PORTSMOUTH (PART 2)

The following day, we returned to the Historic Dockyard, intending to get everything done in a day, but there is just so much to see, it is impossible to do in a day. In fact, if I'm honest, you probably need a week.

We started off with the Mary Rose exhibition and that in itself is worth at least 3 hours. Henry VIII's flag ship, The Mary Rose, sank in 1545 fighting off the French who had reached as far as the Isle of Wight with their fleet. Henry VIII later tried to have it pulled up with ropes attached to the mast, but the mast snapped and it lay at the bottom of the sea for many centuries, despite attempts in 1836, when it was discovered by fisherman and later professional divers who also failed to bring it to the surface. It was rediscovered in 1971 and this time a project to bring it to the surface was successful in 1982. Since then a museum has been built around it and attempts to recover more of the ship continue. You can read more about it here.

Half of the ship is beautifully restored behind glass to preserve the temperature and right humidity for the timbers. Hundreds of artefacts found on board have given great insight into various aspects of Tudor life and even the nationalities and medical conditions of those found on board, including a little dog. Video projections onto the ship show life on board ship. It was really interesting.  The climax of our tour, ended in a realistic theatre experience with 3D glasses to experience the dive down to the bottom of the seabed, when they found it in the 1970s. You got the sensation of diving yourself, the wind on your face as you resurfaced. It was truly amazing. Here again are some pictures of that morning. Incidentally, the ship was named after Henry's sister Mary and the Tudor emblem of a rose.

cross-section of the decks which would have housed 500 men

Figurehead of the Mary Rose

The afternoon of that day was spent going on board HMS Victory, Nelson's flagship at the Battle of Trafalgar, where he lost his life in 1805. It was another fascinating experience to see how shipbuilding had advanced in the centuries between Mary Rose and Victory. The ship seemed more spacious, luxurious even for the officers such as Captain Hardy and Admiral Nelson. Most men slept in hammocks strung from beams, whereas Nelson had a proper bed which was easier for him to get in and out of, as he only had one arm by then. The decks were wider and longer, giving the impression of more space, although with 800 men on board it was probably unbearably overcrowded with noisy smoky cannons being fired at the enemy.  Here are some pictures of HMS Victory.

The officers' 'luxury' quarters

below deck

Nelson's quarters

Nelson's bed

There was still some time left in the day to do a harbour tour, but, so as not to overwhelm you with photos, I'll write more about that another time, together with a visit to HMS Warrior, a Victorian naval ship. I did say there was so much to see and how lucky we were to get a ticket that would enable us to visit the dockyard as many times as we wanted (for a whole year) and not be constricted to just one day.

PORTSMOUTH (PART 1)

I've not long returned from what will probably be my last trip away from home this year. My old friend from uni days (we've known one another 55 years this month) offered to go away on holiday with me for a few days. She had suggested Portsmouth as a possible destination and, as I have never been there, I decided "why not?", although I must confess I did not really think there would be much to see. How wrong was I?

We booked into a hotel right down by the harbour and my train arrived at Portsmouth Harbour station, despite engineering works on the outward journey on a Sunday which involved a bus service between Arundel and Barnham. The train station was a few minutes' walk to our hotel and a few minutes' walk to the Historic Dockyard. My friend had arrived by car and we met up in the hotel foyer at 2pm.

Now, I don't know if any of you know Portsmouth well, but the Historic Dockyard is a must to see.  My friend had researched it well and had discovered, if we booked online and bought Ultimate Explorer tickets, which only cost a few pounds more than the day ticket, we could visit the dockyard for a whole year. It was certainly a wise move as a day is not enough to see everything there is to see. Having arrived in Portsmouth at 2pm, we immediately strolled to the dockyard at 3, only to discover that one of the things I wanted to see (a submarine) was not open on Mondays or Tuesdays. As I was returning home on Wednesday, I only had that day to see it. So I caught the 15.30 free crossing over to Gosport where the submarine is docked and was the last on board for that afternoon.

I wanted to get a feel for what it is like to be on board a submarine and it was a wonderful experience. I got to chat with one of the guides all to myself. He told me had worked on the Polaris submarines in his youth. There were normally 65 people on board and I tried to imagine how cramped and claustrophobic it must feel particularly when submerged under water. Here are a few pictures of it.

The following day, it took us all day to look around the Mary Rose exhibition and HMS Victory. More about that next week. There are so many photos to put on one post and I was absolutely blown away by what there was to see. If you have never been, I can thoroughly recommend Portsmouth's Historic Dockyard, but don't imagine you can see it all in a day - you need at least two days if not more to see a fraction of it. I'll get together more photos for my next post.

Holidays

I may have mentioned once or a million times before, that, being a widow with no close family whatsoever (siblings or cousins), holidays are now a thing of the past for me. I cannot really expect my loved-up daughter, Kay, and her husband, Darcy, to accompany me while I play gooseberry, so have accepted that, unless I go away on my own anywhere, I shall never go anywhere abroad any more. I don't have the courage to go on singles holidays, although various people have advised me to and said they are just fine. I would find eating out on my own in restaurants stressful and attract sympathy and curiosity from every corner, which I would hate. I have thought about doing trips to UK cities on my own for a few nights here or  there. Wandering around cities on my own would present no problems - after all I live in one of the biggest in the world and can negotiate myself round that - and snacking at cafes and room service would probably deal with the eating alone problem. So that is the way forward for me.

I have been very much absent from blogging myself in the last month mainly because, now that Kay's wedding is over, I have been able to turn my thoughts to escaping for mini breaks. First I went down to Salisbury for the day to visit an old school friend as well as the widowed husband of another schoolfriend. It was nice to travel on the train and see something different, as well as chat with old friends. Then over the August Bank Holiday weekend, I went up to the Midlands to visit my sister-in-law Jill, Greg's sister. She has been going through a very tough time as her partner has dementia and has gone into a care home. He was diagnosed as "end-of-life" a month ago, but has miraculously bounced back, but still causing worry as he seems to like standing on chairs near windows to get at imaginary things on the ceiling! It was lovely to stay with her and help her with household chores and the garden. Our drives through the countryside to get to the care home were lovely and I think Jill appreciated chatting to someone who does not have dementia! Finally last week, I went down to Brighton for the weekend to visit friends there. I had some spare time on the Sunday before I got my train back home, so went along to Brighton Pavilion. I had been there before as a child, but remembered little so wanted to make an effort to go now. I was not disappointed.

It was the plaything of George IV who wanted to enjoy the Brighton sea air and invite guests down there to relax and be frivolous. He was obsessed with the Orient, so the design and interior decoration is very heavily influenced by China with original hand-painted Chinese wallpaper; Chinese lamps and lanterns; dragons everywhere and Chinese furniture. The Pavilion was later used by William IV and Victoria, before being sold to  the town of Brighton in 1850. Here are some pictures of my memorable visit.

Love Thy Neighbour

There has been so much in the news recently about racism. 

The news from the Middle East where Israel pounds the very life out of Gaza and surrounding Hamas-occupied areas is indeed dreadful.  It is hard to think what those poor Palestinian people must be suffering at the hands of the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) who are intent on an eye for an eye. However, let it not be said that just because people are Jewish, it means they support the IDF or Israeli government. Even Jews within Israel have made it known that they do not support Benjamin Netanyahu and certainly most Jews here in the UK have spoken out in horror about the Israeli answer to the Palestinian situation. It therefore should not mean that Jews living in this country should be afraid for themselves or their children living here in the UK, when emotions against Israel run so high.

Similarly, the atrocious and mindless behaviour of some rent-a-mob louts over the last ten days in the UK have been directed shamefully against Muslims, who had nothing to do with the killing of those three little girls in Stockport. Misinformation or disinformation had incensed them to act appallingly against fellow human beings, just because of their race and religion. It got me thinking about a post I had written back in August 2016 and I decided to repost it here.

Love Thy Neighbour

A lot has been reported lately about cases of xenophobia and racist attacks that have been occurring in various parts of the country since the referendum result to leave the EU. I cannot condone that in any shape of form, especially as my father was himself a victim of racism in 1930s Nazi Germany and had to flee for his life to Britain in 1939. He married an English Land Girl and later was naturalised months before I was born, so strictly speaking, although I was born and bred here and consider myself to be nothing other than white Caucasian British, you could also say I am a second-generation immigrant.

I have mentioned before that I live in a small private cul-de-sac of 32 town houses in a suburb of London.  All the houses are the same and are grouped round a large communal field which is shared by all the residents for relaxation, large marquee parties, children to play etc. We have a residents' association which manages all communal aspects like gardening of the field, external painting of the houses at set intervals, repaving and lighting of the street to name a few things. I would say I know more than half of my neighbours personally. I don't know how many of you can say you know 16 sets of neighbours well and particularly in a big city like London. About half are British, the rest are a right old mix of nationalities. Off the top of my head I can count families from Ghana, Nigeria, Malawi, Croatia, Norway, India, Austria, Australia to name those I personally know. We all co-exist without any problems and invite one another's children to knock on our doors at Halloween or invite the grown ups too to attend birthday parties or other functions held on the communal area. In recent years we communally celebrated in the new Millennium and VE day. One of my neighbours once held her wedding reception in a marquee on the lawn and we were all invited. There are frequent kiddies' parties with bouncy castles or entertainers. Last week one of our neighbours, who has a had a lot of modernisation done on her house over the last 4 months), invited us all to a house-warming party as a thanks for our understanding about the noise, endless  skips and upheaval caused during that time. Again nationalities of all kinds mixed in to enjoy a lovely summer day together.

P.S. (August 2024). Maybe I am naive, but we are all human beings, whatever our colour, race or religion and should try to live harmoniously alongside one another, share our planet and leave it a better place to live. It starts with our neighbours and then with our street, our town, our country and finally our world. It is such a shame that some people are intent on spoiling it.

Mad World

I think I'm getting old. The kind of old where you yearn for how things used to be. The kind of old where you find yourself saying, "In my day, we used to.......".

It seems we live in a funny old world now. The days of relative peace and harmony since the last major world war seem to have gotten more risky, worrying and crazy.  I know the world has seen sporadic outbreaks of trouble over that period, but none so risky as now with the internet and other technology to aid faster communication.

The shenanigans of American politics, the Russian attack on Ukraine, the brewing tension in the Middle East and the mindless thuggery over the last few days in the UK since the brutal stabbings in Stockport alone have made the world seem an even more dangerous place to be. In addition, social media and drones are the two things that make information and disinformation readily available at our fingertips. It makes our enemy abroad and the mindless thugs at home ready to assemble at a moment's notice and know where to attack. Unlike our parents' generation where snail mail, telegrams and months of intelligence-building took an age to prepare.

I have to say that the mindless thuggery seen on our streets this week are reminiscent of Nazi Germany where a politician of a small party in the 1920s sowed seeds into the minds of a racist few and conjured up in 1933 twelve years of racist hatred that led to the extermination of six million Jews. Many years ago that would have seemed unlikely to happen here. But now? Imagine a right-wing minority party here with an MP in Parliament and the scenes unfolding this week in a town near you. It's ironic that the thugs seem to carry flags of St George - a saint who originates from the area of Turkey. If only they could appreciate the irony.

I'm also getting fed-up of being made to feel guilty that I should be supporting people who  choose to have large families, because of the two-child benefit cap. I have no objection to people having large families if they so wish. But I don't see why I should have to subsidise them with my hard-earned money. I find that at the foodbank at which I volunteer, the regular group of mums with six kids have amazing manicured fingernails which can only have been painted at nail bars. I know for a fact that these nail bars cost a bomb and I often wonder as I hand out bags groaning with free food to them, that they could have afforded the food themselves, if they had gone without having their nails done. I often see them get into their big cars and drive off, again making me wonder where their priorities lie. Call me old-fashioned, but my parents survived a world war on very little and with no hand-outs at all. They couldn't afford a car in their entire lifetime and my father had two jobs to save up for a mortgage on a very modest house. People's expectations have grown to expect things such as a TV, washing machine, car and painted nails - to name a few - as given these days and, I'm not saying they should not be,  but to expect things handed on a plate at someone else's expense seems unrealistic. I'm sure many of you will disagree, but then that's why I say, I think I must be getting old...... and probably very grumpy, like Victor Meldrew.

Dormouse Days

When the Covid pandemic first appeared on the scene here in March 2020, it seemed a very dangerous thing to get.  For our household, it was a bit of a nightmare. At that time, Kay was working as a medical doctor in Intensive Care in a hospital near London Gatwick airport and living at home with me.  She was in daily contact with seriously ill Covid patients and wearing those high protection suits we saw so much of on the televison.  However, because I have a lung condition called sarcoidosis (granulation of the lung tissue) I was considered "vulnerable", if I were to come into contact with covid and might meet a fate worse than death. I certainly at that time would not have been eligible to be put on a ventilator if my lungs needed one, because there were too few ventilators to go around and I was over the age limit ceiling for one. Kay was therefore accommodated at the expense of the NHS in the Holiday Inn Hotel at Gatwick airport for three months - all expenses paid by the NHS - to spare me. I was getting letters from the Government Health Secretary telling me I must stay at home. I spent the good part of 6 months terrified to leave the house except for the occasional walk round the block for exercise, avoiding as best I could any contact with passers-by.

Of course, in the meantime, the virus has mutated, become a little weaker and we have had been given quite a few immunisations, so it is no longer the monster it first was.  It needs a host to survive and, if it  were to kill us all off, it would in turn not survive itself, so it is in its best interests to co-exist with us. 

I have now had Covid twice in the intervening years. The first time was in December 2022. I remember wondering what all the fuss had been about, as it was by then just a bad cold - unpleasant, yes, but nothing to write home about and over with quite quickly.

The second time was three weeks ago. I reckon I picked it up at Kay's wedding, as I went down with it about three days later. This time, it seemed worse than the first time. Less like a bad cold and more like influenza.  I must have sneezed over 500 times in a matter of a few days. My throat went from scratchy to sore which then developed into a tickly cough that could not be suppressed. (I still have that 4 weeks on.)  My temperature spiked to 101F for several days. I took to my bed and felt listless.  Although the worst of these symptoms probably lasted just over a week, I have felt overwhelmingly tired for weeks afterwards. I have taken to having afternoon naps which is so unlike me. I even wake in the morning feeling exhausted and want to curl up and go to sleep again.  I feel ancient.

Fortunately I am still alive and kicking (well barely) to tell the tale, but it is taking too long -in my impatient book- to get back to normal. Singing in my recent choir concert, I could barely reach the top notes.  I do hope normal service will be resumed soon! I have heard others say this current strain is pretty nasty, so I know I am not alone. Good riddance to it. At least now I am free to go out and about in the knowledge that I am safe for a while until the next strain comes along!

courtesy of Pinterest

Mother of the Bride

By popular request (well, by Lynne, who is a regular visitor to my blog) I attach a picture of my wedding shoes. She had remembered that I had ordered online about 14 pairs of shoes to try on at home with my mother of the bride outfit. I could not take the dress or wear it to umpteen shoe shops to try them on there, so had ordered them online to try with the dress  at home. Of course I was not going to keep all 14 pairs, but to find the best match to the dress and ones that were comfy as they had to stand the test of wearing them all day. 

The dress was a shocking pink colour. It was not my usual go-to colour. In fact my favourite colour is blue - in all its shades - but most of all I love navy blue. It is slimming, never dates, doesn't make you stand out and is conservative with a small c. I had in fact bought a lacy navy blue dress back in November and was comparing any other dress I saw or tried on with that, each time conceding that the navy dress was by far the best. However, it had been belatedly decided that the bridesmaids were wearing blue and the groom's and groomsmens' ties were also blue, so we considered blue for me might not be an option, if I wanted to be a bit different. Then around 10 weeks before the wedding, Kay and I visited a mother-of-the-bride shop not far from us, just as a joke really as I never fancied any of the dated styles in their shop window. When I tried on one of their fuschia pink dresses, Kay immediately said THAT was the dress I had to have. 

This is me trying it on in the shop. You will see the shoulders look funny. That is because I am obviously shorter in the bodice department than the average woman. This "problem" had never identified itself to me before now, but this couturier dress is styled in such a way, that it became very evident. If the shoulders fit, the waist is too low. If the waist fits, the shoulders are too high.  So the shoulders were pinned correctly in the shop to be cut later by a seamstress and resewn. 

The beige shoes belonged to the shop just to get the right effect when trying their dresses on, but we all agreed that beige (or "nude" as it is often called) was probably the best colour to accompany the dress. The venue for the wedding reception stipulated no stilletos as the venue is 300 years old and the wooden floor therefore very precious, so there were many boxes that the shoes had to tick. In the end, out of the 14 pairs I had ordered online, surprisingly the cheapest ones were the most comfortable and fitted the bill in every way.  These are they....

Made of beige fabric which simulated suede, they had block heels, cross-over straps to keep them on my feet and were comfortable enough to see me through the day. I did wear them in whilst watching TV for about two weeks beforehand, so I didn't wear them for the first time on the wedding day.

The dress was duly altered at the shoulders. I hired a hat in matching colours from a local hat shop and this was the finished effect. 

Now if ever I fancy a trip to the Ascot races, I'm all ready, otherwise I can't see this look is going to serve me well doing the weekly supermarket shop in Sainsburys.

Wedding of the Year

Well, after a build-up of at least two years, the wedding of Kay and Darcy took place last Saturday. It seemed so long coming and the last month seemed slow too, but suddenly the day arrived and because of supeduper planning on Kay's and my part, it went like clockwork.

Darcy's parents and two siblings plus their partners (six people in all) were put up in Darcy and Kay's house two days beforehand. We had the church rehearsal on the Thursday evening to figure out who went where and how. On Friday, we had access to the reception venue in the late afternoon to deliver things we needed there and on Friday evening we had a wonderful Turkish meal with all the arriving bridesmaids, groomsmen and their partners.

The weather forecast had looked atrocious for the days building up to the wedding and to a certain extent did not disappoint. On the morning of the wedding, the sun did try to break through, but the sky remained largely full of dark clouds and it was cool for June. Things kicked off very early. My house was the hub of the bride's party. Kay had stayed with me the night before as her last night as a single girl. Her hairdresser turned up at 7:45 and started work on Kay's hair. The make-up artist arrived at 8:45 and pretty soon started on my make-up. The five bridesmaids and one bridesman turned up around 9:30, so pretty quickly my house was teeming with people in every room. We had laid on a prosecco/croissant breakfast with fruits and smoked salmon too, so people were bobbing in and out of the kitchen-diner for several hours. After my make-up was done, Kay had hers done and then one of the bridesmaids too. I tried to dive in  wherever needed and tidy up where I could. Flowers were delivered and the chauffeurs of the two Rolls Royces  we hired  turned up two hours early so I had them sitting in the lounge too.  

The beautiful train on Kay's dress

Suddenly it was 11:15 and the photographer arrived and I was not dressed. A hasty dive into my outfit and then on to help Kay into hers for the official photos. The bridesmaids were all buzzing around getting into their dresses and doing their hair so there were people everywhere all up the six flights of stairs and every room of my house. Suddenly it was nearly 1:30 and time for Kay and I to leave for the church, the bridesmaids having gone on ahead. We had had rain showers all morning, but fortunately it was dry as we got into the car and out the other side again at the church. We were about 15 minutes late arriving, which I guess is allowed for the bride to be late.

Despite my nerves, I walked Kay down the aisle. When it got to the bit in the service about whether anyone had any objection to the marriage, there was a rumble of thunder. I did hope that was not Greg putting in an objection! Although I am sure he would approve wholeheartedly of Darcy. At the end of the service, the two mothers (myself and the mother of the groom) both signed the marriage certificate - can you imagine if that would have even be possible a hundred years ago?

On leaving the church, everyone was supposed to form two parallel lines and throw dried rose petals over the couple as they ran along, however the heavens opened with torrential rain and we all stood under umbrellas trying not to get soaked. The long train on Kay's dress sadly got rather muddy in the process. Everyone dashed off to the reception but Kay and Darcy and a few of us remained behind for a few photos. Fortunately the rain dried up and the strong wind dried the ground a little and the sun even tried to push through.

A break in the rain for a quick photo

The meal at the reception was amazing and soon it was time for the four speeches - mine being first as substitute "Father of the Bride". I was nervous as hell, as I don't like public speaking, but I think Greg was somehow by my side and helping me on. In fact, everybody laughed at the funny bits and at least 20 different people came up to me afterwards to say it was the best of the four speeches and the best they'd ever heard, so I must have done something right. The other speeches were from the bride, the groom and the best man. Just at the end of the speeches we saw a wonderful rainbow - again as if Greg were putting his contribution in - so that was quite an emotional moment for Kay and me. There was more time for photos when fortunately it was dry if not sunny and allowed the couple to have some nice photos in the walled flower garden. Then cutting the cake and dancing til 1 am.

Kay later rang me from her honeymoon hotel in Dorset to say that a little robin had hopped through the French doors and onto her bed, stared at her, then flew out again. I know it sounds silly, but we both felt it was a sign from Greg and burst into tears at the very thought.

A wonderful day was enjoyed by all. Sadly I have since gone down with Covid, no doubt picked up at the wedding, but at least it was afterwards and not before!

Symi

I have been following the sad news about Dr Michael Mosley whose dead body was found today  on the Greek island of Symi. Not all the facts are in about what happened to him, when he failed to return to his wife after leaving her for a walk on Wednesday lunchtime. He was supposedly unwell, which is why he decided to leave his wife on the beach and return to their accommodation. Temperatures were nudging 40 degrees Centigrade and he was walking on rocky terrain in incredible heat. Did he have a heart attack or heat stroke? I expect the facts will emerge eventually, but despite an incredible search investigation both on land and at sea, they reckon he probably died days ago. I feel for his wife and children (the latter having flown out yesterday to help with the search for him).

Greg and I visited Symi back in 1983. We were staying on the Greek island of Rhodes and had taken a day trip to Symi, about an hour's crossing away. The ferry had dropped us off on one side of the island around late morning and would collect us again on the opposite side of the island in the early evening, giving us six hours to cross the island on foot and enjoy a meal before our return to Rhodes.

We set off on our walk leaving the small harbour behind us and entering into what I can best describe as utter wilderness. I have never been happy around snakes and am terrified of encountering one that isn't behind a glass partition, so when half-way through our walk, I saw a snake writhing in some undergrowth, it stopped me in my tracks, terrified to go on in case there were more. Greg knew I was in panic and so said it was a legless lizard, which reassured me no end and allowed me to continue our hike. It was only once back in Rhodes, he confessed he had doctored the truth and it was indeed a snake. Every time I hear of Symi, I think of that and it brings on a smile.

Symi is such a beautiful place - very unspoilt back in 1983 - and somewhere I would have loved to return. It is such a tragedy that Dr Mosley met his end there and that will be a sad memory for his family.

Stressing

With a matter of 12 days to go to the big event, Kay and I are stressing. There is still so much to organise for the wedding. Kay is at work, so cannot do much except in the rare spare time she gets and I try to help where I can, but fate keeps throwing us boulders which either crush us or we have to leap over to avoid, like in some warrior video game.

As I mentioned in my last post, the bridal dress was altered too tightly and we had to meet the seamstress, who was recommended by the bridal shop where we bought the dress,  to alter it yet again. As she lives some hundred miles away, it involved a very long drive on the motorway to reach her.  In my amateur dressmaking eyes, the simplest remedy was to unpick the side seams that had been sewn too tightly and re-sew them. There is both a lace outer layer and a silk inner lining. When we got there, the seamstress chattered non-stop (as she always does) and talked over us when we were talking (which she always does), so consequently she never listens and therefore always gets the task wrong. My daughter tried the dress on to show her the problem. The seamstress produced a pair of scissors and to our horror cut right through the centre lace layer from waist to bust, so that it could spread out across the bodice more and release the tight tension. She then proceeded to pin random lace offcuts she had to cover the rips she had made. We were speechless. I could see my daughter was close to tears but trying to control it. The seamstress babbled on and ignored any attempts by us to say we didnt like what she was doing. In the end we left the dress for her to sew where she had pinned and drove home, my daughter in floods of tears. The dress was literally in tatters and resembled nothing like the one we had paid £1800 to buy and an extra £400 to be tailor-adjusted by the so-called professional seamstress. We had a very sleepless night then rang the bridal shop the next morning to express our dismay. They were just as horrified as us and promised to collect the dress from the seamstress in two days and to ensure she sorted out the problem. We went for another fitting on Friday at the bridal shop and were relieved that the dress is 95% improved on what we last saw, although we  still can see where it is not perfect. To procure a replacement dress in the few days we have left is not practically possible, as it takes months to order, so we have to "make do and mend". Fortunately the bridal shop were so understanding, they have refunded us the £400 which presumably they in turn will enforce a refund from the seamstress,

As if that is not enough, our local council has decided to chose June to build a mini roundabout and zebra crossings just round the corner from me with 4-way traffic lights which will seriously impede traffic flow along the route our wedding party will use to get from the church to the reception. Work started today and finishes in September!! I can see that people will end up being delayed and missing the wedding meal!

Furthermore the weather forecast is still unpredictable and looks like it might rain on the day. Is there anything else that fate wants to throw at us?

Also, in changing Tasker Dunham's location, I have just managed to delete the "blogs I follow" widget, so if you know I followed you in the past, but your blog no longer appears on my feed, then let me know by email.  Thanks!

Update: Problem solved, thanks to a website link called web archive. Just put into the URL box the following 

https://web.archive.org/web/20201001102724/

with your https:// or http:// blog URL added at the end and it should call up previous pages of your blog randomly archived. So  for example

https://web.archive.org/web/20201001102724/https://BLOGNAME.blogspot.com 

Wedding preparations

With less than a month to the wedding of the year, things are getting very busy. There is so much to sort and arrange, I can now understand why some people turn to wedding organisers to do it all for them. Kay is doing most of the hard slog, between her 14-hour shifts at the hospital, so she is rather stressed. I help where I can, but have to leave decisions to her as it will be HER day and not mine. Weddings have changed a lot since I got married in 1976, so I am out of touch. 

The caterers are on stand-by. So are the florist, the make-up artist, the hairdresser, the photographer, the limousines, the entertainment, the vicar and the venue.  Kay is busy designing posters for seating plans, menus and order of events. I have my dress, hat, shoes, bag all resting quietly in the wardrobe. Sadly Kay's bridal dress is not finished. The seamstress who alters the shop version into a more fitted version has somewhat made a mess of the dress, first not taking it in by enough and then taking it in too much. We went to collect the dress last week to discover it was far too tight and the bodice did not look right, making lumps and bumps on her chest, where there should be no lumps and bumps. The bridal shop them told us the seamstress lives some hundred miles away and only comes up to London about once a month, so in a few days we have got to go down to a town half-way between us to get it sorted. All a bit nail-biting so close to the wedding date.

I have the Father of the Bride speech to edit. Another thing I wish Greg were alive to do, as it falls to me now. I am rubbish at public speaking, so am keen to get it right and not lose nerve. I've also got to walk her down the aisle, another role I never envisaged many moons ago. I wonder if we shall feel Greg's presence on the day - he will certainly be conspicuous by his absence.

Today is gloriously sunny and warm, but, knowing our luck, we'll get a tornado on the day. Who knows? Onwards and upwards.

from etsy.com

                    

Mouse in the House II

I mentioned in my last two posts that mousekind had shaken my faith somewhat. The continuing saga of the mouse invasion had lasted quite a few weeks. I have lived in this house for 36 years and NEVER had mice in the house before, so it really unsettled and unnerved me. With the impending wedding of my daughter coming up in a few weeks, I was anxious to solve the problem quickly, particularly as one of the bridesmaids has a phobia about them and cannot even bear to have the word MOUSE mentioned.

It began a few weeks ago, when one day I suddenly noticed droppings like little black grains of rice all over my kitchen floor,  along the work surfaces and in the cupboard under the sink. In the kitchen in front of my patio door, I had stupidly left open some small sacks of bird seed and peanuts which I used to throw out into the garden for the birds and squirrels. Whatever had left the droppings had helped themselves to some of the peanuts as they had spat out beside the sacks the fine brown skins that cover the peanuts. I suddenly realised with horror that I had mice in the house.

Whilst I had been happy to watch them playing in the garden foraging for seed under the bird feeder, having them have a Glastonbury festival under my kitchen sink and along the kitchen work surfaces was another kettle of fish, so drastic action was required. How they had got in or out remains to this day a mystery. There were no air bricks to climb through, or holes or gaps from outside. I discovered my neighbour also had the same problem under her kitchen sink and so we concluded the mice were getting down into a shared drain between us and somehow coming up through the pipework under the sink. No doubt the smell of the seed and peanuts had attracted them as I had a greater problem than my neighbour.

Humanely killing them was not an option as they would only return once deposited outside again.  So I am sorry to say, I had to consider more drastic action. I got rid of the bird seed and peanuts in our local park; vacuumed every dropping up; bought enclosed traps with poison; liberally sprayed peppermint oil, which they apparently hate the smell of; taped off the outflow pipe of my dishwasher so they couldn't climb up that; stuffed wire wool in any indoor crevice I could see; and scrubbed and cleaned with bleach and disinfectant until my hands were raw. 

All seemed quiet for a few days and no sign of any droppings, so I thought I was getting on top of it. I was reluctant to get a professional pest controller in, as they would be hard pushed to find entry and exit points either, as my house is not a conventional layout and I was doing all the right things they would only do.  However, one evening, I was watching TV at 10pm, when out of the corner of my eye I saw something scuttle across my lounge carpet. Now bear in mind my lounge is two floors above my kitchen (see here) so that really threw me as I had considered the problem contained in the kitchen. The fact that it had come up two flights of stairs was worrying, although there were no droppings anywhere else (believe me I searched and continue to search EVERYWHERE now). I chased the critter round the lounge but it hid behind furniture . Eventually I had pulled most of the furniture into the middle of the room, and it still darted from one hiding place to another!  In the end I had to give up as it moved so fast. I had a very sleepless night that night and then the next morning I discovered a dead mouse near the kitchen, which I presumed was the mouse from the night before. Either it had died of shock or from the poison. 

After more discussions with my neighbour, I ordered some plug-in vermin scarers that emit a shrill signal that only mice can hear (but thankfully not humans, cats or dogs). They came in a pack of four, so I plugged two in the kitchen, one in the hall and one in the lounge for good measure.

Again for a few days, there was no signs of mice or their droppings, so my anxiety levels started to subside again, until a few days ago, I came home from the gym to find a little mouse in the kitchen beside the trap, lying on its side in its death throes..... its heart was racing, its legs were twitching, but it clearly was unable to run away.  I had to finish it off to put it out of its misery (I won't say how, but I felt like the most awful human on this planet). Since then, there has been peace again. I feel confident I have solved the problem (until of course the next corpse turns up). I hope I have caught the problem in the early stages and that now the bird food is no longer there, they have lost interest.  

Fingers crossed, they don't appear like Micky and Minnie to watch the wedding preparations or we shall be one bridesmaid short!

My faith is restored

It seems nowadays that dealing with large companies and organisations can be a headache to negotiate sometimes. Not just a headache but an uphill struggle on slippery mud, where you get nowhere fast. I've had one such experience lately where I felt I'd be better off banging my head against a brick wall.

About six months ago I received a letter to my address but with a strange man's name on. Let's call him Mr Putin. (That is not his name, but it did sound Eastern European). Now I have lived at my address for 36 years and, apart from my husband and daughter, there has been nobody else living here, and certainly not by the name of Mr Putin,  unless he's hiding in my loft somewhere. I asked all the neighbours in my small cul-de-sac if they knew who this man was and nobody had heard of him. Reluctantly I opened the letter. It was from a leading UK High Street building society (let's call them BuildSoc) telling the said Mr Putin that his account was overdrawn and to contact them.

Now, call me paranoid,  but I was worried someone, or to be more precise Mr Putin, was using my address fraudulently, so I rang BuildSoc's head office and reported this. I was told to return the letter and it would be dealt with.

A couple of months later, I received another letter to Mr Putin. This time I took the letter to my local branch of BuildSoc and the counter clerk there promised the account would be blocked and investigated and that should be the end of the matter. 

Then in March I received a third letter to Mr Putin asking if they had the right address for him! Well, clearly not, as it was sent to my address again. I rang head office again and was on the phone for ages explaining, then being put on hold and then cut-off after 28 minutes!  I rang again and was cut off again after 11 minutes.  In the end I sent the letter back to BuildSoc with an explanatory covering letter. I asked them to sort this out once and for all and to let me know the outcome. Of course there has been radio silence ever since.

Then, yesterday, I received a fourth letter to Mr Putin asking if they had the right address for him. By now I felt like tearing my hair out. I rang BuildSoc again and was advised to take the letter into my local branch, which I did.

Within an hour of being home, I received a telephone call from a very pleasant lady (let's call her Diana) who apologised profusely and said she would look into the case and ring me today, which she did. Diana explained that she had listened through recordings of the very long phone calls I made in March and had traced what had happened since. She was amazed that I had been kept on hold for so long and she explained that indeed my phone calls were cut off because of technical faults the company was experiencing on that day. She said someone should have rung me back and had failed to do so.  She also explained the legality of trying to trace someone when they don't reply to letters and, whilst not promising that I may still get some more correspondence as they have legally to show they are trying to contact someone who may be forced against their will to not reply, she said it should all stop soon. Meanwhile to compensate me for my troubles and holding on the phone for so long, they would be sending me a cheque for £50. She asked me to contact her on her email if I experienced any further problems. BuildSoc has certainly gone up in my estimation. My faith in humankind is restored. 

Meanwhile my faith in mousekind has been shaken and slightly stirred. More on that another day...........

Mouse in the House

For many months now, I have seen the cutest little mouse come through from my neighbour's fence, scurry from one side of my patio to the other, where it nibbles on seeds dropped from the birdfeeder which hangs on my lilac tree. It is a tiny little thing and very cleverly hides behind plant tubs until it thinks it can safely negotiate the big open space it needs to traverse to get to the seeds. I have shown it to many a visitor to my house and we have all agreed how cute it is. Sometimes I have fancied I have seen two mice as as soon as one scurries next door, another appears almost instantly a bit further away in search of the seeds, so there is no way it could be the same mouse.

I keep bird seed and peanuts in my kitchen ready to throw out to the birds and squirrels. There is an injured pigeon that comes daily and  literally walks pigeon-toed, placing one foot on top of the other as it walks and seriously losing his balance. He spreads his wings in an attempt to steady himself and looks a sorry sight so I always throw seed and peanuts out to him. The antics of the birds and mice have kept me amused over the long winter months and I felt happy to feed them. Until now.

About 6 weeks ago, I was thoroughly cleaning out a corner of my kitchen that I confess I don't clean often enough. Behind a piece of furniture,  alongside where I keep the bags of seed and peanuts, I discovered what looked like lots of  tiny black seeds or black grains of rice.  Now I know the seeds I feed to the birds are not black, so I was a little clueless as to where these seeds had come from. I vacuumed them up and thought no more about it.

Last week, I was cleaning near the bags of seed and peanuts and found some discarded  peanut skins and another scattering of 'black rice grains'. Also there was a chewed hole in the plastic bag of peanuts. Suddenly the penny dropped! I have mice in the house! I have never felt so uneasy in all my life. I love the little critters outside, but sharing the inside of my home with them is definitely unacceptable. Unfortunately I have no idea how they are getting in or out, as there is no trail. The droppings seem to be clustered around where the seed and peanuts bags were and a few along the works surfaces and behind the microwave (ugh). But as my ground floor is entirely made of concrete and there are no floorboards, it is mystifying. It called for desperate measures.

One week on, I still have a problem, although I think I am winning. I have put down traps with poison in them. I checked this morning and the poisoned sachets have been chewed open and the contents obviously taken back to the nests, but that has not stopped the occasional dropping here and there, so they are still alive.  But the dropping are a lot less than they were. I have also bought peppermint oil as apparently mice do not like the smell of that, although last night's visitors did not seem perturbed by it. I gather it may take a week or two to see the results I want, so I persevere. A friend rather seemed horrified that I had used poison and suggested a more humane trap would be better, but if I catch them alive and put them outside, they will only return. Should I put them in my car with seatbelts on and drive a few miles away and dump the problem on someone else? If anyone has any further advice, it will be gratefully received. Meanwhile today I have thoroughly cleaned all kitchen work surfaces with bleach and disinfectant and await tomorrow's findings with interest.

Maybe I should get a cat, although, knowing my luck, it will be vegetarian.

Wedding nerves

There's less than three months to Kay and her fiance's wedding. 

A year ago it seemed - well a year away - but too far away to panic. Rough hazy plans were made, deposits paid and it seemed way into the future. Suddenly with less than three months to go, it's panic stations as things start to get finalised, concrete decisions made on food, lighting, flowers, clothes, invitations etc. Suddenly it seems more real and VERY CLOSE!!!!

Kay's dress has been made and we have been having last-minute fittings and alterations. I too have been dress-hunting. As mother-of-the bride, I have to look the part, not least because I shall be accompanying Kay down the aisle in lieu of her father, and I shall be making the father-of-the-bride speech. I have written countless drafts and keep tweaking it over the months, trying to make it funny, succinct and not boring. Public speaking does not come naturally to me, but I want to make Kay proud, so do it I shall. I just hope Greg can send me some of his BBC journalistic skills through the cloud he sits on to help me through it.

I've just ordered 13 pairs of shoes - all different shapes and sizes to try on at home with my dress and get a perfect look. It's cost a bomb, but hopefully I can return the 12 pairs I don't want and get refunds. It's easier to do it that way, then drag my silky dress round various shoe shops and potentially damage it and in any case, I can't expect to try the dress on in the shoe shops. I've also arranged to hire a hat, as the shop where I bought my dress tried to sell me one for £295. Given that I would only probably be wearing a hat for about 3 hours (for the church and the meal, then ditch it for the dancing and never wear it ever again),  I thought that was a bit excessive. Once you mention the word "wedding" the extra noughts on the cost of things start appearing. 

Onwards and upwards. So much still to do.......

Back to the Future

It is fourteen years since Greg died. In some ways, it doesn't seem that long. I can still remember vividly the weeks leading up to that, the last week in Intensive Care at the local hospital and the last hours of his life, as his blood pressure sank and his heartbeat flatlined on the monitors. I can vividly recall the conversation with the doctors afterwards and the journey home as the reality sank in.

In other ways, it seems an eternity. Days, turning into months, turning into years of coping without him, solitary confinement, climbing the stairs to bed each night and turning out the lights on my own, sleeping on one side of a huge bed with just emptiness the other side.  Waking the next morning with that emptiness still beside me. Sitting alone in the evenings all year round watching endless, mindless TV programmes to fill the silence. 

People have commented to me how much I do to occupy myself, considering I am retired and should be taking life gently. I go to three gym classes a week, two choirs, help out at the local food bank and charity shop, volunteer at the local park information centre to name a few. Not to mention single-handedly doing all the housework, gardening and house decoration.  People say it makes them dizzy just reading that list. But the alternative for me is sitting alone at home. I already watch far too much television and have lengthy discussions with the wall on a regular basis. There is only so much of that I can do without turning completely into a recluse or a zombie.

As the fourteenth anniversary comes up, I contemplate if this is what the future holds. The grief gets less painful and changes into something I can't quite put my finger on. A sort of faint longing for how things were, how things could be, a definite fear of missing out, an acceptance but not entirely accepting.  Many people have suggested dating websites as an answer. I don't know if I will ever be ready for that. Once bitten twice shy. Supposing I jump from the frying pan into the fire and that works out to be a disaster? Companionship would be lovely but at what cost, if he is an axe murderer or will rob me of my possessions or we simply fail to co-exist? I'm nervous to try. I really don't think that's an option. But what else is there other than what I am already doing?

At choir, we are singing a medley from the musical Jekyll and Hyde, getting ready for a concert at the end of the month.  This song in particular jumps out at me with the words being so relevant to my situation. I'm not depressed, in case anyone thinks otherwise, but just pensive.

I peer through windows
Watch life go by
Dream of tomorrow 
And wonder why

The past is holding me
Keeping life at bay
I wander lost in yesterday
Wanting to fly
But scared to try

Celebrity Cat

I do have Facebook as one of the apps on both my phone and laptop and have found it useful for many things. When Kay was younger and away at university, it was a way of keeping up with (or stalking) what she was up to, as she and her friends posted a lot on there. It was also a way of keeping up with what MY friends were doing or letting them know what I was up to. Often unrequested random things would pop up such as a recipe or craft pattern that interested me or a cute video of animals or people doing hilarious things. 

I also decided at some point to join the local Facebook group for my part of London. Again it was useful for all sorts of reasons. Somebody might ask for recommendations for a local plumber, electrician, washing machine repairer, gardener etc and I would save the replies in case I needed them myself in future. There might be a post about a traffic jam somewhere so best to avoid, if I were going out, or a post to tell us a new restaurant was opening or closing, there was a fire on a local road or what were the best schools. Sometimes the post would just be a joke or beautiful picture of something in the area, so I visit the group online everyday to keep up to date. 

One thing that has been impossible to avoid are numerous comments about a cat whose name I shall change for its privacy. Let's call her Snowy. She is a predominantly white cat but with tabby patches and tabby tail. The most remarkable thing about her is that she has become a local celebrity. She obviously has a home and an owner in our local community, but loves to wander about in a mile or so radius visiting all sorts of places. Her beat often takes her down our local High Street, so shops will post pictures of her in their showrooms. She seems to like most our local library and gym, as well as the local hospital, but she often frequents chemists, opticians, charity shops and hangs around outside Sainsbury's supermarket.  About a year ago, despite being electronically tagged, she completely disappeared for 3 months and the local Facebook group were in uproar. We looked out for her- but to no avail- and eventually she was feared dead, as the tag was not reporting back her whereabouts to her owner. An article about her disappearance even appeared in our local paper. Then three months later in May 2023 she turned up again, minus her tag, somewhat thinner, but none the worse for her adventure. If only she could talk about where she had been.  The locality was beside itself with joy. 

Since then she sports a new electronic tag and continues her daily wanderings sighted by the community. Someone with strong media links has also suggested making a film about her. Here are some of the pictures of her in the places she has visited in recent months.....

At the library

Maybe a perm at the hairdressers

Buying a house

A quick half pint at the pub

The books in the chemist are boring

Playing peek-a-boo in the library again

A quick nap in the charity shop.....

 

......and another nap in the chemist shop

A stroll round the churchyard

Waiting for a blood test at the local hospital

a check-up at the dentist

Another day, another charity shop

Going to the bank is exhausting

Popping into Marks and Spencer for a bit of cod

 

Needed a hammer at the DIY shop

I have been lucky enough to see her once personally at the  gym, but didn't have a camera on me at the time. I'm sure I'll see her again one day, but meanwhile I'll have to make do with the almost daily photographs and sightings on Facebook.

UPDATE - She is now a television star! She appeared on primetime breakfast TV  this week, shortly after I posted this,  as an example why all cats in the UK must be microchipped from June 2024.