get forgiven even when you don’t deserve it.
So Stuart, here is my advice: Apologise – even when you don’t know what you have done. There is no point in denying it. ‘Fess up straight away. Getting forgiven is much better than fighting, and what are you going to do if you win?
Ogden Nash put it well: To keep your marriage brimming; With love in the loving cup; Whenever you’re wrong admit it; Whenever you’re right, shut up.
Marriage is to a man’s advantage. Married men live longer than single ones, (no it’s not true that it just seems longer) but married women have shorter (though more exciting) lives than their single sisters.
Marriage is a wonderful institution. But who wants to live in an institution?
Shakespeare gave us the best description:
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
admit impediments. Love is not love
which alters when it alteration finds,
or bends with the remover to remove:
Oh, no! It is an ever-fixed mark.
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
it is the star to every wandering bark,
whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
within his bending sickle's compass come;
love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
but bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Finally, to get back to Angela – as some of you know she wants to be a haematologist, and one of the main concerns of haematologists these days is the stem cell. I’m not sure that I approve of embryonic stem cells when it seems that you can obtain from the bone marrow stem cells that can be coaxed into turning into whatever kind of tissue you want for a spare part – whether it is kidney, heart, liver or brain. I am sure that this was what God had in mind when He took a bone from Adam to make Eve.
But where should he take the bone from? He could have taken it from the skull, but that would have given the impression that he wanted Eve to rule over Adam, He could have taken in from Adam’s heel – but that would give the impression that she could be trampled underfoot. So he took a rib. From his side to show that they were equals, from under his arm, so that he would protect her, and from next to his heart to be loved by him.
Ladies and Gentlemen Please raise your glasses to toast the Bride and Groom.
We finally finished about 8-30 pm. I was too tired to watch the football on television.
The rain stayed away until this morning, but then it poured.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Calamities continue.
As if we didn't have enough problems my wife fell backwards out of the loft to land on her back ten feet below. Although concussed by the fall no bones seemed to be broken. However she was unable to weight bear on her right leg and her ribs seemed to be very bruised. She has been confined to bed.
Fortunately both my sons have been to help me clear out the loft in time for the builders to come and assess the job of re-insulating the loft, and putting in a new stairwell to make access safer. However, she was in so much pain by 1 am Tuesday morning that we had to call an ambulance to take her to hospital for an X-ray. There were no fractures, but they put her on stronger pain-killers and gave her a walking aid to enable her to get to the bathroom.
In the meantime I am learning how to be a housewife. I first attempted a casserole, which went very well, and encouraged, I thought I would make an apple crumble. I picked half a dozen apples from the tree, peeled and stewed them and then made up the topping with flour, sugar and butter. Because the oven was in use with the casserole, I had to use the top oven, which doubles as a grill. Somewhat confused on how one switches from one to the other, I ended up grilling the crumble instead of baking it. It immediately caught fire. Smoke began issuing from the grill chimney, and when I looked through the oven door I saw flames dancing on the surface of my dish. I pulled it out and threw a cloth over it to extinguish the fire and then had to scrape the charred surface from the pudding. I quickly manufactured some more crumble (quantities by rule of eye this time rather than exact measurements on the scales -and I threw in some cinnamon) and it turned out an excellent pudding.
Since then I have managed fish and chips and a cheese pie, not to mention runner beans, mushrooms and fried tomatoes. This evening I will attempt bangers and mash.
But the cooking is only half of it. I have been vacuuming, I've done three loads of washing and I've cleaned the toilets. Truly, a woman's work is never done.
Fortunately both my sons have been to help me clear out the loft in time for the builders to come and assess the job of re-insulating the loft, and putting in a new stairwell to make access safer. However, she was in so much pain by 1 am Tuesday morning that we had to call an ambulance to take her to hospital for an X-ray. There were no fractures, but they put her on stronger pain-killers and gave her a walking aid to enable her to get to the bathroom.
In the meantime I am learning how to be a housewife. I first attempted a casserole, which went very well, and encouraged, I thought I would make an apple crumble. I picked half a dozen apples from the tree, peeled and stewed them and then made up the topping with flour, sugar and butter. Because the oven was in use with the casserole, I had to use the top oven, which doubles as a grill. Somewhat confused on how one switches from one to the other, I ended up grilling the crumble instead of baking it. It immediately caught fire. Smoke began issuing from the grill chimney, and when I looked through the oven door I saw flames dancing on the surface of my dish. I pulled it out and threw a cloth over it to extinguish the fire and then had to scrape the charred surface from the pudding. I quickly manufactured some more crumble (quantities by rule of eye this time rather than exact measurements on the scales -and I threw in some cinnamon) and it turned out an excellent pudding.
Since then I have managed fish and chips and a cheese pie, not to mention runner beans, mushrooms and fried tomatoes. This evening I will attempt bangers and mash.
But the cooking is only half of it. I have been vacuuming, I've done three loads of washing and I've cleaned the toilets. Truly, a woman's work is never done.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Calamities
Not much blogging this week, but it's been a week of calamities. It began with a light bulb blowing in the bathroom. The light fitting there is pretty but old and very difficult to take apart to fit a new light bulb. After spending half an hour doing so and finally reassembling it, the other bulb blew. This was too much, so I contacted an electrician to come and replace it with a more user-friendly version.
When he eventually came he had bad news. He brought down from the attic a sample of the electrical wiring. Our attic/loft is insulated with very small polystyrene chips, and where the wiring had passed through them they had melted so that the wires were coated with a brittle sticky mess. "This is a house fire waiting to happen," he said. He was so concerned that he rushed back the next day to give us a quote for rewiring the house.
Well, we knew we had to have the house rewired. It's 30+ years since the wiring was looked at, and if you try and sell a house without an electrical safety certificate, the government prevents you. So he comes back and the first thing he says is, "You'll have to empty out the loft.
Our loft contains the gathered detritus of 41 years of marriage. Children's toys, unfinished jigsaw puzzles, discarded suitcases, wedding dresses, hundreds of books, '78' records, school reports, old photographs, VHS tapes and recorders, sleeping bags, unused pieces if furniture, old Christmas cards, musical instruments, prams and pushchairs and baby's cots, old radios, notes from every examination my daughter ever took, jeans to fit everybody from size 6 to 16, rubber boots, baseball caps from various holiday destinations, souvenirs, unwanted presents, presents we couldn't think who to give to, old carpets and vinyl floor coverings, odd bits of wood, last year's Christmas decorations, vinyl 33s and 45s, indoor TV aerials and boosters, broken tape recorders, SCART leads, old rolls of wallpaper, disused galvanized water tanks, dozens of pairs of women's shoes, old kettles and toasters, crockery and cutlery, 5 guitars, inflatable mattresses, and old bedclothes.
We began to remove it but where should we put it? Some was easily identifiable as fit only for the dump and I have taken five carloads over there. Some could go to Charity shops, and some to homeless depots. Nonetheless, some would have to be retained and this has been distributed through the house and garage. It was in transferring what was already in the garage into the garage loft that I came a cropper. The step ladder gave way while I was levering myself up into the loft and I was left hanging by my right shoulder. This has stretched my brachial plexus and left me with a numb thumb.
As a result we have decided to invest in proper loft ladders to gain access to both our lofts and moreover to replace that leaky, eighty-year old skylight, and while the loft is clear we will have the insulation removed and replaced and a new floor put down.
Then the flat roof over the bay window in out bedroom started leaking causing the ceiling paper to bulge until it eventually tore and a bucketfull or rain water fell on top of me.
Oh the joys of owing a house!
When he eventually came he had bad news. He brought down from the attic a sample of the electrical wiring. Our attic/loft is insulated with very small polystyrene chips, and where the wiring had passed through them they had melted so that the wires were coated with a brittle sticky mess. "This is a house fire waiting to happen," he said. He was so concerned that he rushed back the next day to give us a quote for rewiring the house.
Well, we knew we had to have the house rewired. It's 30+ years since the wiring was looked at, and if you try and sell a house without an electrical safety certificate, the government prevents you. So he comes back and the first thing he says is, "You'll have to empty out the loft.
Our loft contains the gathered detritus of 41 years of marriage. Children's toys, unfinished jigsaw puzzles, discarded suitcases, wedding dresses, hundreds of books, '78' records, school reports, old photographs, VHS tapes and recorders, sleeping bags, unused pieces if furniture, old Christmas cards, musical instruments, prams and pushchairs and baby's cots, old radios, notes from every examination my daughter ever took, jeans to fit everybody from size 6 to 16, rubber boots, baseball caps from various holiday destinations, souvenirs, unwanted presents, presents we couldn't think who to give to, old carpets and vinyl floor coverings, odd bits of wood, last year's Christmas decorations, vinyl 33s and 45s, indoor TV aerials and boosters, broken tape recorders, SCART leads, old rolls of wallpaper, disused galvanized water tanks, dozens of pairs of women's shoes, old kettles and toasters, crockery and cutlery, 5 guitars, inflatable mattresses, and old bedclothes.
We began to remove it but where should we put it? Some was easily identifiable as fit only for the dump and I have taken five carloads over there. Some could go to Charity shops, and some to homeless depots. Nonetheless, some would have to be retained and this has been distributed through the house and garage. It was in transferring what was already in the garage into the garage loft that I came a cropper. The step ladder gave way while I was levering myself up into the loft and I was left hanging by my right shoulder. This has stretched my brachial plexus and left me with a numb thumb.
As a result we have decided to invest in proper loft ladders to gain access to both our lofts and moreover to replace that leaky, eighty-year old skylight, and while the loft is clear we will have the insulation removed and replaced and a new floor put down.
Then the flat roof over the bay window in out bedroom started leaking causing the ceiling paper to bulge until it eventually tore and a bucketfull or rain water fell on top of me.
Oh the joys of owing a house!
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Dog-sitting
We have been dog-sitting out daughter's rough collie, Jemimah (this is not she). Rough collies are very friendly dogs but wear a very heavy fur coat which may well be suitable for herding sheep in northern Scotland, but are distinctly de trop for sunny Bournemouth. Not that we have had much sunshine this summer, but even so it is warmish compared to Scotland.
She has settled down well in our family. At 9-30 am she is ready for her hour's walk on the golf course, and even before she has entered the course she has found a stick to be thrown for her to chase. The golf course is a public park so it is a favorite place for dogs to exercise (a euphemism for 'exercise their bowels') and the park has strict rules about cleaning up messes. It gives the term 'doggy-bag' a whole new meaning.
The other part of her routine is grooming. With such a long haired coat, tangles and tuggs are a common problem. These take a lot of brushing out and while she enjoys being brushed on her back and neck, anywhere else is likely to invoke a nip. So it is a two-handed job: one strokes her back and neck while the other attacks the tangles on her legs and tummy. Apparently they have sensitive skins so the combing out of tangles has to be very gentle.
When she has been groomed she is a very beautiful creature. She is a mixture of brown black and white with a shiny coat and an intelligent face. She is well aware of her beauty, indeed she is something of a princess. Over the golf course she is surrounded by other dogs who clearly appreciate her attractiveness, but she shows no interest in them. Indeed, I think that like Lorenz's ducks she thinks herself human and not canine at all.
I'm told that she sees herself as a man's dog, but that does not seem to be the state here. Her place in the household is as one of the privileged females, which she shows by lying at my wife's feet. She knows where her food comes from. As for the rest of the household, it seems to consist of a stick throwing machine.
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