Looking back, looking forward

Greetings, dear reader - did you miss me?

Now that the Christmas festivities are over and we are fast approaching the dawn of 2009, I feel it appropriate to witter about Time.

• Another year has passed and I am no closer to winning the Lotto than ever. Buying a ticket would be a good start but I can't bring myself to do it. My sensible self overwhelms reckless self very easily at the Lotto machines.
• I have spent several hours, nay weeks, writing poetry this year. Next year I might even let a publisher see them. Then again maybe not. Why break with tradition.
• I spent four weekends digging, weeding, pruning and bagging and yet the garden still resembles a wildlife reserve. The local wildlife are thrilled, the neighbours less so - although they're too polite to tell me directly.
• I spent one weekend painting the livingroom but ran out of steam so now it looks infuriatingly close to complete. Chronic laziness prevents me addressing the issue.
• Today we spent 4 hours travelling to visit relatives to find their fabulous picture postcard view shrouded in freezing fog. Then we spent 3 hours coming back through the Highlands in pitch black and freezing fog. I can't decide if we should move the Highlands or if the relatives should move back here. Something's gotta give.
• Tonight I spent approx 5 minutes wondering why it is that anytime I wear socks, the heel of the right sock turns round so my sock is back to front. Never the left sock, only the right.

I've come to the conclusion that much of life is sucked up in wasted time so in 2009 I intend to be more productive. Unless of course something distracts me or chronic laziness kicks in again.

I hope that 2009 brings you health and happiness. With any luck someone will wish the same for me.

House sitting

Great news.

The Mad Mother has been enlisted to house sit for a friend. This should be good. On day one she managed to lose the owner's geriatric, three stone cat. Not out in the streets. Not out in the garden. No, she managed to lose the cat somewhere between the hall and the livingroom. It's just a little house not a mansion. Cue much panic. The Mad Mother convinced herself that something supernatural had happened. I could see it in her eyes. She was two lucky horseshoes away from calling in an exorcist.

Now the property in question is a bungalow but even if it were a two storey building there is no way Jabba the Cat could go upstairs. Seriously, it looks like it has swallowed a toddler. So managing to lose this large cat on the first night was an impressive feat, even by The Mad Mother's standards.

Three quarters of an hour was spent searching for the beast which was eventually discovered in the space between a guest bed and the folding bed beneath. Jabba the Cat seemed to have taken refuge from HER. Cats are known to be smart.

The Mad Mother is to be house sitting for three weeks. Watch this space dear reader.

Hear here

Contrary to what you may be told, I like to listen rather than talk. No, really.
Yesterday was a day of much listening. The point of this witter today is to share a few snippets of conversations I overheard.

Conversation #1... In a bar

A: Don't let people tell you maple syrup is bad for you. It has many health benefits.
B: Do they really drain it from a tree?
A: Yes.
C: They do that for other trees as well. Like that Bear guy. He drinks stuff straight from a tree.
D: Yeah but he's an idiot who wades into a swamp knowing man eating crocs are in it and then tells the viewer that it's not wise to do things like that. Patronising git.
B: Does he drain things from a tree while he's in the swamp?
C: Not sure but he once made sunglasses from a bit of cardboard when he was in the desert. Looked like a prat. Tiny slits in a bit of cardboard and he thinks he's *"!!@**! Calvin Klein.
D: Yeah. !!""^**^!!Idiot.
A: You get aspirin from a tree. I think.
C: An aspen is totally different from a maple. Kind of silver looking. You can weave with it though.

No idea what happened next - had to go.

Conversation #2... In a department store

M: Will I get her this then? It's her size.
F: Hmm. Not really her colour is it?
M: How d' you mean? She wears lots of stuff like this.
F: Well, she wears shades of latte or mocha but that's kind of dark chocolate.
M: It's brown. I know she wears brown.
F: No, seriously she won't like that. It's just too dark.
M: Well, what about this then - it's not dark.
F: God no, that's beige. She'd hate that.
M: !!!*** this she's getting a voucher.

Exit M at speed. :0)

Small talk

This afternoon I was treated to a unique perspective of the traditional nativity. A seven year old girl demonstrated enormous comedic potential using little Fimo figures and a bare table top.
Armed only with these props and unerring natural comic timing she held her classmates [ and me] transfixed as she provided the characterisations for the figures.

We were introduced to three stooge style Not So Wise men - two of whom kept asking 'Are we there yet?' We met an exasperated Gabriel who had to deal with a stroppy Mary keen to call her baby John, not Jesus and a chronically absentminded Joseph who brought a sheep instead of a donkey for her to ride on their way to 'Bethlebam'.

The piece de resistance though was the scene wherein a lazy shepherd couldn't be bothered to go visit the baby. He has a protracted conversation with an increasingly irate Gabriel about how vital his role was to the country despite the fact that he had only one sheep in his care. Gabriel had his work cut out persuading the shepherd to pick up his crook and go. The whispered asides from the sarcastic sheep were top class.

It was fascinating to hear a seven year old apply contemporary issues and attitudes to the well known tale. The child was exceptionally clever in her use of language and visual humour. I wondered how much of the Mary/Joseph dialogue was a distortion of things she had seen or heard at home or on tv.

In any event, it was the best entertainment I have witnessed in a very long time. Imaginative play is very much alive and kicking!

There is nothin' like a dame...

There's been a bit of a hiatus of late as things have been incredibly hectic and my energy levels have been somewhat sapped. But now that things have eased off a little I have returned to inflict my latest witterings upon you.

So, where shall we start dear reader? Perhaps chronological wittering may be best or I'll become befuddled. Correction. More befuddled than normal.



First, there's my recent attendance at a pantomime. There are various productions going on up and down the UK from around November to late January but we went to a local small town production. They all share key components - a baddie, a hero, a fair maiden, a man garishly dressed as a dame, some singing, some dancing and a happy ending. Ours was no exception.



The dame looked and sounded as if s/he had had a hard life in the Gorbals. S/he sang like a partially blocked drain. S/he was vulgar, loud and a bit ham. The kids adored him/her.



Little Dynamo was so captivated by the tale that he all but vaulted the first five rows to take on the giant and the pirate simultaneously and singlehandedly. One little boy in the front row however was so traumatised by the voice alone of the giant he pelted from his seat and spent most of the show on the lap of a mildly astonished teacher half way to the back the auditorium.



Speaking of trauma, let's move on to school Christmas concerts. I'm thinking here of the little clutch of children who valiantly scrape a violin, puff into a recorder or jingle a bell in the hope that something magically musical might result. Even proud parents must concede there's an element of trauma involved - for player, for audience or perhaps both.



Watching the show can be a delight but for those behind the scenes it can be fraught with potential hazards. This year alone we had an Angel Gabriel, whiter than his holy robe, close to fainting under the lights. We had three Wise Men who piled their hefty gifts on a baby juggling Mary whilst Joseph sat waving to his family from under his tea towel. We had a couple of girls on the front row competing for the I Can Shout 'Away In Manger' To My Mum Loudest award. I could go on.



Nevertheless, it all came together in a charmingly imperfect way which may eventually appear on one of those funny video clip shows. There may even be an unflattering but fleeting shot of me scuttling across the screen like a half shut knife to fetch standby Gabriel #1.

If you have HD and wide screen, be warned. It won't be pretty.
At least we didn't have projectile vomiting this year.

Ho Ho Hopeless

Preparing for Christmas is a big thing in our house. We totally love it. And while we don't position 6 foot inflatable Homer Simpsons etc in our garden we do enjoy the festive countdown.



Getting gifts for others though can sometimes be a bit hit or miss with us. We have a fabulous aunt who has always done wonderful things for us and our boys. We try at Christmas to reflect our love and gratitude in our gift but over the years I have seriously missed the mark. The first Christmas gift I gave her was about as off the mark as humanly possible.



As a lady of maturity I knew she had some difficulty with arthritis so when I discovered a back scrubber with a built in soap dispenser I thought it was an ideal gift. Adding in the obligatory chocolates, toiletries and embroidered hankies my self satisfaction was enormous. How could she fail to be impressed?



On Christmas day she must have thought her nephew had married the local village idiot.



She looked at the gift , then at me with a blend of genuine bewilderment and pity. She is too well mannered to have beaten me about the head with the thing but it would have been justified.



Years later, approaching her 8th decade, I now know that she would rather have a piece of hi tech gadgetry than a hanky with her initial on it. She's not the only person I've inflicted dodgy presents upon. It's a wonder anyone still speaks to me. With any luck I may have cracked this gift giving lark by the time she approaches her centenary.

Little Dynamo strikes again

Regular readers of this blog may recall a previous post about a little chap who has enormous amounts of energy. This wee guy always brightens my day - sometimes intentionally, other times not.

Yesterday, he discovered that a local man who rescues injured hedgehogs was unable to work because he had a sore arm. Little Dynamo presented his 'VERY SHOCKED' face and asked if he'd been attacked by a hedgehog. Now, I don't know about you but I love the idea of a psychotic hedgehog launching itself at the poor unsuspecting nature lover and savaging his forearm like a rabid chihuahua.

Today, Little Dynamo et al were asked by a colleague to write about 'Thinkng of others at Christmas'. I'm told that Little Dynamo mulled this over for a moment and asked how long the piece had to be. My colleague replied that she was expecting at least a couple of paragraphs. Offering his most winning smile he countered with 'How about three lines?'

He can be found in the dictionary under : Chancer

Leaving the nest

Just found out today that a friend's daughter is jetting off to New Zealand now that she has graduated. Her mum thought she was going for a year but discovered at the airport that the trip is two fold. After NZ her daughter is going on to the US for a further year.



My friend is proud that her daughter has the confidence and spirit to do this but she admits that she has mixed emotions. She can't imagine how she'll cope with the distance and the duration.



It all seems like a great adventure and made me think about how My Mad Mother must have felt when I went to Uni. According to My Darling Dad she howled like a banshee all the way home in the car. I was only going 40 miles up the road.

Our boys are all still at home. That suits me. I'm not quite ready to let them go, just yet, although I do know the time will come.



Their dad on the other hand has mentally packed their bags, waved them off and converted their bedrooms into a photography studio and a games room respectively. The moment they look like realising his dream, he'll have the flags out and be cartwheeling up and down the street.



He loves them really.

Building a future

Today I was invited to join a friend for a coffee and a catch up. He's heavily involved in the construction industry and was telling me about the challenges facing his company and others across the country and beyond.

Despite the downturn and its associate difficulties he was very upbeat as we reminisced about our various collaborations. It soon became clear that although our professional paths had diverged for a spell he was keen to resume our business links and develop new projects. While the contractual work had slowed down there were clear opportunities to utilise staff and resources for the benefit of local schools.

By the time we said our goodbyes all sorts of exciting plans were in the pipeline. 2009 may well be a very productive and significant year for all concerned - for all the right reasons.

It just goes to show that there's a silver lining in every cloud.

This is the age of the s-train

When I was a child, the 21st century was a far away place with wondrous technology. As an adult living in the 21st century wondrous technology has materialised in many ways - mobile phones, robotics, microsurgery and more.

Sadly, wondrous isn't an adjective we can use with regard to our public transport systems.

This evening I travelled outward on a packed train. The very kind guard apologised for the great numbers and explained that this was due to the train being very busy.
Well, that clears that up then.

On the return journey another very helpful guard advised passengers on the equally stuffed train that although there were two toilets on the train only one was available because the other had a full tank which couldn't be emptied until the train terminated.
There's a delightful image.

In addition, passengers were to ensure they used reserved seating only if entitled to and that security cameras WERE in operation EVERYWHERE [for the benefit of passengers and staff].
And just in case we were enjoying ourselves too much the guard closed his little monologue with the cheery news that there was no buffet car and no refreshment trolley.

I half expected all the seats to be confiscated to prevent acts of vandalism and/or random scenes of comfort.

A helping hand

A friend of mine is moving into a new place following the split from her long term partner. They agree that they now want different things in life. It's all been very civilised and amicable.

What's really lovely to see is the degree of assistance being offered for moving furniture, cleaning, sorting etc etc They say that many hands make light work and it's clearly true. Everything should be in situ by tomorrow night.

It's the emotional baggage though which will take longer to sort through. Hopefully she'll have enough helping hands - or ears - for that job too.

All too often, the kindness of others is deemed un-newsworthy but the season of goodwill is still a reality.

Credit crunch and munch

Conferences can sometimes be tiresome but now and again they can be quite fascinating if you like to people watch. I love it.

The theme was financial education at national level. Once we got past the obligatory housekeeping, keynote speakers and workshops we moved onto the most important elements of the programme - Food and Chatting To Other Delegates.



I encountered the smallest ever bowls of soup - without spoons - so should one sip like a cup and risk tomato soup moustache or use a teaspoon and look like Gulliver's maiden aunt? I went with the latter option. For those of you who care, the soup was tepid but tasty.

Holding my plate, cup, napkin and delegate pack proved a challenge of Krypton Factor proportions. Other people seem to manage it with grace and discretion. Not me. So I decided to sit to the side and watch those skilled in the art of networking as they nibble. I felt a bit like Sir David Attenborough.

Here are some species I noted today:

Deep sea angler fish favour a direct approach - single out a target, charge towards but use the plate as a distractor. No actual consumption from the plate takes place. This is a serious networker in action.

Then there's the giraffe. This delegate is identified by repeated craning of the neck to see who else in the room might be more interesting/useful/desirable than the current companion.

Next is the meerkat. This delegate has double checked the itinerary, sussed out the toilets, tested the complementary bonbons, drunk two cups of coffee and sent 15 texts before the other delegates have collected their name tags.

Finally there is the electric eel. This delegate slips sinuously among the others, mouth in a fixed grin but cold, cold eyes. Contact, if any, is fleeting and deadly. Delegates instinctively move aside as the eel passes. Only other eels dare approach directly and unwitting delegates who drift into the eel zone are swiftly and mercilessly despatched.

Oh and the actual theme and content of the conference was interesting too but not really witter material. I'm just wondering which species I would be to any other Sir Davids in the room.

Ever had one of those days...?

You'll be glad to hear that my witter will be brief this evening as I am pooped after rising like a harrier jump jet this morning. We'd overslept and the household was a blur of half dressed, gonk haired bodies as we all rushed about vying for fleeting tenancy of the sole bathroom in the house.

Add to the mix a visit from a washing machine repair man, The Mad Mother and her penchant for reading long letters down the phone and late night Christmas shopping over icy cobbles, wearing the wrong boots.

Sometimes bed is the best place to be.

You can please some of the people...

Today was a day of great hoo ha at work.

The Boss had prised open the fittings budget and gone shopping. He confessed to exploring his little known impulsive side and had bought fifteen seats for the staffroom, two large cupboards and an entire conference suite of furniture. Because they were on special offer they were to be delivered the next day.

Sounds like the back of a lorry job but never mind.

Anyway, the staff had long complained about the dingy chairs in the staffroom, the dingy workspace laughingly known as the meeting room and the lack of storage. The Boss in his innocence thought there would be raptures over his generosity and attention to their needs. Not so fast, mate.

Some thought the chairs were too hard, some thought they were too low, and some thought they were just right. Bit of a 3 bears thing going on. There was great debate over the position of the chairs, the arrangement of the groupings and whether scatter cushions were a step too far.

Meanwhile in the meeting room the furniture had been arranged so that we had the mother and father of all conference tables with Star Trek style swivel chairs as garnish. Given the width of the table, those seated would need to yodel to one another across the great divide to be heard.

The Boss was beside himself with pride. He disappeared briefly only to return with camera in hand. There followed a photography session of David Bailey proportions. I suspect that if the staff take issue with this room then he will not care - this shall be his playroom. His domain.

He seems to have decided that if he can't please everyone - he'll just please himself!

Limitless power supplies

All the nations of the world unite in joyous celebration! I present to you the WFB solution to the global energy crisis.



Harness small children to Munchkin sized dynamos and let them run, bounce, skip, giggle, talk, screech and more to their hearts content. We would have no need for nuclear or carbon based fuels and the waste is entirely biodegradable.



There's one little chap known to me who is happiness personified. Everything he encounters is greeted with delight and wonder. He makes me hunt in my pockets for my somewhat dusty delight and wonder. Small children are naturally curious and this little chap finds everything about life spectacularly interesting. It's quite infectious. He's probably not unique in this but he just makes my day.

Given half a chance he would dash about like a mad thing so he has to be reined in a bit for his own safety. He's a tiny powerhouse fuelled by the zest for living.

If we could harness happiness what an energy efficient life form we would be.