CHRISTMAS CRAFT MARKET AND OTHERS THINGS ...

... I am Ill-Prepared For.

Aaaah, s'beautiful. 

I am sure I am not alone, but at the moment I am entirely Beneath my list of Things To Do.
On Top Of is something I can only dream about.

I am half way through about a mazillion jobs - including Putting Up the Christmas Decs.  A job I love and usually apply myself diligently to until it is done.   We have already bought and erected our tree - which is somewhat broader in the beam than we realised.  We were well on the way to owning the world's first Spherical Nordmann Fir until some judicious prunage gave us a little more leg room in the lounge.  (I never call it a 'lounge' usually, but 'Living Room' after 'Leg Room' seemed like I was saying 'room' too much.  Something I would never do.)

FUEL RULES...

Behave!  All right?

...Or, Life's a Gas

Petrol Station Etiquette?  Familiar with this?  I thought I was.

I guess we are all up to speed with the General Rules.
It is for Safety Reasons, for example, that mobile phones and car engines should be switched off.
Ditto the whole Not Smoking thing.
It is General Good Manners that we don't bimble around the shop for half an hour if there is a queue a mile long waiting for fuel due to an erstwhile petrol shortage.
Unless I am missing something, I thought that was about it.
You park your car, you fill it up with fuel, and you pay.

Apparently I am wrong.

NOT THE MOST SUCCESSFUL WALK EVER...

I have lived in Ruralish-shire for longer than I've lived anywhere else.

Unless you count the 6 months I spent as a Redcoat at Butlin's Bognor Regis (oh the heights to which I've climbed...) I have actually only ever lived in two places.  Here in Ruralish-shire, and also the town where I was born and grew up - Romford. 
This, my friends, is variously described as being in Greater London, Essex or, more baffling (to me at least), the East End of London.  I give you this information to highlight the fact that I am basically a Townie.

You might think that 24 years spent in the countryside would bring out the Wood Sprite in me, but no.  I'm still bothered being in a field I can see no end to - and absolutely terrified of livestock.  (And I include bugs, insects and some plants in that category).

All this may go some way to explain the following...

PROUD TO BE DIRTY!

I knew it would happen eventually...all I needed was a little patience.



From the Daily Telegraph

The headline, or by-line (or whatever the billybobthornton they're called) screamed at me from the morning paper.  Yes!  Yes, I will.  My car hasn't been washed since Mother's Day 2011 and, to be honest, I was feeling pretty bad about it.

But I shouldn't.  And it's official.

Apparently, in the light of recent water-use restrictions, Thames Water are issuing bumper stickers with the message, 'Proud to be dirty'.

In a Jam



Traffic Jam
(I know, too awful)

So there we are . . . stuck in traffic.  Me and Children Nos. 2 and 3.
We are on the last leg of a journey we make every  day, and which usually takes 8 minutes (give or take) door to door.

But on this particular day (which of course was the day it was IMPERATIVE I was home in time) we were stuck in traffic . . . for 50 minutes.

The first 5 minutes were given over to
a) wondering exactly how long we might be stuck here (visibility was restricted and no obvious obstruction could be discerned)   and
b) growing frustration about dinner arrangements for the family. 

Time truly was of the essence as Child No.1 at home was due at a Dress Rehearsal from which he would not return until gone 10pm. 
Child No.2 (in the car with me) was due at a rehearsal for a concert he was doing with the rest of his class. 
Husband was laid up in bed with so- far- undiagnosed- but- none- the- less- very- painful back problem. 
Dog was probably just sleeping somewhere, so that wasn't an issue.

But it was all whizzing and whirring around in my mind - wondering how on earth I was going to get everyone sorted out and delivered in time and how could I possibly . . . .

Dipsticks (Is that really what they're called?)

Not my actual car

I had occasion, only recently, to add some oil to the inny bit of my car (not the bit where the chairs and levers are, but the bit under – what we English call – the bonnet  (which is a rather sweet and girly name for such a hot and growly part of the car)) Woah, way too many brackets.

I was alerted to the whole oil requirement thing by a) the oil can shaped symbol lighting up on my dashboard and b) my Resourceful and Practical Friend –who was waiting to collect a  Spanish visitor from the wrong terminal at  Manchester airport – telling me via the miracle of text that this means I need some oil.

Now, the Best Beloved had shown me before how to go about this whole rigmarole.  But do you think I could remember what on earth the dipstick was meant to show?