tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22983532139048185542024-02-07T13:14:01.942+00:00Do Not Break the DogAn insight into the life of a 40something, dog owning, mum to 3, creative, under-achieving, WW2 obsessive.Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.comBlogger139125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-50936168737030498512016-06-17T22:26:00.000+01:002016-06-17T22:26:45.393+01:00Without Rhyme or Reason<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My dear old Grandmother used to tell me, ‘if you don’t have
anything to say, then don’t say anything’. And she was right. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I plough on regardless...</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Entirely devoid of blog post ideas, I have decided to
inflict my poetry on you. It’s okay, I know it's terrible, please don't feel you have to say anything nice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I am to poetry what <a href="http://www.mcgonagall-online.org.uk/" target="_blank">William McGonagall</a> is to...poetry, apparently. I had never heard of him. I just Googled 'Bad Poets'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I can only dream of his level of success.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I actually used to think I was quite good at poems. I am not sure why. And then I saw the masterpieces that Haze, my Bestie at school, used to produce at a moment's notice (and probably still does when the need arises).</span></div>
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Currently, Offspring No.2 is taking his GCSE Mock Exams - and complaining bitterly about having to analyse the whys and wherefores of Poetry.</div>
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We have had a fair bit of, "<i>Why</i> does a river represent a journey?" - a look of baffled irritation writ all over his face.</div>
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"And if it means a journey in one poem, how can it mean <i>death </i>in another?"</div>
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In his opinion, if you want to write about Death or Journeys - write about death or journeys. Don't go writing about Rivers if you mean something else. </div>
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And for the love of Betty Boothroyd make it rhyme!</div>
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Sometimes I do think he has a point.</div>
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'I am reminded of a Radio Programme I listened to, years ago now. I am afraid the only actual fact I can remember is that it would have been on BBC Radio Four.</div>
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There was an author - I think it was Louis de Bernieres - sitting with an audience who were discussing one of his books. At one point an Audient (that's a word) said how much she liked the image that he used of the oranges in the fruit bowl to reflect the fullness and brightness of their lives. (Or something like that anyway).*</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">LdeB replied, 'Cool. I hadn't thought of that'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, as it is an inevitability that the following poem will eventually be included in the GCSE Syllabus, I offer up an insight into my Creative Process, my Inspiration, if you will...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">...which you will never be able to un-read, so use caution.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is for you, Future Examinees!</span></div>
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<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #351c75;">I found a rather lovely pad with paper quite shiny and smooth</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #351c75;">I had bought some new ink cartridges for my beloved Parker Fountain Pen</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #351c75;">The cartridges were very black</span></li>
<li style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #351c75;">I love Lauren Child</span></li>
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The combination of pad and ink was intoxicating and much doodling ensued. And then my thoughts spilled onto the paper in the form of a rhyme (of sorts).<div>
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Am I making too much of this?</div>
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Here it is. Go. Enjoy.</div>
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* I realise that is a rubbish story. <br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-57036321592061057102016-03-01T09:47:00.000+00:002016-03-01T09:47:58.540+00:00Happy Birthday To You...<h3>
...Eventually</h3>
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I have already touched on the subject of Leap Years <a href="http://donotbreakthedog.blogspot.co.uk/2012/02/aaaah.html" target="_blank">here</a>. But on this auspicious day I thought I'd like to share with you the EPIC poem I wrote for No.2.</div>
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On the occasion of his birthday. </div>
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Which is today.</div>
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Although, as will become clear, my talent for poetry is Astonishing - my talent for presentation of word documents and the like is about a thousand years behind non-existent. </div>
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For this I apologise. I would have liked to present you with a visually pleasing item. Unfortunately that is clearly Not To Be.</div>
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Try not to let it hamper your enjoyment.</div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Today is Your Birthday</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">The Actual Date</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Nasty, Fat Leap Year</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d; font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;">Making You Wait</span></div>
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-32800525796291507572016-01-29T09:11:00.001+00:002016-01-29T09:11:53.823+00:00It's a Pea Souper!<h3>
It's not, I'm just going to be talking about soup</h3>
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We took the family out for a meal on New Year's Day - starting, we decided, a New Tradition.<br />
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Our Waiter was thoroughly charming and, after he took our drinks order, he ran through the day's 'Specials' and informed us of anything they'd run out of.<br />
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(This will probably be better if you say it aloud).<br />
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<span style="color: #351c75;">"...so, finally... the Duck Starter is sold out, and our Pea today is Soup.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;">No, wait...that doesn't sound right..Our <i>Soup</i> today is Pea.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;">Actually, that doesn't sound much better does it? Sorry... </span></div>
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<span style="color: #351c75;">...Anyway...Enjoy!"</span></div>
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I was beside myself. </div>
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And continued to be so for many hours.</div>
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Much to the delight of my family.</div>
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-33809724190261178222016-01-18T18:40:00.001+00:002016-01-18T18:40:54.567+00:00Freaky Friday...<h3>
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Or anyone for Fish & Chips?</h3>
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Friday was an unusual day.<br />
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An early morning trip to the vets with the DoNotBreaktheDog dog saw me in the waiting room while she howled through her blood test (apparently she was as good as gold, just 'sang' the whole time).<br />
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After staring at all the toys on the revolving stand, I was left to Read With Interest the various signs and displays on the walls. Apparently it's Dental Month. <br />
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But what really caught my eye was a display about having your pet microchipped. V important. The animal has a small chip inserted under their skin and the police and other pillars of the community have a reader (each, presumably) which will help identify the pet. Marvellous. <br />
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Helpfully, someone at the vets had cut out shapes of all the different animals you could get chipped.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0zRMwVRQFzz3AMPqVwjjs6LxLVq1__D8iiyzHxBpP-0nBXhVA3PXh8WwrOCu5RwJOumJ0sPWlzyezGVX0k9nUwVFy4qYYKD1l0wHYm7pXa7TAHxHKK9RVCW_e7AUsM48phAhWO9fgeA/s1600/dog.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf0zRMwVRQFzz3AMPqVwjjs6LxLVq1__D8iiyzHxBpP-0nBXhVA3PXh8WwrOCu5RwJOumJ0sPWlzyezGVX0k9nUwVFy4qYYKD1l0wHYm7pXa7TAHxHKK9RVCW_e7AUsM48phAhWO9fgeA/s200/dog.png" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvFivTXY57-8vbbKvEAT53XpCnkDvZVh7WxwiUKMDa_OAFK5aDkEgdlnvqcr4bvfrA2YAQ8nC1yZRiRuQ6qjQDsSXLBgBxGKPkP5WqtpXEy35_oH8l0i2tBKCsMj2Ni0temgP0QrgR-w/s1600/fish.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitvFivTXY57-8vbbKvEAT53XpCnkDvZVh7WxwiUKMDa_OAFK5aDkEgdlnvqcr4bvfrA2YAQ8nC1yZRiRuQ6qjQDsSXLBgBxGKPkP5WqtpXEy35_oH8l0i2tBKCsMj2Ni0temgP0QrgR-w/s200/fish.png" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32fRxb7DXuB-9qx5b8zFD-jVFM7KfsRgzg3C00MUT5fwurd9l549CS4yxipmFdOPA8vIR6eiGCF_81iDkhh-85nsCwgic4yXbybyuV-b8612gsXcli3oIEN9uQojjvXGLH7SBhHn6_ao/s1600/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg32fRxb7DXuB-9qx5b8zFD-jVFM7KfsRgzg3C00MUT5fwurd9l549CS4yxipmFdOPA8vIR6eiGCF_81iDkhh-85nsCwgic4yXbybyuV-b8612gsXcli3oIEN9uQojjvXGLH7SBhHn6_ao/s200/cat.jpg" width="107" /></a></div>
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They included Dogs, Cats, Guinea Pigs and fish.<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">Wait.... FISH?!? For seriously? What, like </span><i style="text-align: center;">gold</i><span style="text-align: center;">fish?</span><br />
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This information was rolling around my head for a while until, on the drive to work, I tuned into Woman's Hour on Radio 4. <br />
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Talk turned to the January Staple - de-cluttering your house. <br />
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Well my house is cluttered to the point of insanitary, so naturally my ears pricked up. Apparently there is a marvellous lady from Japan who is so incredible at sorting you out that she has a 3 month waiting list. Impressive. <br />
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And next, for the listener, she was going to demonstrate (yep, <i>demonstrate</i>) - with the help of a translator - how to Fold A Jumper Properly.<br />
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Is it just me or was that an odd thing to commission for a radio programme?<br />
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On to work. I work in a Customer Services Department and a job I was given - in one of our slower moments - was Opening Resealable Bags.<br />
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That is all. <br />
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Not fill them and then re-seal them. <br />
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Just open them.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5q65DZu2hiPitnkRycwcB-8sM8WeA1OkXZALEi3KStjWynK0pcufgDrwnECxi9L1jgSrI8tz47wT6Miz7QsDzKmENEiv4z-2bxljzG0P5-2H96n7LNjwX8-nGbPUxPpP76ZvMi_IBLE/s1600/self+seal+bags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK5q65DZu2hiPitnkRycwcB-8sM8WeA1OkXZALEi3KStjWynK0pcufgDrwnECxi9L1jgSrI8tz47wT6Miz7QsDzKmENEiv4z-2bxljzG0P5-2H96n7LNjwX8-nGbPUxPpP76ZvMi_IBLE/s1600/self+seal+bags.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obviously this is the 'Before' shot</td></tr>
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I quite enjoyed it, but please tell me that's as intriguing to you as it was to me.</div>
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So anyway, that was my Friday. Thought I'd share.</div>
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-71250060484738511172015-09-30T17:15:00.000+01:002015-09-30T17:15:08.669+01:00TIME FLIES...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUQ8UlKjiot0JIvmWYzXfklrt6ZA6vhwKfI4mnb7TblFwg6kAaiIBpceMvMhP-GMw9K4hfjhk-goGwmMeVwm83vcA4ei1Oltv-jfTHBHg1dX3fXiAcfWACfkAQPewjtW7SuzTuQsW6po/s1600/spider%2527s+web.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMUQ8UlKjiot0JIvmWYzXfklrt6ZA6vhwKfI4mnb7TblFwg6kAaiIBpceMvMhP-GMw9K4hfjhk-goGwmMeVwm83vcA4ei1Oltv-jfTHBHg1dX3fXiAcfWACfkAQPewjtW7SuzTuQsW6po/s1600/spider%2527s+web.png" /></a>Reeling.<br />
<br />
I am reeling from an incident I witnessed not two days ago, which illustrated all too vividly the brevity of life.<br />
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I was standing in our 'Entrance Vestibule' - as the space between our front door and the rest of our house was somewhat grandly described in the Estate Agents <strike>tissue of lies</strike> details when we bought our house - looking for my shoes, when a Fly buzzed by.<br />
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I am irritated by Flies and their toneless buzzing, and find their life-choices re paddling around in poo baffling; but I wouldn't necessarily want any harm to befall them.<br />
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I am also <strike>terrified of</strike> irritated by Spiders and their hairy-leggedness; but I have allowed Mary to dwell on our Front Door for some months now. <br />
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I guess I'm just a bit of an old softie. <br />
And a slovenly house-keeper.<br />
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Anyway, with Fly and Spider in close proximity, I felt some sort of warning was in order.<br />
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"Oooh, Mr Fly," I said, "Watch out for Mary the Sp....."<br />
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Too late, alas.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiNZA-KNLKzt5cZ04ltPT-EQjvcS37TcsCuUe5BjXagdxZZQJOefbPHEdx_pyxjkhOH8p6wQxg4qF5VdOn8KjOHqDm0B8MD8kVbM__kFoYH2iHJb4ZY2a7rVoox0imL-7Z_4_lVKiDiY/s1600/IMG_3694.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBiNZA-KNLKzt5cZ04ltPT-EQjvcS37TcsCuUe5BjXagdxZZQJOefbPHEdx_pyxjkhOH8p6wQxg4qF5VdOn8KjOHqDm0B8MD8kVbM__kFoYH2iHJb4ZY2a7rVoox0imL-7Z_4_lVKiDiY/s400/IMG_3694.JPG" width="380" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It all happened so fast</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKozxe5eqgINaUTgPFlAhUtml8cauZBRn8lj5gfQ-EqTk3TSRcKec_9KZWtAtAuGsAjFKURmdj2bqn3x4g9C_qXjmZTDq-j2zz4T0fZ66fJYaE_MBU1_xYBlnapbuS8Yl6YwSEkmR6u0/s1600/IMG_3695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmKozxe5eqgINaUTgPFlAhUtml8cauZBRn8lj5gfQ-EqTk3TSRcKec_9KZWtAtAuGsAjFKURmdj2bqn3x4g9C_qXjmZTDq-j2zz4T0fZ66fJYaE_MBU1_xYBlnapbuS8Yl6YwSEkmR6u0/s400/IMG_3695.JPG" width="368" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Literally, within a blink</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Li71wynM0IpLJmrZBA1GKF0L0H5NweMn6m699s0Qy7qAtKL-sjyWW5iX6t2k1Ytc54jj2FN3NYChMXDZcN4kUR7kfKVMHkrWvy5HKMshQG4M4G4NCJQgd0IlBC85JUSjruUdnZqDqkw/s1600/IMG_3698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5Li71wynM0IpLJmrZBA1GKF0L0H5NweMn6m699s0Qy7qAtKL-sjyWW5iX6t2k1Ytc54jj2FN3NYChMXDZcN4kUR7kfKVMHkrWvy5HKMshQG4M4G4NCJQgd0IlBC85JUSjruUdnZqDqkw/s400/IMG_3698.JPG" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm just hoping he was an old fly with no living friends or family<br /></td></tr>
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From buzzing irritant to packed lunch in a thousandth of a second.<br />
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Makes you think, doesn't it?<br />
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Keep safe people. <br />
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Don't become Mary's packed lunch.<br />
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-75338289291738850852015-08-16T23:08:00.001+01:002015-08-18T15:10:33.808+01:00IT'S WRITTEN IN THE STARS...<h3>
...or possibly in a misbehaving computer programme<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Oh how I laughed when I saw this in this week's Saturday Telegraph...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XPk3QZ3YBjGsfms6NgPn69e3q0su0aBKIFNSBd6u7avAns_x0UdjUgIdFt3hIQ93l6K96bXev2QDDymvp5R1crt5Ixz_rJbKLe0YOufD_2L8oDh1Pwo1imKYR_Ig06tDOVYI6soHlIw/s1600/IMG_3033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="wrong horoscopes" border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_XPk3QZ3YBjGsfms6NgPn69e3q0su0aBKIFNSBd6u7avAns_x0UdjUgIdFt3hIQ93l6K96bXev2QDDymvp5R1crt5Ixz_rJbKLe0YOufD_2L8oDh1Pwo1imKYR_Ig06tDOVYI6soHlIw/s320/IMG_3033.JPG" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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You mean the Horoscopes in the magazine may be <i>nonsense</i>?!? Surely not.<br />
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Page 29 did, as promised, show the 'correct version'. Or indeed the Horoscopes That Will Definitely Come True.<br />
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But the magazine version was much, much better.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS_SUDEUHRTOqtfjhHROLImNBmFHFfHa4vKXh7RFP2F-IxkLHGlonEU0VcKos2gFjYU3WzclkupHVNmiN1uVY90g0tA74MUOA9G7Y1yW2G2XW0EdSzVE4WFZq28OvXrGkWluA_WkJa14/s1600/IMG_3027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="wrong horoscopes" border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKS_SUDEUHRTOqtfjhHROLImNBmFHFfHa4vKXh7RFP2F-IxkLHGlonEU0VcKos2gFjYU3WzclkupHVNmiN1uVY90g0tA74MUOA9G7Y1yW2G2XW0EdSzVE4WFZq28OvXrGkWluA_WkJa14/s640/IMG_3027.JPG" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ooh that makes perfect sense. I wish I was a Virgo.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrtgN327OzrlTxuh4HOp5sOiIbDFCqYzR6w2Y1slNR4bDnZbnufs9lll1RUPpE8dadlzeSNRqVSFQVuitfOUkyOHmJKJAEO_PMO9eQTLQP9uNZIql9tB6MwV2vB61mQAeU-pR_Q3Qs80/s1600/IMG_3029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="saggitarius wrong horoscope" border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGrtgN327OzrlTxuh4HOp5sOiIbDFCqYzR6w2Y1slNR4bDnZbnufs9lll1RUPpE8dadlzeSNRqVSFQVuitfOUkyOHmJKJAEO_PMO9eQTLQP9uNZIql9tB6MwV2vB61mQAeU-pR_Q3Qs80/s640/IMG_3029.JPG" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
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Another great one. I am <i>loving </i>these!</div>
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The Telegraph Astrologer seems very keen that <i>no-one</i> is put under any pressure this week. I like the sound of this and only hope that everyone else has taken heed. Especially at work.</div>
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Here's my Horoscope for the week ahead...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIAwTBrKUO06V_UIeNCKOyUWWvhv6TFmSkJzVBCqc9nr-Yc9961W5SV_YhkpCeawU3J15xjadsAGDLbUjZKgkFh3A0-WmRHapv8MbWZMPQcHw_VW9zdI7aOnB6Oa96GKB6_Bl3rac8y4/s1600/IMG_3030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="aquarius wrong horoscope" border="0" height="166" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbIAwTBrKUO06V_UIeNCKOyUWWvhv6TFmSkJzVBCqc9nr-Yc9961W5SV_YhkpCeawU3J15xjadsAGDLbUjZKgkFh3A0-WmRHapv8MbWZMPQcHw_VW9zdI7aOnB6Oa96GKB6_Bl3rac8y4/s640/IMG_3030.JPG" title="" width="640" /></a></div>
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I am <i>so</i> going to accept an invi week! I'd be mad not to. I will naturally remember not to put 'them' under pressure, it's only fair after all. And as for letting them 'feel that they are tation' - this is surely sound advice for <i>anyone </i>- regardless of birth date.</div>
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In my younger days I must confess I did have a lot of time for horoscopes. But, as I matured, the holes Astrology filled were taken up instead with Husband, Children, Dog, Hugh Laurie and Cadbury's Chocolate. (I've just realised that sounds a bit rude. Shame on you.)</div>
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If the Horoscopes were like this <i>every </i>week - I'd happily make space for them once more.</div>
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-41033512022899570912015-06-13T11:57:00.000+01:002015-06-13T11:58:47.362+01:00A WORD IN YOUR SHELL...*you will see what I did there once you've read the post :-)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1_x0ePoObAA5uZ7l_l1TTxX3-QtwGVlabA8TcLZb4sLhCl9RNw0dDUPWG0IiFTOSltZnv4kOdEB1fsZFOwLrfCYcuoKneBcOQhHr8UgZ06lyMGU6b2YGpRgH_kLbhOAGeAZHHT9bYmM/s1600/a+word+for+you.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="a word" border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH1_x0ePoObAA5uZ7l_l1TTxX3-QtwGVlabA8TcLZb4sLhCl9RNw0dDUPWG0IiFTOSltZnv4kOdEB1fsZFOwLrfCYcuoKneBcOQhHr8UgZ06lyMGU6b2YGpRgH_kLbhOAGeAZHHT9bYmM/s320/a+word+for+you.JPG" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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Words. I <i>really </i>like words. I even <a href="http://donotbreakthedog.blogspot.co.uk/2015/01/a-word.html#more" target="_blank">share on this blog interesting ones</a> I find along my merry way, just out of the goodness of my heart. Well, so far I have shared one, but that still counts. You have to start somewhere...<br />
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<i>But</i>, I say, <i>but,</i> today I am going to share a word I'm not <i>entirely </i>comfortable with. Brace yourselves.<br />
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We were given a lovely box of chocs as a gift and, as I always do when faced with this particular Seashell Shaped Belgian Confectionery, I wondered how on earth does one actually pronounce <i>Guylian</i>?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4m8eXAV6_hYQSu-0o7HwZEpPs_5R74fKFNkLGKVSDW5BfTGqyLcFogdBxsempnJ5-wImRAVKqhdiRxKhUsQ0TMQhc2ccLz7ZmD_JkCIeoMA4Eh4wQHm4FZNnfLv83EDtoFM9p65zqAE/s1600/IMG_2457-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="guylian chocolates" border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis4m8eXAV6_hYQSu-0o7HwZEpPs_5R74fKFNkLGKVSDW5BfTGqyLcFogdBxsempnJ5-wImRAVKqhdiRxKhUsQ0TMQhc2ccLz7ZmD_JkCIeoMA4Eh4wQHm4FZNnfLv83EDtoFM9p65zqAE/s320/IMG_2457-001.JPG" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That little arrangement bottom right always reminds me of a squirrel</td></tr>
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I am not a gifted linguist (although asking in German where the tram stop is holds no fear for me) and Guylian is not a natural arrangement of letters for the average English mouth to wrestle with.<br />
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Note to self: find a Belgian to ask.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4czBIRDWnPAOEi5UPBEkEIk2sK-OczujECsiBz8DINEa3JYBlQic7FyB2Gs091j1yCflSQWq7vQDBuyPJ2YEVtEgMgxITYDvkBPes_S9RlZ-eJ7qnGG6K-7TAWKgGRi4ruKqw2FiywU/s1600/poirot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="poirot" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4czBIRDWnPAOEi5UPBEkEIk2sK-OczujECsiBz8DINEa3JYBlQic7FyB2Gs091j1yCflSQWq7vQDBuyPJ2YEVtEgMgxITYDvkBPes_S9RlZ-eJ7qnGG6K-7TAWKgGRi4ruKqw2FiywU/s1600/poirot.jpg" title="" /></a></div>
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But musings on the pronunciation of Guylian were all but forgotten when I noticed, in the smaller type beneath, a quite appalling word.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkqv510KguLuGGjkL4AYHXX-8yfOrEUymRLf8odNRatjc03Z1FjipMXAncnkA088xeOaYPGLOQ9uPnX8Mce59g5IqxE9Mq55XfBrg7UWMKdQu1esRcMEwoRYFvHlP-91Al12CfBuTePg/s1600/IMG_2456-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="belgian chocolate" border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAkqv510KguLuGGjkL4AYHXX-8yfOrEUymRLf8odNRatjc03Z1FjipMXAncnkA088xeOaYPGLOQ9uPnX8Mce59g5IqxE9Mq55XfBrg7UWMKdQu1esRcMEwoRYFvHlP-91Al12CfBuTePg/s320/IMG_2456-001.JPG" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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Artis...<i>what</i>now?<br />
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Surely that can't be right...</div>
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...and on a box containing chocolate starfish?!? *</div>
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<i>Is </i>that a word? Really? I get the whole 'artisan' thing, but really? Artis<i>anal</i>? Nooo.</div>
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Well it quite put me off, I can tell you. As is evident by my photograph of a completely empty box of chocolates.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewNXlgd0C5KLBUn5z-PChaA7lmgniOypdg15ZCBAo7PT9n8K43Z0qfIjXapilcciVIEUfL2s4nlqABtx-K0T3KdaJOElyCpZKrIUAEhQD1Z8C9j1ULhVZOOyE3w-7gmtfq-hID7VFlsA/s1600/dnbtd+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="do not break the dog" border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiewNXlgd0C5KLBUn5z-PChaA7lmgniOypdg15ZCBAo7PT9n8K43Z0qfIjXapilcciVIEUfL2s4nlqABtx-K0T3KdaJOElyCpZKrIUAEhQD1Z8C9j1ULhVZOOyE3w-7gmtfq-hID7VFlsA/s200/dnbtd+logo.jpg" title="" width="200" /></a></div>
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*That's an outright fib. There are no starfish. <a href="http://www.guylian.com/en/discover-guylian/gift-chocolates/chocolate-sea-shells/sea-shells-original/the-11-unique-sea-shell-shapes/" target="_blank">Here's a comprehensive list</a> of the shapes there really are.</div>
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-7887701323166491122015-05-20T14:34:00.001+01:002015-05-20T14:37:18.528+01:00EUROVISION SONG CONTEST. No, You're a Vision Song Contest! (Why did I do that?)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKbtW8pCniNqgGsBSk9IgQl4x59rNnQ0DK0P_CfTKuq35y_ZHN1TiQdGcR3Fb7KB20ZIMwFTdCQnc2pfWvE8LjJYvAR9byyARIeaTv4G2l4bmBsuu4C3TbvpFsJ1g98EzC2L6uiycnvk/s1600/download.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRKbtW8pCniNqgGsBSk9IgQl4x59rNnQ0DK0P_CfTKuq35y_ZHN1TiQdGcR3Fb7KB20ZIMwFTdCQnc2pfWvE8LjJYvAR9byyARIeaTv4G2l4bmBsuu4C3TbvpFsJ1g98EzC2L6uiycnvk/s320/download.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Eurovision Song Contest...why do I love it so? I literally have no idea since I rarely see much of it. When I was a tiddler and capable of staying awake until the end I wasn't allowed to - and now I am old enough...I'm asleep by 9.15pm.<br />
<br />
Can't say I'm <i>overkeen</i> on the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=s6r1tUhl1cQ" target="_blank">UK entry</a> this year. It's <i>approaching </i>'good', I think, but somehow managed to swerve to avoid it. But hey! I can't write songs, so I should just say 'thank you very much for our entry this year' and stop being such a grumpling. Besides, not liking the song is no bar to supporting one's own dear country. Indeed, I will also be supporting any Scandinavian countries - and I haven't heard so much of a note of any of their songs.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5q1N-PFLSH42NO0y2pyi9Q_SdizS7yrMok84M6T6ObD-bCRngVg7JHMBwWta2f6bu05-yWwTxsyCUu1RYAwC091DeEz_SJpUte4d0p91UPrJu6LSZuM73LgUcnr3NrZTHzJktWPPrQI/s1600/danish+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG5q1N-PFLSH42NO0y2pyi9Q_SdizS7yrMok84M6T6ObD-bCRngVg7JHMBwWta2f6bu05-yWwTxsyCUu1RYAwC091DeEz_SJpUte4d0p91UPrJu6LSZuM73LgUcnr3NrZTHzJktWPPrQI/s1600/danish+flag.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Denmark, as always, holds top spot in my heart.</td></tr>
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But I digress...</div>
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Part of The ESC's appeal for me is the excuse for Snacks.<br />
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Aaaaah......snacks.......<br />
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This year I have promised No.3 (my charming 12 year old dottir) that she can stay up and watch it all, lucky girl. I may have also mentioned 'Themed Snacks'.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPPifL0fKKQxAJZJfs8rb_jULd0aGyH1I_t8yOXhVSHY8xxiX3pivq2815F__YpgCnqIJ4h00jHWyfzd4OG8usXvHQ2s02QGna6C8Sm9IiTc-Rre-J1S0X2mVA-Q_-FyvJPt5HcdYQ9M/s1600/edam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzPPifL0fKKQxAJZJfs8rb_jULd0aGyH1I_t8yOXhVSHY8xxiX3pivq2815F__YpgCnqIJ4h00jHWyfzd4OG8usXvHQ2s02QGna6C8Sm9IiTc-Rre-J1S0X2mVA-Q_-FyvJPt5HcdYQ9M/s1600/edam.jpg" /></a></div>
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Our discussion at the time went along the lines of snacks appropriate for each country - Edam for the Netherlands, Sausage for Germany, Pizza for Italy, etc etc. We may even have mentioned making flags.<br />
Making <i>flags</i>, can you imagine? What is <i>wrong </i>with me? It's only Wednesday now and already I'm knackered. I don't want to be faffing around at the weekend with felt pens, paper and cocktail sticks making bloody flags.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DRPbUSFrbJL0fDU4DZ9EBdAji6s5Wo0-gys-LZ9lkO0GFHq7depWgnoPTFJleN9dxvmIl_caCXwSPY-Ca1jmsYuo_3EFoDa9FjbRAQ2AX2zj6qXooLl6Z16nIZMojPJbOpUW7ukDAng/s1600/cocktail+sticks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6DRPbUSFrbJL0fDU4DZ9EBdAji6s5Wo0-gys-LZ9lkO0GFHq7depWgnoPTFJleN9dxvmIl_caCXwSPY-Ca1jmsYuo_3EFoDa9FjbRAQ2AX2zj6qXooLl6Z16nIZMojPJbOpUW7ukDAng/s1600/cocktail+sticks.jpg" /></a></div>
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The snacks, on the other hand, <i>will </i>happen. Oh yes. It's just that now the 'theme' will be Snacks Mum Likes and Which Need No Effort.<br />
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So, bring on the Tunnock's Teacakes, </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQli6i8KtfKghb_H98jfdG6pnS37VbyDI4w9JS86GUvOpvAM881MOsyMW_FbwSqurOCMOxc4IgpP4TOaVVOFKf-OG47ipsl_X_OdOPLEgvIDzGltjB27jZ17SMNY1GHhmoG1rrJ6sg0-Q/s1600/tunnocks+tea+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQli6i8KtfKghb_H98jfdG6pnS37VbyDI4w9JS86GUvOpvAM881MOsyMW_FbwSqurOCMOxc4IgpP4TOaVVOFKf-OG47ipsl_X_OdOPLEgvIDzGltjB27jZ17SMNY1GHhmoG1rrJ6sg0-Q/s1600/tunnocks+tea+cake.jpg" /></a></div>
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and Potato Sticks </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFe9Y0ATywgV_hUEwEhw_5LdyHJ4B-lfKPya4ez7-vrKKbcapPJfxIvEYPLmmBfqoWTCVRk2C18pwBpeOq1jBH0eL9OOkpT1h8CC4FazRNrZAlDpVgn4LtGnjJ51Mjj4C5ObNDe1UGdkI/s1600/potato+sticks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFe9Y0ATywgV_hUEwEhw_5LdyHJ4B-lfKPya4ez7-vrKKbcapPJfxIvEYPLmmBfqoWTCVRk2C18pwBpeOq1jBH0eL9OOkpT1h8CC4FazRNrZAlDpVgn4LtGnjJ51Mjj4C5ObNDe1UGdkI/s1600/potato+sticks.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes!</td></tr>
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(that's the potato snack made out of thin crispy sticks of potato - not to be confused with the puffy, maize-based nastiness that styles itself 'chipstick'. No. Errr. Yukky).</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7E17v6Rglc6wu4zyxDiE9P43GwKefPRisL8eMt6knPARvs91iNK4ly3pRcvpOR5VELv9ENB0kniuB95tTLrpM2Dcwbm-_kk1QJ2l5D4WuFcExmWfjqL_gqFmCOzllvLNnNmReqjMsG4/s1600/chipsticks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd7E17v6Rglc6wu4zyxDiE9P43GwKefPRisL8eMt6knPARvs91iNK4ly3pRcvpOR5VELv9ENB0kniuB95tTLrpM2Dcwbm-_kk1QJ2l5D4WuFcExmWfjqL_gqFmCOzllvLNnNmReqjMsG4/s1600/chipsticks.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nooooo.</td></tr>
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-41321451680821993532015-03-19T15:15:00.000+00:002015-03-20T19:49:54.322+00:00WARNING - Klutz at Work<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPK3BbMnCGoV0iQJ4zu-gl6QR09ZA8cOGTdLhDUOJKruEkvZw2ft2vJG8TB3QRr2vL6MEggRMsHqZzCBdQrVLmG67giSqBLzXSRkGNxqtcrXgC-7OmkaT3W837Igq0s7tz8UtrCb3kw1o/s1600/warning+sign.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPK3BbMnCGoV0iQJ4zu-gl6QR09ZA8cOGTdLhDUOJKruEkvZw2ft2vJG8TB3QRr2vL6MEggRMsHqZzCBdQrVLmG67giSqBLzXSRkGNxqtcrXgC-7OmkaT3W837Igq0s7tz8UtrCb3kw1o/s1600/warning+sign.png" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
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I try, I really do. Appearances would suggest otherwise, but actually I really do try to :<br />
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a) Look presentable<br />
b) Not say entirely reprehensible things<br />
c) Behave in a manner befitting my age and experience<br />
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FAIL<br />
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I think I should embrace my Klutziness. It appeared when I was very small and is showing no signs of abating.<br />
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Last year I returned to work after 16 years (!) spent bringing up my delightful citizens-of-the-future, Kinder Nos.1-3.<br />
I was very nervous and blah blah blah, but now - after a long period of service (8 1/2 months) - I liked to think I was perhaps making a bit of a name for myself. Heaven knows I am only going in for 7 1/2 hours a week, spread over three days, to do the filing...but I like to do it with a sense of professionalism and pride. I file <i>properly.</i><br />
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And Filing is a job not without its hazards. Papercuts, people. Surely no-one would deny the sting-y pain of a papercut? At the the end of my first week I came home with plasters on <i>every </i>finger. Two on some. I needed a cup of tea and some paracetamol. (Also it wrecks your nails. But that's more of an aesthetic thing rather than medical :-) )<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVaK_9cUVeZn8v0BLtDmqFWnRT-jvQ73jJyusNsZpgR47SVyR3IhZIZbFx1L_bIkTdQVxOwlb7kWFGUsB3-JFesz1qdOo8nRw1gtPaEWr3ULMUGwURSu0jKTFh5X8CBciH-xhTltLeyc/s1600/michael+jackson+plasters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpVaK_9cUVeZn8v0BLtDmqFWnRT-jvQ73jJyusNsZpgR47SVyR3IhZIZbFx1L_bIkTdQVxOwlb7kWFGUsB3-JFesz1qdOo8nRw1gtPaEWr3ULMUGwURSu0jKTFh5X8CBciH-xhTltLeyc/s1600/michael+jackson+plasters.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bit like this only more plasters<br />
and less Michael Jackson-y</td></tr>
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But I toughened up, and now the papercuts are fewer and farther between. Now it seems I've found a whole other way to make my mark.<br />
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It's a Professional Office. These people have letters after their names. They deal with important clients and they behave and dress accordingly. And then there's me.<br />
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Last week, I was busily putting bits of paper where they should go - entirely oblivious to what was happening on my shirt. Which was a large, blood-red, stain. Slap bang in the middle. <br />
I looked like I'd been run through with a broadsword.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfurOPeqDE2EVHE0e76FMqN81u2NqcygK793wTe2zANvvtqEr2z32jljgVONhzpWB4WPQkKIDtxm3v34q6PFC5qfpEAa5hWugPrjpm96kHWjfwVeE4ZdCsq-bN4KcPE-NyXHprjSB02_U/s1600/blood+stained+white+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfurOPeqDE2EVHE0e76FMqN81u2NqcygK793wTe2zANvvtqEr2z32jljgVONhzpWB4WPQkKIDtxm3v34q6PFC5qfpEAa5hWugPrjpm96kHWjfwVeE4ZdCsq-bN4KcPE-NyXHprjSB02_U/s1600/blood+stained+white+shirt.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bit like this only more ladies' shirt-y</td></tr>
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The culprit was a leaking red pen in the same section of the pen tidy as the ruler I use. (I use it to mark where the files come from. It works brilliantly and saves oodles of time. I'm quite proud). The ink had collected at the bottom of the pen tidy and,indeed, the bottom of my ruler.<br />
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Of course I did it right at the beginning of my shift, and so had to spend the next 2 1/2 hours looking like an extra from a Sam Peckinpah film.<br />
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The pen tidy was washed out and the leaky pen duly disposed of.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOi4Tta-pUd5i1h7ULpyfEe8i4aep7p5SKwbRpGBCij8wcy7UBeIoPK1aoZ8hWX1Yh_4sMvA7jpEqU3IKRcH5QQAkxLFNYmQ-ZEb5dVE5D1VWu4G8ENWNDIFqEsoNC3IPgjgN9DnnvIOw/s1600/pen+tidy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOi4Tta-pUd5i1h7ULpyfEe8i4aep7p5SKwbRpGBCij8wcy7UBeIoPK1aoZ8hWX1Yh_4sMvA7jpEqU3IKRcH5QQAkxLFNYmQ-ZEb5dVE5D1VWu4G8ENWNDIFqEsoNC3IPgjgN9DnnvIOw/s1600/pen+tidy.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bit like this only less orange</td></tr>
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Then yesterday (Wednesday), I took a break from the filing shelves to ask my supervisor a question. It was quite a long question as I recall and she looked at me and said, "Why have you got blue ink on your cheek?"</div>
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Thinking it was just a streak of biro, I rubbed at my cheek, but it was not so. It was a chunking great splot of actual blue ink - which I had now rubbed all over the side of my face. I managed to wash most of it off, but was left with an unholy pallor on one half of my face.</div>
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This morning, as I retrieved my File Place Marker Ruler from the pen tidy I was careful to check the end. And I was jolly glad I did! There was a big old sticky patch of blue ink - just waiting to spread itself on my clothing or my person, or both. A ha! I thought. Foiled you! Indeed, I cried out loud, 'A ha! I'm not getting caught like that again, thank you very much! I have spent too many days covered in ink!' and took the ruler off for a wash in the kitchen sink and cleaned out the pen tidy with some paper towels. </div>
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Then I gathered up the accoutrements of my filing day - the clean ruler in one hand, and a rubber thimble thingy for the thumbing through of paperwork on my right index finger. </div>
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It was then that a co-worker stopped to talk to me and I guess I must have been fiddling as she spoke because soon I was aware of a warm feeling in my right ear. I looked down at my hand and saw that it was covered in blue ink. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkEo6dBmnFr6WVXH4asbRhedWp_Gf5JEqxXrM1_nvQOz_Gw87v2UDvmOvPwYBBrfn9Y-uKtUbYhFSnLOT1nrxUFECqkbUvYuHDp3Gm_OJ7JhJO2fRm0EMxq3oQVTyHVRqCseM9P4EFmU/s1600/IMG_1979.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkEo6dBmnFr6WVXH4asbRhedWp_Gf5JEqxXrM1_nvQOz_Gw87v2UDvmOvPwYBBrfn9Y-uKtUbYhFSnLOT1nrxUFECqkbUvYuHDp3Gm_OJ7JhJO2fRm0EMxq3oQVTyHVRqCseM9P4EFmU/s1600/IMG_1979.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My actual hand after 3 hours and several hand-washing sessions *</td></tr>
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Then it dawned on me...</div>
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"Um....is my ear blue?" I asked. </div>
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Indeed it was. </div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPwZvkzSRWgw8PppusUjiD5_QR8Vr1h0iF5T4NnBFuVJ7Tw8VIEd7u67q6ED9BBlwRWbngJnUeNHHvzPrko8Yyv1FeDqZ3rd7TDzlQwx94WxPqh9d80KAR2Un4kQCHnrGJ0sdfnWJdig/s1600/blue+ink+ear.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKPwZvkzSRWgw8PppusUjiD5_QR8Vr1h0iF5T4NnBFuVJ7Tw8VIEd7u67q6ED9BBlwRWbngJnUeNHHvzPrko8Yyv1FeDqZ3rd7TDzlQwx94WxPqh9d80KAR2Un4kQCHnrGJ0sdfnWJdig/s1600/blue+ink+ear.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bit like this only my ear and with real ink in it</td></tr>
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Now I can accept that it was unfortunate that two pens leaked into a pen tidy containing my ruler on two separate occasions.<br />
But my question is this. How did a rubber thimble thingy, that was in an <i>entirely separate</i> part of the pen tidy, become filled - and I do mean <i>filled</i> - with blue ink?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5yLnXXVEP1sZQdAbU29uN9n0LXypfFO_m9f6T0Flr6qKX4r5m0NxjxWexoMO1E7NP9EilXVitS6LqHsklunZjSe9mOt6GP5LEopnxV_JlRPSjFJM6dmeX5fgkBJO_FqKbfwsT1vegZ4/s1600/rubber+thimble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN5yLnXXVEP1sZQdAbU29uN9n0LXypfFO_m9f6T0Flr6qKX4r5m0NxjxWexoMO1E7NP9EilXVitS6LqHsklunZjSe9mOt6GP5LEopnxV_JlRPSjFJM6dmeX5fgkBJO_FqKbfwsT1vegZ4/s1600/rubber+thimble.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bit like this only <i>less clean</i></td></tr>
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I put it to you that I was the victim of Sabotage with Malice Aforethought.<br />
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I'm going to have eyes in the back of my head from now on...eyes in the back of my head.<br />
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* I am bound to point out (after a lengthy exchange with a friend) that my index finger is not abnormally short, nor my middle finger extraordinarily long. It is just the angle I am holding my fingers at for the photo. My hands, when not over-dry or covered in ink, are quite ordinary, bordering on the 'artistic'. Just so you know.<br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-39512903629356744212015-03-08T15:53:00.000+00:002015-03-08T16:21:53.637+00:00THE EYES HAVE IT...Politics. I know it bothers people when you say you're not interested in politics, but I'm not. Well, I'm not interested in Politicians is probably more to the point. I hear them squibble-squabbling and nit-picking at each other - and that I can get from my own dear children, in the comfort of my own home, thank you very much. I don't need an Elected Official to join in.<br />
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I certainly couldn't get excited about the thought of Live Debates. It seems to be a hot topic at the moment though, because I often hear them discussing it on the Radio 4 - just before I start singing show tunes over their voices.<br />
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But hold the phone...what is this I spy in my yesterday's paper? <br />
(Saturday paper is always read on a Sunday in my house. Sunday is a much better paper-reading day).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nHnqjX6rSGdvmyPhgR0LwoVzXDMDhopD-6SCV7XAMRPaPPkeBmM3oWt2ZuMQdHD8-d8b84gg38niN0djbDuQQX9V8NXY5urp4Zjufn_tt8qeTUWncnHop4C_jKVLgxqN9DftvVaIidw/s1600/IMG_1849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nHnqjX6rSGdvmyPhgR0LwoVzXDMDhopD-6SCV7XAMRPaPPkeBmM3oWt2ZuMQdHD8-d8b84gg38niN0djbDuQQX9V8NXY5urp4Zjufn_tt8qeTUWncnHop4C_jKVLgxqN9DftvVaIidw/s1600/IMG_1849.JPG" height="424" width="640" /></a></div>
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'PM refuses to blink'? Now that <i>would </i>be worth watching. Go on then Davey-boy, I'm in!</div>
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I'm not sure he really thought that one through. It'll end in tears, you see if it doesn't. </div>
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Although he seems committed enough...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aY2ohvSRYCGmbPF2_WSPZiGbQ6qOh2INN2l4dyGFOLKfu1Uaj-5mIbXZsDfhuNRMARxhuTHHY5SRp2954uPowQDFVn6Jev8iH183l62BlNEApFBcMES_agQc_UQQ6IKCdRLeE8Vn2Xs/s1600/david+cameron+stare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8aY2ohvSRYCGmbPF2_WSPZiGbQ6qOh2INN2l4dyGFOLKfu1Uaj-5mIbXZsDfhuNRMARxhuTHHY5SRp2954uPowQDFVn6Jev8iH183l62BlNEApFBcMES_agQc_UQQ6IKCdRLeE8Vn2Xs/s1600/david+cameron+stare.jpg" height="240" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practising his Paddington Stare</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpr3i6dAttrvFFwIvFHIvZW21g6EB4FiQxav_DBpF4j8WQ2JP9aR5xJmyRZyW0tVvWdB_0cp1D8uK4LFrCzh3uerToMmEb5pWHTIMOjCQazd-ULAtEWtGbYhR4KyMFkq-ZUdlSFOHszo/s1600/david+cameron+finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzpr3i6dAttrvFFwIvFHIvZW21g6EB4FiQxav_DBpF4j8WQ2JP9aR5xJmyRZyW0tVvWdB_0cp1D8uK4LFrCzh3uerToMmEb5pWHTIMOjCQazd-ULAtEWtGbYhR4KyMFkq-ZUdlSFOHszo/s1600/david+cameron+finger.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's starting well...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWTRMEV9apmM6_-AZeh87Gktv1AMAPoBkTs7aK7FX9K1Xw4kMpuQNz7WxXGhxYJzZhgebq8JD6Y3E3jssOeJsYGWbOfX_tJagTcLQ6n0EL8Xw9pbrT63-7nXoqhSPICFeDcjcrJ2CZe0/s1600/david+cameron+hand+on+head.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWTRMEV9apmM6_-AZeh87Gktv1AMAPoBkTs7aK7FX9K1Xw4kMpuQNz7WxXGhxYJzZhgebq8JD6Y3E3jssOeJsYGWbOfX_tJagTcLQ6n0EL8Xw9pbrT63-7nXoqhSPICFeDcjcrJ2CZe0/s1600/david+cameron+hand+on+head.jpg" height="282" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But...hold on, isn't holding your eyelids up cheating?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCLMZv7gHfRQknsYPqi8QkbGYwLARK5LGZaFiXcY_dsCZ7Ld73cpeGa9-N5HDsDOUipl0x34sqWaIzxEGFYUapqWaOHwHOOKi3E5-2zWqUZKOQ7z4Feo9ThE0AwHlRYdGZKyATzyJdp0/s1600/david+cameron+distraught.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZCLMZv7gHfRQknsYPqi8QkbGYwLARK5LGZaFiXcY_dsCZ7Ld73cpeGa9-N5HDsDOUipl0x34sqWaIzxEGFYUapqWaOHwHOOKi3E5-2zWqUZKOQ7z4Feo9ThE0AwHlRYdGZKyATzyJdp0/s1600/david+cameron+distraught.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh no! It's all too much. Poor David. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySIbhS3QlipJffCYEIri3AnzWzI7JPfAZC-hBWDNKyRpZuvhxO91tYeV4CTHA8m0SOKc57mZNC7D3ITImjCmgLfEwjVAZcvtx3sbISNHJoo53w4mcfICdKI0RYhr_pNP8L1lxQzo6Bq0/s1600/david+cameron+crying.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgySIbhS3QlipJffCYEIri3AnzWzI7JPfAZC-hBWDNKyRpZuvhxO91tYeV4CTHA8m0SOKc57mZNC7D3ITImjCmgLfEwjVAZcvtx3sbISNHJoo53w4mcfICdKI0RYhr_pNP8L1lxQzo6Bq0/s1600/david+cameron+crying.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I said, didn't I? It'll end in tears.<br />
Well never mind, David, it was an interesting idea.</td></tr>
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There is a bit of time before the pre-General Election debates, so he could always find the factory that makes these delightful cardboard masks. There must be bins <i>full </i>of DC eyes. Scoop 'em up and stick 'em on David. <br />
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It could work.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4Q1Iq1C4Z2evXCUzk5hx6qMYfyYsUpPsBxR_b5nTISFgHEO0DzIehIhX5PxxuRh2Q9j9WEFKiHandsx0cPvIw5uKGxALkof5gy2tkut4NXf09ONp7caU0POrGEFCG2BxgGxvwVqKnTs/s1600/david+cameron+mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT4Q1Iq1C4Z2evXCUzk5hx6qMYfyYsUpPsBxR_b5nTISFgHEO0DzIehIhX5PxxuRh2Q9j9WEFKiHandsx0cPvIw5uKGxALkof5gy2tkut4NXf09ONp7caU0POrGEFCG2BxgGxvwVqKnTs/s1600/david+cameron+mask.jpg" /></a></div>
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And if it doesn't, he could always try Holding his Breath.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobDmTWIXRtYQB5SbdNQX-uVNWPnc20P-boEL7mWx93G_346dKt_WWOOPUpwWZD4YxGk8Dmcs3jx7axCGRRhzFY0UUjhe3T2TdlQvnG81PaxR5NhiQknzlUsN7K6-QI1iYgG9xbIJ_MxE/s1600/pepe+holding+his+breath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhobDmTWIXRtYQB5SbdNQX-uVNWPnc20P-boEL7mWx93G_346dKt_WWOOPUpwWZD4YxGk8Dmcs3jx7axCGRRhzFY0UUjhe3T2TdlQvnG81PaxR5NhiQknzlUsN7K6-QI1iYgG9xbIJ_MxE/s1600/pepe+holding+his+breath.jpg" /></a></div>
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<i>Now </i>I'm interested.</div>
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-46552490986463111382015-02-16T16:35:00.000+00:002015-02-19T08:10:26.922+00:00BUILDING WORK ... I REALLY CAN'T WAIT FOR IT TO FINISH...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-wyOjuG6ZvcgLi1jEZpcWKSqN346q9PQc0miXBPbYHA2M0fingGpLTUC63KgyCSwkAMOnY7-DW9yGyIlfdzWh5AWil94COLVM9KlzaOXsBei3pJYQebvy6_eWN8kxqul8kXLdZA9ysc/s1600/builders7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL-wyOjuG6ZvcgLi1jEZpcWKSqN346q9PQc0miXBPbYHA2M0fingGpLTUC63KgyCSwkAMOnY7-DW9yGyIlfdzWh5AWil94COLVM9KlzaOXsBei3pJYQebvy6_eWN8kxqul8kXLdZA9ysc/s1600/builders7.jpg" /></a></div>
It seems I live on a building site - and have done for the past many months - and I am a bit tired of it now *melancholy sigh*.<br />
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Nobody likes living among building work (I imagine?) but at least when it's your own you get the lovely outcome at the end of it all. The extra bedroom, the sunny garden room, the utility room with extra loo...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZ2Zqz8OPxgtoe1sCpd7gkhHcsYTbl1OfdTqsGdSbjCIyk_gXX0WdBKD6mT9fC2Lzz9QSaFdUmg9ETEPmbWyjdK3vrHPoOdZ60T6B3bqerlgDO8Sjndwq7xZfF9m1JBQNV9KebXd4RM0/s1600/builders.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZ2Zqz8OPxgtoe1sCpd7gkhHcsYTbl1OfdTqsGdSbjCIyk_gXX0WdBKD6mT9fC2Lzz9QSaFdUmg9ETEPmbWyjdK3vrHPoOdZ60T6B3bqerlgDO8Sjndwq7xZfF9m1JBQNV9KebXd4RM0/s1600/builders.jpg" /></a></div>
But we have been surrounded on 3 sides (does that count as 'surrounded'?) by other people's building work and all we have to show for it are frayed nerves, a growing pile of other people's cigarette butts, and a missing garden waste bin. (Where this went is anybody's guess - it's bloody huge and it's clean disappeared!)<br />
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Two houses either side of us have had looooooads of work done - and across the road they are building a flippin' village. (It is called 'The Old Dairy' which conjures bucolic scenes of rustic milk churns, dairy maids in cotton mop-caps and the odd freesian strolling by. In reality the Old Dairy was a manky old concrete warehouse where they stored cartons of milk waiting for delivery. This amuses me).<br />
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Being almost entirely awesome (and/or soft), when Mr W and I had some building work done we gave our neighbours wine, chocolates and a Garden Centre Voucher at the end of it. It seemed like the decent thing to do - they had put up with weeks of noise and dust and extra vehicles outside...<br />
<br />
....ah, extra vehicles...<br />
<br />
Naturally with the development of umpteen new houses you have to expect that there will be some upheaval. Our front door is approximately 3 feet from the road and, for a while last year, we'd step out of our door straight into a Great Wall of Contractors' Vans. Big vans, middle-sized vans and all other sized vans - parked nose to tail. Not the nicest view and somewhat dangerous when it comes to crossing the road. <br />
<br />
But we make allowances. Even when, every lunchtime, they sit in their vans with the engines running - causing your house to vibrate with a drone that MAKES YOU THINK YOU ARE ACTUALLY GOING MAD.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoezorDkS4HX-pupRUWM2m2Uq3HSHDBTXxtWmMg4R6PsK1fWO56mT3BQ85nXhrcszF1_vr2uvgyZpNWcazRGfob4cCvJUzCNNhj6HeJ0BO1MaHNel-s9B21AV-6MfI8pV-0yKVXhNIMno/s1600/builders6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoezorDkS4HX-pupRUWM2m2Uq3HSHDBTXxtWmMg4R6PsK1fWO56mT3BQ85nXhrcszF1_vr2uvgyZpNWcazRGfob4cCvJUzCNNhj6HeJ0BO1MaHNel-s9B21AV-6MfI8pV-0yKVXhNIMno/s1600/builders6.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't know why he looks so glum</td></tr>
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However, when it reaches the point that you have to park your car a five-minute walk from your house it can try even the most patient soul.<br />
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So I rang the building contractors.<br />
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<br />
I was calm. I was rational. And I asked politely if there was any way some of these vehicles could park on site.<br />
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'Good Golly!' cried the charming chap on the other end of the phone, 'They should <i>all</i> be parked on site! I will get onto the Site Foreman immediately'.<br />
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And for a while it was lovely. We could park; daylight streamed in through our windows and we could cross the road with just the usual amount of mild peril.<br />
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But last week it all changed. And the change was heralded by a 5am delivery of a ruddy great earth mover. <br />
<br />
Right outside our bedroom window. <br />
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Thirty Full Minutes it took to unload the beast. Thirty minutes of clanging, banging and general racket. No more sleep for us that morning then. Splendid.<br />
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It was swiftly followed by (I am sure) every single workman in the Northern Hemisphere arriving - in a van - and taking up every single parking space within eyeshot.<br />
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I admit, the unwanted early wake-up call may have made me a <i>leetle</i> more tetchy than I might otherwise have been - but still I managed to produce a pleasant sounding, fair minded email asking the Building Contractors to get at least some of these vans parked on site again. <br />
I was calm and I was rational.<br />
<br />
And I'm glad I took the trouble to write, and to be pleasant. They didn't actually <i>reply </i>to my email - but their response was adorable...<br />
<br />
<br />
...When I left my house the following morning, outside our door to greet me was the highest volume of contractors' vans I have ever seen ever in my life ever.<br />
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Literally as far as the eye could see. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even more than this</td></tr>
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They even went to the trouble to park illegally to squeeze more vans in. </div>
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Now <i>that </i>is attention to detail.</div>
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The result is clear ...</div>
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<b><span style="color: #0b5394;">Kate </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">0</span><span style="color: #0b5394;"> : Contractors </span><span style="color: #cc0000;">1</span></b></div>
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At least it made me chuckle.</div>
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-37529414288682462362015-01-22T17:11:00.000+00:002015-01-22T17:11:10.712+00:00A WORD...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzxSfuV4hRqH0rDvd0Vr78-hWirdUR1NzjzxkAwdt4v8fakU73Re_usBOXsvIIrkNIaiHcSLsffuggsvJUZoxlLGzg5-V20Avw22ORS090BBazHFrgrlHNA1wWfMC6k7-3pi4jN2og9Q/s1600/IMG_8326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="word for you letter box old" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqzxSfuV4hRqH0rDvd0Vr78-hWirdUR1NzjzxkAwdt4v8fakU73Re_usBOXsvIIrkNIaiHcSLsffuggsvJUZoxlLGzg5-V20Avw22ORS090BBazHFrgrlHNA1wWfMC6k7-3pi4jN2og9Q/s1600/IMG_8326.JPG" height="251" title="a word" width="320" /></a>Words. Ain't they great? <br />
Indeed, Mr W and I first bonded over a Dictionary. (That sounds rude and it really wasn't).<br />
<br />
We'd sit in his office randomly dipping into his Chambers Dictionary (still not rude, so why does it sound like it is?) My how we'd laugh at some of the rich and varied words our language offers up.<br />
<br />
We'd also derive great entertainment from running together the words at the top of the pages - you know the ones in bold. For example the top of page 360 in our Chambers bears the gem 'Confound Conglomerate' - which I'm sure many people do. Page 966 has 'Liberty Lick' - which sounds like a porn star.<br />
I imagine. <br />
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
It may be that we are a particularly dull pair, but don't be too quick to judge. When the next tornado warning goes off - along with your torch, pets and canned goods - be sure to grab a chunky old dictionary. <i>Hours </i>of entertainment, I tells yer. <i>Hours</i>.<br />
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<br />
Anyhoo, here's a new word I was previously unfamiliar with. And I <i>so </i>wanted to share...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b>BIBULOUS</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: x-large;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
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Marvellous, isn't it? Lovely to say. Over and over if necessary. Bibulous .... BIBulous ....<br />
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It means: <span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">"</span><i style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">adj </i><span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">Addicted to strong drink; absorbent of liquid (from the Latin</span><span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"> </span><i style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">bibulus, </i><span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">from</span><span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"> </span><i style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">bibere </i><span style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;">to drink)".</span></div>
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Do use it whenever and wherever you can. In context if possible, but don't let a little thing like that dampen your creativity.<br />
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'My, what bibulous Brussel sprouts you have cooked, Grandmama' works just as well as, 'I fancy my Maths teacher may be a tad bibulous'.</div>
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I, for one, shall be inserting my new-found word into everyday conversation as often as possible.<br />
And when I find more exciting and unusual words you will be the first to hear them.<br />
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You are welcome :-)<br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-80111244546893259412014-12-17T10:35:00.000+00:002014-12-17T10:35:56.701+00:00IT WAS A PECULIAR DAY, AND NO MISTAKE...Sometimes I feel like an alien visiting from another planet. Mostly during mealtimes with the family <br />
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when they all talk animatedly about some television programme they've all seen but I've never heard of. Also when I am 'out and about' as well. (I used the inverted commas there because 'out and about' is not a phrase I usually like to use, but use it I have. I guess I wanted to separate it in some way from my otherwise 'usual' prose. There I go again. What is it with all the ' 's?)<br />
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One of my side-lines (apart from being an internationally renowned blogger and sought-after panel show guest) is making wooden Christmas decorations. I love it. I feel I am one of Santa's Little Helpers - which is either sad or sweet, depending on your viewpoint.<br />
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I had my first Christmas Sale coming up and, being an organised type, went off to my Local Bank to withdraw money for my float (as in change to give to people, not a flat-bed lorry decorated for a carnival procession, and definitely not a coca-cola with a lump of ice-cream dobbed in it - who thought that was a good idea?!)<br />
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Now you'd think that a Bank would be a good place to go to withdraw money. Well I was in for a surprise. From the outside the building looked much the same as it has for the last several years. Once I stepped inside, however, it was as if I'd travelled in time (wibbly lines, wibbly lines). <br />
Instead of a long counter with real Human People behind ready to assist, there were banks of computer screens and walls with holes in labelled 'cheques' and 'card' and other stuff I can't remember.<br />
I was agog. <br />
There were two Human Bank Employees available - presumably to help pick ordinary folk like me off the floor - and one of them did, indeed, present herself to me in a 'happy to help' kind of way.<br />
<br />
"Where <i>is </i>everybody?" I asked, still wide-eyed at the whole Futureness of it all.<br />
"All computerised now", was the Human's reply, immediately conjuring in my mind visions of people trapped, Dalek-like, into machines with wires and circuit-boards attached to them.<br />
"Oh," said I. "How do I get money out? I need coins rather than notes."<br />
"Oh," said she. "Well you'll have to order it."<br />
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ORDER IT?! <i>Order </i>it? <br />
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Where, when you are already <i>in</i> a bank, do you order money <i>from</i>, pray tell?<br />
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The answer is.....Another Bank.<br />
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Well you wouldn't want money to be available in <i>all </i>banks would you? That would give quite the wrong impression.<br />
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In the end I had to queue at the one tiny bit of counter remaining, with one Human Bank Employee who deals with "Business and Foreign Currency". I felt a bit of a ninny asking her for £50 in small change. She gave me a dubious look and said she'd see what she could do. The transaction had all the hallmarks of rummaging under the sofa cushions to find enough change to buy a packet of Spangles on your way to school.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I do not remember this particular campaign</td></tr>
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As if that experience wasn't surreal enough, on leaving the Bank, Mr W and I were bimbling through town together when I noticed (in the way that you do) an Elderly Lady had parked on some double-yellow lines. 'Oh dear,' I thought, 'perhaps she doesn't realise those are double-yellows'.<br />
<br />Then I said, "Oh dear, OH DEAR!" as the Elderly Lady proceeded to move her car forward and <i>into a parked bicycle.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Mr W (a tad more practical than me) leapt forward to alert the Elderly Lady and she stopped, nodded, waved sweetly at him .. and continued to drive forwards onto the bike.<br />
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Again Mr W tried to stop her becoming a one-woman bike-buster. Again, she stopped, nodded and waved, and continued to drive forwards. <br />
In the end, we moved the bike onto the pavement where, hopefully, it would remain undamaged.<br />
With luck the Elderly Lady got home without any further mishap.<br />
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Goodness knows what the bike-owner thought when they returned to find their bike in a different location to where they left it.<br />
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Me? I was glad to get home to the normality of my dog collecting up socks, my daughter who is almost permanently upside down in a hand-stand, and my sons whose conversation is a total mystery to me.<br />
Much better.Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-91031874998572990112014-11-21T11:34:00.001+00:002014-11-21T11:34:44.225+00:00APPEARANCES CAN BE DECEPTIVE ...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been 'blessed' with a fizzog which, in repose, looks like I am the most disapproving, snarky, mean person ever in the world ever. This is most unfair because I am none of those things (except maybe a bit snarky sometimes, but then I'm usually just trying to be amusing).<br />
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Basically, I am quite a happy little soul.<br />
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This, however, is not reflected on my face. My face says, 'I am entirely miserable and I heartily disapprove of you'. <br />
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This is not me begging for reassurance, this is me being honest after seeing <i>way </i> too many photographs and videos with me looking for all the world like I despise every person I am spending time with. Which I do not. <br />
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My kids call it my 'Game Face'.</div>
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Roald Dahl said : (not to me)<br />
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<span style="color: #674ea7;">"If you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."</span></div>
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Which is very sweet. But not true. At least not in my case. Putting the most positive spin I can on it, most of the time I look solemn. And if I'm concentrating on something, I look downright scary.<br />
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Anyway, all this has led me to practice, on the drive to work, my 'Content and Open' face.<br />
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I look like a moron.<br />
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But apart from this, it has also made me think about the assumptions we make about people - based on their habits, their faces, their clothes, and their demeanour. <br />
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I recently discovered the tv series 'The Americans'. It appeared on my Amazon Prime/Love Film thingy and, since it was 'included in my Prime membership' and therefore a low-risk financial-outlay-wise, I thought I'd give it a whirl. So I've just watched Season 1.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEvfropMg9As3FvoX9mwfFFWTQ8t1pQKrkP-BL9ZbRHr7E2R46MJppn5w7CI3E6VT2Ns8dOxu6oP9ulIUurQyZvReIyrBWCVd6Tpgoom9XJU-qHQRe2uaEKrVOSbwD8QlyQHDBMKVQac/s1600/the+americans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNEvfropMg9As3FvoX9mwfFFWTQ8t1pQKrkP-BL9ZbRHr7E2R46MJppn5w7CI3E6VT2Ns8dOxu6oP9ulIUurQyZvReIyrBWCVd6Tpgoom9XJU-qHQRe2uaEKrVOSbwD8QlyQHDBMKVQac/s1600/the+americans.jpg" /></a></div>
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Sweet Betty it is nothing short of brilliant.</div>
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Matthew Rhys needs a cupboard full of awards for his performances - I swear I can see what he's <i>thinking.</i><br />
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(In case, like me until recently, this series has bypassed you so far, it is about two KGB agents living and working in America in the 1980s. They are involved in all this covert, dangerous and scary stuff but living, with their two kids, as a normal American family the rest of the time. Then an FBI agent only goes and moves in practically next-door... Oh it's epic.)<br />
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And it made me wonder just how many people lead covert lives. And for what reason? Some people quietly, and sometimes heroically, go about doing good without wanting recognition and fuss - but there could also be, nestled in among the terraces and leafy avenues, ordinary, nondescript people who are really highly trained and effective Secret Agents.<br />
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And what's the best way to hide the fact that you are a Secret Agent? Well to avoid detection by me the best thing would be to wear a mac with a turned-up collar, a hat, dark glasses and an I.D. badge saying 'Spy'. It's the ordinary types I'm suspicious of now.<br />
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Many years ago, an old neighbour of mine (who chatted to me over the garden wall) mentioned that she thought our shed concealed the entrance to an underground bunker. I could see her scrutinise my face for a reaction. In my interest, amusement and astonishment I naturally looked disapproving, snarky and mean. She never mentioned it again.<br />
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Now I'm wondering if she was perhaps trying to <i>recruit</i> me for some covert operational work she was masterminding. Or did she simply feel our very ordinariness - kids, dog, shed, roast dinner on a Sunday... was a cover for our <i>own </i>clandestine activities? Oooooh.<br />
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But none of this helps with the face that thinks Sunbeams but shows Thunderclouds.<br />
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Well I will plough on with my Drive Time Facial Expression Practice. Thinking happy thoughts and hoping that eventually they will filter through onto my face.<br />
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I may also pin this up on my dashboard. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVb6GZYrhyphenhyphen44kU3NczbjultNil0O2WlYiQJVJ62xU5TmdRBDAcBuN63-4ldvUEQfXaov0M8OurZosbj42oGr3k4fZLZrDRGBE_X-vD1C-Pnu3CUiCBVtQ1ZOnTZqzeaffk5flFJ5dGJ0/s1600/matthew+rhys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVb6GZYrhyphenhyphen44kU3NczbjultNil0O2WlYiQJVJ62xU5TmdRBDAcBuN63-4ldvUEQfXaov0M8OurZosbj42oGr3k4fZLZrDRGBE_X-vD1C-Pnu3CUiCBVtQ1ZOnTZqzeaffk5flFJ5dGJ0/s1600/matthew+rhys.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Matthew Rhys<br />
It's his <i>acting</i> I admire</td></tr>
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That should help.</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; line-height: 18.2000007629395px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-14583584579831107202014-11-08T17:06:00.001+00:002014-11-08T17:06:08.494+00:00FOOD FOR THOUGHT...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K42ygIRdh9FL2y7mJAPXKV_vDPNJMnVRqCI2ARYDKRQgkJfPi1zms9k8nda9qYFNbhjNeBNTVuiAkP0bLDUMspy2Y8494hWP7l6HhQX-kGfni6RUWSyAy7B8dhCO_7RL3iqo_ym_f70/s1600/flying+saucers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4K42ygIRdh9FL2y7mJAPXKV_vDPNJMnVRqCI2ARYDKRQgkJfPi1zms9k8nda9qYFNbhjNeBNTVuiAkP0bLDUMspy2Y8494hWP7l6HhQX-kGfni6RUWSyAy7B8dhCO_7RL3iqo_ym_f70/s1600/flying+saucers.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>'The Transport of the Future'</i></td></tr>
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When we were kids, my brother and I had a couple of big old books from the 1950s that I think must have belonged to my mum, or her brothers, when they were youngsters. My brother kept them in his room, mostly because he was the eldest, and partly because I was inclined to 'mark' the pages of books with a red biro. <br />
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These old books, among their tales of derring-do, included full page illustrations entitled, 'How the World Will Look in 1975!' These pictures caused us endless amusement with their prophecies of personal flying saucers and hover-highways.<br />
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Confidently I proclaimed that all the major developments had already been made. There would be no more major leaps in technology or lifestyle because, 'if you think about it', I said, with total conviction, 'there is nothing more to invent'.<br />
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I know. What a nob.<br />
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Naturally I was completely wrong. There have been many, many inventions and...stuff. I love to see my kids little faces blink uncomprehendingly as I regale them with tales of telephones that had to be plugged in - all the time. And how we only had three tv channels and one telly, and that programming stopped completely at certain times of the day.<br />
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Something that has also changed considerably since I was a kiddie is food - especially its range and availability. Supermarkets were not the massive superstores of today carrying vast amounts of different and exotic products. Oven Chips were about as avant garde as we got in our town. Truly I knew people for whom Spaghetti Bolognese was a mysterious and unknown food that should be treated with suspicion. My nan ate it with a knife and fork.<br />
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A recent clear-out of our shed (bear with me, it is relevant) provoked a celebratory whoop from Mr W and me when we uncovered something precious we had previously mourned as lost.<br />
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<b>A set of Marguerite Patten Cookery Cards.</b></div>
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They were produced in around 1967 (before even I was born) and, when we were given them about 15 years ago, Mr W and I spent the entire evening delighting in the glorious, technicolour recipes. <br />
They are hilarious. And that is not to denigrate Ms Patten in any way. But it does show much fashions and tastes in food have changed.<br />
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With the rediscovery of the cards were able to share with our bemused offspring pictures of food deemed 'special occasion' or 'party' way back in the Days of Yore. We could graphically demonstrate examples of meals from the 'Every Day Budget' section - many of them bearing a striking resemblance to the kind of food that was presented to Mr W and me as kids. And, since our parents were War Babies, born and brought up with food shortages and rationing, any food presented to us as children was expected to be eaten and no fuss. Regardless of how manky it might look.<br />
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I have selected a random-ish collection of the cards for your delight. If you are very lucky, I may just do a series.<br />
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So, starting with Supper Dishes...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GiSDYe4Gxc-fwFwGGJnZMf8HX4hWtyojAhSRFcxhxA2-qJVWztzRO_Isv2hxfgYfMbwafmuJZxCWcSMlXugi7E4WnepXyvrz0N-KPEU29CJTshC14qcjFNug_pgS4fyVlSpZf3T0uKc/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1GiSDYe4Gxc-fwFwGGJnZMf8HX4hWtyojAhSRFcxhxA2-qJVWztzRO_Isv2hxfgYfMbwafmuJZxCWcSMlXugi7E4WnepXyvrz0N-KPEU29CJTshC14qcjFNug_pgS4fyVlSpZf3T0uKc/s1600/IMG_1310.JPG" height="640" width="584" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At first I thought it was on a bed of rice. It's not, it's mash.<br />This would have been considered quite posh in our house.</td></tr>
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Or, perhaps on a Sunday, you might like...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2lZCIowXQE4x2rjGMJJ-YWgJv2GJbEzfzMfE9Ysql1ptwxJNzEO5FTOuH7wfla5ZbdVT4S1rWTWhZ_7pteVrJ1U7nzKHs_PIaIYMvnbk26NiUWxOteItbAhwFNCymXiVj_yMlOG_NFU/s1600/IMG_1312.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV2lZCIowXQE4x2rjGMJJ-YWgJv2GJbEzfzMfE9Ysql1ptwxJNzEO5FTOuH7wfla5ZbdVT4S1rWTWhZ_7pteVrJ1U7nzKHs_PIaIYMvnbk26NiUWxOteItbAhwFNCymXiVj_yMlOG_NFU/s1600/IMG_1312.JPG" height="548" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a Luncheon Meat crown. <i>Luncheon</i> meat. <br />Filled with sweetcorn and garnished with raisins.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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A more simple supper idea is the lovely...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJvNfbq3wOMSHnCHCu9K-K6kFkSKjHKmU1XsMmaQP6xm_IsalY_7Jrs_rlqHgYoOi3V8uFpRokhlnQGBr2GcqwUP8wO8PjYfTtudPNef8ekAKcyF19eM7YOkz5Pd-GchRTg-CrQFYyO4/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCJvNfbq3wOMSHnCHCu9K-K6kFkSKjHKmU1XsMmaQP6xm_IsalY_7Jrs_rlqHgYoOi3V8uFpRokhlnQGBr2GcqwUP8wO8PjYfTtudPNef8ekAKcyF19eM7YOkz5Pd-GchRTg-CrQFYyO4/s1600/IMG_1318.JPG" height="640" width="568" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure which 'Reine' was lucky enough to have this dish named<br />after her. Or perhaps it's just deemed <i>fit</i> for a queen - they have<br />cut the crusts off the toast after all.</td></tr>
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And, for something lighter, in the summer months I offer up...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyiPi40_4lMLg2-hcr3W0r-viFP_dtGXnRCqKWkQopThhTock6xLFuO3G2HU_drcjKhRkdFHVPaJnj3vw8BVBdCWA3ZO4Yn-JJLWnS154IuP9_sugC1y7BB5PPPXTlr7DWxyP4N47xq8/s1600/IMG_1320.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoyiPi40_4lMLg2-hcr3W0r-viFP_dtGXnRCqKWkQopThhTock6xLFuO3G2HU_drcjKhRkdFHVPaJnj3vw8BVBdCWA3ZO4Yn-JJLWnS154IuP9_sugC1y7BB5PPPXTlr7DWxyP4N47xq8/s1600/IMG_1320.JPG" height="640" width="628" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not sure what to say about this. <br />Pretty sure my kids would run a mile.<br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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Moving on to Party Food. Brace yourselves, it's fairly swanky.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIwvePR5SbgLDwMgT9qIBb6C_GAPNH01lZN8g9Jsol5eQ5ykym9Iat0bfO9BwtKEzJVMUycTSBK6dnZn7Wta7oskoxWjJ0wNZfVEiF-_epTi4Eunn8kVHzEu0qP4WP8hSw8gjKJq69CQ/s1600/IMG_1323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWIwvePR5SbgLDwMgT9qIBb6C_GAPNH01lZN8g9Jsol5eQ5ykym9Iat0bfO9BwtKEzJVMUycTSBK6dnZn7Wta7oskoxWjJ0wNZfVEiF-_epTi4Eunn8kVHzEu0qP4WP8hSw8gjKJq69CQ/s1600/IMG_1323.JPG" height="522" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Personally I think there's a lot to be said for a bowl of Twiglets</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoowms7Q3GESyj5mG5ZCu_rahCQ_jI-qwwr9Ttn54dwTgCLj_dbDdl2bblQv7pClsYN97ja6ol76gr21zW5Qzsr3NVRsqz1OE2p-ykpXYPZjz180Yof0BltXyHu-a7S4U7bTCjLczTSc/s1600/IMG_1326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNoowms7Q3GESyj5mG5ZCu_rahCQ_jI-qwwr9Ttn54dwTgCLj_dbDdl2bblQv7pClsYN97ja6ol76gr21zW5Qzsr3NVRsqz1OE2p-ykpXYPZjz180Yof0BltXyHu-a7S4U7bTCjLczTSc/s1600/IMG_1326.JPG" height="570" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As I was saying...Twiglets.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yFumFcDKqXOj16oGO7SQ97GrxPqGvMMnF5BYaQioZwxsxy6NAw48YG3Pn908F-Tf1EHNZc8EdSv9A35YSDqo_xfH4NK2-k1cwMaEOPHeOBJEr7kktX313EGMHzzrT-JLFWEhBNiBQhE/s1600/IMG_1331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6yFumFcDKqXOj16oGO7SQ97GrxPqGvMMnF5BYaQioZwxsxy6NAw48YG3Pn908F-Tf1EHNZc8EdSv9A35YSDqo_xfH4NK2-k1cwMaEOPHeOBJEr7kktX313EGMHzzrT-JLFWEhBNiBQhE/s1600/IMG_1331.JPG" height="608" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All beautifully presented in a cauliflower.</td></tr>
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And if you really wanted to push the boat out...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmd1tMCbQcDt1qt6S3vrWOg3iJrzBLDDrznLHlBivVlSk6SRY9D2LrPqG91k2Z0KaL9E_EgUDc0rWVscM6lcIa5bEXbi9qLiadaIEYFw_uoLn3uQ5PmWzrPB8s5fl5eX5qbV-0uI2LGNY/s1600/IMG_1335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmd1tMCbQcDt1qt6S3vrWOg3iJrzBLDDrznLHlBivVlSk6SRY9D2LrPqG91k2Z0KaL9E_EgUDc0rWVscM6lcIa5bEXbi9qLiadaIEYFw_uoLn3uQ5PmWzrPB8s5fl5eX5qbV-0uI2LGNY/s1600/IMG_1335.JPG" height="612" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those things in the centre? Cheese balls. <br />Cream cheese rolled in blanched almonds.<br />This is not exactly finger-food. </td></tr>
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As you can see, the next treats are 'Celebration Cakes for Coffee or Tea' - because in England we <i>really </i>know how to celebrate.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QsUgdLgDifS9_GcUQBWWrVKhRzofoMq1KqTU9_w4uzHw2xpCjM-zCnBlybz02HQkrvmWagcfRfFQJ1R-12352vNAaWITAjWM9r_3S03J0S5M2meXyM5XUt9cgnPC36sU_673mM8zXiY/s1600/IMG_1338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7QsUgdLgDifS9_GcUQBWWrVKhRzofoMq1KqTU9_w4uzHw2xpCjM-zCnBlybz02HQkrvmWagcfRfFQJ1R-12352vNAaWITAjWM9r_3S03J0S5M2meXyM5XUt9cgnPC36sU_673mM8zXiY/s1600/IMG_1338.JPG" height="566" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Betty, are those<i> </i>slices of <i>tomato </i>on top of those tarts??</td></tr>
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<br />
Finally, a 'Quick' party dessert. Brilliant because everybody knows the best parties are the impromptu ones - but it's still nice to be able to rustle up something special to serve your guests.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiK8UMPbuTrEMzqfVf2uUAAzLJUtSTUs8SffOMt6C8H1yOPDxkW5cNKIGU_6oILRZRUtEetKhXIn2BrfK8BedqvrMcGNRav2Pb0Fsi_50GtBT2o_et7YrTlAA-XEoBpXzrwym0lK5p2Gk/s1600/IMG_1336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiK8UMPbuTrEMzqfVf2uUAAzLJUtSTUs8SffOMt6C8H1yOPDxkW5cNKIGU_6oILRZRUtEetKhXIn2BrfK8BedqvrMcGNRav2Pb0Fsi_50GtBT2o_et7YrTlAA-XEoBpXzrwym0lK5p2Gk/s1600/IMG_1336.JPG" height="594" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seriously, wow.<br />(The first ingredient is listed as 'Quick Creaming Fat'. Yummers).<br /></td></tr>
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So there you are. Don't say I never do anything nice for you.<br />
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You're welcome :-)<br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-29507110312752740432014-10-13T10:55:00.000+01:002014-10-13T10:55:26.039+01:00ESTATE AGENTS...Agents of whom?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDMV9zsonl3GZlKMO0q_ol66zXNSBAgK9s9FP0YFw2BplrNzopujAu385aoJeMZHCLdv8FUjJdrxWpgzDpS3IPbmAdz_qQ5k8QyWvQEZMOBMaTWY7PpcPPPAGnvkqLGjIFZywOhsP-ds/s1600/sign+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDMV9zsonl3GZlKMO0q_ol66zXNSBAgK9s9FP0YFw2BplrNzopujAu385aoJeMZHCLdv8FUjJdrxWpgzDpS3IPbmAdz_qQ5k8QyWvQEZMOBMaTWY7PpcPPPAGnvkqLGjIFZywOhsP-ds/s1600/sign+post.jpg" /></a>Estate Agents.<br />
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Well we all have our opinions of Estate Agents. I did, many years ago, meet a <i>FANTASTIC</i> Estate Agent. He was faultlessly marvellous but, unfortunately, for the most part I have been frustrated, befuddled and bemused by the Agents I have come into contact with.<br />
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One conversation that sticks is my mind was with a lady Agent the last time we put our house on the market...<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">L.A: </span> I do have a couple who have <i>absolutely </i>fallen <i>in love</i> with your house and would like to Put In An Offer! <span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;">This last part was delivered crescendo-style, which put me in mind of a contestant introducing themselves on Blind Date circa 1982. 'My name's Kate, and I'm <span style="font-size: large;">from</span> <span style="font-size: large;">ESSEX!'</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">L.A:</span> Yes they <i>really </i>like it. Just one thing ... they can only afford a two bedroom house and yours is the price of a <i>three </i>bedroom house<br />
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Me:</span> That's because ours <i>is </i>a three bedroom house.<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">L.A:</span> Yes, but they wondered - as they love the house so much - if you would accept the price of a two bedroom house?<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;">Dear reader, I had to take a breath.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #c27ba0;">Me:</span> Tell you what...you find us a four-bedroomed house for the price of a three bedroomed house and maybe we can sort something out.<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">L.A: </span> Well now I just think you're being unrealistic.<br />
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Yes, that conversation has become a treasured memory.</div>
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Anyway, since we are - once again- planning a house move, we are having to psych ourselves up ready to deal with the Inevitable Agents once again.<br />
I choose to try to remember that Agents are all someone's daughter/son/husband/father... This way I hope to embark on our next bout of House Selling with an open mind and happy heart (watch this space). It is important to remember that they are trying to <i>help</i>, that it can't be an easy job and that they are <i>not </i>all daft.<br />
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Then today, 13th October, at 9.20am, I received a telephone call from an Estate Agent.<br />
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<span style="color: orange;">E.A.:</span> Good Morning Mrs W! It's Nigel from Wibble & Diddle here! I'm so sorry it's taken sooo long to get back to you. You were enquiring on-line - ooh, ages ago now, I'm so sorry - about one of our properties in Delightful Village...?<br />
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<span style="color: #bf9000;">Me:</span> Um, yes I was. But it was only this weekend...there's no need to apologise, it <i>is</i> only Monday now.<br />
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<span style="color: orange;">E.A :</span> Oh that's odd. Because I have a message saying you enquired way back on the <i>11th of October! </i>I'm sure I don't know what's happened there...<br />
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Dear Reader, without actually putting our house on the market or, indeed, viewing any other properties, I was already able to tick off 'befuddled' and 'bemused' on my Estate Agent Experience Check List.</div>
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Now <i>that's </i>impressive.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dnUjW_yjvjlgqmJ2wSRWDByPqtxWyMCSkmnE_RrIPXEOum8YVQEnlFRMLeftYbUGiZRqp5ZTRP-18Ai6I-9pgTYctDIHBMHIp0Kdeq1o_qCR6EkmltDzMWDm6tsGXjQmHvkDTcpDj-I/s1600/girls+and+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dnUjW_yjvjlgqmJ2wSRWDByPqtxWyMCSkmnE_RrIPXEOum8YVQEnlFRMLeftYbUGiZRqp5ZTRP-18Ai6I-9pgTYctDIHBMHIp0Kdeq1o_qCR6EkmltDzMWDm6tsGXjQmHvkDTcpDj-I/s1600/girls+and+house.jpg" height="285" width="320" /></a></div>
Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-80641434921345434622014-09-16T15:18:00.000+01:002014-09-16T15:18:40.118+01:00FOOD FACTS AND COOKING TIPS...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2hMRcovMFE7TSiuBiVWfk5gK8_nBRrEJkoF8unfG2U1qN6Dh2w2GCE2aK70HZ0HsYli-499adcO2K2k_ihs9zK2cbpah_T7QIiFYtoMHGGcL0A0uNjgTrBBNAjxMWeLfXADHiI8l6d8/s1600/HAPPY+FOOD.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK2hMRcovMFE7TSiuBiVWfk5gK8_nBRrEJkoF8unfG2U1qN6Dh2w2GCE2aK70HZ0HsYli-499adcO2K2k_ihs9zK2cbpah_T7QIiFYtoMHGGcL0A0uNjgTrBBNAjxMWeLfXADHiI8l6d8/s1600/HAPPY+FOOD.JPG" height="202" width="320" /></a></div>
<h3>
...From Someone who has been Cooking for Over Thirty Years and has Learnt Almost Nothing</h3>
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This smiley banana-y face marks the beginning of my New Series of 'Food Facts and Cooking Tips'. <br />
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I hope you're excited.<br />
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I am a Big Fan of The Great British Bake Off, of Delia Smith, and especially of anyone who can produce a delicious and nutritious meal using 6 ingredients or fewer. (More than six ingredients and I lose concentration).<br />
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However, I feel there is a gap in the market for the rather more <i>basic </i>cooking tips and info.<br />
This is a hole I intend to plug. (Ooh, sounds rude). And so I begin...<br />
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<span style="color: red;">TIP #1</span><br />
<span style="color: #6aa84f;">Steaming Vegetables</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKv5F-cwQfOI080SaDKZFpxteG6TMhPwhLZDBl3X5tAOnEdOMxD_NW6S7007-7iq8qhWp5eLz8glRFrblHZlB0PmuB_UUBXa9ZK-3fXZd0Cy2NorqA7Nfp2OKCqbLox1gxh7KOGj3mU0/s1600/steamer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJKv5F-cwQfOI080SaDKZFpxteG6TMhPwhLZDBl3X5tAOnEdOMxD_NW6S7007-7iq8qhWp5eLz8glRFrblHZlB0PmuB_UUBXa9ZK-3fXZd0Cy2NorqA7Nfp2OKCqbLox1gxh7KOGj3mU0/s1600/steamer.jpg" /></a></div>
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There are all sorts of steamers readily available; bamboo steamers, stainless steel stacking steamers, electric steamers and even little steamer attachments for use on an existing saucepan.<br />
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Any or all of these work perfectly adequately; it would just be a matter of personal preference as to which device you opted for.<br />
However, as the name would suggest, <i>steam </i>is a fundamental part of this cooking process. <br />
It is therefore ESSENTIAL ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGC4JPWP2tLFFFQ_ZFtZh2k7I63cnRe02WWyNGzsdwK4RiymYkvM23-UYjRQ-4V4sTn482cInTQZX6m66TK1-jklZfT5xKYLicf-0tZ8q8QHURm72XNXdf_FLwzhJqj7UocB2Folaxdw/s1600/burnt+steamer.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKGC4JPWP2tLFFFQ_ZFtZh2k7I63cnRe02WWyNGzsdwK4RiymYkvM23-UYjRQ-4V4sTn482cInTQZX6m66TK1-jklZfT5xKYLicf-0tZ8q8QHURm72XNXdf_FLwzhJqj7UocB2Folaxdw/s1600/burnt+steamer.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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...that you remember to add water to the steamer.</div>
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Mmmm.....<i>smokey</i>.</div>
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And in close-up...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSUA3tXmCqIpdsn0GYv5rLjqHeyG0XOqsLC3UiwGXQJh8NCOrmFkOrD49fLiy1Djnzq7MK4jP63sOJPCSIuqhfk5RR32jez72IQeA72u07aLVcpCglZe6n-uaLRx38NHlPcUXGTFAUCs/s1600/steamer+burnt.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHSUA3tXmCqIpdsn0GYv5rLjqHeyG0XOqsLC3UiwGXQJh8NCOrmFkOrD49fLiy1Djnzq7MK4jP63sOJPCSIuqhfk5RR32jez72IQeA72u07aLVcpCglZe6n-uaLRx38NHlPcUXGTFAUCs/s1600/steamer+burnt.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That greeny-blue blob? Washing up liquid.<br />Yeah right, like washing up liquid is going to get that mess off.</td></tr>
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This is Kate at Do Not Break the Dog. Making stupid mistakes - so you don't have to.<br />
<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-70667935420519250362014-08-20T16:59:00.000+01:002014-08-20T16:59:33.138+01:00RESULTS ARE DUE - BUTTERFLIES HAVE LANDED....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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GCSE results are out tomorrow for our First Born No.1 Son and distractions are in order. </div>
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I am experiencing severe butterflies and those who know me know I am seriously phobic about butterflies; so imagine my pain.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNRgC-rl5NOLyHD9LEZLPrL31-c0PKfXESeFMgpaIa4MATbgPg8ZBeW57ZgRJkPImZZYX1DlcDg-73DRYr9ojEtLF6lObjEwEVZ_R547Shjwm-V0VUeSU4Ij_-hl6lxmp8ba_g38y6tA/s1600/butterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCNRgC-rl5NOLyHD9LEZLPrL31-c0PKfXESeFMgpaIa4MATbgPg8ZBeW57ZgRJkPImZZYX1DlcDg-73DRYr9ojEtLF6lObjEwEVZ_R547Shjwm-V0VUeSU4Ij_-hl6lxmp8ba_g38y6tA/s1600/butterfly.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes I know, all very beautiful. But really...yeuch.</td></tr>
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How's No.1 Son? Meh, dunno. This one is all very much about me. (I'm kidding, I've been 'supportive' and stuff).<br />
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Anyhoo, getting back to the whole 'distractions' thing ...</div>
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But first, Insight Time - I can be a bit of an Apostrophe Nightmare. Of course admitting to that in writing is asking for trouble. No doubt my blog, my diary, my letters to companies whom I felt would benefit from my 'feedback' are littered with the kind of hideous mistake that has me tut-tutting into my tea cup. </div>
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But what the hey...sometimes you've just got to hold your hand up and put yourself out there. </div>
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(Do I mean that?)</div>
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So anyway, yep, I am that person. I behave like I have been caused actual physical harm when I see examples of Apostrophe Abuse. Take this, for example...</div>
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It begs the question, '£1's <i>what</i> are being dispensed?'</div>
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But what follows delighted me. I admit, as we drove behind this vehicle I was bracing myself for a good old bridle at any incorrect apostrophe usage. But I do believe they have done a good job on that score. What amused me enormously was why they felt the need to abbreviate every use of the <i>three letter word </i> 'and' - but wrote out, in full, 'Roast Pork with stuffing & apple sauce'.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2_D-VUv3S6YoR1cYcR_fTnORnIzxIO9dGg_Tewnb1vJQ7iFydihwMGnCEx9QcgxAS8RoB1UZrOKJmc5fq32xQVcu1btk1QkeiNJ1Yeu5V0XEGm6-9kXk_9bkL2a8nJHasGez4Z1ZsRM/s1600/food+van-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-2_D-VUv3S6YoR1cYcR_fTnORnIzxIO9dGg_Tewnb1vJQ7iFydihwMGnCEx9QcgxAS8RoB1UZrOKJmc5fq32xQVcu1btk1QkeiNJ1Yeu5V0XEGm6-9kXk_9bkL2a8nJHasGez4Z1ZsRM/s1600/food+van-001.jpg" height="640" width="356" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gonna get me a lovely cup of Tea'n'coffee. Mmmm, delish.</td></tr>
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Marvellous.<br />
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Is it just me who derives enormous pleasure from this? <br />
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Surely not.<br />
Surely not ...<br />
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-11832574839309566162014-08-08T16:11:00.000+01:002014-08-08T16:11:01.528+01:00IT'S A DOG EAT DOG WORLD...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E2TBOXV9xdZrLMT5QBIu4rYyyWNmSExCv_C50D2xUzm2RBTgmJrvtnzQgTSL9saYYg1Be8vJhGsJCIlMFSSFuPUFajs56n9D72eCV2YK5v2nTpSzYxs_8vUBf9yhCqFaWvCzzIvb7XM/s1600/donotbreakthedog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5E2TBOXV9xdZrLMT5QBIu4rYyyWNmSExCv_C50D2xUzm2RBTgmJrvtnzQgTSL9saYYg1Be8vJhGsJCIlMFSSFuPUFajs56n9D72eCV2YK5v2nTpSzYxs_8vUBf9yhCqFaWvCzzIvb7XM/s1600/donotbreakthedog.jpg" /></a>Food. We have so much choice these days, we really are spoilt ... for choice. Our beloved pets get in<br />
on the act too. Witch (the DNBtD dog) is herself partial to a spot of Casserole with Peas and Pasta (courtesy of the good people at Winalot), which is a tad more exotic than the food I present to my children sometimes.<br />
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Here are some examples of Doggy Deliciousness that caught my eye today.<br />
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Since I like to spoil my poorly poochy <strike>all the time</strike> occasionally, some 'all natural' dog food products looked appealing.<br />
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First there was The Salmon one...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFftJsjwsCh07M7ZQWoJ65i4DXbVgX4to_TQVBysdPot6nF6qBOPMNbdLDS-PGO-_YdTWb3HdNzZz8L9sY94TNkMMAE6DO3HYmLEGCSijy5tqCs8YmMTzpag9x2lCc5_vLr6C35KmgyI/s1600/P080814_10.28-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="natural dog food" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrFftJsjwsCh07M7ZQWoJ65i4DXbVgX4to_TQVBysdPot6nF6qBOPMNbdLDS-PGO-_YdTWb3HdNzZz8L9sY94TNkMMAE6DO3HYmLEGCSijy5tqCs8YmMTzpag9x2lCc5_vLr6C35KmgyI/s1600/P080814_10.28-001.jpg" height="320" title="" width="279" /></a></div>
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Yummy. Can't afford salmon for myself but probably very good for a doggie, with its natural oils etc.<br />
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Then there was the one with Chicken and Lamb...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-NXUlfo3f-5MODGOSCa13-Wg6ulQBj_de365JcpL_kpUg0FuOqe147TjV4-DFKg5EsHkJWXR1yfEUxAJ6NUOsXjKp9Vetkxk-_UJfvNDLS7ajYYtNJFo01-8DEaIeQfBDaRTrMDOXIQ/s1600/P080814_10.29-001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="natural dog food" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP-NXUlfo3f-5MODGOSCa13-Wg6ulQBj_de365JcpL_kpUg0FuOqe147TjV4-DFKg5EsHkJWXR1yfEUxAJ6NUOsXjKp9Vetkxk-_UJfvNDLS7ajYYtNJFo01-8DEaIeQfBDaRTrMDOXIQ/s1600/P080814_10.29-001.jpg" height="236" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh <i>very </i>good. Chicken <i>and </i>lamb in one meal. Splendid. Witchy likes to eat chicken and lamb.</div>
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Then, moving along the freezer, the next one I saw was ...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaQno0z1dS61OZjM3wBSCztP4GFge2NmqDTx6b8WSGLKAnihdKOpTEqbzpup_QJb9rGB-6RfdambVMhqwnpK2ui3TlTVbSlSKM38pz8yONo3gLT1BzMQioOUaOzZeKco_6Ydk9mm6A24/s1600/P080814_10.29_%5B02%5D-001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img alt="natural dog food" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpaQno0z1dS61OZjM3wBSCztP4GFge2NmqDTx6b8WSGLKAnihdKOpTEqbzpup_QJb9rGB-6RfdambVMhqwnpK2ui3TlTVbSlSKM38pz8yONo3gLT1BzMQioOUaOzZeKco_6Ydk9mm6A24/s1600/P080814_10.29_%5B02%5D-001.jpg" height="231" title="" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Woah...PUPPY...?!?!?</span></b> </div>
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Man. That's a little dark. *</div>
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*I am just playing around. I am quite sure this dog food is top notch and of the highest possible quality. Of course they aren't going to <i>make it</i> out of puppies. </div>
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<i>Are they</i>...?</div>
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-86521832107927419182014-07-18T12:45:00.003+01:002014-07-18T12:45:49.459+01:00WATER DAY FOR A FIGHT...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7KgGJLdYLpM87W4QHG6EnPkyqA861h1NRLm1zytcq7Lvgww0YfBDAcqKPTF6dbvRkbuJDgHFBN7jOecBwDPooYwTKdE9MIOXFRa0fpxlaCjxE-FRpLsCZhheuDjEwSx9s2u5CXXPLXQ/s1600/ice+lollies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="ice lollies" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix7KgGJLdYLpM87W4QHG6EnPkyqA861h1NRLm1zytcq7Lvgww0YfBDAcqKPTF6dbvRkbuJDgHFBN7jOecBwDPooYwTKdE9MIOXFRa0fpxlaCjxE-FRpLsCZhheuDjEwSx9s2u5CXXPLXQ/s1600/ice+lollies.jpg" height="124" title="Ice lollies" width="200" /></a></div>
Gosh but it's been hot. Sooo very, very hot. I am talking weather-wise here, in case some of my more sensitive readers were starting to shift uncomfortably in their seats.<br />
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It has also been the last week of term, and in the case of No.3, my youngest, my <i>baby</i> girl - it has been the last ever week at primary school. Yep, she's off to BIG SCHOOL in September.<br />
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*gulp* </div>
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We've just done the Leavers' Assembly, which was lovely and personal and very, very emotional - and last week we gave them a Leavers' Party; where they had water pistol fights, a water slide, pizzas and ice-cream.<br />
We raised money to provide everything for the party, but everyone had to supply their own weapon. So naturally we got our girl the biggest, baddest beast we could find...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh12tU95qUOC_Hc7XnxovrgcOtfj5sxqSdepicvx0Z7bwDS5rE9YG8wJTHvsuldNFtkjCYPcd-pvpUMTWuiuhGB_aeqWZ2Q2mfyLiTn-kndmT2RnvewsI8bZrsm2p2qugofFKvCiYpkm4/s1600/water+pistol+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh12tU95qUOC_Hc7XnxovrgcOtfj5sxqSdepicvx0Z7bwDS5rE9YG8wJTHvsuldNFtkjCYPcd-pvpUMTWuiuhGB_aeqWZ2Q2mfyLiTn-kndmT2RnvewsI8bZrsm2p2qugofFKvCiYpkm4/s1600/water+pistol+3.jpg" height="146" width="320" /></a></div>
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We only got her that one because we couldn't get her this one...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQan23iHYVJ_hGfvX5opOmNkt57EaMItxR16jEOwhbNWv1Hxv93LY_ZOWMmVw-4eC8orMAjjYgvUZlJvtgb65sBZ6-6Yu33JlpoYLnlydXh62p7lUaP5ppQ2zc3lHTZiJJMNG2OrhfME/s1600/water+pistol+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQan23iHYVJ_hGfvX5opOmNkt57EaMItxR16jEOwhbNWv1Hxv93LY_ZOWMmVw-4eC8orMAjjYgvUZlJvtgb65sBZ6-6Yu33JlpoYLnlydXh62p7lUaP5ppQ2zc3lHTZiJJMNG2OrhfME/s1600/water+pistol+4.jpg" /></a></div>
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So we now have a rather large water pistol in the house - often dripping on the floor, but I am sufficiently 'laid back' (slack and lazy) to not worry about it too much.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEPjmr1iLLJgqc2L4HXcdOsTIiqB9J7BS7A0vK8ykgue7zLuVN9-bqR-tci9rk4u0K2S_AKmXso1eEVOoIR9Rde1-F4gVBeiRhTkmg2kedegFBIH5zkJL6V23Q_edd5A7i2spKcRx5AI0/s1600/lazy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEPjmr1iLLJgqc2L4HXcdOsTIiqB9J7BS7A0vK8ykgue7zLuVN9-bqR-tci9rk4u0K2S_AKmXso1eEVOoIR9Rde1-F4gVBeiRhTkmg2kedegFBIH5zkJL6V23Q_edd5A7i2spKcRx5AI0/s1600/lazy.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a></div>
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A couple of days ago, on a particularly scorching day, I was busy washing-up in the kitchen and could hear the neighbour's children playing in their garden. <br />
You know how you are kind of aware of stuff, but not really taking much notice of what's going on? <br />
I heard them asking if they could fill their water pistols up, and I heard their father replying that they could, but they must promise only to fire at some targets - NOT at each other because they had their nice clothes on and were going out in a minute.<br />
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I carried on with the washing-up.<br />
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Then I was kind of aware of Mr W leaving the house to get something from the shed at the end of our garden. <br />
Of him cheerily calling 'hello' to the neighbour's kiddies as he casually walked back past them into the house. Of him grabbing No.3's water blaster from the floor.<br />
And of him running back up and down the length of our garden - laughing like a maniac and firing with abandon until the gun's entire reservoir was emptied. <br />
Totally drenching the neighbour's kids.<br />
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They, of course, thought it was hilarious.<br />
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In my defence, it all happened so fast there was nothing I could have done to stop it.<br />
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Honest.<br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-74334121840462914282014-06-27T17:21:00.002+01:002014-06-27T17:21:10.130+01:00OVERHEARD ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTTn0qGlh3-ISJIA8t3e0SzxfnU4Iow9cpAx7KAvyct0dTWOYML9kZ5kd9-F0iAYS4Org4tCGaoXbbnOnbKQpOo12-FA0JqDHL29rpm1aUxXpOF_AqzT-lmq02ze5wurRWi38_sCsbQ0/s1600/overheard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="vintage lady listening into radio set" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifTTn0qGlh3-ISJIA8t3e0SzxfnU4Iow9cpAx7KAvyct0dTWOYML9kZ5kd9-F0iAYS4Org4tCGaoXbbnOnbKQpOo12-FA0JqDHL29rpm1aUxXpOF_AqzT-lmq02ze5wurRWi38_sCsbQ0/s1600/overheard.jpg" height="200" title="overheard" width="200" /></a>I was in the local branch of my bank (as in the bank I use - not the bank I <i>own, </i>obviously) and I was kept waiting 20 minutes past my appointment time. Now I can't help feeling I should have telephoned them, or perhaps sent a letter saying they had gone over the agreed time and maybe even charged them for it. But that would be petty (not to mention pointless) and besides, if they'd have been on time I would have missed this exchange:<br />
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A Couple had come into the bank and sat in the Waiting Area (where I was...waiting...) and they had brought their large Collie dog in with them.<br />
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How marvellous, I thought. I dream of a day when I can walk, Snowy and Tintin-like, around town and country with Witch Waggity Warhound, the Mighty Cockerpoo, at my ankle.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwTDtaz8H29PU7T-koBetaWSrNnzkwQDQ1Fm7glQfcYgVUGFwCgHvrWrSFxFoqxuGZqgBVnlsoVNFZfKPzVStiGuPzJ6flNDzhwk1mfVUodw7CJtDCzPplfTR77l_ScY7zm_fh7A4_1I/s1600/tintin+and+snowy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="tintin and snowy" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZwTDtaz8H29PU7T-koBetaWSrNnzkwQDQ1Fm7glQfcYgVUGFwCgHvrWrSFxFoqxuGZqgBVnlsoVNFZfKPzVStiGuPzJ6flNDzhwk1mfVUodw7CJtDCzPplfTR77l_ScY7zm_fh7A4_1I/s1600/tintin+and+snowy.jpg" height="200" title="tintin and snowy" width="141" /></a></div>
<br />
Although, given the amount I've eaten this week and Witch's weak legs from IMPA, I fancy we'd be more in the style of Obelix and Dogmatix.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1KtV61fqxSl5qOst2y5_bZzRQU6ykBET47FeB2X7wWN6Ea8S9Bu2Ch3GRxEOgngSgF6hWV6_rQBgjeL_xvQKCM68axR9lvXqDcVOnIcVJ-5bL1WYxXzRYo0RpOrWtI9z8neMxuOQQkI/s1600/obelix+and+dogmatix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="obelix and dogmatix" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1KtV61fqxSl5qOst2y5_bZzRQU6ykBET47FeB2X7wWN6Ea8S9Bu2Ch3GRxEOgngSgF6hWV6_rQBgjeL_xvQKCM68axR9lvXqDcVOnIcVJ-5bL1WYxXzRYo0RpOrWtI9z8neMxuOQQkI/s1600/obelix+and+dogmatix.jpg" title="obelix and dogmatix" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Anyway ... these guys weren't waiting for official permission or social attitudes to change, they were just going for it - and I applauded them. (Not literally. That would be weird).<br />
<br />
Then the Collie started barking and over came an employee of the bank who I refer to as the Floor Walker. I call him this because he ... walks the floor. And he is utterly charming and helpful and generally makes you feel important and cared for while not actually doing anything to help at all.<br />
I love him, and I also like the fact that calling him Floor Walker makes him sound like a level of Zombie that hasn't quite graduated to biting yet - although that is, of course, irrelevant.<br />
<br />
So he comes over and says to the Couple With The Collie,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">"Oooh, he's a talker! My friend has a collie and he's a talker too."</span></div>
<br />
Now I love my dog and have even been known to get silly over other people's - but 'A Talker'? Really? The noise the hound was making has a name. It's called a 'bark'.<br />
<br />
Then Floor Walker continued ...<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">"We've got a dog but he doesn't talk. Well only when you tell him to. We say 'Speak Colin!' and then he goes, 'rrrruuuuff'." </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
(Which I fancy proves my earlier point about talk vs. bark).<br />
<br />
<br />
Floor Walker went on,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">"We all love our dogs, don't we? They give more pleasure than you could ever imagine really. Oh yes, we love our Colin...."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The rest of us were gazing mistily into the middle distance, recognising all he was saying as true.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And then he said, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;">"We're teaching him to read."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbWnYlXPxmwm0dXABF9nXsDXQGlLT6cpQGxW-hHgmUBEnL35W3Caybh2SvXA2iKoo6PRTDF79q-PaLxt2H1wpmMJLaoURh3L83R2_XeTL-dpzVTHLh8Ob-EwujGR-kKom3TAqGypV_Fw/s1600/IMG_9992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="dog in hat reading a book at a table" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwbWnYlXPxmwm0dXABF9nXsDXQGlLT6cpQGxW-hHgmUBEnL35W3Caybh2SvXA2iKoo6PRTDF79q-PaLxt2H1wpmMJLaoURh3L83R2_XeTL-dpzVTHLh8Ob-EwujGR-kKom3TAqGypV_Fw/s1600/IMG_9992.JPG" height="292" title="dog reading at tablel" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I had to ask myself, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Is this the kind of establishment I want to entrust with my Banking Business?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And, naturally, it is</div>
Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-81424030691273711272014-06-12T16:49:00.001+01:002014-06-12T17:17:35.036+01:00IT'S ALL A BIT WEIRD...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfBy6by9wdQk0cvm8PWtB-7RjhTmfwnRQOKg7Q84ouZKAdA9CdyaIyS43XXuzQps3QidZQD2_tWMiGqFFdu2XAWJBiF0Qos45sRNAWxDrtOosPAfmpgOfIe90f6xFEDs7eAzXSX4Yqyk/s1600/weird+house.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUfBy6by9wdQk0cvm8PWtB-7RjhTmfwnRQOKg7Q84ouZKAdA9CdyaIyS43XXuzQps3QidZQD2_tWMiGqFFdu2XAWJBiF0Qos45sRNAWxDrtOosPAfmpgOfIe90f6xFEDs7eAzXSX4Yqyk/s1600/weird+house.jpg" /></a>Things are a little weird in our house at the moment. My first experience (as a parent) of GCSEs is taking its <br />
toll. No.1 Son has been pretty awesome and level-headed - but the pressure is starting to show. He's tired and, no doubt, nervous about the results in August.<br />
<br />
But that's enough about him! What about me?! I'm <i>exhausted. </i>This parenting lark is <i>tough.</i><br />
<br />
Add to that the pressure of trying to find a part-time job that:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
a) Fits in with the family/dog commitments and</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
b) Doesn't involve a Deranged Boss. (I haven't mentioned her before. Ex-boss. Trust me. De-ranged).</div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
Add to that the <b>pure and naked fear</b> of applying for jobs, having been 'Just a Mum' for<i> 16 years...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="thanks mum hanging decoration" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB-lvTnvNFhWCNMv-wZlxLoEvnoPufH-Xkdy6MpXuiIiCeN25iN1JpNPXrhapX-T8oR87aud2UcpYZU1BIzD6nhKgoArJTSHYe1U1BN_ev2nIWx_6NrCJ0FnRFnQK0zgEKWkt1LBz86Pk/s1600/IMG_8003.JPG" height="200" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="" width="165" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yeah I made that. Don't go thinking<br />
my kids gave it to me. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
Add to <i>that</i> the fact that I have just had to delete the WHOLE OF SERIES 2 of 'House' (*swoon* Hugh Laurie - be still my beating heart) because it was apparently 'taking up most of the planner'. It was.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHfmetYGGvQp0KNoMa7CI2AwXdVLJ6NIhCMcGsToVEBsllQIJba5V2EG_e6vnU6sKEEv61Qj7P01uEzlokm03iUDi1Lx4uGW1QMr0YA-4ZcI855aLFYrLyR1upoGKfyp3gmEBDEZgKXQ/s1600/IMG_9797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJHfmetYGGvQp0KNoMa7CI2AwXdVLJ6NIhCMcGsToVEBsllQIJba5V2EG_e6vnU6sKEEv61Qj7P01uEzlokm03iUDi1Lx4uGW1QMr0YA-4ZcI855aLFYrLyR1upoGKfyp3gmEBDEZgKXQ/s1600/IMG_9797.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep - that's 29 episodes of House</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVC-FkwFVr9nK6ZewO0UcdvEMys6pkth-g_huz7I7GJGvaOcUWsaniv40XtL1IHGD5hIYJmP3NGcd5In9OOOsslctXNTwsGinQBWDmEQ3rqzryamV3BEGcBdGLc6xYKAZT6yiYpl9AuEA/s1600/IMG_9798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="sky planner details" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVC-FkwFVr9nK6ZewO0UcdvEMys6pkth-g_huz7I7GJGvaOcUWsaniv40XtL1IHGD5hIYJmP3NGcd5In9OOOsslctXNTwsGinQBWDmEQ3rqzryamV3BEGcBdGLc6xYKAZT6yiYpl9AuEA/s1600/IMG_9798.JPG" height="213" title="" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Got to admit, that is most of the planner space.<br />
Oopsie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<i>And</i> add to that the hideous news that the man at the shop I took No.1's iPod to, to have the broken screen repaired, <i>doesn't know where the iPod is.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I know.<br />
<br />
When I initially rang the shop to enquire if they did iPod repairs, I was told by a gentleman with a Scottish accent that it would have to be sent away and would take a couple of weeks.<br />
<br />
When I eventually got around to dropping the iPod off, I was surprised when the gentleman with a Northern accent said it would be ready by the following Wednesday.<br />
<br />
I told him about my conversation with the gentleman with the Scottish accent and he said,<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
'That was Cyril. He was just looking after the shop while I was on holiday. Cyril always gets it wrong'. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
We laughed, in a half-hearted fashion (presumably because it wasn't actually funny) and I entrusted my son's iPod to the gentleman with the Northern Accent.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0mNH2zeYb6_MDEZguluySkRUvWEL4r0s17ej8IbV_igyMyxLvL9e1DR5TclyqTdjUOv507LJBVrDhIFxGHXQKLn5pSsevL6RdSx2WiNLoqUe1vcFVI-KFzjamyB4x4nNUDfQcbSxb9E/s1600/calendar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE0mNH2zeYb6_MDEZguluySkRUvWEL4r0s17ej8IbV_igyMyxLvL9e1DR5TclyqTdjUOv507LJBVrDhIFxGHXQKLn5pSsevL6RdSx2WiNLoqUe1vcFVI-KFzjamyB4x4nNUDfQcbSxb9E/s1600/calendar.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Wednesday came and went and nothing was heard and so I rang first thing this morning...<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Me:</span> Hello, I'm ringing to see if the iPod I brought in for repair is ready yet.<br />
(I gave him the details. You won't want to hear them. Unless you're a bit odd. And, you know, odd is fine - but I'm still not going to put in the details).<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #9fc5e8;">Northern Chap:</span> No, it's not back yet.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;">Me: </span> </span>Oh. I was expecting it to be ready yesterday, do you know why there is a delay?<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="background-color: white;">Northern Chap:</span> </span>Well it has to be sent away...<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">Me:</span> </span> Oh. The chap I spoke to when I brought it in said it <i>didn't </i>have to be sent away, and that it would be ready yesterday.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #9fc5e8;">Northern Chap:</span> Ah, that would have been Cyril. Cyril always gets it wrong.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">Me:</span> </span> It was a Northern Chap I saw. I think it might have been you.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">Northern Chap:</span> </span> No it would have been Cyril. <i>I've</i> been in Florida.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Curious, I thought. Cyril has a Scottish accent when talking on the phone, but a Northern (Yorkshire/Lancashire) accent when speaking face to face...hmmmm. I was beginning to wonder about this mysterious Cyril. And does he get the blame for everything? Right back to the demise of the dinosaurs?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Me:</span> Oh, had Cyril been on holiday too? Because the chap I saw was telling me <i>he'd</i> just got back from holiday. He also told me that the repairs were done by a guy who lives round the corner.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #9fc5e8;">Northern Chap:</span> (Sounding unsettled ) Oh. That <i>was </i>me then. Yes, they are done by a chap round t' corner <span style="color: #a64d79;">(Sorry, I couldn't resist)</span>. What date did you say you brought it in?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Me:</span> 5th June.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="background-color: white;">Northern Chap: </span> </span>Tell you what, I'll ring him and if he hasn't done it I'll get someone to collect it.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">Me:</span> </span> Why? <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="background-color: white;">Northern Chap: </span> </span>So you can have it back.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Me:</span> Um, I'd rather it was mended...<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">Northern Chap:</span> </span> Oh okay then. Leave it with me. I'll call you before 1pm.<br />
<br />
<br />
It's now 2.35pm and I'm not feeling very confident.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Rpki033jA73ixh_0T6l6fXN5NeBlxcGmkk8D7RPkUEqC0uM4EoHBfshWPkXNvWSMYpDQxs2jVB7_RGU_CZm2PNpc525dV3U0D7r8vjuBD2qtDfZAU_dyhTkNXdebxy046pPyswwAAQU/s1600/blame+cyril.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Rpki033jA73ixh_0T6l6fXN5NeBlxcGmkk8D7RPkUEqC0uM4EoHBfshWPkXNvWSMYpDQxs2jVB7_RGU_CZm2PNpc525dV3U0D7r8vjuBD2qtDfZAU_dyhTkNXdebxy046pPyswwAAQU/s1600/blame+cyril.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, which one of you is Cyril?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I do hope they find the thing. And that it's mended. And that it works.<br />
<br />
Oh goody. Something else to worry about.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Time to cheer myself up with a picture of Hugh. Enjoy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAdsNUH_ahqOwnODow-It4SNObBDcgvig_RJv2y2mSIiTQn-jBk5SHUJbu6q7OdX89TOBL1wn92IGETOv8TWuyFMU9Iqh8XdMibMI_LJEgiukPF4fUPyoTYcvQ0_KilXy4af-qa-qBKM/s1600/hugh+laurie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="hugh laurie" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbAdsNUH_ahqOwnODow-It4SNObBDcgvig_RJv2y2mSIiTQn-jBk5SHUJbu6q7OdX89TOBL1wn92IGETOv8TWuyFMU9Iqh8XdMibMI_LJEgiukPF4fUPyoTYcvQ0_KilXy4af-qa-qBKM/s1600/hugh+laurie.jpg" title="" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Phwoar</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-79414088357926277182014-05-23T12:25:00.000+01:002014-05-23T12:25:45.691+01:00SUICIDAL SNAILS...?<h3>
....Or, Simply Hiding in Plain Sight?</h3>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-1Jjc0_0MJ2Jv9X85rtUMRULQAFj66v2LUDv4KakaoW75creaKT4-nWJvWdv9iZ03foj5Wp4nQLy1jV8JF3UbtnqwLB8REuWQCk1DMEgYdxZJrl10PB9eVGD4NoGBaIU5onJ4pT9Vfk/s1600/snails+to+eat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF-1Jjc0_0MJ2Jv9X85rtUMRULQAFj66v2LUDv4KakaoW75creaKT4-nWJvWdv9iZ03foj5Wp4nQLy1jV8JF3UbtnqwLB8REuWQCk1DMEgYdxZJrl10PB9eVGD4NoGBaIU5onJ4pT9Vfk/s1600/snails+to+eat.JPG" /></a></div>
<div>
I am quite the Conservationist. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_McKenna" target="_blank">Virginia McKenna</a> has got nothing on me. Every time I walk down our garden (I say, 'down' our garden. This means <i>back </i>down our garden towards the house. You will need to assume that I have already been <i>up</i> the garden and coming back <i>down</i> the garden therefore constitutes the second leg of this epic trip). Where was I? Oh yes, every time I walk down our garden I check that the bird feeder is replete with <a href="http://donotbreakthedog.blogspot.co.uk/2013/12/tis-season-to-be-jolly.html#more" target="_blank">Fabulous Fat Balls</a>. </div>
<div>
I know. It's humbling.</div>
<br />
Well yesterday the Bird Feeder was, indeed, full enough and on closer inspection I noticed there were some 'little extras'.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Snails.</span></div>
<b><br /></b>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eLMnotAf94lfu_qaUQQC1FcrhEMqX3QF90PZjxE568wnw3kWAg3II2qxDmBEsT6oA4B0KU3acr05CFkGJ9AmH04BTrg263MxACqJ-kIMiKMsUAb_x0exda8i5bo1ZkGfym5EW88MJdk/s1600/bird+feeder+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_eLMnotAf94lfu_qaUQQC1FcrhEMqX3QF90PZjxE568wnw3kWAg3II2qxDmBEsT6oA4B0KU3acr05CFkGJ9AmH04BTrg263MxACqJ-kIMiKMsUAb_x0exda8i5bo1ZkGfym5EW88MJdk/s1600/bird+feeder+4.JPG" height="214" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">SNAILS! In a <i>Bird Feeder</i>?!?</span></div>
<br />
Do not birds regularly consider the Garden Snail to be part of their staple diet?!? I've witnessed many episodes of Birdies thrashing the bejesus out of a Gastropod trying to extract the slimy loveliness from its shell!<br />
How entirely daft to dwell within an actual <i>Bird Feeder</i>!<br />
<br />
As I peered closer I found myself asking no-one in particular if perhaps the Snails were not quite so dappy as I first thought. The Dickie Birds would struggle to remove said snails from the Bird Feeder.<br />
The Snails had in fact found themselves a Safety Cage.<br />
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<br />
<br />
And perhaps the snail isn't a First Choice Snack for birds anyway. Perhaps the Snail is relying on the bird preferring the tasty, fatty, seedy balls - thus leaving the Snail to live in peace. <br />
Albeit in somewhat crowded conditions.<br />
And upside-down.<br />
<br />
I respect the Snails' choice and it certainly works out better for me. There is a colony of Snails currently residing in our clematis. Also residing in the clematis is our Retractable Washing Line (although sadly no longer any blackbird families - see <a href="http://donotbreakthedog.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/i-will-never-ever-garden-again.html#more" target="_blank">tragic post from yesteryear</a>) and when I retract the line it whips up with some force - usually dislodging several fat snails which come crashing down, making me jump right out of my skin. Literally.<br />
(No of course not Literally! That's just me being silly and making fun of people who don't know what 'literally' means. Literally.)<br />
<br />
Later the same day (yesterday) the weather changed from Warm and Sunny, to Monstrously Stormy with Hail and Everything. <br />
So being, as I believe I mentioned before, quite the Conservationist, I went out to see what the snails were at.<br />
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Bless them they had left the Bird Feeder lid ... and come down to eat the food. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BKOHugEcEsjZbwOBpu01wXoYNsJF_0yl6Txw44mVHq7V2qIyRsRd4b9OqPcpf5amLTV9dr3fUpRCBPuIgUXYcS25AIl64SedWA8weEZ-GKFx-Jo_R6jUVbu2bv6dBXTBWusrLdQpvTU/s1600/bird+feeder+snail+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6BKOHugEcEsjZbwOBpu01wXoYNsJF_0yl6Txw44mVHq7V2qIyRsRd4b9OqPcpf5amLTV9dr3fUpRCBPuIgUXYcS25AIl64SedWA8weEZ-GKFx-Jo_R6jUVbu2bv6dBXTBWusrLdQpvTU/s1600/bird+feeder+snail+4.JPG" height="320" width="203" /></a></div>
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<br />
Except for this one - who I think may be doing the Snail version of Stomping Off in a Huff. <br />
Possibly because a bird may have pooped on him.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIU_G-VmEgasDvMEw2N0L8XYSjK99yLS2lVNxGMfvymVI1IDlxSzZF4juvVjzdBwyLzAtvz9RWL4ltJ4KbD_WBpBwqR0iX4udSvL-ulY34grqGHbPqCWI_Jyp9pSWPNu7evDEq91AV114/s1600/snail+in+a+huff+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIU_G-VmEgasDvMEw2N0L8XYSjK99yLS2lVNxGMfvymVI1IDlxSzZF4juvVjzdBwyLzAtvz9RWL4ltJ4KbD_WBpBwqR0iX4udSvL-ulY34grqGHbPqCWI_Jyp9pSWPNu7evDEq91AV114/s1600/snail+in+a+huff+2.JPG" height="320" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
Of course in the rain the Snail is King. They like a bit of damp. And presumably they felt safe to venture out because you never see birds out in the rain, do you? <i>After </i> the rain, yes, to collect the worms, but never during. It stands to reason - they can't carry umbrellas with their little wings.<br />
<br />
So there you have it. Snails and Their Habitat by Kate. Expect the paperback out in time for Christmas.<br />
<br />
(I am surely not the only one who can see I am the obvious successor to <a href="http://www.davidattenborough.co.uk/" target="_blank">Sir David Attenborough</a> when he eventually hangs up his Natural History Hat?)<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIwjJw82SndPsWfgcFDiFLN2Fo89Xwjzrwd4tdHYAwf76hQWQSP2S8vHJeEYMTwzO00d20qyrvJp8ne0RblwByaWHeUlt6jgN0l2Q1iVaqAtD7ge4U5yG6y8r1QWQULokf8ylMrpksts/s1600/david+attenborough+in+hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaIwjJw82SndPsWfgcFDiFLN2Fo89Xwjzrwd4tdHYAwf76hQWQSP2S8vHJeEYMTwzO00d20qyrvJp8ne0RblwByaWHeUlt6jgN0l2Q1iVaqAtD7ge4U5yG6y8r1QWQULokf8ylMrpksts/s1600/david+attenborough+in+hat.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David NaturalHistoryHattenborough</td></tr>
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<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-36654887553717088722014-05-16T12:05:00.000+01:002014-05-16T22:36:48.577+01:00G.C.S.EEEEEEEEEEEK!<h3>
Or...It's a very testing time </h3>
<div>
(see what I did there? I know. Subtle).</div>
<br />
It is GCSE time and No.1 Son is currently embroiled in about a month of examinations. It's the W Family's<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_237iqqssfHpRw7u_esAl1LQPryciqf7KoqFy0P_PSnPuNIuMhFN9ez9c01qWxk-TLqAVYIU6IfWqXYEKgu6Ctf4dLab9982qMLeOh8_JwMdL7ZSaZQQw31JzA_Ad3vPK2OTsBAVhoU/s1600/exam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT_237iqqssfHpRw7u_esAl1LQPryciqf7KoqFy0P_PSnPuNIuMhFN9ez9c01qWxk-TLqAVYIU6IfWqXYEKgu6Ctf4dLab9982qMLeOh8_JwMdL7ZSaZQQw31JzA_Ad3vPK2OTsBAVhoU/s1600/exam.jpg" /></a></div>
first foray into the realm of Public Examinations, but No.1 seems fairly cool. Just nervous enough to concentrate (I hope) but not so stressed out as to be gibbering in the corner. <br />
<br />
The same can't be said for me, unfortunately. I have been at various levels of Ultra Tension since his mock exams at the end of last year. It's all so huge. How ridiculous to be under this much pressure at age 15. Sitting in the shade of trees whittling a piece of stick is surely a better way to spend these sunny days of youth.<br />
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As far as exams go I'm afraid the only example I set is a bad one. I gave barely a thought to my own end of school exams. Which was ruthlessly exposed by my distinctly shabby results.<br />
All I can do for now is keep reminding myself that he is smarter than I was, has worked harder than I did, and has done his revision. I am assuming he's trying his very hardest and, if the worst does come to the worst, things do tend to have a habit of working out. <br />
Having said all that, it is still a month of Stress with a Capital Stress.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Bearing all this in mind it is, I fancy, somewhat ironic that one of the things that gives me oodles of pleasure these days is ...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #6fa8dc; font-size: large;">A QUIZ</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The quiz, a quiz, a quiz from the back of the Saturday paper, quiz books, sitting mutely as an entire episode of University Challenge shoots by without me offering anything at all beyond, 'shall I make some tea?'</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I just <i>love </i>quizzes. I don't even have to win! That's true love. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wLeWQFVEeir-lOoCKaLY15nZj7bZWTKDggUOgbcHnHvygCnRPp4MLQVnl3Jf7BaFVuU9ZfE2H-butl9mCYyHIZ7JDncOH8POLIwVqNuFteZqEd3ygfPJ4RnTfLlFPCVyax115ycXemo/s1600/university+challenge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2wLeWQFVEeir-lOoCKaLY15nZj7bZWTKDggUOgbcHnHvygCnRPp4MLQVnl3Jf7BaFVuU9ZfE2H-butl9mCYyHIZ7JDncOH8POLIwVqNuFteZqEd3ygfPJ4RnTfLlFPCVyax115ycXemo/s1600/university+challenge.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Boiiiing" <br />
(You have to know the theme tune)</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
This year, as the offspring are older, we have been able to go to Organised Quizzes <i>outside of our house!</i></div>
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In one case we actually left <i>our town.</i> (I know, it's all moving so fast). <br />
<br />
It can be a worrying business, putting yourself out there. It's all well and good answering the telly from the comfort of your own sofa, but I've heard all too many people on Radio Quizzes confidently state they "usually score around 28 points", only to see them limp out of the competition having earned just a handful.<br />
<br />
We cut our teeth on our local Primary School's Charity Quiz, where prizes included a Pack of 4 Italian Beers (we won that), Cadbury's Chocolate (didn't win that. It still hurts) and - this I thought was inspired - A Round of Applause. (We also won the Round of Applause but it was a leetle bit half-hearted as by then we'd won almost all of the other rounds...except for the Cadbury's Chocolate round. We didn't win the Cadbury's Chocolate. Did I already mention that?)<br />
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<br />
Then last week we graduated to a quiz in aid of a Scout Troupe from a neighbouring village. Sadly no sign of Chief Scout The Lovely<a href="http://www.beargrylls.com/" target="_blank"> Bear Grylls</a>, but it was a fab quiz nonetheless.</div>
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<br />
In one of the rounds we had to make a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Square_academic_cap" target="_blank">Mortar Board</a> out of paper, glue, wool and a split pin...<br />
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<br />
There was some difficult mathy stuff, some famous photos and paintings, and a Name the James Bond Book/Film round.<br />
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All heaps of fun.<br />
<br />
There were also snacks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElCJah2jWd9qrNtmBXo5paAh-phgF49xrKClK1GkPaLkwTIGVTi1zACJNL7xp3wERelFSkZT7SC0wzsS84oSucuNHZWZExwhyksksXr5rx7_jL2WDWh_wqDyt-KzjMOGDIkqS0kXM8C0/s1600/P090514_22.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjElCJah2jWd9qrNtmBXo5paAh-phgF49xrKClK1GkPaLkwTIGVTi1zACJNL7xp3wERelFSkZT7SC0wzsS84oSucuNHZWZExwhyksksXr5rx7_jL2WDWh_wqDyt-KzjMOGDIkqS0kXM8C0/s1600/P090514_22.32.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It may have been me who disposed of most of the snacks</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Possibly my Favourite round of all was the Cheese Round (which is making me laugh just typing it. That's a thing, isn't it? A Cheese Round?) Anyway, an Actual Proper French Man from Actual France gave each table one of these ...<br />
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<br />
And we had to identify them, say which one wasn't originally from France, and which one wasn't made with Cow's Milk, or - if you'll permit me - <i>Lait du Vache</i>. (Get me with my grip on the French Language. Ungraded indeed Mr GCSE Examiner circa 1984).<br />
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Pretty soon this happened ...<br />
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<br />
It was all enormous fun. I somehow managed to down a Jeroboam of Cider during the proceedings, but it clearly didn't hurt because OUR TEAM WON! Woooohooooo us!<br />
<br />
And here's our prize....<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
I can't help thinking if my GCSE examinations were more like this, I might just have mustered a few more qualies.<br />
But maybe not.<br />
<br />
(Also, I wouldn't want you to think I'd advocate plying teens with alcohol at any point during the Examination Period. Or probably ever. Plying teenagers with alcohol is unlikely to end well).<br />
<br />
<i>However</i>...Adult Education might want to consider the Quiz/Snack/Booze format...maybe...worth a try?...no?...just me then.<br />
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Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2298353213904818554.post-49516431905881471132014-05-02T15:04:00.001+01:002014-05-02T19:36:20.095+01:00OOH! A PUZZLE...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-AYzRuJs7OWzR8UFEjYRfKNOQZ0uesVmeIWSwmB70fMx16bxhpHW3UII__acwChyphenhyphenohIKXeURt5hvS4aGGe7Bs25AQNUab9GsnQKoonbl6TRmO6P3_qIwJZlHiUmRfeW9B1InpgPXsr4g/s1600/puzzle+piece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-AYzRuJs7OWzR8UFEjYRfKNOQZ0uesVmeIWSwmB70fMx16bxhpHW3UII__acwChyphenhyphenohIKXeURt5hvS4aGGe7Bs25AQNUab9GsnQKoonbl6TRmO6P3_qIwJZlHiUmRfeW9B1InpgPXsr4g/s1600/puzzle+piece.jpg" /></a></div>
I like puzzles. Not jigsaw puzzles. Jigsaw puzzles hurt my head because they are impossible. Don't be fooled by folk who finish jigsaw puzzles 'as proof' - 'tis nothing more than smoke and mirrors.<br />
<br />
It is not that I dislike Jigsaws because I can't do them. There are plenty of puzzles I can't do but still like.<br />
<br />
<br />
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For example:<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Cryptic Crossword Puzzles</span><span style="color: #b4a7d6;"> </span>My only experience being The Telegraph newspaper's offerings and I confess that Mr W 'helps out'. (In as much as he tells me a lot of the answers and then is sweet enough to add that I 'would have got there' without help).<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Logic Puzzles</span> - As in Mr Bimble lives on the 14th floor. In the morning he takes the lift from the 14th floor to the ground floor to go to work. On his return, he takes the lift to the 7th floor and walks the rest of the way; unless it is raining - in which case he takes the lift all the way to the 14th....But why....?<br />
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<span style="color: #8e7cc3;">Bletchley Park/Enigma style codebreaking</span> - For some reason I am convinced that I would be able to crack the German Luftwaffe's code. Never mind that the limit of my German language skills is asking politely the whereabouts of the tram stop, and relating the legend that Lumpi is my dog - even though he isn't. Oh hang on... I can also tell you my leg is broken and that Fritz is ill and, for some reason, I know how to say 'a letter from America' - handy if I wanted to join in with a bunch of German Proclaimers fans.<br />
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But why am I telling you all this? <br />
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Well today I witnessed another puzzle - and I love it on the one hand and hate it on the other.<br />
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I will share...<br />
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I left <a href="http://www.woozelbears.com/" target="_blank">Woozelbears</a> (where the Do Not Break the Dog dog has her hydrotherapy sessions) and did - I kid you not - a 15-point turn to extract my car from its parking space. Even then I ended up facing the wrong way. When I managed to get back on course I found myself witness to a curious scene indeed ...<br />
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The trading estate where Woozelbears can be found is home to a ripe old mixture of businesses. There is a Snooker Hall (which is very protective of its parking spaces), a Brewery, a Sign Printers, a Catering Equipment Suppliers and a Business I Cannot Determine but they leave lots of different mugs out on the wall, along with a variety of cigarette stubs and empty beer bottles. (Coffee...fags....alchohol....it's surely not a school?)<br />
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Anyway, there is also a Take-Away Indian Cuisine Emporium. I never see anyone come in or out, but often my nostrils suck up the glorious aromas that waft out through the vents. Well on this day (today) I did see someone come out. A gentleman wearing chef's whites and a blue stripy apron. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZX_M5l0TCMCZOY9uQ1XJ6XsyRgY6KwEF6OR6qJdzVgGEI7g70bxcwaaRnTmzt-OthYaFpCx1l6OLT6-NXKJstSowBqaTzDJkWbJ-zifGYSGM9HSfIyVKK1tBaPIdUon2a8HlnjZ1YGM/s1600/happy+chef.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvZX_M5l0TCMCZOY9uQ1XJ6XsyRgY6KwEF6OR6qJdzVgGEI7g70bxcwaaRnTmzt-OthYaFpCx1l6OLT6-NXKJstSowBqaTzDJkWbJ-zifGYSGM9HSfIyVKK1tBaPIdUon2a8HlnjZ1YGM/s1600/happy+chef.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're going to have to imagine the apron</td></tr>
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He had quite a saunter on the go and I thought, 'he's probably off for a fag break with the lady who works in the second-hand bookshop'. Nothing passes between them except the social niceties of the day, but they both take their breaks at the same time each day hoping to bump into each other. (I made that up). <br />
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So he's Sauntering Jauntily when another gentleman appears, dressed similarly only with copious, what I can only assume is turmeric, stains on his chef's whites and he is brandishing a bicycle.<br />
And I do mean brandishing. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgujyP-4C_NhT8pAXlk8RMHRYgNIBpZPehEUjjhyU7QZPW-BMLATqpjyhyphenhyphen5wbdG4FFrWl_V1hGFk27x8ukbC8cFcdHKSA1T10S0XYMvoKfPgaWO70pjp1ssoNdhuWrIw0hE1fIu9oAgLQ/s1600/angry+chef+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgujyP-4C_NhT8pAXlk8RMHRYgNIBpZPehEUjjhyU7QZPW-BMLATqpjyhyphenhyphen5wbdG4FFrWl_V1hGFk27x8ukbC8cFcdHKSA1T10S0XYMvoKfPgaWO70pjp1ssoNdhuWrIw0hE1fIu9oAgLQ/s1600/angry+chef+2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're going to have to imagine the bicycle</td></tr>
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He is holding this bike (he was a big man) <i>above his head</i> while Shouting Angrily at Sauntering Jauntily.<br />
I could not hear what he was saying because I had Radio 4 on - so the action unfolded to the soundtrack of Woman's Hour. Sometimes it would be useful if life came with subtitles.<br />
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Then, Shouting Angrily <i>threw</i> the bicycle down with such force that several parts of it came off and skittled around the car park. Sauntering Jauntily carried on walking away, with a look of amusement on his face.<br />
I'd turned the radio off, but still couldn't hear what anyone was saying. <br />
By now the lady from the Catering Equipment Suppliers had come out to see what all the noise was about (presumably they don't have Radio 4 on in their shop).<br />
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Shouting Angrily picked up the bike again and threw it down, only this time with a little more force. More bits broke off and bounced away. He then repeated this manoeuvre at least twice. As I watched the bike being gradually destroyed it struck me how futile it had been for the bike's owner to protect the bike's saddle from rain that day with the careful use of a supermarket carrier bag.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLDhodopZagXq9QJ0MsOm0eIC2y0DdRVIw1UAJuT7jBOrBPsZFjK0It0E426fry7EFEwsUheWAeD1qOY9mERhA86z_wYRKe0yywq2-GH1264GWoE6Vab23IJmjYsPd8Ll_Fj44_x-u4I/s1600/carrier+bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSLDhodopZagXq9QJ0MsOm0eIC2y0DdRVIw1UAJuT7jBOrBPsZFjK0It0E426fry7EFEwsUheWAeD1qOY9mERhA86z_wYRKe0yywq2-GH1264GWoE6Vab23IJmjYsPd8Ll_Fj44_x-u4I/s1600/carrier+bag.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're going to have to imagine the supermarket</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Anyhoo, as I left the estate, Shouting Angrily, who had initially left the broken bike in the middle of the roadway but clearly is a thoughtful gentleman because he then put it to one side to allow traffic to pass, had gone back into the Take-Away Indian Cuisine unit. As I made my way in my car to the main road, I saw Sauntering Jauntily milling around in the middle of the road, removing his stripy apron and bundling it up. He no longer looked amused.<br />
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Naturally I took a totally unnecessary detour so that I might get some resolution to this puzzle.<br />
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Why was Shouting Angrily shouting angrily? Had Sauntering Jauntily <i>parked </i>his bike in the Take-Away Indian Cuisine kitchen, thus inviting the wrath of the Food Safety Inspectors? Was there a love triangle between Shouting Angrily, Sauntering Jauntily and Second-Hand-Book-Shop Lady and the bicycle simply got caught in the middle? Had, perhaps, Sauntering Jauntily been responsible for the deliberate turmeric staining of Shouting Angrily's whites? Or maybe Shouting Angrily had failed his Cycling Proficiency Test and blamed Sauntering Jauntily because he'd promised to help him with his Highway Code on his fag-breaks but had instead been hanging around smoking with Second-Hand-Bookshop Lady?<br />
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I JUST DON'T KNOW! And I <i>kind </i>of love imagining what could have caused it all. But I also hate not knowing.<br />
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It's a puzzle, and no mistake.<br />
<br />Do Not Break The Doghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17706120023877424949noreply@blogger.com2