Tuesday, 28 June 2011

'Summertime and the living is easy...'

Toby Toshiba is in the computer hospital having had a very lengthy operation. He is now recovering nicely and thanks everyone for all of your get-well wishes. It was touch and go for a while but he is out of intensive care and should be home in a few days- which is just as well, because Hubby and I are squabbling over his computer like two crabby children.
We shall be away for some of the Summer, and because Hubby claims he has so much gardening to do that he can’t blog much, we have decided to give this blog a holiday too.
I shall of course keep you all fully up to date with our adventures over the next few weeks on my regular blog – Facing 50 with Humour.
For those of you who really need a massive fix of wit and humour or just a hilarious summer read then click the book title and download a copy of MiniSkirts and Laughter Lines onto your Sony, iPhone, computer or Kindle.
If you do it today it will only cost you $1.00, yes $1.00.
You need to type in the following code when you purchase the book and check out- TV38A

So, for the moment we’ll bid you all a wonderful summer and leave you with an advert that we discovered that made us chortle.

Monday, 6 June 2011

'We're all going on a summer holiday...'

Not quite a summer holiday but I shall be away for ten days. I shan’t be languishing on a tropical island sipping Pina Coladas though, oh no, not Facing 50! Naturally, I shall divulge all when I return.

However, I hate leaving you all and so as a treat (hopefully) I am going to leave you with the first chapter of my precious book to read and enjoy. There is a catch though. The book is in a competition to be noticed and published which means it needs reviews and good star ratings over the next two weeks. If you think you’d like to read it and are willing to help me out then please click on the link I’ve provided HERE The details of my book will then come up. Click ‘read sample chapters from this book’. You will then be able to read the chapter.
     If you enjoy it would you please, please, pretty please, sign up and write a brief review of what you have read. You will need to go back to the page before and click on ‘review this work’. You’ll only need to provide a name – your blogging name is great and an email and some fictitious birth date!
     The review only needs to be 100 words or more. You can write whatever you like about it. It was funny. It was rubbish It made you laugh. Please feel free to criticise. I already have one scathing review and I only cried for five days. More importantly you will have to mark my work out of 5 for several categories, 5 being the best.
I cannot tell you how much I would appreciate your help.
     And so, I must leave you for a while. I shall be able to read your blogs but unable to leave comments. I’ll still be there in the background. Bye bye my bloggy friends - I’ll bring you all back a stick of rock!

Wednesday, 1 June 2011

Wednesday Wit

I have not been on form this week. What with a nasty cold, a bad back through attempting some gardening -I knew it would be bad for my health - and a disgusting cold sore on my face, I haven't felt too much like finding something for us all to giggle at. (Hubby says I should have posted a photo of my carrot cake I baked this morning - it's fallen and looks like a carrot cake mousse!)
I am therefore indebted to one of my followers for this week's 'Funnies'. Fishducky doesn't have a blog of her own. If she did, she would be inundated with followers as she is an extremely amusing lady. I have been fortunate enough to receive lots of jokes, anecdotes and very amusing pieces from her in recent weeks.
This week's funnies bring to mind my years of teaching. Exam howlers were always read out in the common room (no names mentioned of course). As for my own howlers, well when I was little and at junior school we had end of year exams. I was very bright and my parents expected much from me. They wanted me to do well and be put up a class the following year.
I read the questions through very carefully.
One asked  'Can you name ten fruit and ten vegetables?'
I held my tongue between my teeth in concentration and got my pencil ready. I wrote down all the vegetables I could think of - carrots, peas, beans, cauliflower, cabbage, leek, turnips, onions, potatoes, squash.
I then puzzled about the fruit: bananas, apples, oranges, pineapples, kiwi, peaches, cherries, strawberries, plums and raspberries.
Happy with my selection, I took out my eraser, rubbed out all the answers and wrote 'Yes, I can!'
Hope you enjoy the funnies. Thank you fishducky.

Thursday, 26 May 2011

Hubby's Hotties - I've been tagged

I have been preparing a post all about our electricity box this week. I have been planning it in my head as I go walking and just as I was about to write it up F50 came chattering and giggling like a kid (not the goat version) into my room and told me I’d been tagged! I thought that only happened to criminals. So, I now have to adhere to some rules and answer some questions.
I wouldn’t normally subscribe to this behaviour but since I was asked by a very nice lady from Devon, I have decided to play along – see F50, I’m not the spoilsport you make me out to be. Firstly, allow me to redirect you all to the mischief maker who has had the audacity to tag me. Thisisme at Southhamsdarling is a very nice lady indeed who always takes time to leave friendly comments on my blog posts. I especially appreciated it when I first began writing as it is quite daunting doing this when you’ve no idea what to write. Thisisme has a rather splendid blog that F50 has shown me. Her garden is exceptionally lovely and her clean patio puts ours to shame. Please go and visit this lady – if only to give her a telling off for making me do this especially as I have now caught F50’s horrible cold and feel quite weak.
Do you think you're hot?
Hot no - at the moment I’m freezing cold. I blame F50 and her lousy germs. No, I’m not hot but one of my son’s girlfriends called me ‘The Silver Fox’ a few years ago.
Upload a picture or wall paper that you are using at the moment.Are you kidding? I don’t know what upload means or how to do it. Facing 50 said she’ll sort it out, especially as it’s her fault I’m now ill.  So, that’s answered that then.

My wallpaper - I loved Concorde

When was the last time you ate chicken?
Don’t get me started on food. Everything I eat tastes of sandpaper. In fact sandpaper is probably more nutritious than F50’s cooking. I think we had chicken last month because she bought one when M&S had a ‘Dine in for £10’ offer. I remember it was sticky and tasteless but the lemon tart for dessert was very nice.
The song/songs you listened to recently.
Apparently, I listened to The Wu Pong Cling or Clang or something this morning thanks to a practical joke which wasn’t funny. (If you are reading this F50 don’t ever touch my Abba CD again?) Then I listened to a holy row by some more screaming banshees.
What were you thinking while doing this?
What the *#!? Is this pile of .....
Do you have any nicknames? What are they?
No. I suppose that wasn’t too difficult.
Tag eight blogger friends...
That is difficult as I don’t have any friends yet. I’ll choose eight people who have been kind to me, written comments, and encouraged me to write more. I hope that’s okay.

I wasn't blogged yesterday @ IWASNTBLOGGEDYESERDAY
Jane @ Rattlebox
Everyone else seems to already have been tagged so I’m sticking to six.
Who's listed as number one?
I wasn’t blogged yesterday. Funny and Australian what more could a man want?
Say something about number five?
Jane is a fellow Brit who lives fairly close to us in rural Shropshire. One should always support fellow Brits, so Jane, over to you my dear!
How did you get to know number three?
She left a nice comment for me on my first post and told F50 that she enjoyed visiting. I think anyone willing to spend time reading my posts deserves to be appreciated. Thank you Darlene.
How about number four?
Oh dash it! I’ve just discovered Belle was tagged too. Now what do I do?
Leave a message for number six?
Facing 50 would love to come and visit you. Please don’t give her too much wine when she does because she’ll talk rubbish. (More rubbish than normal!)
Leave a lovey- dovey message for number two?
Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a man. I don’t do lovey-dovey!
Right that’s it. ‘Tag everyone’ Now I’m going to write all about our electricity box because that is an entertaining story.

Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Wednesday Wit

Click on the funnies tab today to see what my mother has been cackling at every month...

Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Help, I need somebody. Help, not just anybody. Help, I need someone....Help!

Okay, today I am unveiling the blurb for my yet to be published book. I now need your valuable feedback. Please read the blurb and then comment on whether it is exciting enough to get you to buy the book or if it is lacking. I shan't mind if you criticise it at all, in fact sometimes criticism is better than praise. I have made myself go mad trying to rewrite it and now I need impartial opinions. The book is wrtten in a similar vein to my blogs so is largely humorous. All help will be more than gratefully received.

     Amanda Wilson can’t decide between murder, insanity and another glass of red wine. Facing the big five oh and all that it entails is problematic enough without having to deal with a man who makes Victor Meldrew look like Coco the Clown. What’s the point in minking your eyes, or crumbling up Horny Goats Weed into his afternoon cocoa, when your husband would much rather watch ‘Russia Today’ than admire you, strutting in front of the television wearing only thigh length boots and a thong? 
     Her son has managed to perform yet another magical disappearing act. Could he actually be buried under the mountain of festering washing which is strewn on his bedroom floor? He’ll certainly be buried somewhere when she next gets her hands on him after last night's shenanigans.
     Life is certainly 'drab' not 'fab' at the moment.  Isn't fifty supposed to be the new forty?Not for Amanda it seems. At least her mother knows how to enjoy herself. She’s partying her twilight years away in Cyprus. Queen of the Twister mat, she now has a toy boy in tow. However, who knows what the pearly-white toothed Adonis is really up to? 
     Everyone else seems to enjoy life to the maximum. Even the ancient next door neighbours know how to have fun. When they aren’t getting people blotto with their homemade wine, they spend weekends shooting off on their new motor bike, which they bought from his ‘PeaPad’.    
     Amanda blames desperation, hormones and Tiffany's coltish, blemish-free legs. She really shouldn’t have pressed that send button. The past always catches up with you sooner or later. Still, her colourful past is a welcome relief to her monochrome present; especially when it comes in the shape of provocative Todd Bradshaw, her first true love.
     Soon Mandy has a difficult decision to make; one that will require more than a few glasses of Chianti.

So, what do you think? Is it interesting enough or should I rewrite? Speak your mind please...help!

Monday, 23 May 2011

'The Jean Genie...'

I should really thank Hubby for ensuring that I can now actually get into my jeans. I should thank him and yet no, I’m cursing him.
     It all began over winter when Hubby discovered the joys of eating afternoon mince pies and I joined in. Nothing was nicer than cosying down in front of the log burner with a hot cocoa and a warm mince pie each afternoon as outside the snow fell. Well, enjoy it as I may, it wasn’t long before my waistline expanded, and by March I was still too large to fit into my trousers and jeans.
     I tried lying on my back and wiggling into them. No luck. I jumped up and down to get them on and succeeded, only to find the zip wouldn’t do up, or indeed would do up and would then break several hours later. I clearly needed to lose weight. I complained to Hubby and suggested I bought some new trousers. He looked horrified and said I could jolly well get back into my old ones.
     Mr Lean and Slim (in spite of eating chocolate and cake) assured me that walking was my only option. He took it upon himself to become my ‘bootcamp meister’ making sure that I was dragged out of bed when he got up (5am-6am) and taken outside for a good hike over the fields before breakfast. He then would saddle me up and take me out after breakfast and if I was very fortunate indeed he would take me out on my lead after lunch too.
     It wasn’t too bad last month because it was fairly warm for Spring and I started to feel the benefit of our regular walks. Coming back from our trip to Prague, Hubby was even more convinced about the benefits of walking and increased our routes by a few miles each day. I didn’t mind because at last I could get into my white jeans and almost do them up.
     Since our return though, it has become quite cold and horribly windy. If there’s one thing I loathe, it’s the wind. I absolutely despise it; but Hubby loves it and even finds it invigorating. Nothing would prevent his new obsession with walking. He continued to leap out of bed just as the birds are thinking about waking up, throw back the bedcovers to ensure I got up and hurtled for the door with rare enthusiasm.
     Last week as the wind whistled around my ears Hubby decided to take us even further than normal. About four miles away from the house, having crossed several fields, the skies darkened and the inevitable rain began to pour down. We got completely soaked. We tried to shelter under a tree but after half an hour of freezing even Hubby had to agree we should make our way home. Bedraggled and cold I complained.
‘You do want to get into your clothes don’t you?’ he asked.
I nodded miserably. I would rather have liposuction than this I thought as I towelled off my wet hair.
     In the afternoon he suggested a shorter walk. When I refused, he looked at my stomach and raised his eyebrows. I went along squelching through puddles. The next day it blew a gale. Hubby marched us off again on the newly discovered long walk; some seven miles of trekking. I was convinced we would be blown away as we struggled on against the ever strengthening winds. It was such an effort to walk against the wind that we actually got quite hot. Hubby battled on whistling. He was really enjoying himself.
     On our return, and after a warm shower, I put on a clean pair of jeans delighted that they slid on without any difficulty and did up. I proudly showed Hubby, who expressed relief that I didn’t need to go clothes shopping again. Later that day I felt ill. The feeling lasted all night and into the next day. I couldn’t eat any food. The pain turned into a bout of something nasty. The next day I could hardly stand up. All night I was awake with a streaming cold and a filthy headache. I felt rotten.
Hubby, who is convinced that you only have to say cold and he’ll get one, decided he didn’t want to be anywhere near me if I had a cold and took himself out for long walks without me. I was too ill to even make myself a cup of tea. He told me to stay out of any room he was in and made me sleep in the spare room on the couch. Quite honestly I was beyond caring. I dripped about in my office all day staring at the computer with unseeing eyes.
     Today, I feel better enough to write this post. I still have a rotten cold. My eyes are streaming and my stomach still hurts. Hubby is nowhere to be seen. He’s outside somewhere walking over the fields. There is, of course, a benefit to all of this. I haven’t been able to eat for four days now. Due to being ill I have lost more weight. My jeans and trousers hang slackly on me now. I might have to get them taken in. Or, maybe, when I feel better I should go to town and treat myself to a new pair. I’m sure Hubby won’t mind, after all, it is all thanks to his fitness regime! 

Saturday, 21 May 2011

Elementary my dear Watson...

I've finally discovered what was in the bag that my son took to his grandmother in Cyprus. The bag he almost forgot and whose contents he was reluctant to divulge.You'll never guess. I didn't. It is quite a surprise. So, if you want to know the secret of the plastic bag then you must click here to link to Facing 50 with humour where all will be revealed.

Wednesday, 18 May 2011

Wednesday Wit

Click on the 'funnies' tab above and check out some more vital signs

Monday, 16 May 2011

Hubby's Hotties - I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky...'

The machine whirred amidst a sea of canned applause. The voice called out.
     “The first ball, last drawn three weeks ago, number 16.”
I read the VCT report that came in the post earlier. Facing50 was watching the live draw.  The National Lottery, what a waste of money. £1 for a ticket and 1 chance in 14 million of winning the jackpot. Not my idea of a good investment.
     “The second ball, featured in the last two draws, number 29,”
I ignored the voice. It became a noise in the background. This VCT report was showing that I was due a dividend in June. Good, that would help pay for son’s car to be serviced. I looked up. Facing50 was sitting on the edge of her seat silently, mouth slightly ajar.
     “You okay?” I asked
She nodded, eyes shining brightly and waved her ticket at me.
     “We’ve won!”
     “Ha,ha, of course...” I started to say. Something stopped me.
     “We’ve won!” She said, more loudly.  “We’ve got all six numbers.”
     “How much is the jackpot tonight?” I choked
     “Three Million.”
Three million! Imagine the possibilities with three million pounds in the bank. I was just about to conjure up a special Designo Mercedes SLS when I woke up suddenly. I had been dreaming. Very strangely for me as I rarely dream.
     Facing50 says we all dream but I just can’t remember what I have been dreaming about. I’m pretty certain I don’t dream though. She does. When she finally conks out for ten minutes she manages to pack in full feature length dreams that would make Martin Scorsese jealous of their cinematic skills. (I had to Google a famous film producer for that last statement. I haven’t a clue who makes films!)
     I told F50 about it. She was very interested.
     “Which numbers did I play?”
     “I don’t know. There might have been a 16. I wasn’t paying attention. In the dream, you won not me, so you must have chosen the numbers.”
     “It must be a sign that we should get a ticket,” she decided.
     We never play the National Lottery as I truly believe it is a complete waste of money. I let F50 buy some Premium Bonds instead as you can at least get your stake money back on them. But, on closer inspection, I worked out that they yielded approximately 1% per annum, which technically means, by the time you factor in inflation, you may as well have a flutter on the Lottery. You’ll probably still lose your money. Ergo, if F50 thought my dream was some sort of prediction, then she could buy a ticket if it made her happy.
     The weekend drifted by and we both forgot about the Lottery draw. In fact, it was the next week when I asked her if the numbers had come up.
     “Crumbs, I forgot all about it. I’ll check on the internet.”
     Several minutes passed. I was busy sorting out a window frame that needed repainting. I despise painting with gloss paint but someone has to do it and I’m not letting Miss Astigmatism 2011 near it. There’d be paint all over the window frame. There was a clatter as she walked into the door.
     “We’ve won!” she shouted.
I nearly spilled the paint over my shoes.
     “What? Impossible!”
     “No, we’ve definitely won.”
     “How much?”
     “Let me see, we got three numbers, so that’s ten pounds.” She grinned.
I’ll have to put my SLS on hold for the moment but if I have any more dreams I’ll be sure to share them with you all.

Monday, 9 May 2011

Don't mess with my blue suede shoes...

     You might recall that I have been having a battle with Hubby over his wardrobe. He has far too many clothes left over from his working days that he will never wear again but that he cannot bear to give away.
     Following on from the great spring clean, and the peacock blue trouser episode, I tried once again to get him to dispose of one or two outfits.
     ‘It’ll make it much easier for you to choose something to wear,’ I explained, having waited an hour for him to get dressed for a shopping trip to town. He had eventually turned up in a smart pair of trousers and a striped jacket which I think he last wore to a wedding. He certainly turned heads, but I can’t help but feel the supermarket isn’t the right place for such attire.
     Hubby huffed and shrugged and glowered as only he can, in a semi helpless way. I left him to it. Two hours later I found him in front of a mountain of shoe boxes. He has more shoes than can be found in a large shoe shop. He had begrudgingly selected a pair that he felt he would no longer be able to wear. They were to go to the charity shop.
     I must say that I highly approved of his choice. There in front of me, pristine and shiny was a pair of ghastly tan shoes. ‘Tan’ doesn’t quite describe the colour of these shoes but to do so would involve a vulgar description involving the words ‘cat’, and ‘sick’. Goodness knows when or why he had bought them. Maybe they were fashionable in the seventies.
     He frowned and scratched his head.
     ‘I don’t want to get rid of them. I’ve never worn them.’ (I could see why he hadn’t worn them.) ‘I just can’t get them to match with any of my clothes so I suppose they’ll have to go. They are beautifully made though,’ he sighed.
     He was right. They were a beautifully made, pair of disgusting coloured shoes. Good thing they were going. I bundled them into a bag before he could change his mind, and the next day I dropped them off at the charity shop.  The lady looked in the box with a dismayed expression.
     ‘They’re expensive shoes,’ she said. ‘But, who would want that colour? I’ll put them up for five pounds and hope someone wants them. Maybe they’ll buy them for gardening.’
I had to agree. They really were not everyone’s cup of tea. Hopefully someone would be willing to shell out a few pounds though. It is for charity after all.
Later that day Hubby came into the kitchen looking even more glum than usual.
     ‘What’s the problem?’ I asked.
     ‘Found this,’ he said holding up a belt the same colour cat....I mean tan as the shoes.
     ‘Okay, I’ll take it to the shop tomorrow,’ I replied.  ‘At least you’ve cleared a couple of things out of your wardrobe.’
He nodded gloomily and like Eeyore plodded back to his room, head down, disheartened.
     The following day, he said he’d take the belt to the charity shop after he had been to the supermarket, as I had to go to the Post Office.  On my way back I passed the shop. The same lady from a couple of days ago was outside putting up a poster.
     ‘Hello,’ she said cheerfully. ‘I sold those shoes you brought in.’
     ‘What a surprise. My husband should be by soon with a matching belt maybe the person would like that too,’ I suggested.
     ‘Oh, I expect so. He didn’t hesitate when he saw them. He said they were very good quality and he thought they were very cheap at five pounds.’
I met Hubby later and told him that his shoes had gone to a good home. He looked at me sheepishly.
     ‘Well, once I found the belt. I thought I could probably match them up with a pair of greenish trousers I have.’
In the boot of the car I could see the boomerang tan coloured shoes.
     ‘Well, they are very good quality,’ said Hubby.

Friday, 6 May 2011

Hubby's Hotties-How to make Mr Grumpy turn into Mr Happy

     Facing50 is spitting feathers. Why? Because I’ve only written three posts and I’ve been given my first award - the Versatile Blogger Award.
     “Do you know how long it took me to get an award?” she said in disbelief.
     “No,” I replied innocently.
     I know exactly when she got her first award because she was as pleased as Punch, and told me all about it, several times, while I was trying to unblock the sink. Having now received my first award I can understand her euphoria and so I must thank Melynda from Craziness Abounds for bestowing this accolade upon me, a humble beginner who still doesn’t know how to cut and paste.
    There are various conditions attached to receiving it. Firstly I have to tell you 7 things about myself I asked Facing 50 what I should write; after all, you know nothing about me. Facing50 scoffed at that and said you all know quite a lot about me, and even some things I don’t know about myself so that didn’t help.
     I have come up with these few offerings which I hope you’ll accept. I am, however, quite an ordinary person.
-I like watching Fawlty Towers. I know all the episodes off pat. They are as pertinent to today’s situations as they were when they were first aired on television
-I prefer the countryside to towns. I am always in search for quiet and harmony. Difficult when you live with Facing50.
-I’m not a fan of sports. This makes me odd in the male world. When our son comes home and chats about the cricket or football, I have to nod and pretend I know what he is talking about.
-I am a chocoholic. I have to eat some chocolate every day. I have cut down recently but the craving gets me at some point in the day. I have a drawer full of chocolate which is mine alone. Luckily Facing50 doesn’t like chocolate much.
-I cannot abide incompetence. If a job is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. I wish someone would tell our local council that and repair the road outside our house.
-Weather fascinates me. I have several weather stations dotted about the house to check what is going to happen. I adore thunderstorms.  
- I can’t think of a number seven. Is this because I am modest or boring?
     Next I am to pass this award to bloggers and blogs I feel deserve it. You’ve caught me out there. It’s all I can do to post. Reading blogs is for Facing50. I’ve used up all my technological ability in typing this. F50 sometimes reads bits out for me or tells me what someone has said. I am therefore, with her help, giving my own award.  It is a unique award -made and drawn by Facing50.
     It is for all of you who are reading this, who have written such nice messages to me and have welcomed me with open arms into the blogging community. I would like you all to take the Hubby’s Hotties Award for Professional Bloggers – nothing can be more professional than giving encouragement to those who are blindly making their way in blogging world. Comments and feedback is as important as writing a post. Please take the award and display it proudly on your blogs. If Facing50 can show me how, I’ll come by and visit you. I wanted the award to display ‘I am a hottie’ but you know who said that would lower the tone.
     Thank you Melynda, and all of you. Facing 50 is now allowing me post on this page rather than in the background. Then, we’ll be able to save the posts and comments and more importantly, I get to be on the front page which, naturally, I deserve.
Please take this award - please. It took F50 all day to make it!

Thursday, 5 May 2011

Yo ho ho and a bottle of sherry...

Once again I have nipped away from here to guest post at another fab blog. This time I am to be found at The Life and Times of A.Nighbert – written by a wonderful young lady who, not only is part Italian, (are you sensing a theme here?) but who is also a teacher.

My post today is dedicated to her and all teachers...however, just what is the connection between pirates and teachers? Ah well, click HERE to find out.

Please take time to leave Alessandra a message and check out her blog too while you are there. Watch you don’t fall over the Irish Chihuahuas!

Wednesday, 4 May 2011

'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.'

     Well, my dear son has returned from his sojourn with my party loving, chain-smoking mother in Cyprus. I’ve been driving myself nuts wondering what they’ve been up to.
     Just before Easter we collected Son and Girlfriend to take them to the airport. Son was in a complete tizzy as he’d forgotten to pack something vital to the trip. He raced off back inside and kept us waiting while he ferreted around for whatever it was. Hubby blasted the car horn.
‘Hurry up!’ he yelled.
Girlfriend sat waiting nervously in the back of the car.
‘Don’t worry I said. ‘You’ll enjoy it. My mother is rather good fun. I know you haven’t met her, but she’s quite a laugh.’
     Girlfriend wasn’t convinced. She’s heard lots of stories about my mother and her shenanigans. She also knows that Son is a handful when he’s been at the ‘watering hole’ i.e. the pub, so completely wasted with his Grandmother in tow, wasn’t something she relished. I don’t suppose I helped by asking:
‘You will text me won’t you? Just to let me know you’re all okay.’
Finally, Son appeared clutching something in a plastic bag.
‘Soz,’ he puffed. ‘I needed this for Grandma. I promised her I ‘d bring it.’
‘What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing you’d be interested in,’ he replied and gave Girlfriend a big squeeze. Don’t you just hate not knowing? I tried to look at the bag but he’d moved it out of sight. 
‘You’ll text me, won’t you?’ I asked Son later as they were about to go through to Departures.
‘Yeah, yeah, of course I will.’
     Son texted me three times in the first half hour of arrival, after which time he was no doubt far too sozzled to even remember his own name, let alone how to text. I heard no more. I sent a text to my mother. Same thing. Silence. I sent one to Girlfriend.
‘Hi! Weather lovely. Your Mum is so funny. She’s been telling us stories all about you. How’s weather at home. Hugs x’
Came the reply.
      Great - just what I feared.  My son and his girlfriend would now know all about my failings and misdemeanours when I was young and would never look at me the same way. Children should never learn what you were like as a child. It’s like showing photographs of your son or daughter as a baby, naked on the rug, to their future spouses. My mother has hundreds of tales of what I used to be like. My son will be either mortified or fall around thinking he has a complete nut case for a mother.
     No, don’t ask me what I was like. In fact, I should get my mother to blog the tales. You’d all laugh yourselves senseless. She particularly likes the story about how I went skiing with the school. She was worried I would hurt myself as I was a dreadfully clumsy child. I didn’t fall off my skis or break my arm snowboarding. I did, however, fall down the bus steps spectacularly as I disembarked from the bus at school, in front of all the waiting parents, and twisted my ankle so badly I couldn’t walk for weeks.
     I tried sending a couple more texts but they also got no reply. Girlfriend, my secret spy, has been no use either. She sent another a few days later.
‘Weather lovely and hot. Ate outside last night. Your Mum is lovely. Hugs x’
     They came home a few days ago. Girlfriend’s parents picked them up and took them home, so I didn’t see them. I sent a welcome home text to each of them. Son still hasn’t replied to his. I’ve been his mother long enough to know something is afoot. Girlfriend wrote:
‘Isn’t the weather nice here? Your Mum was brilliant. Hugs x’
     You know that saying ’what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas’? I have a feeling the same applies to Cyprus. ‘What happens in Limassol, stays in Limassol.’
     My mother is coming home for a few days next week. I’m going to phone her. Sooner or later I’m going to find out what transpired. Concerned? No.  Nosey? Yes. And when I find out I shall come and tell you.

Sunday, 24 April 2011

'They call me mellow yellow...'

I’ve hopped off my blog today and have taken myself to Italy. Not literally, although I’d love to hang out with Valerie from Living Out of a Box properly. She has kindly (and bravely) invited me to do a guest post at her beautiful blog today. Since she is a connoisseur of wine, it was a done deal as far as I was concerned.
Please click on the link below, meet the talented and gorgeous Valerie, enjoy her fabulous blog, and of course read my latest post...’They call me mellow yellow...’
Hopefully, it'll bring a cheerful smile to your face, which is more than it did for Hubby.

I'll only be posting one short post this week here, as I really need to concentrate on editing my book. Hubby said he'll try and do his post too but the garden needs doing - ha! I'll change the funnies page for you to giggle at and will be back later in the week. I shall be announcing the lucky winners of the 'Ten Years Younger' draw on the big day - the 29th. Make sure you've entered.

Happy Easter Everyone...oh blast, Hubby hasn’t bought me any eggs.

Saturday, 16 April 2011

'Walking back to happiness...'

     The trip to Berlin last week went well. The biggest problem I had after Hubby couldn’t choose what to wear was preventing him from buying a new German car when we visited the large showroom there (every day).
     He insisted we walked to the big Mercedes showroom which was some way from the hotel so we could take in the sights as we walked. He also decided to take control of the map so I didn’t have to keep putting on my glasses to look at it and then take them off again every five minutes. Hubby managed to get us lost and a couple of miles off the correct route so the trip to the showroom was actually six miles (I know because I wore my pedometer!)
     Having done a lengthy detour to get to the showroom I took command of the map for the return journey as both of us were getting sore feet and Hubby still maintained we would see more by walking rather than catch a ride in a taxi.
     We marched down all the main streets and I pointed out all the major sites and peered continuously at the map working out the shortest return route. Hubby trundled along beside me, miles away dreaming about driving down an autobahn at speed in a fast Merc.
‘Turn here,’ I commanded and we entered a street blocked by some tape.
‘Oh, it says route blocked. No Entry,’ I told him reading the sign.
‘No, it can’t be. What’s the alternative route?’
     I checked the map. It would mean walking at least a mile back up the road we had come down and then going out of our way another mile to get back on the road which lay more or less ahead of us.
‘I’m not going that far. My feet hurt.’
‘We could get a taxi,’ I offered.
Hubby looked around. There was no traffic.
‘No taxis here. I suggest we ignore the sign,’ he said and ducked under the tape.
‘The Germans are quite strict,’ I pleaded. ‘They don’t cross the road if the little man on the crossing is on red. They have strict rules about things and obey them,’ I continued.
‘Well I’m not a German and I shall just pretend I didn’t understand the notice,’ said Hubby and marched on.  
Further on there was another larger notice and some wooden barriers.
‘I think we might have to turn around,’ I announced. ‘This looks blocked off for some reason.’
‘I’m not going back now,’ said Hubby climbing over the barrier. ‘Flipping roadworks,’ he complained.   
     We continued along the quiet street. I walked and stared at the map simultaneously trying to work out an alternative route. When I looked up I noticed Hubby had become distracted by a large glass fronted building where a meeting was taking place. There were lots of tables on view around which sat important looking people and Hubby, ever the businessman, pressed his nose up to see what was going on.
‘What are you doing? Come away you don’t want to distract people having a meeting.’
‘Do you know,’ he said. ‘I think that might be Bill Gates?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ I replied looking at the map to get my bearings again. ‘Why would he be in Berlin?’
‘No, it is him. And I think I know that chap there too.’
     I sighed. He must have had too many beers. I turned to check the name of the street ahead and at that precise moment about thirty armed policemen appeared from out of the back of a parked van and politely but firmly asked us to move on.
‘Vot are you doink here?’ they said (in German of course).
‘Sorry, we’re just trying to get back to the hotel. My husband thought he saw someone he recognised,’ I joked. ‘Bill Gates,’ I laughed nervously.
‘Yes, vell, he Is here mit der Israeli Prime Minister, Herr Netanyahu. You,’ said one policeman pointing his finger at us. ‘You cannot come dis vay,  so, please, avay you go. Komm.’ And we were escorted back through the cordon we had penetrated and past the bright green tanks which were parked on the main road and which we somehow had managed not to notice.
     We had to retrace our footsteps and go around the road to get back to the hotel but half an hour later as we sat on a bench to rest our feet  we watched the cavalcade of delegates storm down the main road in black Mercedes cars sporting blue flashing lights and accompanied by motor cycles, sirens and what appeared to be the entire German police force.
‘See I told you it was Bill Gates,’ said Hubby as he rubbed his feet. ‘I wonder if we could find a taxi now.’

For all of you kind enough to leave Hubby a comment he has finally responded with an epic letter. Make sure you have a glass of wine ready or a cup of coffee before you read it on his page.

Friday, 15 April 2011

'Red, red wine. Goes to my head...'

     After the episode with the out of date bean sprouts (see Hubby’s Hotties) I decided I ought to have a clear out of the kitchen cupboards. Heaven knows what’s lurking in the back of those. I tackled my task with gusto and my spectacles so I could see the dates on the tins and packets.
      Removing all the jars of jam that Hubby had purchased in case the world ever runs out of jam I discovered a bottle of red wine hiding in the back of one of the cupboards. It was one of which had been given to Hubby for his fortieth (cough, cough – a very long time ago).  It would obviously seem sensible to dispose of the said red wine as it had probably gone off by now.
     Out of the two of us I am more the wine connoisseur. I say that glibly because I actually know very little about wine but I seem to enjoy and appreciate a good red wine more than poor old Hubby who can’t drink the stuff as it gives him a headache. He usually sticks to the tried and tested Pinot Grigio or a nice little Petit Chablis.
     I love red wine. I can sit for ages savouring the flavours of red fruits or oaky notes. (See I sound like I know what I’m on about don’t I?) I became interested in it when we lived in France and I started my own cellar. I chose a few very nice wines to lay down and read up about them. I had a thermometer to keep them at the ambient temperatures and of course a proper wine rack where I would turn my bottles regularly. Hubby didn’t share my enthusiasm and when we came back to the UK rather than let the bottles travel in the back of the hire van on a freezing cold, snow covered February day and go off I quaffed them all.
     My discovery of this particular bottle of red wine was a bit of a coup because I’d just finished my last bottle of Chianti and Hubby won’t let me share his nice bottles of white which he makes last. I sought him out and found him in front of the computer growling about some fund he had bought into that was floundering. All our shares seem to flounder and lose money.
‘Uhm, there’s a bottle of red wine in the cupboard. It’s technically yours but as you don’t like red wine can I have it tonight to go with the pasta?’
‘Erg, grump, hurrumph!’ came the reply which I took to mean ‘Yes, have it with my pleasure. I hope you enjoy it.’
     I cleaned it off and put it on the kitchen top for later and finished throwing away out of date tins before Hubby worked out how much stuff was actually well past its sell-by date. He emerged later grumpily and stomped into the kitchen where he stood and stared at the bottle.’
‘Where did that come from?’
‘It’s yours. It was a birthday present from your friends for your fortieth birthday.’
He looked horrified.
‘Gosh, that long ago. It’s a 1983. Shouldn’t this have been drunk years ago. Crumbs, I hope it’s alright. It’ll be like vinegar by now. Oh well, you could always put it in your cooking if it isn’t right. What a shame.’
I opened it to let it breathe. The cork came out with a pleasant ‘plop’ sound.
‘No, I think it’ll be okay,’ I announced savouring the rich aroma that emerged from the bottle.
Hubby looked at the label
‘Chateau Margaux 1983’. Isn’t that supposed to be a good vineyard?’
‘Yes, Chateau Margaux is one of the well known Chateaux in Bordeaux.’
Hubby, however, lost interest in the wine and went off outside to check the air pressure in the car tyres.
Later that evening I poured a large glass of the wine and settled down with it. It was lovely and fruity.
‘You should try some of this. It’s very nice. Not at all heavy or oaky.’
He reluctantly let me pour him a small glass.
‘Mmm, quite nice for a red wine. You should check up on the internet about it. Maybe we could get another bottle. It’s quite nice.’
I glugged another glass and then another. It really was rather smooth and beautifully fruity. Soon I felt pleasantly relaxed. Even Hubby had a glow to his face after his thimbleful.
The following morning I discovered I had no hangover. What a great wine. Pity we hadn’t got a couple of bottles of it. I logged on and ‘googled’ it.
The winemaker notes said
"The 1983 Margaux is a breathtaking wine. The Cabernet Sauvignon grapes achieved perfect maturity in 1983, and the result is an astonishingly rich, concentrated, atypically powerful and tannic Margaux. The color is dark ruby, the aromas exude ripe cassis fruit, violets, and vanillin oakiness, and the flavors are extremely deep and long on the palate with a clean, incredibly long finish... Anticipated maturity: 2000-2030."
96/100 pts. (Robert Parker)

Read more: http://www.snooth.com/wine/1983-ch-margaux-1983-1/#ixzz1JJn3HyZv
Aghast I read all the reviews. Apparently it is ‘the Bordeaux of the vintage’. I sat mouth open and checked out the price. It retails for approximately £521.65p ($649.99).
I think maybe we should have kept this bottle as an investment. It would certainly have been a better bet than some of Hubby’s funds. Now how to tell him?

I've kept the bottle as a souvenir. Maybe I could fill it up with Chianti and resell it.