The Cliff Walk

There's not a lot of culture on my blog so today I thought it would be nice to post Easterland(for Mary) a slideshow from someone who does know a bit about culture and that's Eddie Mchugh whose photography blog is a long term favourite of mine. The Cliff Walk can be found permanently on my sidebar. You can also check out Eddie's work at The London Photographic Association where his work has received recognition for its artistic merits.

Eddie is largely self taught in the area of photography having previously spent 30 years or more painting. However he now exhibits his photography in exhibitions as far a field as London, Canada and the United States. Based in the US, Eddie's pictures are an an eclectic portrayal of his life in the Pacific Northwest. His pictures range from portraits and scenic shots to the quirky comical and bizarre.

For someone like me who isn't well travelled discovering Eddie's blog was quite a revelation. So much of what we see over here in the UK of the United States is dictated by what we see in the media. I see plenty of shots of Washington, New York and LA and all of it flavoured with either the lights of Hollywood or big shot politicians. It's all the glitz, glamour and the intrigue of shows like Friends and Miami Vice. What I like about Eddie's blog is that it illustrates the other side of the US which reminds me of childhood programmes like The Waltons and The Little House on the Prairie; a simpler less urban existence.

And of course, it also shows me how beautiful a country the US is and who knows, with any luck, one day I might get to see it in the flesh.

Ps; You won't pick up this slideshow by feedburner as being so incompetent I don't know how to embed it within a post! When I've figured it out I'll do it! (About 2015 going by my previous track record.) In the meantime please come over and view it underneath my heading!

A Pussy Update...

It's about time I gave you all an update on my pussy.

Well my pussy likes sausages. In fact sausages are a real favourite. A bit of beef doesn't go amiss either. Yes, my New Pussy likes just about everything; pork, chicken, left over spaghetti bolognese, mouldy lasagne that's been hiding out in the fridge for a month but he especially likes Miss Cleo's chicken.

I guess Pussy is making up for being famished for a few months but since he's settled in he's started stalking my elderly pussy, Miss Cleo. Well stalking Miss Cleo's food anyway. For the first week or so he was happy to lie spreadeagled, replete on Whiskas, on the downstairs sofa but then he discovered that Miss Cleo has tasty little chicken treats in my study. Well....actually.... she has entire meals of chicken.

Yes, I know that sounds overly generous for a cat - but how the hell was I to know I would inherit the world's only cat with colitis?

It's just not fair! Not only have I been wiping small boy's botties for years but I have a cat with no bowel control. Once, when it was really bad out of desperation I put a Pampers nappy on her but unfortunately one of the neighbours reported me for cruelty. Personally, I thought I was being kind - isn't it bad enough cleaning your derriere on a daily basis without having to get your paws muddy in the back garden or soiling your owners shag pile? Besides, I think Miss Cleo looked kinda cute in her nappy. Although it was probably the bonnet that gave her the real street cred.







Yep, anyway I discovered a while back that the key to avoiding an "Emergency Carpet Situation" was a diet of chicken. The trouble is my new pussy now thinks he should be getting chicken for every meal too. No can do; I've already had to give up milk chocolate and switch to cooking chocolate to afford Miss Cleo's rations -if New Pussy has chicken at every meal I'll have to resort to sniffing coco powder for my choccy fix.

Well apart from stalking Miss Cleo and that little "accident" involving a yellow-like fluid on the carpet in my study, New Pussy has been settling in well.

Apart from the flatulence problem.

Yes, New Pussy omits what can only be called "stinkers." Previously my study had aromas which hinted of hidden chocolate bars and candy floss but now it pongs like a sewerage station. Worse, it's not as if I can prepare myself for the onslaught by sticking a peg on my nose cos New Pussy is a silent, stealthy stinker! Yep, one minute I'm happily typing away and the next minute I'm writhing on the floor, hands round my throat and gasping for air. Boy, is he a deadly weapon! In fact only yesterday I found a giant mouse outside the back door which didn't even looked mauled... I reckon New Pussy just broke wind and gassed it to death.

Well anyway the purpose of this post is to announce the winner of my Name My Pussy Competition. There were some strong contenders in the field; Macavity from Mrs A appealed to my innate snobbery as it's a highbrow literature name with provenance, Squibbles from Mr Intrepid was popular with Master Ben and me for being just plain silly (and it was the name that New Pussy responded best to,) Tux from Hillgrandmum was short, sweet and New Pussy kinda looks like he's wearing a tux, Buffy from Master Sy just cos it sounded good and Ewe No (I do!) sneaked in at the last minute with Ballicker. (Had to look it up EweNo - but it was well worth it!)

But the winner is............. (drum rolls, etc, etc....)

....... ME.

Yes, yes I know it's nepotism but I award the prize of a life size pin up of Damien Lewis to me!

And this is the name I came up with....

Bondie.

Well I sort of started calling him Bond and it sort of stuck. But I'm a nick-name type of girl so I had to change it just a little..... Sorry folks!!

Anyway, what can I say? Bondie loves me already and I love Bondie.

Gez, I'm a sucker for animals. Guess I'd better get some more chicken in......

An impromptu rant!

What a few days I'm having! Last weekend Master Ben got a tummy bug and it was full scale explosions from either end. Lovely. Still Master Ben is a little soldier and as strong as an ox and by Wednesday he was back at school and playing tennis. He is so good when he is ill; always hitting the target and never hitting the floor, sheets and, more importantly, me.

Unlike Master Jacob who is like ..the world's worst patient. Well except for Mr T, from whom Master Jacob has inherited "Acute Melancholic Manflu & Every Other Disease Known to Man Syndrome" For example, a couple of weeks a ago Mr T did something to his leg/hip. Yep, I came home from tennis one evening and he was looking like a geriatric Long John Silver. Indeed his protestations were so bad I thought he'd ripped open his war wound from The Somme or at the very least developed a small case of elephantitis. So it was heated pads, muscle rubs, pain relief etc etc.... followed by a night of sheer hell. Normally Mr T sleeps like a log. I mean you'd been hard pressed to tell the difference between a comatosed whale and Mr T. (Apart from the snoring obviously.)

Well let me tell you that sleeping next to a 6ft 6 hypochondriac is no fun. Yep, for years I've been begging for a divorce just so I can marry Danny Devito and get a decent night's sleep but Mr T still won't agree. Damn.

Anyway, after a night of sheer hell of being tossed around like the Titanic whilst listening to noises that sounded like what can only be compared to the opening sequence of Saving Private Ryan I was at the end of my tether. Worse, Mr T has the habit of delaying going to the doctors for as long as possible which is incredibly frustrating. Yep, he's one of those folks who wonder why they're being given the last rites when they've delayed their appointment for a year. So after another bout of "I can't walk, bend, walk, brush my hair, put my socks/pants /thermals on..blah, blah, blah, blah, blah ..." I finally blew my top;

"You are going to see Mr Price or I am marrying Danny Devito!"

Now Mr Price is some sort of body specialist, (no idea what - far too complicated medical terminology for me) who used to represent England at Judo and knows his stuff. I know him through my tennis contacts and he has helped me in sorting out orthotics for Jacob's feet. Therefore, although it was a Saturday morning I decided to gave him a ring.. .

"Help me, help me Mr Price. I can't stand anymore of Mr T's moaning!! Save me from another night of hell!"

"Will 10.30 be okay Mrs T?"

"I love you, I love you, I love you!! I'll be there!"

So after manoeuvring Mr T into my car (not easy I can tell you) and just about remaining within the speed limit we got to Mr Price's where he conducted some weird and wonderful manipulations with Mr T. I mean it was intimate! Hugging, cavorting, bending..more hugging...God, I was embarrassed. At one point, I had to cough just to remind them I was there.....

Well...after 3 sessions Mr T is a good as he ever was and his war wound is healing nicely. Praise the Lord!!

Hmm....this was supposed to about Master Jacob who is driving me nuts this morning as he's been ill with the sick bug all weekend. Yes, I know he's poorly but come on not being able to take the lid of your bottle of Lucozade is pushing your luck a bit!

Just on a finishing note...when I'm ill it's the same old story. I end up in my car on the school run feeling as sick as a dog and hoping I don't break wind.

Because you know it can be quite embarrassing if you "follow through" in the school playground.......

Name The Pig!

Firstly, I've not bought a Barbour jacket, green wellies and built a sty in my back garden. (Although with my kids wrecking it on a weekly basis "sty" is a fairly good description.)

Neither have I bought a small herd of pigs despite the fact bacon every morning is a tempting proposition. And let's not even mention sausages - I can work wonders with a sausage.

Gez, those jars of Homepride Sausage Casserole Sauce are just great aren't they?

I love sausages though and you can read my earlier thoughts on sausages here. If you want. No pressure; I still haven't bought my Christmas cards yet.

Well anyway I'm looking for the name of for a pig because over at The View From Here I've written an article on science fiction which has a Name the Pig competition attached to it. All you have do is pop over, enter your name for a pig in the comment section attached to my article and you could win signed copies of The Holy Machine and Marcher by award winning science fiction author Chris Beckett who is featured in my article.

Chris Beckett is the 2009 winner of The Edge Hill Prize for a collection of short stories by a single author. His winning entry The Turing Test is published by Elastic Press in 2008.

So some nice (and preferably amusing) piggy names please. And no one say Porky.

Coming next; the results of my Name The Pussy competition!

Music Monday; Me and My Banjo!

Impressed hey? Didn't know I was so talented eh?

Oh alright I'm lying. I don't play the banjo although I can make a good sound with a pair of wooden spoons and some empty baked baked tins! I also tried using my cheese grater as a washboard but somehow it didn't quite work. Don't ask me why, but the paramedic said I should have been using Cheddar. I replied "Don't you know we are part of of the EC you can't say Cheddar you must say "Fromage du Anglais a la place avec le grand gorge and caves which emits a cheesy smell."

Oh alright I'm lying again. Anyone can make Cheddar Cheese and call it Cheddar cheese, even if they live in China. Although, apparently, only the Italians can produce Parmesan Cheese and only the Greeks can produce Feta Cheese. Cheddar cheese is a generic name. Well so they say.

I demand a recount!

Oh no, we can't can we? Cos not only have Blair and Brown renegaded on their election manifesto to vote on Europe now David Cameron has too. Huh. Well at least he got it out of the way before the next general election so we all know where we stand. Still good news for the UKIP and NF I suppose.

Hmm....I was supposed to be talking about banjos! Well I don't play the banjo but I know someone who does. Here's one of my favourite funny guys, Steve Martin, doing something entirely different. I've just ordered his album The Crow, a self penned banjo blues album. Sounds interesting! Let's take a look at Steve playing the title track on the David Letterman show back in 2007.



Oh boy. Steve is just so talented! I can't wait to start foot tapping around my house!

NB; I've been a bit quiet of late but I've got lots coming up soon including an interview with that spurious author, Gary Davison, who often appears in my comments section, the winner of my Name My Pussy Competition and an update on my car. Yes, that is the notorious CMAX with the Collision Syndrome problem.... So stay tuned!

Music Monday - I don't like 'em!

Ordinarily, I like Mondays. Especially when it's a Monday after the school holidays. I adore my boys but when the day comes around that they return to school I'm looking forward to a few hours of solitude. Last week, which was half term here in the UK, was pretty hectic so today I'd plenty of ideas on how to fill my day; maybe some writing, a little tickling of my favourite ticklees and perhaps charring a nice spaghetti bolognese. Maybe even thinking about cleaning the kitchen but then coming to my senses and surfing the net for Christmas presents instead. Prezzies for myself obviously- someone's gotta do it - otherwise I'll end up with another gadget which I'll rediscover in about 10 years at the back of the cupboard. You know they don't call slowcookers "slowcookers" for nothin' you know...

And then I got into a bad mindset...........

So Master Ben and I get to school on time. Okay we aren't early but before the bell anyway- and what's more I didn't even have to go over the speed limit!(Well apart from that overtaking bit.) Anyway, I notice a few small reception children traipsing in at the last minute dressed in garish costumes.

Ha! I think to myself. A dressing up day on the first of term. Those poor reception parents! Oh well, most of them are still new to it. They don't realise the agony of years and years of inconsequential dressing up days there are yet to come! Ha, ha ha!

I look at Master Ben with his creased trousers, smart black fleece and new haircut. Now that's how a child should look on the first day of term - not dressed as a space invader or a vampire with blunt teeth. Hmm...pity about the shoes I forgot to polish though....

Then I see one of the dads from Ben's football team coming towards me.

Footie Dad; "Bloody kids. I spent ages putting the face paints on and then he tells me he feels a twat."

Mrs T: (Innocently - knowing footie dad also has three kids.) Oh dear, is it a dressing up day today?

Footie Dad: Yes. And just as we're going out the door Karl tells me he feels a twat and wants to take the paint off.

Mrs T; (Mortified) Karl????? (Karl is in Master Benedict's class.) It's.... it's....it's... not a dressing up a day for the whole school??

Footie Dad: Yes.

Mrs T: Oh dear, fiddly dee! (Or words to that effect but maybe somewhat more colourful.) What was this delightful dressing up day in aid of? (Again words to that effect but maybe somewhat more colourful.)

Footie Dad; I have no idea!

Mrs T; I don't remember reading anything about it! Besides, they only just had Roman Day on the last day of term. Two dressing up days next to each other? That's blatantly unfair!!

Okay, so you get the idea. I ****** up. Good and proper. Now before you start worrying about Master Ben let me tell you he's a cool dude so he won't be particularly bothered he's not dressed up as a pumpkin or rat's entrails or whatever it was they were supposed to be dressed up as . In fact he's so cool he'll probably tum it to his advantage...

"Mum, you forgot it was a dressing up day. I was the only one without a costume. That's means you owe me £5.00 compensation."

"Yeah, okay son. Do you want cash or a banker's draft?"

Look, I know I've whinged about these dressing up days before but I've got to do it again. They drive me nuts, nuts, nuts. Master Sam is 18 in December - he went to school at 4 that means I've been making costumes for 14 years! 14 YEARS! And I calculate that I have at least another 3 years before I can lead a costume free existence when I can safely chuck out the cereal packets without the following happening...

Mrs T: Where's that cereal packet I left on the side?

Mr T: Oh, I threw it out.

Mrs T: Whhhatttt?! I had to make a sword/shield/ helmet/ wand/crossbow/staff out of that!!

Mr T: It's in the bin.

Mrs T; On my God, it's covered in spaghetti/tomato ketchup/baked beans/custard/jelly/ice cream! How could you be so stupid?!

Mr T: Well I didn't know...

Now correct me if I'm wrong but with rare exceptions men never seem to know about these dressing up days. Am I right Ladies? - Unless they're a carpenter or a painter and decorator - when you can bet your bottom dollar when their Little Johnny is cast as Joseph in the school nativity he'll turn out with an entire tool kit. And as for Greek History Day, Darling Little Johnny will be sat astride a giant wooden horse while Carpenter Dad proudly looks on whilst nonchalantly dusting the sawdust of his sweater.

And what about Diligent Mum? Yeah, you know the one Ladies. The mum who has spent two entire weeks sewing sequins on pieces of her wedding dress so her daughter, Darling Little Lottie, can look the most splendid Mary ever. Never Mind the The Three Kings look like they've been clothed in Oxfam (they probably have) or that the Angel Gabriel's shiny wings look like cereal packets covered in tinfoil so long as Little Lottie looks like Liberace who cares it's only a school production! First step a wooden platform in a cramped school hall, next step Broadway and Hollywood! Hurrah!!

Yep, I'm blown out on the school costume front. And as for all those letters... and I mean too many to count... I now just scan them. I look for two things. The one which says "Reminder" on the top and the other which has £ sign embedded in the sentence. Call me Mrs Cynic but when today's children can read, write and do arithmetic as well as we did thirty years ago then I'll be happy to spend an entire week making a costume out of paper mache. In the meantime dressing up, no matter how much you endorse kinesthetic learning, is just another symptom of our failing education system.

Someone pass me the chocolate.

Okay, so who remembers this song from 1979?



Well if you do remember this song and the background to it - the good news is Master Ben only has a plastic Nerf Gun and I only have a wooden spatula!

They're Back Once More!

Back in February during one of my Music Monday posts I talked about the announcement of the reunion of 80's supergroup Spandau Ballet. Well this week saw the release of their new album and single Once More.

Once More is an album consisting of some of their biggest hits updated and two new releases including the title track. It's a fabulous song and with Tony's splendid voice, Gary's consummate composition skills and Martin, Steve and John's musical abilities if Once More is anything to go by then Spandau Ballet's comeback maybe one of the biggest comebacks of recent times. Let's face it the guys make Take That look like amateurs!

Here's the new single;



I love it! Fancy having a hint of how they've reworked some of the old hits? Then check out this free album sampler courtesy of The Guardian newspaper. I liked what I heard and I'll be picking up my copy as soon as I can!

Supermarket Fantasies!

Okay, I'm gonna spill the beans this morning. I have a secret. And it's time for me to come out! No, not that kinda "come out" I just mean just admit the truth!

You see, I have a fantasy where I'm in the supermarket and suddenly I burst into song and dance, everyone joins in, the whole supermarket goes crazzzzzzy and the manager is so taken with my dance moves he gives me my spuds for free. You know - rather like that bit in the film Fame where all the kids start dancing in the streets and leaping on cars. Yep, that's my fantasy - cartwheeling down the bread aisle, shaking my butt amongst the loo rolls and vocalising amongst the chocolates. Heaven. Sheer Heaven.

Blimey, I'm soooooo bored with shopping that even making a trip to the supermarket loo and inspecting it for cleanliness provides some light relief! I'm a total utter failure as a housewife because making the decision about whether or not to buy toilet cleaner with limescale remover just doesn't light my fire. Fact. And as for whether to buy economy, home brand or Heinz baked beans - it's hardly Mastermind. I mean I used to be an intelligent woman but now I think my brain has solidified into a grey mass that very probably resembles a mummified gerbil. In fact, I reckon if I did go on MasterMind my special subject would now to be something like "The History of The Shopping Trolley 1986- 2009" or "The Life and Times of Lord Sainsbury" or "Nestle Cereal Packet Designs 2000 - 2005."

Yeah, so much for having a degree in History; I can't remember what I did last week let alone who Chamberlain was. In fact the when Master Sam asked me did I know about Chamberlain and his "piece of paper" I thought it was a new brand of toilet roll.

Anyway, what I want to know is if I started getting down in Tescos or Sainsburys would anyone join in? I mean I don't want to be getting down all by myself whilst the old biddies are huddled in the corner timing how long it takes for the ambulance to arrive. So anyone care to join me next time I'm in Tescos?

Anyway, I guess you're wondering what brought this rant on. Well I was on my way home from yet another super dooper life enhancing trip to Tescos when I heard a tune on the radio that has been getting my feet tapping lately. (I should point out at this juncture that foot tapping is not too good an idea if you drive a manual car.) So when I got home and duly plonked the shopping down where I like to leave it for several hours defrosting before shoving it in the freezer before the salmonella start reproducing and went to have a look at the video on You Tube.

And what did I see? The lovely Michael Buble who sings I Just Haven't Met You Yet has stolen my fantasy! How dare he! I am going to sue him for copyright of my thoughts! It's outrageous and what's more it shouldn't be allowed because he's a man! And as I am woman, shopping is my domain and I therefore demand return of my fantasy! I'm calling Mr Buble up and I'm gonna give him a piece of my mind! Yeah, right now!

Well okay, just after I've listened to his fab song one more time....





Huh. Blonde women. They always get the best parts. I would have done it for free. Although it might have had to have been head shots only

Damn.

Name My Pussy!

I have a house guest!

Sometime before my two cats Tigga and Tash died earlier this year, I realised that another cat was visiting our house in the dead of night. Sometimes I heard the cat flap bang, a tin fall on the floor and in the morning tell tell footprints on the kitchen work tops. My cats never made a fuss and just let the cat come and go - I guess Tigga and Tash weren't up to fighting and as Miss Cleo, my remaining cat, is as daft as a brush The Interloper found no resistance.

Then one day, I inadvertently locked the cat flap one way only and the next morning there it was - a big, furry, black and white cat who looked extremely well fed and like he might need a course of slimming pills.

Well as it turned out he was a stray because over the summer months my neighbours and I have watched him get thinner and more frightened. A number of times I've approached him and he would run off but last Saturday morning I found him crying outside my door, skinny and ravenous. He'd quit the "I'm gonna be a tough old stray" lark and decided he was gonna move in. Maybe he realised I was now 2 pussys down and there was room at the inn. But I tell you he has taken to my house like a duck to water. Miss Cleo hasn't managed more than a few girlie hisses while he lies resplendent on my sofa and dining out on her chicken. He seems perfectly at home, is easy to lift up and stroke and what's more the children are delighted with their acquisition. Of course, I said I'd never have any more pets but well...I can hardly refuse a poor hungry cat crying on my doorstep just when winter is setting in.....

Well since The Interloper seemed exceptionally well house trained Mr T didn't make too much of an objection. But Houston we now have a problem. Because today The Interloper ventured upstairs for the first time. I was in my study typing and Miss Cleo was sitting at my side and in walks The Interloper. Cleo hisses, I turn round and check there's no sign of an impending cat fight. All is well. I turn back to my PC and then I hear it....

Pssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.....

Cleo's ears tweak, my ears tweak. I hear it again...

Psssssssssssssssssssssssssss.....

I get up and peer behind the chair in the corner. The Interloper is decorating my carpet - in a major way. It is probably the biggest piss in history; he must have been saving it up since the millennium. In fact, I have time to go to the bathroom, return with the litter tray, put him in it and he is still weeing!

Hmm. This is not good as Mr T has a very sensitive nose. He can tell just by raising his hooter in the air on the doorstop whether or not I've done the laundry. I swear to God his mother trained him at birth to distinguish the difference between Persil, Ariel and Fairy Automatic. Anyway, this is bad news for The Interloper, so I've scrubbed the carpet, covered it with carpet cleaner, scrubbed it again and sprayed it with perfume twice. I've even cooked curry for tea to disguise any remaining odours. In fact I shall be cooking curry all week I think; Balti, Rogan Josh, Korma. In fact anything that has a potent smell; I might even slip in some smoked haddock jut for variety -Anything to save The Interloper from the clutches of the evil Mr T...

Anyway, I need a name for The Interloper. I've been racking my brains and all I can come up with is....

Bond.

Yes, yes. I know that is sooooo predictable for Mrs T. But just think - I get to say all those things I've always wanted to say!

"Bond, will you please please stop pawing my breasts!"

"Bond Baby, you are so silky I can't stop stroking you!"

"Bond Honey, will you stop licking right now it's ruining my concentration."

"Nudge the door closed Bond; I don't want anyone to see us cuddling"

" Don't stop purring Bond, it's driving me crazy!"

Yeah, you get the idea. So I'm thinking The Interloper probably needs another name. So.. anyone want to offer up any suggestions?? I pay well - a kilo of smoked haddock and a slightly burnt Chicken tikka.

Okay So let's have some serious suggestions please or I'll be committed to 15 years of corny Bond jokes!

Here he is;

Do your best folks!

Music Monday; Oh No, Not Another Boy Band!

Yes, yes alright I do like boy bands! Now I've had to endure a little rib tickling from some quarters about my fondness for such groups but I think it's perfectly healthy for a woman of my advanced years to be looking at young men. You know - it keeps the mind active! I mean I've got to fight off the dementia somehow haven't I?

One of my favourites Boy bands of recent years is Boyzone. I played one of Ronan Keating's solo songs a while back but with the sudden death of band member Stephen Gately, aged just 33, I feel in the mood to play one the group's songs. So here we go;




That was great! Stephen had a lovely voice and I regularly enjoy listening to him and his fellow bandmates on their Greatest Hits CD. Now by all accounts Stephen was a very pleasant man so last week when I picked up the Daily Mail, as I do about once a week, I was deeply shocked to read THIS ARTICLE written by their columnist Jan Moir. Frankly, I cannot remember the last time I have read such a rude, crass and downright offensive article. I was not the only one who felt like this because I have since read that The Press Complaints Commission website was so deluged by thousands of complaints it actually crashed. In addition some advertisers have either complained or withdrawn their adverts. And rightly so. It was an abhorrent, insensitive and factually incorrect article with unpleasant overtones. Heaven knows what poor Stephen's friends and relatives must have felt on the eve of his funeral.

Now the least offensive remark that Jan Moir said was;

"A founder member of Ireland's first boy band, he was the group's co-lead singer, even though he could barely carry a tune in a Louis Vuitton trunk. He was the Posh Spice of Boyzone, a popular but largely decorus addition."

Well I beg to differ; I think he sang pretty well. In fact let's hear Stephen sing on his own;




Fantastic!

And as for the rest of Jan Moir's article.... Let's just say I will be voting with my feet and my wallet.