Homecoming, senior life and a time for remembering

Well then, the old folks returned at the weekend from their jaunt ‘up north’ and telephoned to say they had arrived home safely.  No mention of the newly Bazooka Joe coloured room................. Hmmm.......okay then, perhaps they have just walked through the front door and not been upstairs yet.  Three calls later with still no referring to the new decor, I headed up the road and was met at the door by my Mum complaining I had filled her kitchen bin with empty cola tins and other assorted rubbish.  At this point I helped her up the stairs (well she has had two weeks using an elevator so is a little out of practice), pushed open the spare bedroom door (that I had left further ajar than normal to prompt a viewing) and.....................”Oh, the boxes have gone then, that’s good......”  By now I am amazed that the bubble gum pink walls have not screamed out in protest, so I helped proceedings by pointing at the room.  Bing!  Realisation set in and Mum finally noticed the new colour scheme.  Praise be! 

Contrary to my previous missive where I expected a sort of backhanded compliment, I was in fact met with thanks and praise from both my parents, although Dad did say he had been about to make a start on the painting.................Ok, right, when would that be then?  This of course has confused my revenge plan.  Looks like I will have to cancel delivery of the goat.

This week’s excellent email offer from an outfit called 50 Plus Online Dating promises “Love and Seniors is Our Speciality” with a link to view the profiles of single seniors in my area.  Oh great, another organisation that thinks I am ready for Saga holidays, incontinence products and mobility support.  I have so far resisted looking at the profiles as I fear I will be envious of any powered scooters these seniors might have (they are bound to be better than the three wheeled skateboard I can afford).

The weekend saw the passing of the 10^th anniversary of 9/11.  Everyone can remember where they were when it all started to happen (I was sitting at my desk at Vodafone, trying to access the internet to see if it was true or just rumour) and how the sheer brutality of what happened that day unfolded on our television screens.  I clearly recall watching the coverage all evening on Sky News, and each time the scenes were shown hoping that the planes would not hit the towers.  The courage of all the rescuers, whether professional or members of the public, was incredible; the way the mayor of NYC went to the heart of the area; strangers of all races and religions coming together to help each other.................these images were captured by the media at the time and were expanded on last week during a series of documentaries to mark the anniversary.  Previously unseen footage was screened, including how the wounded were put on ferries to other areas of the Manhattan harbour area and emergency rooms were literally set up outdoors on the piers.  Hospitals took patients in without the reams of paperwork usually insisted upon, every type of injury imaginable was seen and dealt with.

I visited Ground Zero in 2004 once the foundations had been laid for the reconstruction works.  The builders had created a viewing area behind wire and board screens whilst the work was in progress.  It was an eerie experience, and the area where the twin towers had stood seemed far too small, but I am glad I made the trip.

The world changed forever on 11th September 2001, so many innocent people were murdered in the name of religion, but we must not forget it is the minority element of any religion that carry out these incomprehensible acts of violence, and this should not make us turn against people simply because their God figure is different to our own.  Only by uniting against those who choose to try and take all that is good away from the rest of us can we make the world as a whole a better and happier place for all of us.

R.I.P. all 2996 who died that day or as a result of it.

School reunion, school reports and could do better

Hurrah!  The decorating is finished and the blue paint has finally bitten the dust.  After four coats of one coat paint on each wall, a lick of white gloss on all the woodwork and a general tidy up in the vicinity, the spare room at my parents’ house is looking pretty good!  They have yet to view the transformation so final opinions on the new colour (and the fact that I have done any work at their house) are awaited.

I met with some friends in London at the weekend for a long overdue catch up.  We were at school together back in the 1970’s and most of us had not seen each other since then.  Spookily none of us have really changed all that much over the past few (ahem) years – we are obviously ageing gracefully.  So many funny memories from our school days were shared and the realisation that in today’s world our school would be condemned on many accounts – cats running freely around the buildings (and kitchen); meals eaten at our desks (this only after we had carried tray loads of hot food from the kitchen all around the school – including, in later years, to the house over the road); lessons and exams held in caravans; all sports events held miles away from school (the school was converted houses and the only ‘grounds’ were the gardens complete with washing line); lack of science facilities, cooking area and other basic provisions which today’s children take for granted.................I could go on........ We had a picnic in Hyde Park followed by a couple of hours standing under cover in the kiosk area by Speaker’s Corner to dodge the heavy rain. God bless the British summer.  The hunt is now on to track down more members of our ‘old girls posse’ with a plan to hold another reunion in 2012 before we all need to allow for zimmers and incontinence aids to make the day do-able.

I have since looked through my school reports..................they make interesting (if rather cringe worthy) reading.  “Lack of attention” rears its head several times over the various years.  Personally I attribute that to the way in which we were taught, i.e. if the teachers had been more engaging and made lessons more interesting and fun then I would very likely have paid more attention.  I have learned more historical facts from watching Blackadder and Horrible Histories than I ever absorbed from Mrs Hills’ lessons.  I am sure she was pleasant enough away from school, but her appearance in school gave the impression she was permanently sucking on a particularly manky lemon, which hardly inspired her teenage pupils in any way.

For some crazy reason I am persevering with the Zumba classes.  It is a great social event and I do have fun but my participation has all the grace of a new born giraffe and the co-ordination of a 1960’s psychedelic shirt.  Just when I think my arms and legs are moving in time with each other I look at the people around me and realise I still have a lot of work to do in this area.  Looks like I should dust off the treadmill now and make use of it before it vanishes under the mountain of stuff I am storing on it.

Blue walls, bubble gum and a short length of masking tape

Being the kind hearted daughter that I am, this week I have been decorating one of the spare bedrooms at my parents’ house whilst they are away.  The background to this started three years ago when they moved in and my Mum decided the room needed revamping.  Originally, Dad used the room as his office but subsequently relocated to yet another spare room (decorated with jungle creatures around the walls – he has always been a child at heart) so the front room became a proper bedroom.  Dad has been promising for a long time to repaint this room and got as far as putting one piece of masking tape along the top edge of the light switch, but then lost interest in the project.

The opportunity to do a bit of House Doctoring (how I love Anne Maurice) presented itself when the old folks booked a fortnight away visiting family and friends in the north east.  Mum has been saying for months that she wants pale pink walls instead of the gaudy blue, so last week I purchased some paint and lay in wait.  Having called them to make sure they had left the house, I headed up the road with the necessary bits, paint, roller, brush, ladder and iPod and set to work.

What started out as an easy job has morphed into a lengthy process as the blue paint is extremely resistant to change and keeps breaking through the pink to laugh at me.  There are in fact three different shades of blue on the walls, and it is evident that units have been painted around previously rather than moving them out of the way.  The socket covers needed sanding to rid them of the blue peril and the skirting and windowsill have also become part of the project as they have never been painted since the house was built.  In fact, new skirting (of a different style) has been added but was still in a raw state until I waved my gloss paint at it.

So far, the walls have had four coats of ‘one coat’ emulsion which goes to show how hard the blue is to shift, but things are looking up and the room is nearly finished.  The pink is now not as pale as was wanted (sort of a lighter Bazooka Joe bubble gum shade) but at least the whole place looks fresher and the woodwork has come to life.  Despite all this, I can imagine what my Mum’s reaction will be................. something along the lines of “Eeeee, well it looks better than that blue, but I really wanted it in pale pink you know...............”

To those in the know, this is a typical reaction of a Geordie woman.  I will of course get my own back by emptying the freezer of goodies prior to their return, installing a fish tank in the lounge (actually I did that once before when they went away, right in front of the gas fire which for the next umpteen years could not be used in the cold months) and signing Mum up for the local Meals on Wheels production service (well she is rather good at doing ‘light lunches’ for a couple of dozen people).  I have not altogether ruled out the possibility of a pet goat for their garden, but perhaps I should wait until the flowers have finished blooming.

I have kept the original (short) length of masking tape so Dad can make a start on another room – waste not, want not.

Beautiful Days, cycling pianist and Persil

I have just returned from my first time at a festival..................what a great weekend!  The venue was the Beautiful Days festival which takes place every August in Devon.  My initial concerns about camping again after many years avoiding it were unfounded, although plumbed in toilets rather than portaloos would have been welcome, however this is unlikely to happen in a field.

The weekend kicked off on Friday morning upon arrival in a field, following a line of festival goers in their various means of transport, where we were directed to our allotted car parking spaces.  Wristbands were fixed onto each ticket holder by the officials, different colours for adults, children, stall holders, caterers and performers.  Mine is still attached as I can’t yet bring myself to snip it off and end the magic of the weekend.  Unloading the car and heading to the tent (very kindly constructed the previous day by friends) I encountered my first sightings of folk of all shapes, sizes and ages decked out in every kind of outfit imaginable.  This theme carried on for the whole weekend with the addition of extra merchandise bought from the stalls and body painting appearing on every available skin surface. 

Sitting on the grass watching the various bands over the whole weekend gave me the chance to people watch (one of my favourite lazy day things to do) and I certainly had an eclectic choice to cast my eyes over.  Immediately obvious was just how happy everyone appeared, some dancing, others catching up with family and friends, children of all ages playing with bubbles and other simple toys, but most of all each person was having fun.  Costumes ranged from flowing jumbled up colours of the hippies, to groups dressed as mushrooms, dominoes, clowns and one guy dressed as Willy Wonka.  Quite a few chaps wore dresses and were obviously quite in touch with their feminine side and comfortable in their choice of tulle, frills, lace and full length gloves.  Above all, nobody batted an eyelid or derided anyone else.  Bizarre entertainers such as the cycling pianist (yes, he had a full sized piano attached to his bicycle); stilt walker; a man dressed as a tree; a line of people decked out as dominoes all added to the fun packed days.

My preconceived ideas about dreadlocked people being far removed from the real world have been blown to pieces over the past three days.  I spent many hours watching families where one or both parents sport these matted long hair creations and the way they care for and spend quality time with their children is above and beyond what I have seen from a lot of so-called “normal” parents.  The children are confident, happy and sociable and are growing up in an environment where the importance of respecting others, looking after the planet and not needing expensive electronic goods to have fun is their mantra.  So what if the grownups have long hair and mismatched clothing?  Does this affect their ability to be good parents and positive role models to others in the wider community?  No, it does not.  Life is one long learning experience and these children are fortunate enough to have families who ensure they are able to experience it in a very hands-on way.

I met a couple with a baby so tiny she was still folded up.  I asked how old she was and the reply came “four weeks.............but there is a three week and a two week old here too”.  Her parents were still at the stage where they weren’t quite sure how to pass her from one to the other; however they had sourced some funky ear defenders from Australia to protect her little ears.........shame she didn’t like the sudden silence and cried loudly!

Upon returning home I nipped out to buy some washing liquid to tackle the camp laundry pile.  I came across some Persil with added Comfort on offer at half price. Excellent, just what I needed.  Note to self..............next time have a sniff of the stuff before purchasing.  Unfortunately it has exactly the same scent as the blue sanitizing fluid used in the Portaloos.

Balearics, chavs and a few hats

I had reason to pop into my local town centre the other day, found a parking bay and set about my chores in the shops.  On returning I spotted the car next to me had three people removing a vacuum cleaner, fan and other items from the boot and back seat.  The older of the women had opened her rear door and she was wedged between it and the body of her car.  This caused her door to bang into mine and leave blue paint on my silver bodywork.  I told her she had damaged my car and unbelievably she flatly denied it despite the evidence.  She claimed she had held the door away from my car.  Errrrmm no you didn’t missus, I walked up behind you and saw exactly what you were doing.  The upshot of this was she claimed she had done nothing wrong and there wasn’t much space to move anyway.  Actually madam, had you not been the combined size of the Balearics you would have had plenty working space.  Please book in with Weight Watchers on Monday evening for a solution to your bulk problem.

The social uprisings from last week appeared to have abated now, I guess due to the electrical and tracksuit retailers being out of stock.  I even saw a picture of people looting crisps from Poundland for goodness sake.  As always happens in these incidents there are innocent people caught up in the melee and several people have been killed.  Quite rightly, the alleged perpetrators have been charged and are appearing in court.  Taking the case of the three Asian people who were run over in Birmingham, for the sake of a moment’s stupidity by the people in the car, so many lives have been taken and a large number of other people are feeling the impact of these deaths and will continue to do so for the rest of their lives.  The dignity shown by one of the bereaved fathers as he stood in the street holding up a picture of his son was one of the most memorable news items of the week.  Compare that to the masked chavs interviewed for the news channel bragging about watching their new plasma televisions and showing off some gaudy footwear (brand new but with tags ripped off......) and it is easy to determine who I would rather have for a neighbour.  It is simply not worth going out and causing trouble.  It is not fun, it is not big and it is not clever.

To be fair to the judicial system, the courts have been successful in getting the low lifes up before the beak quickly and many have received custodial sentences.  Quite how space has been found for them in the prisons is a mystery as we are continually told the jails are overcrowded.  Never mind, pile these dregs of society in one large cell like they do in Thailand and other places where breaking the law carries a proper punishment and not a token slap on the wrist.  That will sort the tough guys out from the cowards (and I can bet the majority will turn out to be the latter).

On a lighter note, I am making the most of my National Trust membership by visiting a place every weekend.  The latest outing was to Chedworth Roman Villa, an old relic hidden at the end of a long and winding country road where it could be a little tricky coming across a coach heading towards you.  Anyway, the site is currently undergoing excavation and building works to carry out some conservation so the main part of the attraction is closed.........this is detailed in the current yearbook but the remainder of the site information is rather exaggerated in what there is to see and do.  All I can say is that I am glad I didn’t have to pay to get in as I would have been rather annoyed to have spent £7 for what amounted to an area that could be covered in about ten minutes on foot.

Next weekend I am off to a music festival for the first time.  Having not been under canvas for some time this in itself will be an experience as will the lack of plugs for hairstyling gadgets.  Fortunately I have a selection of hats for the weekend.

Riots, the capital and unnecessary behaviour

Following on from my previous comments, the riots in and around London (and indeed the rest of the country) are mindless actions by the minority population who are hell bent on causing as much distress and mayhem as possible.  These actions took me back to my days in the 1980’s and 1990’s when I worked for a large furniture retailer sorting out the repairs and maintenance of the properties.  The stores where the most occurrences of vandalism and general antisocial behaviour took place were the same areas of London where the current issues are.  I guess today’s thugs are the offspring of those who caused the damage all those years ago.  The apple quite obviously does not fall far from the tree (although I guess it makes a good missile to throw at the buildings).

There is a call to name and shame these criminals.  Exactly what good would that do?  These reprobates have no regard for people, property or the law.  Naming them would be like a badge of honour and seen by them as “a reward man innit”.  Cutting their benefits would not resolve the problem, only create more issues as further crimes would be committed.  I saw a picture yesterday on a social networking site of a young man proudly smiling beside his haul of booty from the looted shops – how proud his parents must be.  Of course, a lot of these people have no positive role model in their lives and the thriving gang culture does nothing to alleviate the situation.

I visited New York in 2004 as a lone traveller and during the course of my stay I used the subway and walked through the city at various times of the day and night on my sightseeing escapades.  I can honestly say that I felt totally safe there despite the stories I had heard prior to my trip.  I was treated with respect by everyone from shopkeepers to people I got talking to whilst ‘waiting in line’ at the tourist attractions, nothing was too much bother for people who were serving the public and when I was wished ‘have a nice day’ it was said genuinely.  Contrast this with London where I do not feel at all safe on the occasions I visit the city.  Considering I grew up in a London suburb you might think I should be used to the way the city functions.  Sadly, this was not how the capital was when I enjoyed day trips in the school holidays to the attractions, where I could travel freely as a teenager and young adult in the knowledge that it was perfectly safe.  Nowadays I take the bare minimum with me when I visit and am looking around me all the time to see who is in the vicinity.  What a sad reflection on modern day England.

Anyone reading this might think I have an issue with certain ethnic groups of people in this country.  The truth is, I embrace people from other cultures, I am fascinated with the ‘quirks’ of their day to day living and believe that by knowing more about each other we should be able to develop a more tolerant and harmonious community within our towns and cities.  What I do object to are the extremists within every community, whether British or other races or religions who see fit to try to ‘convert’ others to their way of thinking through terrorism, crime, intimidation and general inappropriate actions.  We all start out in life as innocent babies but, sadly some people, whether through upbringing or falling in with the wrong crowd make life harder than it needs to be for everyone.  Prejudice is a learned behaviour and should be stamped out.  Just watch a group of three year olds playing – despite any cultural differences, disabilities or learning abilities they treat each other all the same and accept their friends for who and how they are.  I see this all the time in my line of work and strive to ensure that they remain unbiased despite any negative attitudes that may be presented to them from other sources.

This is all.

Slime, lavender and guns

What is slimy, lies in a sparkly trail under my lounge table (but only on one side) and appears every couple of nights or so?  A snail trail................. I have no idea where the offending gastropod comes from, or indeed where he scarpers off to, but he leaves evidence of his visit for me to vacuum up.  I have looked all over the area for an access point, moved the furniture around and checked the curtains but I am none the wiser as to where he is living.  In order to get to his slime-out zone he must have to travel across the room but there is no evidence of goo anywhere else.  This one has me totally baffled but once I find the little critter he will be relocating to Le Bonne Escargot Bistro to await his fate.

With the onset of some half decent weather I decided to give the back garden lawn a short back and sides for the first time since I returned from France.  Unbelievably I found a barren wasteland around the far side of the privet hedge.  Yes, you have guessed it..............my Dad had uprooted more shrubs after deciding they were just ‘undergrowth’.  This time it was three lavenders and a blue flowering shrub thingy.  They were all well established and smelled like an old lady’s wardrobe but they still went the journey to the wheelie bin.  I have now purchased more lavender for planting out with barbed wire around them to deter further decimation.

Last week I met up with some of the folk I first knew when we all grew up in the same street several (well............a lot) of years ago.  We had great fun recalling what we got up to, who we remembered from the street, what has gone on in the intervening years and how the area has changed for the worse over the past few years.  Our venue was a pizza restaurant in our hometown which has been in the same place since 1959 and has fed such celebrities as Mick Jagger (apparently he was thrown out), Frank Sinatra, Jack Nicholson and Norman Wisdom to name but a few.  Prior to last week I had never been in the place but I will definitely eat there again.  The original owner allegedly kept a shotgun under the pizza counter in case anyone considered by her as ‘unsavoury’ entered.  No mention is made of whether she actually had cause to fire it.

Talking of guns, I was watching some television coverage of the weekend riots in North London when a peaceful march was hijacked by the dial-a-mob fraternity.  They had nothing to do with the original issue (a fatal shooting) but saw it as an excuse to reduce a street to something resembling a war zone with burned out buildings and vehicles plus looting from every shop imaginable.  What gives these individuals the right to behave this way?  They should be rounded up and shipped off to a remote island with no means of escape, no food source, no iPods etc and left there to rot.  Subsequent looting has since taken place in other areas of the capital organised via text and internet information.  London used to be lovely place to live, the suburbs were sought after residential areas and people respected themselves and each other.  Sadly, we are living in a society where the minority wreck it for everyone else, the respectable residents are tarred with the same brush as the hooligans and people are not safe in their own neighbourhood.  Something needs to change fast otherwise it will be a more desirable option to move to the Congo and set up home there.