Thursday Thirteen # 4 - 13 Soppy songs I like

1. Broken Things - Juliet Turner
2. Summer Lightning - Garnet Rogers (not Garnet singing on the Youtube clip, he's elusive that way)
3. Travelling Soldier - Dixie Chicks
4. Making Memories of Us - Keith Urban
5. Tonight I wanna Cry - Keith Urban
6. The Way You Look Tonight - Tony Bennett
7. Home - Michael Buble
8. Changes - Kelly and Ozzy Osborne
9. Beautiful Boy - John Lennon
10. Time to say goodbye - Sara Brightman and Andrea Bocelli
11. Miss you nights - Westlife
12. Tears in Heaven - Eric Clapton
13. Nothing Compares to you - Sinead O'Connor

Sunday Scribblings - Wedding

First Sparkly and Shiny Congratulations to Meg and Mark! I hope your life together is long and happy!

This is me marrying the lovely Susanne and Alistair

One of my jobs is as a Civil Ceremonies Celebrant - each weekend I marry people. It's a great job and I pretty much enjoy every ceremony (apart from one this last weekend when I wanted to yell at the Bride "Quick Run! It's not too late! Run!" - the groom was such an arse). I always say to people that the dress is good to have, the party and presents are fun but the moment that matters is that one in the ceremony where they tell each other and the world that they love each other enough to want to be together for the rest of their days. I try to make the ceremonies lovely and memorable, beautiful and touching, personal and relevant to the couple. I like to see a few tears (I regard these as one of my KPI's) and hear some laughter. I think it's my job to give the couple the best possible chance to remember the moment that their life as husband and wife or life partners begins.

These are my favourite wedding readings

Marriage Advice by Ogden Nash

To keep your marriage brimming
with love in the loving cup
Whenever you’re wrong admit it
Whenever you’re right – shut up!


The First Day ~ by Christina Rossetti

I wish I could remember the first day, first hour,
first moment of your meeting me;
If dim or bright the season,
It might be Summer or Winter for aught I can say.

So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see & to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May

If only I could recollect it!
Such a day of days!
I let it come & go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.

It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand!
Did one but know!


True Love by Sir Philip Sydney

My true love hath my heart & I have his,
By just exchange one for another given;
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,
There never was a better bargain driven.

My true love hath my heart & I have his.

His heart in me keeps him & me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts & senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his, because in me it bides.

My true love hath my heart & I have his.

And these are my favourite Vows

Today begins my walk with you
Where you go, I go
Where you stay, I stay
When you sleep, I will sleep
When you rise, I will rise
I will pass my days
Within the sound of your voice,
And my nights
Within the reach of your hand,
And none shall come between us.
This I vow.

(I have collected more poems and readings suitable for the ceremonies here)

Thursday Thirteen # 3

Thirteen family phrases and sayings etc

1. "There's nothing like a well ironed gusset!" - My Mum actually really likes ironing and she's not just kidding on. She actually said this when I said to her "Why in the name of the wee man are you ironing knickers!!"
2. "Are you having a party with balloons and hot Ribena?" - Steph was feeling quite left out when at the age of 3 she had been sent to bed whilst all us adults sat and chatted and laughed. Finally the sound of our increasing hilarity was too much for her and she stamped down the stairs and burst into the sitting room. Standing with her hands on her hips she challenged us with "Are you having a party with balloons and hot Ribena?" obviously her idea of a really good time and now used as a phrase to indicate that one of us is feeling left out of a good time!
3. "Once Upon a long time ago when dinosaurs roamed the earth, before television was invented and when your Mum was just a little girl ..." The way our made up stories start thanks to my Dad, who always followed this bit with "... there lived a handsome prince called Brian..." no prizes for guessing his name!
4. "Dearest most beautiful Aunt Les I like your hair - please can I have..." yes I damn well do make them all say it when they want something! and not just them, my friends say it, previous work mates said it... yup! I'm that needy!"
5. Can I smell Garlic?" to which the reply is always "If you want to!"
6. "Nothing - she loves you!" When one of us had just yelled "MUM!!" in order to rat on a sister and Mum had replied "What?!" the about to be ratted on shouted this whilst clamping her hand firmly over the mouth of the ratter. Ha. And Mum never even twigged. No really.
7. "I'm too big!" - as an excuse for trying to get out of doing anything, it comes from Holly getting big and small muddled a bit when younger.
8. "When I was a little girl..." this is the way my papa Les and my dad would always begin reminiscences of their childhoods... strange.
9. "Damn that creaky floorboard!" fart? My family? Never!! the house just creaks a lot!
10. "Hanging from my bottom lip shouting Tarzan!" a singularly unhelpful phrase usually used by Mum first thing in the morning when we were looking for essentials like pants and had asked her where they were. She's lucky we didn't go to school naked.
11. "Listen to me Matilda Jane!!" by Mum - accompanied by hands on hips and glaring, when you were in for a BIG telling off this was the phrase that prefaced it. Slightly bizarre given that none of us are called Matilda. Or Jane.
12. "Quelle slut?" meaning what time is it? derived from our rubbish, but entertaining when you're 13, pronunciation of heure as hoor, the phrase "Quelle heure et il?" being then conveniently shortened.
13. "Happy Eldest Daughter's Day!" May 15th in case you're wondering and why yes, I am the eldest daughter! frankly I just wasn't getting enough presents in my life not having any kids or husbands cuts down on what you get - so if you're in the same situation take my tip and give yourself a Day! It works, I get cards and presents every year.

Thursday thirteen #2

Thirteen scots words or expressions I like and use:

Sir Walter Scott's Baffies

1. Baffies - Bedroom (or in fact any other room too) Slippers
2. Scaffies - Environmental waste disposal operators or bin men as they were formerly known

   Oor Wullie, your Wullie, A'bodies Wullie... Apparently

   
3. Jings! - an expression of surprise, sometimes partnered with "crivens!" and "help ma boab!", well if you're living in the Oor Wullie world anyway.
4. Pus - a coarse term for face, used often in our household in the phrase "gonnae shut yer pus!" between myself and sisters mainly because it drives my Mum batty(er).
5. Outwith - means outside. It's not a madey uppy word and is used outwith our household too you know, but just try looking it up in a dictionary.
6. Wha daur meddle wi' me?! -The royal coat of arms in Scotland has the Latin motto "Nemo me impune lacessit". The English translation of this is "Nobody interferes with me with impunity" and this is often defiantly expressed in broad Scots as "Wha daur meddle wi' me?"
7. Dreich - a word for grey days, damp but not properly raining with a dismal feeling all round. Could have been applied to pretty much any of the days in our putative summer this year. This is Aberdeen. This is Dreich in action.
8. Oxters - your armpits. Used in the phrase "Ah'm up tae ma oxters in shite!" for example meaning "I'm in a bit of a mess!".
9. Scunnered - mean fed up or bothered as in the phrases "Ah'm scunnered" or "Ah cannae be scunnered"
10. Thole - put up with as it "you'll just have tae thole it!"
11. It's a sair fecht - It's a hard life, implying it's a struggle to keep going.
12. Here's tae us; wha's like us? Gey few, and they're a' deid! - A scots toast neatly combining being a bit full of yersel and yet remaining miserable - wouldn't want anyone to think we were drinking that whisky was for fun or anything.
13. Shoot the Crow - means to leave and so now I'm going tae shoot the crow masel!

Sunday Scribblings - How I met the love of my life...

OK, so it hasn't actually happened yet, or maybe it has and I missed it... bugger, how pants would that be? If it's for you it won't go past you as my Mother says. Mind you she also says things like "There's nothing like a well ironed gusset..." and means it, anyway back to me and the love of my life. This is how I imagined it might be... I arrive somewhere intriguing (fuzziness on the background here due to the location changing constantly) possibly in Montana, or possibly New Zealand... no, no I know! Beside a beach on Tiree... I swing a long slim leatherclad leg (mine, it is a fantasy) as I dismount my motorbike, take my helmet off and shake loose my long auburn mane of hair. As I stand and breathe the air and watch the sunset I become aware that I am not alone. Standing nearby watching me with a slight smile on his rugged yet sensitive face (I'm thinking Tom Berenger and Gabriel Byrne melange here) is a tall, rangy man wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a checked shirt, suede waistcoat and a stetson (Hey, it's my fantasy ok!?). Our eyes meet and in that moment we know...

At this point there's a fair amount of waves pounding the shore and trains in tunnels imagery going on.

Do you think that hanging around small town Scotland is the way to meet rangy cowboy types? Not so far. I once met a very nice man in Ikea in Hannover who was wearing an outfit not dissimilar to that described. We had coffee. He was dutch and spoke groovy english in a lovely bingybongy kind of way. But, the spark, it just wasn't there - he was a lorry driver not a real cowboy.

Thursday Thirteen #1

Thirteen things that became clear to me this week...

1. I have lost a day. It's not Thursday it's Friday... where the bloody hell have my holidays gone?! Washed away by the rain it would appear.


2. Just turning up at the Slimming World class is not enough ... apparently diet and exercise are needed too...


3. Holly is about half an inch shorter than I am and yet her breasts are about 8 inches higher up than mine. Did I ever even have perky bosoms? I think that in retrospect jumping up and down a lot to entertain Gill by having bouncing boobs was probably a mistake, the downward slide (avalanche) almost certainly started then.


4. I am not going to be Carol Vorderman's replacement on Countdown - I did the quizzy thing in today's paper and now know that Dad was right - I can't add up.


5. Tyres are not cheap. The ones on the car are getting a tad baldy and short of giving the tread a comb over new ones will need to be bought.


6. August might be a wicked month but it is not a warm one. I put the winter duvet back on the bed last night and slept a full night's sleep for the first time in ages.


7. My eyesight's going bonkers. I now have glasses to wear because I'm short sighted, contacts because I'm vain and other glasses to wear with my contacts because I can't read anything if I have my contacts in. According to the optician this is all age related. That man is heading for a good kicking. If I could see him clearly I'd be the one to deliver it...
8. No one but me thinks that country music is good for weddings - not even Keith Urban Making Memories of Us - which to my mind has wedding written all over it- is in. Huh.
9. I have more body lotion than is needed for even my body. I know that it's foolish but I am always seduced by 3 for 2 offers and then I get bored before I use up all of the product.
10. My grey hairs are growing increasingly resistant to being brown. I have dyed my hair this week and I still have grey bits - actually they're pink, the dye having taken slightly, which is even worse. I look like Mrs Slocombe.
11. Chocolate is not a fruit. Not even Toblerones. Every day I scan the papers looking for an advance in medical science that will allow me to scoff chocolate to my hearts content.
12. It doesn't make any difference at all if you are nice to some people or not - they will be compete and utter berks no matter what.
13. Writing 13 things is tougher than it looks!

Watch Black Watch

If you get the chance go and see the National Theatre of Scotland's Black Watch. It's utterly brilliant. It made me very nostalgic for my days working with the military being such an honest and true portrayal of how they are... and yes they really do swear that much!

Well! Well! Well!

If you have ever, ever chucked your change into a collection can for Cancer Research, or given a wad of cash to Leukaemia Research, given blood, donated platelets, run a sponsored mile for Edinburgh Sick Kids Hospital then I just want to thank you.

This is what you did...
...Ellie is well after two and a half years of treatment.

Thank you.

Adventure Training for non adventurous people

Now that my sister Jo is the mother of a teenager, a pre-teen and a pre-pre-teen I know for a fact something that I had long suspected. Mothers do it on purpose. The "accidental" humiliation is nothing of the sort - it is calculated and designed. Many's the time Jo has snorted merrily with laughter at the result of some horrifying event such as "kissing Dad in public" or "wearing that!".... But even she drew the line at making her teenage daughter take paper knickers on her Outdoor Adventure Holiday with her school chums in Mull (or Hull - Geography not being one of Hollys strong subjects).

I on the other hand was marked and scarred for life by the paper pants incident I endured on my teenage Adventure Holiday. To this day my Mother insists she thought it would be a good idea to take paper knickers so that I wouldn't have any washing to do (knickers being strictly rationed in my day...). What she hadn't taken into consideration was how much time I would be spending messing around in water.
That's me standing looking surly at the far right of the photo - surly and knickerless, my final pair having just turned to papier mache in the crotch of my trousers leaving me with an elastic band round my waist and one at the top of each leg... much to the amusement of fellow students. Oh yes very funny. Not.

Forty bleeding Six

It's my birthday today.
I'm 46.
That's a lot.

Long time no write

I guess the initial blog related euphoria wore off for a bit there. Never mind, it's the thought that counts etc

Not only have we had Christmas and New Year since I last blogged but this weekend just gone we also had pretend Christmas. Honorary Chick in Nest, Sara, came up to see us and we had the whole Christmas Dinner thing with crackers, presents and games etc. Here is a picture of Sara and her new B.F., Ellie - who saw beyond the surface to Sara's inner beauty and told her she thought she was "pretty"... huh. I'm her aunty and she never tells me that. Bitter? Me? No, of course not...

Sunday Scribblings - ... and carry 1...

Jo and Hannah doing homework

(not maths obviously, they look far too happy!)

Sundays. More particularly Sunday evenings. One word to strike fear and horror into the heart of both parents and children alike... HOMEWORK...
Traditional homework doing times in our house when I was a teen were (i) the evening of the day it was dished out if it meant that I could get out of doing the washing up (ii) on the bus on the morning it was due to be handed in (iii) Sunday Evening.
The worst thing about doing my homework on a Sunday Evening was that Dad would be around to "help"... On Sunday evenings lovely, funny, cuddly Dad was touched by the forces of evil and mutated into Maths Homework Dad. Is there anything worse in the whole world than your father insisting on helping with Maths homework? My Dad had studied Maths at university for a while and found numbers endlessly fascinating and magical - I on the other hand found them non-sensical and endlessly mind numbing. Needless to say he was severely disappointed in me and my mathematical prowess. He went on to be mathematically disappointed in Gill and Jo in turn, followed by Steph when her time came. He could not understand why we just didn't get it and we in turn were utterly disinterested in getting it. I can remember as a small child sobbing myself to sleep over long division - all that stuff about 3 goes into 10 three times and carry 1 had me baffled. Most maths homework sessions ended with us in tears and Dad gritting his teeth and us all stamping off in different directions muttering darkly about each other. It was one of his few failings as far as we girls were concerned. It's a big pity that he didn't live long enough to see how much Holly loves maths - they could have communed over numbers and got all rapturous about quadratic equations, differential calculus ... and stuff... whatever...

Wallah - M.I.A.

Have you seen this Wallah?

Something horrible has happened. Wallah has gone missing. He was there when Ellie went into surgery on Wednesday and was not there when she got out. Some of us are a bit suspicious about what actually happened to him and suspect that Pamela, Kai, Bernadine or some other finger stabbing, Wiggle fitting nurse has kidnapped him! We are managing to cope with only Zoinder the horse, Shona the Giraffe and the other 400 cuddly toys on the bed for company but it's a sair fecht.

Wallah has been with the family for a couple of years. He was a present from Jo's boss Steven and has been a much loved friend ever since. He's been through a lot with Ellie and frankly looked and smelled like it. Any replacement is going to have to be dragged along behind the car for a few miles, smeared in equal parts with marmite, hospital hand antiseptic, snot and guinea pig pee then licked clean by a Jack Russell just to become even halfway as individually aromatic as Wallah.

However, if perchance it was another small sick child who found Wallah and thought he looked like a good friend and excellent cuddling companion then please - keep him. If he brings you as much comfort as he brought Ellie in the dark days and scary nights then he is in the right place - maybe it was just time for him to move on?

Wallah, Ellie and Steve

Three Word Wednesday

Out on an icy Boxing Day walk through the woods with Holly (age 10 at the time) and Hannah (age 8) I thought it would be a good time to give my counselling skills a bit of an outing and find out how they were coping with their little sister's illness, impending teenageness, and life in generalness. "Fine." said Hannah and skipped off into the distance to look for interesting things to look at under her magnifying glass. "Oh, Okay." sighed Holly. This was a bit more promising! I put my arm around her as we walked and spoke wisely and empathetically of how difficult it could be when you weren't sure about things and sometimes it might be that it wasn't something you wanted to speak to your Mummy and Daddy about but if she had anything she wanted to talk about, she could talk to me and I would try and help her. It was a beautiful aunt/niece moment (well I was moved anyway). As she shuffled through the fallen leaves and I gently asked her "Is there anything you're worried about or want to ask me about just now darling?" there was a pause, then "As a matter of fact Aunty Les, there is something I've been wondering about..." Yes! I braced myself as she gathered her train of thought "... what is an Endowment Mortgage Shortfall?"

What?!?

Those children watch far too much daytime TV.

The Poem wot I wrote - by Hannah

This is a poem that Hannah wrote when she was 7. She has a great facility for language and writes fabulous letters. (Her mother would like me to point out that she is not a drouth - honestly!)

The sun is shining
The grass needs mowing
The rain is raining and the flowers are growing
Children are playing basketball
Mummies are drinking alcohol

Love is all around the love tree

Seven Random and / or Weird Things about Me

I'm a Tagette!! Tagged by Redness, my first ever Tagging - Yehaa!

Here are the rules:Link to the person that tagged you, and post the rules on your blog.Share 7 random and/or weird facts about yourself.Tag 7 random people at the end of your post, and include links to their blogs.Let each person know that they’ve been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I have one of the happiest jobs ever - I marry people! My "Saturday Job" is as a celebrant for civil marriages and partnerships, how great is that?!


2. I'm a really bad loser at boardgames - especially when I have taught someone how to play the game in the first place (backgammon for example Sara).


3. My proudest moment in life was being the celebrant and giving the eulogy at my Dad's funeral - I could tell everyone there what a great guy he was.


4. I drove Nell McAndrew all over the place in Northern Ireland, taking her to visit soldiers in their bases, including those in South Armagh, and she was great.


5. I used to really want to have children but had cancer instead. Now I'm an aunt and have four lovely nieces, I think I would have been a crap Mum! How do mothers ever let children out of their sight? I worry so much about them all, and I'm only an aunty - my sister Jo calls it my running with scissors mode.


6. I became a serial dater when I discovered internet dating - I met lots of interesting and unusual men - but all the one's I really liked were already married.


7. I have matching scars on my knees from sticking them (twice -doh!) to red hot irons whilst blowing glass.

Here are my taggees - I hope you don't mind, but only do it if you want to!

Mama Zen

Robin

Ingrid

A Girl Grows Up...

Lesley

A Broad Abroad

Poppy Fields

Sunday Scribblings

A memorial in Kabul dedicated to the British Officers and Soldiers,

who gave their lives in the Afghan Wars of the 19th and 20th Century.



Remembrance Day Parade

Where are ye going to my bonnie laddie?
Where are you going to my bonnie, brave boy?
Acht, Mammy! Dinnae fash now! Can ye no’ see?
I’m away to join the army a soldier to be.

Oh no son! Dae ye no read the paper? Dae ye no see the news?
Our laddies die daily, I dinnae want it tae be you.
Aye Mammy I ken that, but I cannae stay here
Not while ma pals fight with terror and fear.

So I’ll put on a helmet, and shoulder my gun
march left, right, under the harsh Afghan sun
Two minutes to remember, those here before
and new fields of poppies under RPG roar.

The Afghan Poppy Fields

(photo credits: Guardian and MOD)

Three Word Wednesday

I listen to BBC Radio 4. I love the serendipitous nature of what I learn as I listen. I listen because it's like having engaging company who don't mind in the least leaving when you've had enough of them - music blurs my mind and talk sharpens it.


The Shipping Forecast

Like most of the others who listen tonight I wouldn't know one end of a boat from the other but I lie listening to the radio, night battering on the window to be let in, and I hear the poetry in the names - Viking, North Uitsire, South Uitsire, Forties, Cromarty, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight, Humber, Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland, Plymouth, Biscay, FitzRoy, Trafalgar, Sole, Lundy, Fastnet, Irish Sea, Shannon, Rockall, Malin, Hebrides, Bailey, Fair Isle, Faeroes, South East Iceland. I think of the modern equipment that boats are arrayed with and I wonder - do sailors listen still ? Are huge Tankers changing course because the wind is backing southerly gale force 10? Will fishermen's wives hear and go to the window to watch restlessly for the dawn whilst their son, their brother and their husband are spumed and hurtled by an uncaring sea? Is there a naval Captain taking the watch from his EXO and taking the ship about, away from the harm nature might bring? There are,in all probability, new improved satellite imaging gizmos that tell those who need to know in order to survive what the weather that's coming their way is like. I think the Shipping Forecast is still there because no amount of gadgetry and gimmickry can compensate for the loss of everyday poetry should it go, and those of us who listen whilst safe in our beds or over the Sunday lunch need to hear it as much as those on the sea do.

Enjoying the family

Holly experiencing Crossword Doers Brain Freeze

Every Sunday, unless we have a very good excuse, there is a family breakfast followed by Doing The Crossword. There's a big fight to not be the person who reads out the clues and writes the answers because that responsibility is hell. Nobody listens to you the first time you read it, they blame your pronunciation for not understanding and therefore not being able to answer the question even if it is their specialist subject. Specialist subjects are those which other people think you should know about not necessarily those which you actually know anything about for example Jo works for Ikea therefore she has to answer any questions about any Scandinavian country, anything to do with houses/design/funny names or toolkits, or in fact anything beginning with I. It's really noisy and even though we seldom actually send the completed crossword into the weekly competition any spelling mistakes are greeted with loud recriminations "Well! We can't send that in now can we?!". Family who can't be at the table may be phoned at anytime to join in the chaos. This morning, by phone, we had Hannah accompanying us with her rendition of Scotland the Brave on the violin. She's on week 4 of violin lessons...

We've carried out the ritual Sunday Breakfast Crossword torture for as long as I can remember, and I love it. Every Sunday I get to be with some, if not all, of my family and enjoy the blether and banter that goes on. It gives us a weekly point of connection that reminds us who we are and the joy we find in each other.

Making the world go round...

Loto flicked moodily through his copy of Take a Break and thought what an utter, utter git his brother Loki was. The magazine provided a fairly efficient barometer of Loki's success at spreading despair and despondency about the world and if today's issue was anything to go by he was indeed "cooking with gas bro'!" as he had claimed in his last email. Loto on the other hand was doing his level best to make people happy- you'd think that giving money to people would be easier than it was turning out to be. He'd been thrilled when he'd thought up the idea of the Lottery, it gave him the ideal vehicle for dishing out money - and that was his job. As demi-semi-dinky-teeny god-ette jobs went it was okay - could be a lot worse, he could be like Hœnir and not be allowed to say anything ever; talking to him was very frustrating because, frankly, he was rubbish at charades. Anyway - it was Saturday and therefore the day he most often had prayers sent directly his way. He tuned into the white noise that swirled around him most of the time and sifted through the susurration of the many, many voices whispering, hissing, breathing their prayers "Let me win, please, let me win...". It was difficult to decide who deserved the money most. Sometimes he got lazy about doing his background research and the money ended up with someone who, by popular assent of his worshippers, just did not deserve it; a yobbo who frittered his money on drink, drugs and other unwholesome pursuits or someone who already had more money than they knew what to do with. Sometimes he gave all the money to one person and sometimes to many; sometimes he dropped actual winning tickets into the handbags, pockets, purses of his people and sometimes he put the idea in their head about the numbers he would choose that week. You'd think that would be enough but no, people lost their tickets, didn't bother checking them and hardly ever listened to him in their head - they stuck to the numbers they always used, some odd combination of birthdays, ages and door numbers usually. He listened again to the prayers coming his way today it was a bit like turning the dial on a radio until he found a message that was clear and precise...

Enid wondered if it was necessary to look at stars when attempting cosmic ordering. She’d read Noel’s book, well, read some of it anyway but she couldn't remember whether star gazing was mentioned. She’d tried cosmic ordering her lottery win both last week and the week before. The first attempt failed she thought because she had been too non-specific, she had just asked for some money. Last week she had been quite specific (£5 million) but perhaps a bit greedy. This week she had decided to ask for £93,427 based on the premise that it was (a) pretty dashed specific and (b) not terribly greedy. It was the amount she thought that would allow her to pay off all her outstanding bills, buy a new carpet for the parlour and get a few new clothes from Jaeger, and leave her with a wee bit over. The bills were beginning to worry her. She’d been so downhearted when Henry had died, it might have been a bit different if they’d had children but they had never been blessed. Then everything had become so much worse when she discovered that Henry’s pension didn’t come to her after all and the stocks and shares they had were really rather worthless. She’d had to sell some things from the house, none of which were worth very much but the money had kept her going for a while. Now there was nothing left to sell and the house looked as sad and bereft as she felt. The friends she had once had seemed to have drifted away whilst she was lost in her grief and now she couldn’t afford to have them back, it cost money to socialise and she just didn’t have it. Her social contact was limited to the people she met when she volunteered in the children’s hospital shop, the Doctors and Nurses were just lovely, she saw how hard they worked and how hard they tried to make the children well and keep their families nourished in their hope. She saw the families too, learned which child was theirs, how they were faring. She wanted to let them know how much she cared what happened, how hard she prayed for their child to be well, how she wanted to do more – but they only saw the pleasant, tweedy lady from Morningside and she didn’t know how to connect. If she won a lot of money on the Lottery she would give some of it to the Hospital, she decided, that way she could show how much she cared. If it was more than £200,000 she would give half of it away she thought. Oh Great God Loto, in all your munificent beneficence please let me win.

Loto like the Great God bit. He wasn't a Great God, but he liked it anyway. He wasn't sure about the munificent beneficence though. Actually, he wasn't even sure what it meant but she was a nice old duck and he felt sure that she'd stick to her bargain and not blow it all on drink, drugs and Ferraris. As the balls spun in their machine Loto nudged out the numbers that appeared on Enid's ticket...