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...

Three Word Wednesday

In response to this week's prompt - phone, stumbled, windy

Quiz for small children

1. You are sitting quietly watching Scooby Doo (again) and playing in an imaginative and creative way with your (naked) action figures whilst Mummy is hosing the kitchen down after breakfast. The phone rings, do you

(a) Answer it and make unintelligible conversation about having jam with your cheese string for breakfast whilst your aunt on the other end of the line progresses from "Hello darling, what a clever girl answering the phone, can I speak to Mummy?" to shrieking "LET ME SPEAK TO YOUR BLOODY MOTHER NOW!!!!" at the top of her voice in the hope that Mummy will hear and come and rescue her.
(b) Ignore the phone until Mummy answers it then interrupt the conversation every 30 seconds with demands for juice; Mummy to play Nintendogs with you; loud singing etc - until Mummy cracks and says that she will call the caller back and hangs up. Immediately start ignoring Mummy and resume Scooby Doo watching.
(c) Call "Mummy! The telephone is ringing, shall I bring it you?" and then sit quietly whilst Mummy has a lovely long chat.

2. It is the middle of the night and, after falling asleep at 6pm in spite of the cold wet facecloth treatment you got, you wake up. Do you:
(a) Get up and amble through to see Mummy and Daddy who are, shockingly, still sound asleep. Use your pointy little fingers to pry open Mummy or Daddy's eyelids and enquire if you can watch Scooby Doo now and while she's at it you wouldn't mind a cup of tea.
(b) Get out of bed and sprinkle a few bits of Lego and some Scooby Doo action figures around the floor of your previously tidy bedroom, move the toy box slightly so that it is now directly in a line from the door then shout "MUMMY!! I AM GOING TO BE VERY, VERY SICK RIGHT NOW!!". Wait until your mother has stumbled in through your bedroom door clutching your father's right shoe as an improvised sick bowl, stubbed her toe on the toy box and then hopped painfully on the Lego/action figure minefield, then tell her that you've changed your mind.
(c) Think "gosh, the stars are still studding the sky and the moon is still out - it must still be night time I think I'll go back to sleep so I wake refreshed and happy."

3. You are utterly at home on either potty or toilet seat these days but miss the drama and excitement of the first few heady days of grasping the whole going to the toilet malarkey. Today you are flower girl at the wedding of one of Mummy's pals. Do you:
(a) Announce loudly "I NEED A BIG JOBBIE!" then spend at least 15 minutes clutching yourself and hopping from foot to foot whilst you choose which of your many new friends will take you to the toilet.
(b) Go to the toilet with Mummy without putting up much of a fight then, while she is taking her turn, go from cubicle to cubicle peering underneath the door and having a bit of a chat with the occupants. On reemerging from the toilets to the wedding reception point to the immaculate and gracious mother of the bride and ask Mummy "Aye sure that's the lady who did really loud windy pops in the toilet Mummy eh?". Admire the way the lady's face turns a lovely pink colour.
(c) Quietly draw Mummy aside and ask if she will accompany you to the toilet, where you quietly and efficiently go about your business, so to speak.

Scenes from a hospital Life

Tiny girl. Poorly sick. Meningitis? Leukaemia. Chemotherapy. Angel curls falling like question marks on the pillow.
Weak. Stronger. Weaker. Strong again. It’s worse. Shingles. Kidney stones.
It’s winter.
Nurses dressed as Ghosties from Scooby Doo entertaining bed bound child.
Nurses nursing a mother’s splintering heart.
Nurses holding a weeping father’s hand.
Nurses playing Barbies with big sisters and keeping life going.
Handsome boy Doctor flirting with small, brave, bald girl who flutters lashless eyes and giggles.

It’s spring.
Worse and worse. Better and better. Home. Hospital sleepover only. Chemo continues.
Stubble appears.
Roid Rage in nursery. Playing outside. A cold. No problem.
Angel curls unfurl again and signal the growing of hope.

Summer's coming.

This beautiful girl is my niece the day after she was diagnosed

Bald but beautiful still

Our lovely girl is heading towards well.

In the worst times, she showed us the way to go. She is brave, resilient and out of her head on drugs in the video clip.

We know we are blessed and we miss those who weren't. This posting is in memory of our girl's friend Iona. She's often in our thoughts.

Trying to figure out what to do with your excess Lottery win or even that spare fiver? Leukaemia Research Fund, Edinburgh Sick Kids Hospital, Winston's Wish

Three Word Wednesday

My First ever TWW! I'm working up to something spanky!

A Cutting Reply

“Take care, my boy – expect the unexpected and keep your powder dry,” the barber
quipped and clipped and snipped.
Gaily the young man tossed his glossy mane of tousled locks
and laughed
“A little something for the weekend perhaps?” and kissed the barber’s lips.

Clothes made out of old curtains. Don't do it.

Scarlett O'Hara in her Curtains (I know it's a cookie jar, just use your imagination for goodness sake)

There are some people who can successfully wear clothes which once hung at a window. Actually - no, there aren't. There's Scarlett O'Hara and even she looks a bit ropey. One has the impression that her dress may smell of cheroots and whisky (I think they look like old pub curtains frankly) and may perhaps not be as fresh as one might like if one was hoping to meet one's fancy man.

Then there are the Von Trapp family. It doesn't surprise me one little bit that after a couple of minutes eyeing up the heavy brocade Maria whips up some nifty outfits for the kids - I know they were Austrian not German but it must be something about that neck of the woods. I lived in Germany for a while and if there's one thing I can say about German Fashion it is that no curtain is safe. There were times when I would catch my german assistant casting a speculative glance over the window dressing in our office, I would make her chant "Curtains are not clothes!" until the moment passed and she felt better.

German fashion - note the curtains just torn down from the pelmets and tossed casually over the shoulders.

Recently my sister Jo and Ellie, her 4 year old, went shopping in Asda. Ellie had dressed herself and was wearing her Fifi Flowertots swimsuit, some stripey socks belonging to her older sister, a pink fairy skirt and her mother's high heeled boots. It was a statement outfit. I'm not 100% sure that kind of statement should be allowed in supermarkets but it kept her 'roid rage at bay. I'm telling you this not because curtains were involved but to point out the difference in our childhoods - I was 15 before I was allowed to decide what to wear. My grandmother, Jessie, was a proficient seamstress but she had rubbish patterns. And taste. She would make me trousers that if you pulled them up so the crotch was somewhere near yours the waistband would chafe your armpits and the draught would whistle round your ankles. Put the waistband round your waist and the seam of the crotch would catch on your wellies. You get the idea. What she made however was not as bad as what she made them from. As well as recycling curtains she had special sources for other upholstery fabrics. Gill and I had hot pants made out of Pink and Lime Green Checked coarse tweed (Try having those seams on tender inner thighs; we walked funny for weeks). Then there were the Burgundy Corduroy Kick Flares (bus seats in a former life I think) that had purple flocked insets (possibly wallpaper at one time - who knows). You don't want to know what we had to put up with when she got an entire bolt of industrial super tough denim but I probably don't need to tell you that you could spot Gill and me from 3 miles away just by the way our arms stuck out at right angles from our sides.

None of these were anywhere near as bad as The Beach Dresses...

• They were made from yellow towelling. Fine.
• They were made from yellow towelling curtains. Not so fine.
• They were made from yellow towelling curtains that had once hung in the kitchen and were patterned with teapots and onions. ALL KINDS OF WRONG!!! They were beach dresses for heavens sake! You don't have onions and teapots on the beach! You have buckets and spades and other cute things - not vegetables and crockery.

And my mother made me wear it... what was she thinking of?!! Certainly not how scarred my 8 year psyche would be by the experience! I go all twitchy at the mere sight of an onion and as for teapots, suffice it to say I'm a coffee kind of person really.
Ellie has no idea how lucky she is but Jo has taken care to pick nice tasteful curtains for her house - just in case!

Aunty Molly

I was looking for the recipe for something the other day (Baked Egg Custard – was obviously feeling in need of comfort) and I came across a recipe for Spicy Peanut Liver (gagging noises here). The recipe book is The Dairy Book of Home Cookery. It’s generally an excellent cookbook but it does have the odd foray into slightly strange combinations which made me think of the Seventies when we Brits really began to get into experimenting with flavours and textures in food. No one was keener on experimenting with flavours and textures in food than my Great Aunt Molly. Can any of us forget the Salted peanuts in Raspberry jelly combo, or the Raisins in the Fish Pie? How about that timeless concoction “Cornflakes in Treacle Toffee”. You could always wash it down with a glass or two of “Pitbauchlie Special”, a blend of dusty orange squash and flat lemonade. Most memorable was the Mackerel, Egg and Spaghetti mash which prompted Uncle David to look at his plate and ask “Is this something we’re about to eat or something we already ate?”

It wasn’t only food that she mangled. G.A. Molly was someone who could just never leave well enough alone. Nice simple frock? Let’s add 4 yards of rickrack and perhaps some sequins. She was well ahead of her time with activities such as decorative paint finishes, or at least drawing twiddly bits on things that really just did not need twiddly things, light switches for example. She was very inventive in her problem solving. When she found her face was becoming spattered with cast off when creosoting her garage (the word slap-dash was invented for her painting technique) she solved the problem by wearing a pair of tights …on her head - one leg left dangling so she looked a bit like Isadora Duncan about to rob a bank.

Molly and her ex-naval husband, Frank, never had children and after he died there was no one to keep her eccentricities in check. Most of the time they were small idiosyncrasies – turning up at Susan and Tom’s wedding wearing a woolly bobble hat with a rose pinned to it with her Berketex suit; taking directions literally when you said “Go straight on at the Roundabout” and leaving tyre tracks across the municipal flowerbeds as a result. Would it surprise you to learn that she drove a Morris Minor with a split windscreen and sticky out indicators? Didn’t think it would. Of course, being Molly she had done a bit of improvement on it but using house gloss paint to do it, creating a subtle and intriguing effect not dissimilar to a crackle glaze. She was only trying to cover up the dunt in it that had left some of the paint flaking.

She wasn't actually barking mad - just potty and what concerns me most of all is that occasionally, usually when I find myself thinking about adding some tassels and beads to an unadorned jumper, I am struck with the realisation that I have some of her genes in me. As Jo said when I mentioned it "For god's sake - give them back!"

Breast Cancer Awareness Month - Look after your breasts & have that Mammogram!

Someone sent me this and it made me laugh so I thought I'd share it!

MAMMOGRAMS

Many women are afraid of their first mammogram, but there is no need to worry. By taking a few minutes each day for a week preceding the exam and doing the following exercises, you will be totally prepared for the test and best of all, you can do these simple exercises in and around your home.

EXERCISE ONE

Open your refrigerator door and insert one breast in door. Shut the door as hard as possible and lean on the door for good measure. Hold that position for five seconds. Repeat again in case the first time wasn't effective enough.

EXERCISE TWO

Visit your garage at 3 am when the temperature of the cement floor is just perfect. Take off all your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor with one breast wedged under the rear tyre of the car. Ask a friend to slowly back the car up until your breast is sufficiently flattened and chilled. Turn over and repeat with the other breast.

EXERCISE THREE

Freeze two metal bookends overnight. Strip to the waist. Invite a stranger into the room. Press the book-ends against your breasts. Smash the book-ends together as hard as you can. Set up an appointment with the stranger to meet next year and do it again.You are now totally prepared.

Send this to all women to have a laugh AND, don't forget to have a mammogram!