So, it's arrived.

The Olympic torch is now on British soil and has been the main feature of every news report and advertisement in the last twenty-four hours. Sixty-nine more days of tracking its progress and all the hype that goes with it and I might just leave the country or drown myself in the nearest Olympic sized pool. It's so cold at present I think those carrying it to its final destination in London will be stuffing it up their jumpers or down their trousers just to keep warm.

But before we're subjected to wall to wall sport for twenty four hours a day we have all the hysteria and false jollity of the Queen's Diamond Jubilee to endure. I'm no Royalist as you may have gathered and feel rather peeved that during my lifetime there's only been one bum sitting on that throne. Not that the heir is anything to write home about either. I must confess to feeling rather nervous as to whether our security can cope with two major consecutive events, but that's a complex topic.

In other news I am seriously attempting to lose a bit of weight. Last time I did the body test on my Wii Fit it asked where I'd been and who else was standing on the footboard. Drastic measures must be taken. I've done it before and I can do it again. It's not exactly rocket science, just hard work and bloody annoying when you have a partner who is constantly snacking and eats twice as much as you do. Sitting on his bum is about as much exercise as he gets apart from the odd round of golf so I'm coming around to the idea of passive calories. He does the eating and I gain the weight.

The nightly crunch session continues. I did a bit of calculating and came to the conclusion that a packet of crisps every night adds up to 48140 calories a year. As it's a leap year you can add another 132 to that. While I know how to lose weight I still can't understand why he isn't the size of a beached whale. Maybe sitting watching sport on TV burns a lot of calories? Perhaps I ought to sit glued to the Olympics after all and hope some passive physical activity will help my cause.


 

In response to my last entry and those who were a little confused by my reference to sticks of rock, here's a photo courtesy of Google. Are they what others refer to as candy canes?

I remember a time when my Mum used to say she was glad she was on her way out of this world and how horrified and upset that used to make me feel. But now I'm at the age when she made those sort of remarks I must admit I'm beginning to understand what she meant. Not that I want to disappear quite yet, but living through different eras and seeing all the changes sometimes makes me ponder where this world is heading. Of course there are constants and always new things worth learning and exploring, but it's attitudes that more frequently make me despair.

My son and his family returned from a week at the seaside yesterday. They didn't have glorious weather but had enjoyed the change and of course the kids were full of it and never stopped bouncing. Angel is in full time school now and being a popular and sweet little missy had wanted to take something for her classmates as a present. Now, I'm all for encouraging healthy habits and such, but I was quite surprised when Paul said the children are not allowed to take in sticks of rock or sweets from a holiday. They are permitted to take in stationary or healthy food, but I don't think a bag of apples or cod liver oil are really appropriate purchases to represent Devon and the cost of thirty pencils is not something many parents could afford. So what's a child to take back to her mates?

Paul said photographs from the holiday would be acceptable, but that's all well and good if you own a camera and a printer. Paul doesn't, but by this stage Angel was becoming quite concerned about what she could take into school. It was getting late, but I suggested if Paul sent me the photos from his iPhone, I could print them for her. Half an hour later after solving various problems, replacing ink cartridges and cutting pictures to size she went home clutching her envelope of photos. I wonder if the school would like to compensate me for the paper, ink and time involved?

My mind wandered to when I was a teacher back in the dark ages. When a child returned from a seaside holiday it was tradition to bring back sticks of rock and I spent many a happy morning with a hammer trying to break them into forty pieces of equal size ready for playtime. Okay, they're full of sugar, sticky, fattening and lousy for teeth, but as far as I know all my ex-pupils are still alive, not obese and have all their gnashers.

I see the logic and applaud the responsible attitude of changes such as these, but I suspect most of these kids will be picked up from school by their parents in cars, then go on to MacDonalds or sit glued to the television or a games console while they munch through a bag of crisps and bars of chocolate, then fall asleep and be dumped in bed without coming into contact with a toothbrush. Call me an old cynic, you won't be the first.

I don't know. Moderation in all things was the motto of my era and I believe we grew up able to make our own conscious decisions about things. Abolishing, banning, constantly saying no and disapproval all lead to kids developing rebellious attitudes in my experience. I'm sure Angel's classmates will enjoy looking at her photos, but I bet they'd have enjoyed a couple of sweets more.

So, I'm becoming more and more one of those 'In my day...' bores and just like my Mum think I'm glad I'm on my way out and not growing up in a world where everything pleasurable is frowned upon and health issues reaching obsessive levels. I better go and start the dinner...no salt, no sugar, no fat, no cholesterol, no additives? No way.
 

The April shower has continued relentlessly since we returned from York and even now seems determined to dominate a new month. There is still talk of droughts and water shortages however.

My sis came over last week as we had finally chosen a day to scatter our Dad's ashes. We had previously visited the site and met a lovely young lady called Rachel who kindly showed us around the allotments and agreed to be available to unlock gates when we had settled on a date. We chose the orchard at the allotments where our Dad had spent many happy days in his younger years. Gardening had been his passion in life. We thought a spring day when the young trees were in blossom would be appropriate and so decided on April 25th as it's a significant date for several reasons.

The day dawned and it was pimply sissing down with no hint of a reprieve, but after a lot of dithering we decided to go ahead with our plans regardless. Rachel met us at the gates with her little girl cozily sheltered under cover in her pushchair. We had bought a little thank you gift for Rachel and her baby, but could not remember the child's name.

Rachel informed us it was Ellianna which we remarked was unusual, then she went on to tell us the story behind it. Apparently Rachel has been married for ten years and has suffered several miscarriages. Her last pregnancy revealed after tests that yet again the baby was not alive and she was sent home to prepare to go into hospital. On the way home she offered up a prayer for help and said afterwards she distinctly heard from somewhere the word Ellianna.

Having no clue what it meant she went home to research and discovered it's actually an old Hebrew name meaning 'God has answered.' The following day at the hospital further tests revealed the first results were incorrect and the baby she was carrying was alive. Of course Rachel didn't care one iota if it was a boy or a girl, but swore if she had a daughter she would indeed call her Ellianna. And so it was.

Sis and I were both very touched and comforted by her story and even more so when Rachel offered to come to the orchard with us to say a little prayer as we set Dad free. The rain even eased off a little as we set about our task and at least we knew the ashes would stay put where we intended and not be blown elsewhere. Another sad day for us, but meeting Rachel and hearing her story lifted our spirits somewhat.

The rain continued to hammer down so we decided to take the tram from the allotment into Nottingham and lift spirits of a different kind as a special toast to our Dad. We hope now he will rest in peace and we too may be granted some more peaceful times. I won't hold my breath however.

 

Every time I look at the television lately I hear reports of empty reservoirs, hosepipe bans and water shortages. Admittedly it has been a very dry winter by comparison, but this being England I see no reason to panic as our precipitation generally turns up eventually no matter what time of year it is.

Last week I spent a few days in the beautiful city of York with some of my gals. We booked this a long time ago and were looking forward to getting out and about and enjoying the sights. A very reasonable price too with seats booked on the train and a lovely hotel right by the river and city walls. We planned on walking around those, but you know all about best laid plans.

We arrived in York on Tuesday full of enthusiasm and although it was pretty cold, the sun shone brightly. After settling into our hotel rooms we set off for some sustenance and exploration. By late afternoon dark clouds blotted out the sun and we headed for the nearest pub just in case the heaven's opened.

April is notorious for its showers and we only had the one. The fact it lasted from Tuesday evening to Thursday afternoon when we caught our train home made sure there was no chance of walking those walls, spending much time out of doors or going anywhere without raincoats and brollies. Thankfully York has 460 pubs...

So it seems I am still officially a weather witch and extreme conditions follow me wherever I go. If I hear the word drought mentioned again I may just put my foot through the television screen.

Photo link below. Hope it works as I'm still learning with this new iMac and iPhoto.


https://picasaweb.google.com/Eyupmeduck/YorkApril2012?authuser=0&feat=direc...
 

It can never be an easy task to clear the house and possessions of people we have loved. It was always something I dreaded doing, but knew one day in the natural scheme of things it would happen. As is often the case, it didn't happen as I'd imagined.

After the fire last year at my Dad's house, the lower level of the house was badly smoke damaged and had to be completely cleared before the insurance company could start restoration work. It was not possible to rescue much, so the majority of furniture, fittings and fixtures, personal and ornamental items were disposed of by them before we put the house on the market.

That left the upper level for my sister and I to sort out before the new owners moved in. We had to be quite ruthless but did decide on putting some pottery, jewellery, photograph albums and paper items on one side to sort through later before we decided their fate. All in all quite a painful process.

The saved items have been stored in our garage since then, but over the last few weeks I've been sorting out and disposing of a lot of my own stuff as well as reorganising and downsizing scrapbooks and such. It occurred to me there might well be some things in the boxes from my parent's house which might well be included in them, so I decided to sift through some of it.

We all know it's a common complaint that we don't ask or discuss things we should know about until it's too late. I'm as guilty as the next person. Of course I was aware of the bare bones of my parents meeting during the war when my Dad was stationed over here with the US airforce. Of course I'd heard many a tale from that era and seen photos and memorabilia as well as trying to piece together the family tree on the other side of the pond.

But time and circumstances make it impossible to keep up with everything and these last few long years of caring and dealing with heartbreaking issues meant leaving the distant past behind and focussing on day to day survival. I pray daily to have the bad memories and recollection of traumas taken from me, for I know there are happier memories to be treasured somewhere behind the fog.

I'll admit I'm not a fan of warfare and am a pacifist and idealist at heart. The battles, invasions and brutal campaigns of this world are things I don't understand and I'll admit my interest in World Wars has never been very strong. My Mum talked a lot about the war, complained about how terrible it was to live through, though I silently suspected that as a teenager she had a pretty good time in some ways. It is only recently I've started to appreciate the impact of living through those times.

My Dad on the other hand rarely spoke of his war years. We knew he was based somewhere near Bedford and was an aircraft instrument fitter, but beyond that our knowledge was scanty. We concluded he was one of those who chose not to talk about it and sadly we did not ask enough questions.

Back to the sorting. I discovered quite a lot of war documents, certificates, leaflets and papers amongst my Dad's things. I purposely made up my mind to read through them, make notes and do some research. One leaflet described a book written about the army base at Kimbolton in England where my Dad was based.

Enter Google, God bless her. Talk about a minefield. It has led me to many websites and contact with a US Facebook member who not only advised me where to purchase the original book, but has invited me to join his group related to the war base and provided links to all sorts of sites that are available for research purposes.

I now have a deep desire to piece together the lives of my parents during those war years and with the capabilities of the new iMac to possibly produce an illustrated book of their story, which I believe is rather unusual and worth recording for posterity. Maybe the novel I always intended to write was not meant to be after all. I never imagined becoming an historian or recording events from the war, but something is telling me this is the direction I need to go for whatever reason. I just hope to find the time and inspiration. I'd like to think it's coming from a higher level and my parents will guide me somehow. Or maybe that's just the wine talking.

 

It’s been a frustrating time lately and much as I always say my family and friends often help me survive, just recently they seem to do nothing but persecute me. Let me give you a few examples.

First, there’s my sister and the giraffe. She’s quite compassionate and friendly around ducks and bears, but every time she visits she has to make some indelicate suggestions about my first toy who is now so disturbed by her rude comments he has to reside in a plant pot with only his head visible. It’s not his fault time has not been kind to him and left him torn, scarred, discoloured and deformed. You’d think my sister would be more sympathetic with the elderly, but no, it has now reached the point where Rubber the giraffe has to hide completely when she visits for fear of being deposited in the dustbin.

Rubber, before he was forced into hiding.

The note said fifty quid or the bear gets it.

They even asked me to bring oranges.

I'm slowly and nervously getting to know my new Mac. I don't think I'll live long enough to ever fully understand it. I conclude it must be male.

The weather has been phenomenally warm for this time of year and we even had our first barbecue today. Unheard of in March. However, it's also been extremely dry so there's already a hosepipe ban and I suspect a drought will be declared before too long.

Since my last entry I've only visited the supermarket, the dentist, the library, the park and the hole in the wall too often. I did spend another great day in my favourite town of Newark last Friday with good friends and plenty of sunshine and vino. My cue brandishing buddy Joy was unable to join us as she has yet another cold which badly affects her asthma. I'm a bit worried about her to be honest.

Son and wife seem a little more settled and there was no more mention of further offspring today thank goodness. The grand monsters are thriving well and enjoyed playing in the sandpit and chasing the ice cream van with Nanna. Children have knack for recognising the softy in the family.

Hubby is in panic mode. There's another rat in the garden and this one doesn't like the Jaffa cakes he puts in the friendly trap. He'll be paranoid until it's been caught, but heaven help him if he puts anything black and sticky on my new bird table. He has been warned.
 

Another week gone by in the blink of an eye.

My sis came over for a three day visit during which time we emptied many bottles and cans, put the world to rights through much nattering and shared some laughter as well as tears over the last few tumultuous years. We have a thing about feathers and have been collecting them over the last year or so for some reason. We decided we'd take them to Newstead Abbey this visit and scatter them where our Mum's ashes are, but on arrival realised we'd left them in the car. What a pair of plonkers.

Today is Mother's Day in England, but it's just been another Sunday with the addition of cards and a CD as far as I'm concerned. Hubby did cook the dinner to be fair, but entertaining the grand monsters hardly meant I could put my feet up. Both have snivelling colds so I'm just praying I don't catch more bugs. Paul and Mey Ling were in good sniping mode and would you believe she's decided she wants another baby? .

My cynical head suspects she thinks this an easier option than getting herself moving to train for some work once the kids are in full time school come September. Paul is adamant there should be no more and much as they are beautiful children I agree with him. If they are to stand a chance of survival the last thing they need is another baby. He's even threatening to go for the snip. Happy families indeed.

In the meantime hubby continues his nightly crunching sessions, but does keep me guessing as to what time they will start. Sometimes it's almost straight after dinner, then another night it's closer to midnight. Oh the mystery of it all.

I've treated myself to a lovely new oak desk and and an iMac computer with an air printer. (still in their boxes) All I need now is a bar and a lock on the door of the spare room and I could happily spend the rest of my days in the ether. No more family disputes, crisp crunching, sport on television, childminding or housework...bliss.