It should be enough to have a house full of bears, but lately we seem to have adopted two large monkeys, I don't know how. One sits quietly at the table eating a banana and the other is swinging from a trapeze by the back door.
My friend Claire was here today and commented on the swinging monkey, and it put me in mind of a story about Hartlepool, on the north east coast, south of where I used to live. (Sad bit coming up...)
In the Napoleonic Wars, a French ship was wrecked off Hartlepool and the only survivor was the ship's monkey, which was dressed in a scaled down version of a uniform. The people of Hartlepool, it is said, didn't know what a Frenchman looked like, so they decided that this small creature chattering in a language they didn't understand must be one. Accordingly, they hanged it.
Now, before you protest in outrage, there is no historical proof of this story, and it was probably just invented as a joke about Hartlepool people by their near neighbours. (Did they really think a Frenchman had a tail?) But to this day, if you go to Hartlepool, don't ask,
'Who hung the monkey?' They still don't think it's funny.
All of you in the US, we'll be thinking and praying about the forthcoming election.
AND I only realised this today - it must be weeks since I told you about The Archers! I do apologise, I don't know how you can bear it.
Lilian is angry with Matt for his unscrupulous business practices, and she has got back in touch with a former flame, Paul. (Lilian must be pushing seventy, by the way.) Her useless son, James, has just broken his leg and is lying on her settee expecting to be waited on.
Josh has offered to help with Hayley's hens, probably because he fancies her step-daughter Phoebe, Kate's daughter. Eddie and Emma are desperately hard up, and Will (Ed's brother whom she was married to first), thinks that they must be neglecting George (her son with him). So that's all crystal clear.
Sunday, 4 November 2012
Friday, 2 November 2012
The Master
It just keeps coming. Lovely Younger Son has just got his exam results and is now a Master of Law (LLM) with Merit. He specialised in stuff that I don't understand a bit but it's to do with Human Rights. Well done him. As his girlfriend, The Lassie, pointed out, he will now be insufferable.
The Daughter, who has been a responsible law-abiding good citizen all her life, now says she wants to do something bad because her little brother has mastered the law so she can't be prosecuted. (Note to her new fiance - you may be marrying a hooligan. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
But is he Master of All the Laws? What about the Law of Toast - if you drop the toast it will always land butter side down? Or the Law of Relaxation - the moment you sit down, the doorbell will ring? Or the Ancient Law of Cat - every door has a wrong side. To find out which it is, ask the cat.
The there's Author's Law. Whatever idea you think of, somebody else has already written it.
The Daughter, who has been a responsible law-abiding good citizen all her life, now says she wants to do something bad because her little brother has mastered the law so she can't be prosecuted. (Note to her new fiance - you may be marrying a hooligan. Don't say I didn't warn you.)
But is he Master of All the Laws? What about the Law of Toast - if you drop the toast it will always land butter side down? Or the Law of Relaxation - the moment you sit down, the doorbell will ring? Or the Ancient Law of Cat - every door has a wrong side. To find out which it is, ask the cat.
The there's Author's Law. Whatever idea you think of, somebody else has already written it.
Monday, 29 October 2012
Pounce
I go away for a few days, and what happens? Things pounce on me.
Tony and I spent a few days at Burrswood in Kent. It's a calming and lovely place, and on Saturday morning, already feeling soothed and renewed, we went to the British Wildlife Centre in East Grinstead.
Wrapped up against the cold we walked through, nodded good morning to the foxes, a harvest mouse, and a pine marten who was looking out at us fron a nest in what looked like an American mailbox. (Lying in bed on a cold morning watching the world go by. How can I get the pine marten's job?)
Then we walked through our favourite area, the copse, where red squirrels play and muntjac deer graze under the trees. Juniper was there, and another squirrel even darker than he was. By the stream the otters came to see us, the red and fallow deer kept their distance, and, as it grew colder, we walked back through the copse. There we met someone who looked very like Sepia. On reflection she might have been Crackle or Scatter, but Sepia came to mind.
She ran along a wooden rail to where we were standing. Sepia and I looked at each other. I stood still. She thought about me. Then with a spring she was on my shoulder, running across the back of my coat, and climbing down my shoulder bag. Then she jumped down, tasted the bag, and turned her attention to Tony. She put a paw on his shoe, bit the hem of his trousers, had another look at my bag just to check if I happened to have a few hazelnuts with me, then ran off to meet somebody else.
That alone would have made my year. And then the next thing that pounced on me was the news that Daughter's boyfriend had just proposed, and she (of course) had accepted. Those two are absolutely right together, and we are all delighted. (As are Daughter and Mr D.) So she has a ring on her finger and I - all too briefly - had a squirrel on my shoulder. It's almost too much happiness for one day. I'm all of a whatnot, and Apple is offering me a restorative cordial.
Tony and I spent a few days at Burrswood in Kent. It's a calming and lovely place, and on Saturday morning, already feeling soothed and renewed, we went to the British Wildlife Centre in East Grinstead.
Wrapped up against the cold we walked through, nodded good morning to the foxes, a harvest mouse, and a pine marten who was looking out at us fron a nest in what looked like an American mailbox. (Lying in bed on a cold morning watching the world go by. How can I get the pine marten's job?)
Then we walked through our favourite area, the copse, where red squirrels play and muntjac deer graze under the trees. Juniper was there, and another squirrel even darker than he was. By the stream the otters came to see us, the red and fallow deer kept their distance, and, as it grew colder, we walked back through the copse. There we met someone who looked very like Sepia. On reflection she might have been Crackle or Scatter, but Sepia came to mind.
She ran along a wooden rail to where we were standing. Sepia and I looked at each other. I stood still. She thought about me. Then with a spring she was on my shoulder, running across the back of my coat, and climbing down my shoulder bag. Then she jumped down, tasted the bag, and turned her attention to Tony. She put a paw on his shoe, bit the hem of his trousers, had another look at my bag just to check if I happened to have a few hazelnuts with me, then ran off to meet somebody else.
That alone would have made my year. And then the next thing that pounced on me was the news that Daughter's boyfriend had just proposed, and she (of course) had accepted. Those two are absolutely right together, and we are all delighted. (As are Daughter and Mr D.) So she has a ring on her finger and I - all too briefly - had a squirrel on my shoulder. It's almost too much happiness for one day. I'm all of a whatnot, and Apple is offering me a restorative cordial.
Wednesday, 24 October 2012
the goalie
After a sad day yesterday, Nels reminded me that I had already told myself about difficult partings, by way of Mistmantle. Thank you to all of you who have helped me over the hump.
So, by way of light relief, here's something LYS told me about today.
When LYS was capain of a football team at his college at university, there was one guy on the team who was big enough to blot out sunlight and stop a moving train by looking at it. For a such a massive bloke he was very agile and of course LYS put him in goal, where he was fast enough to stop the ball assuming it hadn't already hit him in the chest and exploded.
One night after a game, they'd all gone out together to eat, and Goalie ordered a pizza. Bt he was really hungry, so he ordered a burger to eat while he waited for his pizza.
But he was really, really hungry. So he ordered some chips (fries) to eat while he was waiting for his burger. And, yes, he did finish it all.
Dear readers, this a true story, not a lifestyle plan. Don't try it.
So, by way of light relief, here's something LYS told me about today.
When LYS was capain of a football team at his college at university, there was one guy on the team who was big enough to blot out sunlight and stop a moving train by looking at it. For a such a massive bloke he was very agile and of course LYS put him in goal, where he was fast enough to stop the ball assuming it hadn't already hit him in the chest and exploded.
One night after a game, they'd all gone out together to eat, and Goalie ordered a pizza. Bt he was really hungry, so he ordered a burger to eat while he waited for his pizza.
But he was really, really hungry. So he ordered some chips (fries) to eat while he was waiting for his burger. And, yes, he did finish it all.
Dear readers, this a true story, not a lifestyle plan. Don't try it.
Tuesday, 23 October 2012
sad
Our great friends J and C moved away today, called to somewhere new. They have been great supportive friends, and as families we all got on well, and they're such fun! They will leave a big ragged gap in our lives.
This morning Tony and I went along there with the hoover, some dusters and a very silly cobweb brush to help them get turned around. Then, when the van was loaded, the carpets all hoovered and the cupboards cleaned and checked, it was nearly time to go. Only the last few things - washing up bowl, kitchen bin, and so on - still had to be put in the car.
At this point, loading mugs into the washing up bowl, I said, 'what am I doing this for? Why am I helping you go when I want you to stay?' But sometimes it has to be, doesn't it, and it isn't up to us. When the meters were read and the water turned off, it was time to lock up, say a prayer with them, and watch them go.
It's harder for them. We've lost J and C, but they have to start all over again in a new community, which is never easy. At least their children are grown up. Any organisations - companies, charities, churches - that require their staff to move frequently should think long and hard about what it means.
Go well and safely. The help and nurture, the welcome, and the sheer fun and happiness you have brought us is immeasurable. I hope they really appreciate you where you're going. If not, tell me and I shall fall upon them with my cobweb brush.
They're not going too far - near enough for us to arrange a get-together next month. But they have taken a shaft of sunlight with them. And what will we do now for a New Year Party?
This morning Tony and I went along there with the hoover, some dusters and a very silly cobweb brush to help them get turned around. Then, when the van was loaded, the carpets all hoovered and the cupboards cleaned and checked, it was nearly time to go. Only the last few things - washing up bowl, kitchen bin, and so on - still had to be put in the car.
At this point, loading mugs into the washing up bowl, I said, 'what am I doing this for? Why am I helping you go when I want you to stay?' But sometimes it has to be, doesn't it, and it isn't up to us. When the meters were read and the water turned off, it was time to lock up, say a prayer with them, and watch them go.
It's harder for them. We've lost J and C, but they have to start all over again in a new community, which is never easy. At least their children are grown up. Any organisations - companies, charities, churches - that require their staff to move frequently should think long and hard about what it means.
Go well and safely. The help and nurture, the welcome, and the sheer fun and happiness you have brought us is immeasurable. I hope they really appreciate you where you're going. If not, tell me and I shall fall upon them with my cobweb brush.
They're not going too far - near enough for us to arrange a get-together next month. But they have taken a shaft of sunlight with them. And what will we do now for a New Year Party?
Sunday, 21 October 2012
Apple
Oooh, what an autumn for hats! I been down that garden, there's all sorts, some of them semperviryusses got lovely red and orangey leaves just now. There's something growing through the fence, don't know what it is, but it's yellow, and leaves so big you could use them for an umbrella. That witch hazel, it's only a young one, but that's looking very nice.
I chatted to old Much, and he said, just wait till the cotoneastererer turns red, it'll be a rare sight. And there's berries all over 'er 'olly tree, but I don't take them for me hat, the birds need them in winter.
I see there's a thing running round that garden, it's not a proper squirrel, not like on Mistmantle, it's a grey thing with a tail. Got no manners, whatever it is. Never stops to share the time of day. If it digs up 'er tulip bulbs it'd better look out, she likes her tulips.
Squirrels don't do hibernating, and on Mistmantle not even the hedgehogs go to sleep in winter. There's too much going on, who wants to miss out? Not hedgehogs. But round 'ere you can't get no sense out of a hedgehog this time of year, all they want is to go to bed and sleep all winter. She of the Stories reckons it's not such a bad idea.
I chatted to old Much, and he said, just wait till the cotoneastererer turns red, it'll be a rare sight. And there's berries all over 'er 'olly tree, but I don't take them for me hat, the birds need them in winter.
I see there's a thing running round that garden, it's not a proper squirrel, not like on Mistmantle, it's a grey thing with a tail. Got no manners, whatever it is. Never stops to share the time of day. If it digs up 'er tulip bulbs it'd better look out, she likes her tulips.
Squirrels don't do hibernating, and on Mistmantle not even the hedgehogs go to sleep in winter. There's too much going on, who wants to miss out? Not hedgehogs. But round 'ere you can't get no sense out of a hedgehog this time of year, all they want is to go to bed and sleep all winter. She of the Stories reckons it's not such a bad idea.
Thursday, 18 October 2012
Splosh
It's been a long day. I did Toddler Group this morning, had a couple of hours at home to deal with e-mails from editors, and went out to Leeds for a lesson from Jane, my voice coach. (She's brilliant, by the way.) I did the shopping in Leeds (divided the journey there and back between reading and writing, trudged home, and dealt with yet more e-mails, and after this I'm going for a lovely hot bath.
I know, before you say it. I know that we're supposed to take showers, not baths. I try not to waste water. I put cooking water on the garden, and when it's dry in summer (some chance this year) I don't send all my bathwater swirling dsown the plughole, I take bucketsful out to water on the plants. They don't seem to mind if it takes soapy.
But a bath is not just to do with getting clean. A bath is to do with soaking, sinking back in kind hot water. Bathwater loves you! It knows when you've had a hard day. It wraps around you, warms you all the way through, and floats all your aches and tension away. It almost sings to you. Even while it's still pouring from the tap it's reminding you to have a fluffy towel ready, and some special soap/talc/body lotion/bath bombs/oil/plastic yellow ducks, whatever it is that blesses your bathtime.
When I'm in the bath, storylines sort themselves out and get unknotted. I can see what's gone wrong with a story, and where, and what to do about it. New ideas pop up like bath fizzers. I can't afford a weekend at a luxury health spa, but who cares, when I can be pampered and inspired by half an hour in a hot bath?
LYS shares my enthusasim for baths. I may have to queue.
I know, before you say it. I know that we're supposed to take showers, not baths. I try not to waste water. I put cooking water on the garden, and when it's dry in summer (some chance this year) I don't send all my bathwater swirling dsown the plughole, I take bucketsful out to water on the plants. They don't seem to mind if it takes soapy.
But a bath is not just to do with getting clean. A bath is to do with soaking, sinking back in kind hot water. Bathwater loves you! It knows when you've had a hard day. It wraps around you, warms you all the way through, and floats all your aches and tension away. It almost sings to you. Even while it's still pouring from the tap it's reminding you to have a fluffy towel ready, and some special soap/talc/body lotion/bath bombs/oil/plastic yellow ducks, whatever it is that blesses your bathtime.
When I'm in the bath, storylines sort themselves out and get unknotted. I can see what's gone wrong with a story, and where, and what to do about it. New ideas pop up like bath fizzers. I can't afford a weekend at a luxury health spa, but who cares, when I can be pampered and inspired by half an hour in a hot bath?
LYS shares my enthusasim for baths. I may have to queue.
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