ahah! So I decided to write a bit more of the blog since I'm 71 and won't last forever.  Since my most recent post little Polly, my elder cat, had to be killed by the vet as she was falling over and getting thinner and weaker. She was 19 years old.  So now Lulu has had to take over her duties, except the "waking me in the morning by walking over my face" duties, they've been passed on to Zak but he's not much good at it, as he snuggles up to my face and falls asleep.  But Lulu has to remind me (every hour) to feed them, has had to turn in to a lap cat - even with visitors, and has turned into the yard cat too since little Jenny from upstairs, who was the yard cat, had to be also put to sleep.  I think of Lulu a bit like Prince Charles, waiting almost a lifetime for a proper job!

Now the "every time" list.
Every time I
iron a teatowel
water the aspidistra
cut the nail on my littlest toes
pencil in my eyebrows
see the snapdragons
cook roast potatoes
look up the hill
see a rainbow

Every time I iron a teatowel I think of our kitchen in Armfield Street, Coventry, where my mum got my brother and I competing to be allowed to iron! And I've never lost my love of ironing, though as a teenager I didn't much like ironing the adults' and my teen brother's underwear. Fortunately, now I live alone, I don't iron anything that doesn't need it.

I remember, late 60s or early 70s, we lived in Alderman's Green Road by then, mum having to heat up a solid (non electric) iron on the boiler to do the ironing. Why was that I wonder?  I don't think it was during the three-day weeks, they were later in the 70s.  

I enjoyed the 3 day weeks, we had to work by candle light at Gulson Hospital where I was a medical secretary. Some of those junior docs were very cute. That's all I am saying.

Every time I water the aspidistra it reminds me of so many things. The original aspidistra was in my nan's front room at Perkins Street, Hillfields, Coventry. Dad rescued it when she died and brought it to Alderman's Green. When dad died in 1990 he had not long split the plant into a number of smaller plants, and lots of rels took one with them from his shed.  I managed to save one and it's been with me ever since - 30 years and counting.  I split it off and give them away. I love it. And the other great thing is, the tortoise can eat aspidistra too.  He can't reach it, so I cut him a bit off every few weeks. So that aspidistra reminds me of my nan, my mum and my dad.  When I was little we didn't have indoor plants - they were a luxury, I guess, when one's money had to be spent on food.  Later though, my parents became really keen on indoor plants especially Christmas cactus.  Somewhere I have a photo they sent to me in the middle east of a cactus of which they were particularly fond. I'll see if I can find it! (nope, can't find it, but I can see it in my mind. The other thing I need to do is go through the big box of photos!)

Every time ...

Well, it's about ten years since I last posted on the blog, but I've rediscovered it. And remembered the password.

Every time ... I do anything ... I think of people in my past.  So I want to write about them.  Some people will be just X because of various factors - they were married, we are no longer friends, they wouldn't want the publicity, other reasons.  Of course, they may recognise themselves if they read this.  I shan't be putting anything nasty, because why would I even have interactions with nasty people?

A pet update: six months after my Mick Jagger died on 14th February, my lovely Sammy died.  I had to have him killed by the vet when he (Sam) was having a fit that wouldn't stop, and screaming, and staring into my eyes begging me to do something.  He'd been a fine cat, teaching me everything a cat owner needed to know.  Things he taught my other cats are still done, for instance ringing a bell when they want me to open a door for them.  He was a darling. When he began having fits I took to sleeping on the floor with him, so he couldn't fall out of bed. This is Sam on the right, with Lulu and Polly as youngsters.  Sam was an ex-feral cat, he was born in the barn behind the Kings Arms in the High Street.  I think he was glad to move into a house, once he'd got me trained.

The female cats that were young then, Polly and Lulu, are now elderly and slow and sleep a lot. They have a younger companion, Zak, who has lived with us for seven years, and a tortoise that thinks he's cat, Blackberry. The pets are my exercise.  Does everyone else do half an hour's exercise before coffee, shower, dress?  not many I think. Here are Zak and Lulu sharing the warmth from Blackberry's heating lamp!

Another update: my ankle, broken in the "fire on the conservatory roof" debacle, still bothers me and makes me afraid to walk on the hills, especially downhill.  I saw an orthopaedic consultant about it, and the Xray shows nothing but arthritic changes.  He asked me if I was afraid of breaking it again.  I replied, "No, I'm afraid of the embarrassment of falling over!"  

Meanwhile I need to begin my "Every time..." journal.  Let's make some notes.

Every time I
iron a teatowel
water the aspidistra
cut the nail on my littlest toes
pencil in my eyebrows
see the snapdragons
cook roast potatoes
look up the hill
see a rainbow

Must be a growing old thing, everything I do reminds me of someone I've loved.

Mick Jagger MY Mick Jagger 1995-2011

dear darling Micky died today 14th February 2011. He had gone into the bathroom overnight and lay on the rug in there; he drank some water and tried to eat a little breakfast but he was so light, so very light, so much weight lost over the past few days. He went out one morning last week, as usual, right after breakfast, to the front yard. Within minutes he was back, most unusual as he generally made his way around to the cat flap. He was different somehow, his tail stuck out and he was walking stiffly. I could find no blood, no bits of him that made him wince when touched. I don't know if a fox grabbed him, one of the neighbour cats (although Mick was friendly with everything in a laid back unostentatious way), or he was clipped by a car. But he became more and more quiet over the past few days. And died whilst I was at work today. He had had a special hug and a whispered Goodbye this morning.

Memories:

Micky as a kitten. I thought he was a girl and called him Kitty. He came from Pitchford village, my only cat who's not a foundling. Sammy had been an only cat for a year. Sammy and I were canoodling on the bed when Sam's eyes opened wide as he gazed over my shoulder. Baby Micky had been sleeping under the pillow and crept out to see what we were doing. I felt so .... dirty

Mick would leave home for two or three days as a teenager. I know where he went. To the house on the hairpin bend of Cunnery Road where he would socialise with Mrs Justin-Evans, who wore perfume. He'd drift home in his own time, looking well fed and smelling of perfume. Sometimes he would chirrup at me as I passed that house on the way home from the pub at night, and then escort me home the long way (up the road rather than via the field!)

Micky loved to go for walks in company; he trained me and Sammy to go with him round the Rectory Wood on summer evenings. There was a certain route we had to follow (and along this route his ashes will shortly be scattered); he and Sam would race toward certain trees and see who could claw their way furthest up the tree. On the way home they would scamper down the Rectory Field, zigzagging in and out of the bracken. It was Fun, for them as well as me.

His most recent long walk was with me and Daphne a couple of years ago. we set off for a walk around the wood; I looked back toward the gate and there was Mick, wondering if it was too late to join us. He calmly accompanied us all the way, including greeting dogs and their owners without fear.

More recently he spent each evening on my lap impeding my typing on the pc - or he would curl up alongside the pc thus managing to impede any use of the mouse. I always thought he had no sense of humour - but who knows.

Mick Jagger - my cat. Fearless and devoted; cuddly and purry; swaggering and strutting. Sixteen years of tolerant and cosy companionship. I miss you. x

What I did on my holidays - part I

yesterday Ian and I took the Shuttle Bus to the top of the Long Mynd - we get it free, being oldies; but then, so do most people that use it. We got off at the Stiperstones (actual, not pub) and had a wander up there nearly to the devil's chair, then turned and walked back the way the bus had come, toward Bridges and the Horseshoes Inn.

As we walked across the moorland at the top, a kite took off from a small tree about 10 yards ahead of us, flew low over us and circled, then flew back toward the Stiperstones. It was certainly the closest I've been to a kite, Ian too I think!

Because it was so hot, I didn't want to wear my MBTs to walk, them being a bit wintry and me wearing a white linen skirt ... so I wore a pair of plimsolls. Plimsolls are not recommended for walking 3 miles in 80 degree heat on rocky paths! Oh my feet and knees did ache! It's worn off now though (next day) and I've just been for an amble around the Secret Hills centre at Craven Arms. There were some fab turquoise dragonflies over a pool there, some of them "joined" to drab little brown dragonflies. I dunno if the bright ones are the women or the men. I suppose I could look it up. I'm back. If it was a common blue damselfly, then the women are the dull brown/green ones. Either that or they were all carrying bits of dry stick on their backs.

Also today I had the horrible thought that the old wall cupboard I've set my heart on for the kitchen might not fit through the door. I'd measured it yesterday in the antiques centre though without a tape measure. It measured across: elbow to fingertip x 3. It measured in depth: elbow to fingertip divided by 2. I didn't bother measuring height as the kitchen ceiling is really high. So today I measured the height of my door frame. 196 cm max. Then I went, with a tape measure, and measured the height of the cupboard. 200 cm. I WAS SO DEJECTED. This cupboard was going to solve all my storage problems when I have my kitchen remodelled. I don't want lots of kitcheny things in there.

As I walked away my brain suddenly kicked into gear. They lay these things on their sides don't they, to get them through doorways. I tell you, it's a good job the human race doesn't depend on my brain.

Chester, and on the way to Chester

I went toChester yesterday. Silly really on a Bank Holiday, it was s-l-o-w. I needed petrol and the loo so stopped at a service station. A Shell service station. The girl serving me was called Shell! (Michelle, she assured me). But it was like fate. She said when she was little she thought it was her petrol station.

There was a queue for the one toilet (handwashing facilities in the same room as the toilet, it always slows things down); two women and a man were taking turns and talking in a foreign language to each other. Finally just me and the man left. I thought I'd make an effort and said, in my clearest voice: "Where . Are. You. From? Poland?" He said "Sorry?", so I repeated myself, more clearly.

He looked me straight in the eye. "Wales", he said.

Ooops.

Life's disappointments

Life has dealt me a few disappointments. The earliest I can remember is my conviction that once I learned to read I could finish school and teach myself everything. Or everything I wanted to know.

So I was six when I had my first big disappointment.

There were others in the next few years, I'm sure.

Then I tasted, at a Chinese restaurant in Coventry in the very early 1960s, peppers, bamboo shoots and beansprouts. When I say "tasted" I mean they were in my bowl and I ate them. THEY HAVE NO TASTE!!!! How disappointing that was I can never explain. I was so excited to have bumped into my grandparents in the city centre, and to accept their offer of a trip to the newly opened Chinese restaurant. I know they decided to choose things that weren't too spicy for me .... and I definitely kept my disappointment from them.

We won't discuss here the disappointment of Rome turning out to be a scruffy chilly city or Cairo being probably the filthiest and smelliest place I've been to in my life ......

Knitting

I do love knitting (preferably for me). I just finished a hat in untreated sheep wool, dark brown, it smells of lanolin, it's fabulous. Probably will make a pair of matching mittens. That should encourage me to go out and WALK even in winter; trouble is, I'd rather stay in and knit :o)

Right now I have a fat blob in front of me, it's the torso of an Itty Bitty Baby Doll for someone's baby girl (we only have baby boys in our family). I shall begin the head soon but as it is just about a repeat of the body I need to take a breather.

I wonder how Daphne's getting on in China - is she wearing the socks I made for her?

Resolution: will try to update this blog every few days. Honest.

a random thought or two ...

Why is the person at the front of the queue never prepared for the lights to go green?

Should people with the job of accosting strangers in shops to sell services be advised to use a mouthwash hourly? (honestly, I was approached today and almost gagged!)

Where is the sun? I shall have to start using my SAD lamp soon, at the moment I'm using Rescue Remedy as if it's going out of fashion.

How can something as divine as a big bag of chilli peanuts make me fat?

ooooh I'm back in!

here I am, I just found this on the Ravelry website, how did they know it was my old bog I wonder. Blog, I mean. Speaking of bogs though, NO MORE RATS IN THE TOILET! I've had the whole bathroom remodelled and it is now a shower room. Gosh, two years since I wrote to my imaginary friends, so much (and yet so little) has happened.

There've been births (Theo, Owen (aka Fraggle) ), deaths (Neville, Daphne's mum), weddings (Nick and Pip, Hurpreet and Gurpreet) and parties (Penny's 40th birthday, Penny's housewarming that was almost a houseburningdown, Dot's 80th and manymany more).

My broken ankle (right) is now fine for walking but still a very odd shape, so odd that it makes the left ankle (broken in 1976) look quite shapely by comparison. And from nowhere has come WEIGHT. I am now gigantic, weighing over 12 st. I'm not saying how much over, but over. Under 13 though. I have rejoined Slimming World and paid up front (front! don't talk to me about fronts, I can no longer sleep comfortably face down because two giant turnips get in the way) to encourage me to take it seriously. I will confess, as no-one but me will ever see this, that each thigh now measures more than my waist used to measure!

I'll see if I can remember how to add a picture, it will be one from Dot's 80th in Coventry the other week, where I appear to be being held down by Dot and her cousin. I'm the scary one in the middle with the turnips hanging out. Deary me.

Just so you don't think life's going swimmingly now..

A quick update.

Have I mentioned the new bathroom? That went quite well except for taking about three weeks longer than expected (one week) but as I had grown accustomed to being showerless during the summer I didn't fret too much. Even when it was "finished" there were odd traumas like thinking the cat had weed in there then realising there was a drip from up near the ceiling. I called the plumber and he came right back. We asked the neighbours if they had been doing something in their bathroom upstairs and they said no, but who knocked the hole into their staircase wall. Ooops, my electrician apparently. I'd seen a strange hole on my side (say nothing) but never imagined it went right through. Anyway, the leak was due to the old piping being put under strain - so the plumber fixed that temporarily and went home. An hour later that bloody cat had weed again at the other side of the bathroom. But no, it was a pipe near the sink leaking this time, and quite fast too. Back came the plumber. I was in my nightwear by this time but he wasn't as afraid as I had expected people would be at seeing me in my nightwear (the ultimate burglar deterrent, I'd always imagined). Fixed that.

More recently the car battery, new last winter, died again.

The temporary rail on which I hang my non-scary underwear in the bathroom fell on my head and hurt a lot.

I'm sure there's more bad luck, I just can't think of it.

I've joined a knitting group, they meet weekly and I go occasionally because it's at a funny time, 5.30, when most people including me are finishing work and heading home. It's kind of sleazy, in the back room of the pub - as if we are doing something dodgy like in the Victorian opium dens. The cats enjoy their free Wednesday evenings: last week they tried to get everything ready in advance for me, see the photo. A friend has commented that my frayed curtain gives away the fact that cats live here. I confess to the world, I never hemmed it. Whoever looks at the bottom of a curtain?

More of my exciting life soon .... ooooh the Christmas Message cometh!

I know what it was ....

... the next thing to happen. The washing machine stopped spinning. Or at least it never started. That's on the "quick wash" which is what I usually use. It's not quick when you need five attempts at spinning and it still doesn't work, dammit. So I've cut my losses and bought a new washer/drier, which I should have done last Christmas instead of buying this second hand washer from a friend, because a washer without a drier is no use to me in the winter in this tiny flat, it's damp enough without washing hanging around for days.

Moan over! And hopefully too the run of bad luck!

Had my hair cut in a different style yesterday. If I can galvanise myself I'll take a self-photo and show it. Sometime.

Car battery flat, toilet seat broken, sink leaking - what next?

OK, I managed to keep smiling through vandalism, arson and a broken ankle but today I am SERIOUSLY FED UP.

The bathroom rug was wet yesterday. I blamed the cats and washed it, but when I returned home there was a puddle where the rug had been and I see one of the water pipes has a slow but steady drip.

Yesterday the physio told me my ankle is far too swollen and I must keep it elevated and walk more. I'm not sure how that works. However, the good news is that the movement was good and she gave me no exercises to do.

Last night I got out of bed for a bathroom visit and the whole seat skidded off the toilet. Further investigation this morning has entailed much swearing at whichever bloke invented the damn things, surely they could have one without screws and nuts and sticky bits by now??????????

This morning I decided I would try a short drive to the shops as the only edibles in the place are catfood and ginger biscuits. Car battery is completely flat, it doesn't even attempt to turn over.

I hate to ask "What next?" because I am afraid of the answer.

Freedom!

At last, after 7 weeks of dependancy, frustration and one-legged sitting, the cast is off. Okay there were plusses - no petrol costs, lost weight as I was too proud/sneaky to add chocolate, wine and pork scratchings to my shopping lists.

According to the surgeon my wounds look great - I think the whole leg from knee down looks awful, but then, it never looked great. Big, I mean BIG, flakes of skin keep falling off, leaving a trail behind me. I shook a sock out of the window (disgusting I know) and it looked as if it was snowing.

Anyway, I am now shuffling along like a one year old (or a hundred and one year old - either way, I'm not wearing a nappy) and can finally carry liquids from one room to another without them being in a flask or bottle.

Things you need if you break your ankle - work out for yourselves what use they might be:
good friends and neighbours
a wheelchair (look for Wheelfreedom online and rent one)
a small backpack containing your mobile phone JUST IN CASE keep it with you always
a thermos flask
a large and a small empty lidded jar (ok I'll tell you why, for soups or casseroles, too much sticks in the flask)
a children's cereal container from Lakeland
a big book of sudoko puzzles
lots and lots and lots of whatever type of book you enjoy
small towels and teatowels to hand for mopping up
baby wipes (remember, you can't easily get into the shower)

if you are a woman you will also need to keep handy:
perfume
makeup
tweezers (those pesky hairs begin to be visible beneath the cast)
moisturiser as your toes will dry out

That's it, there's probably more but already I've forgotten. By the way, I haven't washed my hair since I broke my ankle, and I have no intention of washing it until I next go to the hairdresser as it looks absolutely fine, doesn't smell, and I'm treating it as an experiment

I've already forgotten all my hospital experiences, except the wind I had been conscientiously holding in for three hours and which came out like an uncontrolled explosion when I was finally wheeled to the toilet. When I came out I said to the ward staff at the nearby nurses station "Sorry about the noise", as I could see they were shaken. Or shaking.

The b*stard who spray painted my house & set fire to my conservatory...

I am writing this sitting sideways at the computer with my right leg up on a stool. Broken ankle, with plates and screws now in it, and a plaster to the knee. Please excuse any typos.

Where to begin? Sitting quietly at home playing on the pc and watching tv on Monday, the first "real" day of my two weeks holiday. The first whole fortnight off for years. I had vaguely thought to myself "I hope the rest of my holiday is a bit more exciting than this".

I've heard it said: be careful what you wish for!

A loud crash and an explosion. I thought something had fallen off the roof of our 3 storey building. Glancing toward the conservatory I saw flames on the roof. I raced outside and grabbed my garden hose and stepladder, (I admit I was screaming and crying for help) scrambled up the ladder and trained the hose onto the flames. Upper neighbours opened their windows having heard the explosion, and yelled that they were coming down. We saw a man running down the field, he had a rucksack and seemed to be in his forties (it was getting dark, about 9.30 pm) so I thought he was a rambler who was rushing to get home before dark. Once the neighbours were in the yard and clearing up the mess from the roof, which turned out to be, strangely, charcoal, I had the idea of driving to the bottom of the field by road to see if I could ask the rambler if he had seen anyone suspicious.

I drove down the road and stopped the car in the road at the bottom of the field, left the keys in and the engine running, but shut the door. I ran into the field but couldn't see anyone there. Of course, he could have gone into the wood by then, or made it down the field and be sitting in a pub. I returned to the car - to find it locked. The slamming of the door had caused the self-locking mechanism to function (or malfunction, if you like!). I leaned my head against the car and whimpered a little, then set off up the hill on foot to get my spare keys.

On reaching home, the neighbours were still in my yard but there was more going on, they had discovered the whole northside of the wall was covered in graffiti - mostly symbols but including a bit of unimaginative vulgarity. My neighbours had called the police by now.

I collected my spare keys and set off back down the field to retrieve the car. There's a choice of routes down the field, I usually cut through the wood and then back onto the field and down some steps, but on Monday I thought it would be quicker to take the path down the middle of the field so about halfway down I turned to head for the central path.

slippppppp crunk crunk crunk

I knew it was my ankle, I've broken it before. I whimpered a little more. I may have sworn. I tried to stand, as the previous time I broke it I had been able to make my way down from Scafell Pike. My foot was just wobbling about at the end of my leg, at a very strange angle.

So I set off to crawl back home, up the hill. Occasionally I stopped to call for help but my neighbours, of course, were still discussing the graffiti and the attempted arson and couldn't hear me. The grass is really long this year, as there've been no sheep in the field, so they couldn't see me either. Eventually I came over the brow of the hill and could see home, and yelled again and they spotted me.

Richard and Tony carried me up the rest of the hill and into another neighbour's yard, one with no steps! I sat on a chair and was wrapped in a quilt. An ambulance was called.

The police arrived. They were in a faff because as they were on their way up to us they had received another call that a mad woman had jumped out of her car and run into the Rectory Field and abandoned the car. We tried to explain! Richard took my keys and went to rescue my car. Apparently at least one other car in town had also been sprayed with graffiti.

The ambulance came and I was slid in, still wearing my green linen dress, now covered in mud and grass stains. Thankfully no dog poo.

That's about it. The rest is hospital tales. I will put that on later. I was truly glad I'd worn a dress and thus proper knickers as I sat in the Emergency Room being plastered!

And I'm home now after 3 days in hospital. But I'm a bit scared with the crutches. I expect I shall get used to them.

(I've changed all my mis-spellings of graffitti to graffiti, at least I think I've changed them all. Sorry)

Could you kill them? 15.6.08

Told my friends in the pub about the large mouse/small rat episode. Apparently I was so dramatic about it they thought I'd either got cancer or was about to emigrate, so the rat thing wasn't so startling. However, now I've been told to report it to South Shropshire District Council so someone called Ken the Rat can come and sort it out. But I flushed it away, so it's dead, and it probably whooshed by its whole family out scouring the sewer looking for it.

I still haven't dared go over to number 5, empty for five months, to see if they've popped up there.

The other thing I haven't done is work out how to give friends a link to this blog. Still, I quite enjoy doing it just for me.

13th June - The rat in the toilet

13th June 2008 - the 18th anniversary of my dad's death - Stan Pollock (John Stanley William Pollock) - throat cancer, aged 72. I can't believe it's 18 years since we spoke, but I do dream about him, and my mum, quite often. They are always younger and healthy in my dreams.

On the night of 12th/13th June I had finished work for a one week break. I was relaxed and slept well, waking occasionally to reposition myself around the cats on the bed, and dropping back to sleep. I had a strange dream that I was walking around a garden. It seemed to be the garden to a new house I had moved to, and I came across a small pond in which half a dozen mice were swimming. Amazed, I commented that I was surprised how soon the mice had settled in and learned to swim.

My bathroom is dark, having only a small high window obscured by dried flowers and cobwebs. I hobbled to the toilet when I woke at 6 am on Friday morning, struggling as usual to open the bathroom door which I keep locked so the cats cannot do their killing on my furry bathside rug. Lifting the lid of the toilet I was mildly surprised to see a floating lump in there - I tend to be healthy bowel-wise and don't produce floaters, and anyway I always flush the toilet before putting the lid down. Anyway, I sat down, did the necessary, and stood to turn and flush. Focussing better, as I had now been up for a few minutes, I noticed eyes, nose and whiskers on the floater. It was a mouse! A large mouse. I gingerly touched it but it was dead, so I flushed it away.

Then I started to wonder.

The door was shut and the lid was down, how could a mouse get into my toilet?
More strangely, why did I dream about mice swimming?

Now (2 days later) I accept that the large mouse was probably a small rat, and I am nervous of going to the toilet at all having googled "rat in toilet" - DO NOT DO THIS UNLESS YOU HAVE A STRONG STOMACH AND AN UPSTAIRS TOILET.

more to come.