tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10444592103522289242024-03-14T10:05:00.763+00:00Really should know better.....I'm just not sure that I want to ..Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-12331667708145047722011-11-04T14:43:00.000+00:002011-11-04T14:43:40.954+00:00A little light frivolityYesterday I caught a falling leaf, no biggie theoretically, but it made me realise how long it is since I last laughed out loud. (Edinburgh a month ago, assisted by the marvellous @Shequeen, @AndreaGillies and some Viognier) This state of affairs must not be allowed to continue. Pleasure will be taken in small things.<br />
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My beautiful Zero teapot, which reminds me of a stout penguin<br />
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The view out of my window to soft golden sunshine, despite the fact the glass is smeared with kitten's paw prints<br />
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Knowing my purple suede boots can come back into use<br />
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Getting £3 back from the Halifax because I was brave enough to check my account and saw they had overcharged me, ditto my credit card company who I then convinced to pay for <b>my</b> call to complain about <b>their</b> service (I count this as a double-win)<br />
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Tiny, tiny pots of sparkly nail varnish<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Baked beans on buttered toast, I'd forgotten how delicious they are. Similarly crumpets toasted in front of a fire with my fingers scorching because I haven't got a toasting fork.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In fact life isn't bad at all. Wish me luck, I'm going back in</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-79922633737873619532011-04-15T15:14:00.000+01:002011-04-15T16:59:36.077+01:00The Real Me ?<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b32ZjH8H3JM/TahVTRD6e0I/AAAAAAAAAkU/B-haKyJEDnM/s1600/-mirage-black-gold-venetian-mask-2124-p.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 194px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b32ZjH8H3JM/TahVTRD6e0I/AAAAAAAAAkU/B-haKyJEDnM/s200/-mirage-black-gold-venetian-mask-2124-p.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595816326493535042" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span">A few weeks ago Twitter started a hash tag to raise awareness of Mental Health Issues. It was neatly listed as #WhatStigma.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">What stigma indeed ? The world and his wife know about me, in my own self-indulgent way I have never hidden my problems, if anyone hangs around long enough I will self eviscerate, I have a tendency to over-dramatise, to "show off" as my mother used to say. I delight in making myself "look interesting" by telling tales of my bad behaviour or fragility and I think, when things aren't too grim I do it with some humour. It is a coping mechanism though, most of the time I'm scared, scared of doing something wrong *<i>smile, laugh</i>*, of being rejected *<i>smile</i>, <i>laugh</i>*, of fucking up in some way I don't even understand. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">When I was in my teens the simple answer was a cocktail of Librium/Valium/Diazepam et al because if I was quiet I was OK and that seemed to be the accepted method of dealing with mental health issues. By the time I went to Uni I had learnt a bit more about coping with the black pit as it crept towards me, keep drinking, stop thinking and it seemed to work pretty well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The the real world intervened, I graduated, got a job and despite ending a long term relationship I kept myself together fairly well, there were, of course, ups and downs, but they were manageable. The times that a good night out or a long chat with a friend would sort out, although the fear of "the pit" was always there. Then I met my husband in 1981, a man of infinite patience he worked hard to keep me on an even keel, coped with the ongoing symptoms of bulimia and picked up a lot of the scary credit card bills that my "feel better" shopping trips generated. I knew how lucky I was and how hard it was for him to understand me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In 1989 I had our first child, I gave up work and became a mum, except I <b>wasn't</b>, I was numb, felt nothing and beat myself up about it. Every day I had to prove I could do everything, not as a competition with anyone else, but with myself. Fail and the doubt kicks in. After months of a bouncy high suddenly all you can do is cry, hide, hibernate. Weight loss, weight gain and self loathing, feeling you have failed everyone. Oh great, let's add post natal depression into the mix. I was beginning to feel like a text book. "Loons for Dummies". Second child, more pretence, more sobbing, more ranting, much, much more medication, the miracle cure all that is Prozac.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This became the norm for the next 15 years, in the end the mask became the real me and only if things became particularly stressed was there a public falling apart. Then I was given a diagnosis of cyclothymia and prescribed Venlafaxine which has been a huge help, my husband no longer wonders if he is coming home to Tigger or Eeyore, but that doesn't change what has happened. Inevitably the temper swings, introspection and self pity take their toll on relationships with friends and family, the risk taking behaviour can destroy trust and hope. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I had meant to publish this post a while ago, while the hash tag was in peoples' memory and with a positive and upbeat conclusion, but unfortunately I have been skirting depression again recently, glancing at it sideways, rolling my eyes like a worried racehorse. I think that I have hidden it reasonably well; in real life I have stayed at home as much as possible, smiling and socialising seems an effort. On Twitter how I feel is protected by constraints of space, it is much easier to be chatty, glib and give nothing away when you only have 140 characters to express yourself. Chat without repercussions, chat, that if you feel fragile you can drift away from without offending anyone. Eeyore is the racehorse's stable companion.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This week was National Depression Awareness Week and I wanted to finish this post, however incoherent, trying to explain what depression can do to me, to any of us, that suffer from this debilitating illness. Please stick with us, believe we can be good friends, partners and parents and please forgive us if the mask slips.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OBOl-LT-pe4/Tahf2X5AuSI/AAAAAAAAAkc/6RIRGzia5SU/s200/eeyore-sipping-water%2B%25281%2529.gif" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 156px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595827924738554146" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span">Eeyore stood by himself in a thistly corner of the Forest, his front feet well apart, his head on one side, and thought about things. Sometimes he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about.</span></i></span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-59771293203326063402011-03-28T11:43:00.000+01:002011-03-28T10:35:46.881+01:00Shhhhh, don't say anything............<div style="text-align: left;">but it might be spring.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1PC-a-BPVEY/TZBDH-92QAI/AAAAAAAAAkE/_OouUd-FJZA/s1600/DSC00103.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 117px; height: 200px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1PC-a-BPVEY/TZBDH-92QAI/AAAAAAAAAkE/_OouUd-FJZA/s200/DSC00103.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589040942007336962" /></a><br /><div>I have just sat in the garden with a cup of coffee and found myself basking like a cat, there is sunshine. The sky may be that thin pale blue of an over washed shirt but there are no clouds. The swelling buds on the tree are reflecting the light, looking like candle flames and there are exciting fat leaves the colour of acidy green boiled sweets unfurling in the flowerpots. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ah, it is definitely Spring. I have had to come back indoors. Next door are having building work done and they've just fired up the angle grinder, so much for the bucolic idyll.</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-UatrDPw89W0/TZBDrqmBBLI/AAAAAAAAAkM/-BLdpA6BcV4/s200/DSC00106.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589041555013960882" /></div><div><br /></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-84407870668988735432011-03-23T09:53:00.003+00:002011-03-23T14:58:34.607+00:00Small Happinesses<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7OBOWCGDLdo/TYoKXxpyTPI/AAAAAAAAAj8/AjAGgUadRaw/s1600/pie.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7OBOWCGDLdo/TYoKXxpyTPI/AAAAAAAAAj8/AjAGgUadRaw/s200/pie.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587289691288390898" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" >Sometimes the smallest thing can provide a ridiculous level of pleasure. Yesterday I bought myself a pie funnel, it is exactly the same as the one I used to play with in my Grandmother's kitchen 50 years ago, the one my mother had used when <b>she</b> was a child learning to cook. Sadly the original was lost when my grandparents house was cleared after their deaths. The memories weren't lost though and this morning I am lying in bed, catching up on my emails, making to-do lists and planning what pie to make.</span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-49277276509890062322011-03-04T16:20:00.009+00:002011-03-04T17:33:44.519+00:00Curled Up on the Sofa<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-32zJxZpwHBA/TXEU6M57bgI/AAAAAAAAAjs/kzoougzGuks/s200/Parker_Pen_and_Paper.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580264403417918978" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span">We are so lucky there are now many different ways to keep in touch with our friends and family. I know everyone still loves a "real letter" although I am a shamefully poor correspondent. "Thank you" letters were a purgatorial task for me and the once weekly, vetted, letter home from boarding school even worse. My poor mother, one scruffy page of Basildon Bond covered in unformed scrawl was the only way she had to piece together what my life was like. I'm pretty sure after seven years she knew that Wednesday was laundry day and I didn't like Latin. The telephone was only for high days or dire emergencies and you stood in a freezing corridor clutching your hoard of sixpenny pieces waiting for your turn, glaring at the Sixth former giggling with her boyfriend</span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Now there is email, instant messaging, Facebook, Twitter and Skype. Everyone is just a keyboard away. Whoomph, message gone, news exchanged. Taptaptap, tweet sent, im on Facebook which can lead to some hilarious misunderstandings because of the time lag in the conversation or lack of nuance, never mind the gut wrenching embarrassment of sending a message to the wrong person when you have multiple "chat windows" open. Go on, admit it, I'm not alone in that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This morning though I had a phone call with a good friend I haven't spoken to for far too long and curled up in the corner of the sofa with a cup of coffee we chatted about big stuff, frivolous fun and everything in between. As we talked I realised there is nothing to beat the human voice, the joy of actually being able to hear someone's happiness or, sadly, pick up from tone of voice that all is not well. Conversations run on without interruption, tangents can be explored and most importantly human contact is made.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">This post isn't sponsored by BT but if there is someone you haven't spoken to for a while, ring. Life really does feel better.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OCKKGzWzO-8/TXEZfn81KWI/AAAAAAAAAj0/Mi5qvDJrU20/s200/BT-Graphite-1100-DECT-Digital-Cordless-Telephone-Black-buy-cheap-price-sale.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580269444379519330" /></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-7346823157512462022011-02-23T17:37:00.007+00:002011-02-24T11:55:17.375+00:00A New Discovery<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tcsbk7GeJNU/TWZF2aLnCHI/AAAAAAAAAjU/1_6EBw7r3II/s1600/ikeablog230211.bmp"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tcsbk7GeJNU/TWZF2aLnCHI/AAAAAAAAAjU/1_6EBw7r3II/s200/ikeablog230211.bmp" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577221989588207730" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" >I am a masochist, I had no idea of this before today, but it seems I am. Why else would I go to Ikea at half term ? The ninth circle of hell where parents go to loose their children, little old ladies turn into attack dogs and I empty my bank account.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >This was meant to be a very quick run through, with a strict list to be followed, no deviation allowed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >2 additional shelves for my Billy bookcase</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >1 desk lamp</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A plant</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A pot for the plant</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >A waste paper basket</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Unfortunately it appears that Ikea have changed the </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); ">size of their bookcases and of course I hadn't measured mine before I left because I <b>knew</b> that I needed the long ones. Except the long shelves are now 80</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); ">cms, not 60cms so they don't fit. I feel this adds insult to injury and I indiscriminately called down the wrath of all the Nordic gods I could think of ....</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >(Research suggests Baldur would be most appropriate of these deities as he was killed with a spear of mistletoe.We all know it was actually a splinter from a flat back) ...... sadly he was no help at all as I tried to ram the shelf into the offending bookcase.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >And the list ? Yes, I fell off the list. In my trolley I found mini Daim, meatballs and some glasses, but that's the law, isn't it ?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w73rg65pPpc/TWZF-jNfnLI/AAAAAAAAAjc/78JcRzWAN30/s200/blog230211.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 156px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5577222129450982578" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" >No tea lights though.</span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-132297391417233952011-02-22T17:06:00.007+00:002011-02-22T17:19:11.032+00:00My New Hiding Place part II<div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlZQJXXi0fk/TWPtezgxXaI/AAAAAAAAAjM/fEX08C95dlg/s1600/blog2202112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 150px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZlZQJXXi0fk/TWPtezgxXaI/AAAAAAAAAjM/fEX08C95dlg/s200/blog2202112.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576561877094325666" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" >I am really very happy up here in my eyrie, four hours work done and I'm pleased with, ooh, 20 minutes of it. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" > (The 4 hours don't include the Ocado shop, the Clarks order for swaggery boots which will enable me to dress up as Johnny Depp in "Pirates of the Caribbean", the long discussion with a friend about her wallpaper - the fact I haven't seen it didn't stop me giving a considered opinion - and watching the downfall of a dictator)</span></div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div></div></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-3975832892510490872011-02-21T15:33:00.009+00:002011-02-21T19:31:30.373+00:00My New Hiding Place<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5vzVMxHLSOs/TWKja5l1rWI/AAAAAAAAAis/-N7yTVVuCxk/s1600/blog%2B21211.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5vzVMxHLSOs/TWKja5l1rWI/AAAAAAAAAis/-N7yTVVuCxk/s200/blog%2B21211.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576198971169549666" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" >The last few months have, yet again, been spent thinking about writing, lots of thinking but not much doing and that is despite much encouragement from friends. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Finally though I think I'm ready for the off.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">The house cleaning which I was using as an excuse... the I must just "<i>wash the floor/chisel the grime f</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>rom the skirting boards/remove the Miss Havisham like swathings from the cornices</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span">" tasks are at last completed. Now, I'm not suggesting we have reached hygienic lev</span><span class="Apple-style-span">els of cleanliness, but if I said that Time Team would have cheerfully conducted a dig here you may get an idea of what I was dealing with. I have also redecorated both children's rooms, which translates as</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> I chose the paint, made tea and generally offered unhelpful suggestions whilst husband and son did manly bonding over paintbrushes. I have designed a huge bookcase too, where I can rehome the tottering piles of books that adorn every flat surface in the house.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >After all this sorting, a modern day visit to the Augean stables, my reward was to make myself a place to write, hidden away, quiet, no distractions and three flights of stairs away from the biscuits. There is a bookcase, my favourite pictures on the wall in front of me, my ipod and an ashtray.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" >Let writing commence</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qnceHwJfluk/TWKkeyHa4bI/AAAAAAAAAi0/SbRdDI-MTrg/s200/blog210211-2.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 146px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576200137394020786" /></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-48311567585462000552010-08-27T12:45:00.000+01:002010-08-27T17:27:06.673+01:00Great Works of Art Revisited Part II<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">When I was at University I was never particularly fond of Dutch 17th Century art, </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">seen one ship in a storm seen 'em all...........</span></span></i></span></span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-style: normal; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">oh good, another bunch of fl</span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">owers with creepy crawlie</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s........,</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">but I always had a soft spot for their landscapes, broad sweeps of empty countryside with cows........... lots of cows. They appealed to my need for peace and silence and there was probably a subliminal influence from the industrial quantities of Babyb</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); ">el I ate in those days (good for hangovers)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">Anyway, a few weeks ago, walking the dog I took t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51); ">his picture</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/THZZlFidgFI/AAAAAAAAAhU/yDmtzn-9t54/s200/P6120173.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509689687811129426" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">but I saw this</span></div><img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/THbgyp4zvfI/AAAAAAAAAhs/lxVGvkkPWyI/s200/cattle+vanda.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509838354976587250" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">(it's alright, I wasn't reading Veterinary Science)</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-41836862609763364072010-08-24T14:33:00.005+01:002010-08-26T12:33:16.601+01:00My Return from the Wilderness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/THZNOkn2yiI/AAAAAAAAAhE/f-wNoRdbuJs/s1600/chickenshining.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/THZNOkn2yiI/AAAAAAAAAhE/f-wNoRdbuJs/s200/chickenshining.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509676106878732834" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">It is 5 months since I last posted here. 5 months exactly and that is far too long to leave something I enjoy. I have no valid excuse either, if I were to put my bum on a chair and my fingers on the keyboard eventually something would appear, for heavens sake monkeys can write Shakespeare.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"> The trouble is I got spooked, since finishing work so "I could write" the blank page has hung over me, like a banner pointing out my pretentiousness. I got writer's block before I could even pretend to be a writer. It was easier to scurry off to daytime television and sock sorting, but finally the time has come to get my arse in gear. No longer can I pull a face like a horse in a thunderstorm, backing away, eyes rolling. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"> Empty screen you don't scare me....... Much.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">I have lists of topics to ponder on, some may require thought, others are more Pooteresque ramblings, daughters, the fluff from ones navel found as you contemplate it and why there is never quite enough to knit a jumper, the loss of my Edinburgh virginity, trips to the great Wen. Even, if I'm feeling particularly brave, the joys of decorating with Geekdude or the fatal addiction of Twitter. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">So here we go...... time to push the "Publish Post" button</span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;">Oh, and thanks to Doug Savage for the cartoon, he does some great stuff. </span><a href="http://www.savagechickens.com/">http://www.savagechickens.com/</a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#330033;"><br /></span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-29159780224512727672010-03-25T10:21:00.001+00:002010-03-25T10:24:11.497+00:00Technology and the Technofailyphobe<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S3lyRhQcjlI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/mLppz3qWIEg/s1600-h/iphoneJune102008.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 166px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438503670337277522" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S3lyRhQcjlI/AAAAAAAAAfQ/mLppz3qWIEg/s200/iphoneJune102008.jpg" /></a><span style="color:#330033;"> I have never been somebody who copes comfortably with technology. I can do floaty fabric, splashy painty, random talky stuff, but when it comes down to the precision required by physics or computers I allow my brain to turn off. My husband is an engineer who understands numbers (even sums that use brackets) and our son is reading Computer Science at uni. I have used these facts as my excuse not to bother to learn more. (Also if I ask either child <strong>anything</strong> about the computer they rattle off the information so quickly and with so much flouncy eye-rolling somehow it just doesn't seem worth it)</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Now I am the proud owner of an i-phone. The sheer excitement I feel about it is very uncool, but I actually feel as if I understand it, the whole thing is remarkably intuitive and other than one or two glitches (making the map huge and then not being able to shrink it again and telling it I <strong>didn't</strong> want it to talk to my i-pod ) I have found my way round it. For the first week I just looked at it askance and felt nervous but now I tweet, email, shop, watch films, read books and answer questions. Sometimes I even make phone calls. It has been a great ice breaker too, on my last 2 train journeys I have been given tutorials by the guys I was sitting next to. (Thank you Mr Gold Futures man and Mr Philosophy student man) Lots of help, albeit with a little metaphorical patting on the head, from people who used theirs in very different ways. Is there anything this little beauty can't do ?</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">My lovely, shiny new friend welcome to my life.<br /></span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-32868395789650462022010-03-10T11:48:00.004+00:002010-03-10T18:00:17.627+00:00The Fragrant Mrs H<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S5e3BI66q6I/AAAAAAAAAgg/0-OB6dcaI9s/s1600-h/backpacking-toiletries.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 155px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447023504530254754" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S5e3BI66q6I/AAAAAAAAAgg/0-OB6dcaI9s/s200/backpacking-toiletries.jpg" /></a><br /><div>This morning I had a shower, which, fortunately for those I live with, is not in itself worthy of comment but as I applied gels and unguents all guaranteed to make me younger, smoother and calmer I idly totalled the products.</div><div> </div><div align="center">Shampoo</div><div align="center">Conditioner</div><div align="center">Soap</div><div align="center">Facial Exfoliant</div><div align="center">Shower Gel</div><div align="center">Body Moisturiser</div><div align="center">Serum </div><div align="center">Moisturiser</div><div align="center">Frizz Ease</div><div align="center">Deodorant</div><div align="center">Perfume</div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center"> </div><div align="left">Eleven products for heavens sake and I don't consider myself particularly high maintenance. </div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-45084851807332445252010-03-04T10:42:00.007+00:002010-03-04T14:20:52.363+00:00World Book Day<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S4-bnFUDb4I/AAAAAAAAAgU/reEgnYezssc/s1600-h/P3040017.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444741570257710978" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S4-bnFUDb4I/AAAAAAAAAgU/reEgnYezssc/s200/P3040017.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">This year I am on an economy drive. Having left work money for anything other than necessities is scarce. It would appear I consider books to be necessities. All the books in the picture above have been bought this year, along with half a dozen others that are already "visiting friends". Admittedly I was given book tokens as a leaving present by work and I allowed myself a treat with some of the money I got at Christmas but it is still a healthy haul for only 9 weeks.</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">At this rate the bookcases I am drawing up for the joiner aren't going to have space for long.</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><em>Postscript</em>. The books currently on tour include "Kill-Grief" by Caroline Rance, "Blackmoor" by Edward Hogan, "Night Music" by JoJo Moyes and "Letters to Sister Benedicta" by Rose Tremain and then the postman has just brought me "Ottolenghi, the Cookbook", "Human Traces" by Sebastian Faulks, "Samuel Palmer, Vision and Landscape" and "The Artist's Way" by Julia Cameron. </span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">Twitter, please stop recommending books</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-76428502135510165872010-01-26T15:02:00.010+00:002010-01-26T15:53:53.176+00:00Today is less dynamic<span style="color:#330033;">Well, after yesterday's flurry of excitement today has been rather more relaxed. Snoozing has taken place.</span><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#330033;">In my head I want to look like this</span></div><br /><br /><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 106px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431065450468334770" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S18FQI8P3LI/AAAAAAAAAcg/NuUaSUsd9Sc/s200/BurneJonesSleepingBeauty.jpg" /> <span style="color:#330033;">this</span></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#330033;"></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 174px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431065864594575362" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S18FoPro0AI/AAAAAAAAAco/Oiv3XUWTKC8/s200/woman-sleeping-by-sandor-liezen-mayer-1867.jpg" /> <span style="color:#330033;">or even this</span></p><p align="center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 173px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431065975004575890" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S18Fuq_buJI/AAAAAAAAAcw/M2Tm3teUYwg/s200/268482207_e0e6d615b6.jpg" /><br /></p><p align="center"><span style="color:#330033;">I suspect it was more like this................with drool</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 162px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5431067102608636786" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S18GwTpMO3I/AAAAAAAAAc4/b0N4P00HJnM/s200/cgfa_duck3.jpg" /></span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-42221041565501856102010-01-25T16:00:00.002+00:002010-01-25T16:29:55.235+00:00Displacement Activity<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S13GabXruJI/AAAAAAAAAcY/cZvMiKANPb8/s1600-h/vintage_housewife.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 178px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430714883004676242" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/S13GabXruJI/AAAAAAAAAcY/cZvMiKANPb8/s200/vintage_housewife.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Today was going to be the first day that I knuckled down and started to blog on a regular basis. Not regular as in once a month, or even once a week but words on a page (almost) every day.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">So far I have :-</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Twittered, a lot </span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Tidied my e.mails- all 11 pages in my in-box</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Made bread - last done over a year ago</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Hoovered behind the sofa - well I did do it in October when the new one was delivered</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Updated my address book - using cards we received at Christmas 2008</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Folded all the bedlinen - possibly never done before</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Tidied my underwear drawer - mists of time</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Cleared the lawn of dog poo - man's job</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Ironed <strong>his</strong> shirts - it's 4 years since I last did any ironing</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Transferred stuff from last years diary to this year's (and worried about that apostrophe)</span></div><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">Displacement activity ? Oh yes, but having made a start perhaps it will get easier.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;color:#330033;">If not, at least the house will be tidier.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-75066163707916062522009-11-11T16:52:00.002+00:002009-11-11T17:13:49.962+00:00The Eleventh Hour<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SvrsChx-hpI/AAAAAAAAAb8/hhnOijNXXQc/s1600-h/poppy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 133px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402890231156213394" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SvrsChx-hpI/AAAAAAAAAb8/hhnOijNXXQc/s200/poppy.jpg" /></a><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Another learning curve. </span><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span><br /><span style="color:#330033;">In Harrogate we have one of the largest army training colleges in the country, 16 and 17 year olds come to learn "how to be soldiers". For most of them it is the first time they are away from home and the first time they have money in their pockets. In the town we are always aware when they have pass out weekends. The centre is heaving with wiry youths with regulation hair cuts lurking around McDonalds and the night clubs. Some of them look utterly lost, others already have a swagger that is noticed, and admired, by the young ladies of North Yorkshire.</span><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Today was different, they were in town for the Remembrance Ceremony. Not youths but young men, wearing immaculate uniforms, a huge pride in themselves and their futures. An awareness of what their predecessors had given and what they may be asked to give. </span><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Any of the soldiers I saw today could be a casualty of war in the next twelve months. Let's pray not.<br /></span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-68795932584298941932009-11-11T13:30:00.000+00:002009-11-11T12:49:55.563+00:00Please Hollywood, leave it alone.<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SvquXS48KEI/AAAAAAAAAb0/L7rFQ2I8MdQ/s1600-h/P9270178.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402822418215217218" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SvquXS48KEI/AAAAAAAAAb0/L7rFQ2I8MdQ/s200/P9270178.JPG" /></a> <div><div><div><div><div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I was a "non-sporty" child, slightly nerdy, (which in the days before computers was unusual), solitary and cylindrical , I loved to read.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">Many of the books that gave me pleasure then are still on my bookshelves and are regularly re-read. "Little Women", "The Hobbit", all the Narnia series, Jennings, Cynthia Harnett and Rosemary Sutcliffe, but the favourite of all was a battered copy of "The Little White Horse" by Elizabeth Goudge. It was my mothers, when she was young, a present from her Grandmother in 1946. A first edition no less, printed when all books were published under the "authorised economy standards". A book was a luxury in those days and treated with respect.</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">This copy is now shabby and faded, the pages have that soft powdery feel and it is well foxed, but none of that makes any difference to the story. A little girl, orphaned, is sent to stay with her Uncle in a beautiful but sad house. As she learns the story of her family and determines to solve what she sees as misunderstandings and injustices, we are drawn into the archetypal world of good and evil, joy and sadness. There is no escaping the fact it is a Christian allegory, although as I child I read it in blissful ignorance, it draws you in .</span></div><br /><span style="color:#330033;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402821021960492322" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SvqtGBb31SI/AAAAAAAAAbk/qMElfmUfaG8/s200/P9270177.JPG" /><br /></span><div></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">Then Hollywood got hold of it. I should be pleased. A book that is not high profile chosen for adaptation by a studio with thousands, millions, to spend on a production. But my heart sank, I was afraid they would not be able to retain a charm and gentleness the book has. There would be special effects, drama and derring do. There was; we had black leather clad baddies, more hippy crystals than you could shake a stick at (this was obviously the way to dilute the Christian element) a re-enactment of the Guinness advertisement with the Sea-horses and no geraniums. (When I was at the cinema I had the added bonus of a small child trying to remove my kidneys through my seatback with her feet, but I can't blame Hollywood for that.) </span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">It wasn't my story anymore. It wasn't my childhood. They had made an entertaining film that all the children in the cinema, those not headfirst in their popcorn anyway, seemed to enjoy, but it was a lesson for me. If there is a book that you love, really love and the film studios get hold of it, be prepared for your illusions to be dashed.</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">No one can make better memories for you than you.</span><br /></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402821719766711634" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Svqtuo91vVI/AAAAAAAAAbs/KmTbwfhiveI/s200/sendak.jpg" /><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">(This will not stop me going to see "Where The Wild Things Are", I never learn)</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div></div></div></div></div></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-34066846980364256332009-10-28T20:55:00.012+00:002009-11-02T09:38:58.900+00:00The Joy of... Twitter, (no beards, I promise)<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Suiz19nqEII/AAAAAAAAAa8/xyi6Um581to/s1600-h/twitter-logo.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 199px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397761893058875522" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Suiz19nqEII/AAAAAAAAAa8/xyi6Um581to/s200/twitter-logo.jpg" /></a> <div><span style="color:#330033;">I have just had one of the most entertaining days that I can remember, all thanks to Twitter. I will be blogging at a later date, in a more serious way, about what there is to enjoy about the site, but this evening it is more a snap observation.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I travelled to London today to meet @SamAtRedmag for lunch. Previously we have only ever spoken through Twitter and of course I was nervous but it was as if I was meeting with a good friend who I have known for years. Off we went into the highways and byways of life, the universe and everything, children, jobs, partners, shoes, books were some of the things we chatted about. And Twitter, without which this meeting would never have happened. I had a wonderful time and I hope she did too. After lunch I trotted through Central London playing postman with books that are travelling around the country to new homes having been recommended on Twitter. (Something of a relief to unload the extra ballast, I was getting gibbon arms by then)</span></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 151px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 151px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399136587918330466" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Su2WHvCvymI/AAAAAAAAAbM/m5fEKkW83bk/s200/AW09SUNDAEEVHABLA-BLACK_t.jpg" /><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><span style="color:#330033;">After that my feet (as I ever I was wearing totally unsuitable shoes) were screaming for mercy so I took a cab (yet more excitement, I'm in a cab, in London, I'm a grown up, I'm in London) to St Pancras where I met 3 more new friends at the St Pancras Champagne bar where we got giggly and irreverent. Thank you @suellewellyn, @mcdulwich and </span><a href="mailto:a@misspinks"><span style="color:#330033;">@misspinks</span></a><span style="color:#330033;"> for trailing across the city. I have been talking to all three since June this year and met them briefly when I was in London for the Plinth (of which more on another day, I promise) but today was</span> the first time I was lucky enough to have an extended witter (rather than Twitter). It was marvellous fun, chatting to three witty, glamorous women . Such fun in fact that I very nearly missed my train. There was no way I could run in my shoes, so having made a dignified exit from the bar (smiling prettily at the delightful host), as soon as I was round the corner I kicked them off and sprinted, barefoot, to Kings Cross and threw myself back into reality.</span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">So, here I am on the train, on the way back up North, having had a wonderful day and looking forward to meeting up again as soon as possible. National Express can look forward to an increase in their profit margins. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 112px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397762299914015778" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Sui0NpRe1CI/AAAAAAAAAbE/JJt-LpHFutw/s200/photo001.jpg" /></span></div><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#330033;"><strong>Afterword</strong>. Sunday, 1st November. Reading the above, I can tell just how <strong>much</strong> I enjoyed the champagne bar. The style is even more effusive than usual, but actually, I don't care. It was a day that was entertaining from start to finish. I had managed to leave my phone and make up at home having done a handbag swap, but I had my lap top so I could email and Twitter, don't panic, nothing is insurmountable. The beflustered, pink and piggy eyed woman was rescued with a complete makeover by the lovely Shanelle at Bobby Brown in Selfridges and I met some fascinating people. Not least the young lady on the train South who inspired me to go back to singing and the delightful gentleman on the evening train, a retired Professor of Economics with whom I had a conversation about Jesuit Art.</span></p><br /><p align="center"><span style="color:#330033;">Life is for living, seize the day, step forward not back. All cheesy, all cliches, but Wednesday proved to me how true they are.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="color:#330033;">Oh, and the beard reference ? I am a child of my times, every time I see "Joy of..." I think "sex" and the hippy, freelurve illustrations in the first editions. Never play word association with me unless you can afford therapy.</span></p><p align="left"><span style="color:#330033;"></span></p><br /><p align="center"></p>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-47266635874835875182009-08-22T12:55:00.004+01:002009-08-24T11:19:30.644+01:00Great Works of Art revisited. An occasional series<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SpJpB1m8UqI/AAAAAAAAAaU/X22Rwpk1Rl4/s1600-h/stubbs16%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 173px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373472785697624738" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SpJpB1m8UqI/AAAAAAAAAaU/X22Rwpk1Rl4/s200/stubbs16%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373470374397026178" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SpJm1e0FH4I/AAAAAAAAAaM/nSXaaWVqZdQ/s200/P8240133.JPG" /></div><div></div><div></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#330033;">Hard to spot the difference isn't it ?<br /></span><div align="center"></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="color:#330033;"><span style="color:#330033;">With apologies to George Stubbs and the Tate Gallery<br /><br /></span><br /></span></div></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-29666762427750078762009-08-22T12:50:00.009+01:002009-08-23T19:08:37.974+01:00The guilt, the guilt<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SpF2dt8hFuI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Q5SP6QaDLL0/s1600-h/scan0001.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 118px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5373206083351418594" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SpF2dt8hFuI/AAAAAAAAAaE/Q5SP6QaDLL0/s200/scan0001.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">I read a lot of wonderful blogs, many of which are written by women with young children detailing their lives and learning curves. Oh, the memories, the joy in their children. The rueful smiles and blissful hugs. They do instil in me a measure of guilt though. I have realised my parenting skills leave much to be desired and listed below are a few of my "less nurturing" moments from the last 20 years.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I plunge into sleep before they are home and if I do wake when they get back, I complain about being woken.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">Any chocolate left in the kitchen is fair game.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I put their clothes in the washing machine when <strong>I</strong> want to, which is not necessarily when they need them.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">When they were young it was not unknown for me to eat treats I had purchased for them 2 or 3 times before the children actually got them. Cadburys buttons a speciality.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I refused to write a essay for a module in GC's Graphics A level.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">If they are home at suppertime I will feed them, if they aren't, I don't.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I always have used a "riper" vocabulary than perhaps I should in front of them, resulting in the family story of my small boy from back of car asking "so, which car <strong>are</strong> the dozy tossers in Mummy ?"</span></div><br /><span style="color:#330033;">The tooth fairy forgot to visit on a regular basis.</span><br /><br /><p><span style="color:#330033;">I still have my school reports, not convinced I could put my hand to theirs.</span></p><p><span style="color:#330033;">I talk to their friends (big sin, big,big sin)</span><span style="color:#330033;"><br /></p></span><p><span style="color:#330033;">I did not take the day off work to accompany either child to get A' level or GCSE results.</span></p><p>I cheat at Jenga.</p><span style="color:#330033;"><p><span style="color:#330033;"><span style="color:#330033;">I have been known to sing (and horror of horrors dance) </span></span></span><span style="color:#330033;">in public</span></p><span style="color:#330033;">When they were young I used to sleep with my fingers in my ears - allegedly.</span><span style="color:#330033;"> (I am sure the picture above was photo shopped)</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">And do you know ? Despite this benign neglect, (not once did I congratulate them for breathing, walking or even using a knife and fork) they have turned into jolly nice people.</span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-20357830764449078492009-08-16T16:26:00.022+01:002009-08-16T23:08:13.568+01:00Long walk and little things.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh6_DGyiEI/AAAAAAAAAY0/EFkr1QRuceE/s1600-h/P8160090.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370677779223447618" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh6_DGyiEI/AAAAAAAAAY0/EFkr1QRuceE/s200/P8160090.JPG" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh9xTjURWI/AAAAAAAAAZc/fGDua8CRZKQ/s1600-h/P8160082.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370680841654781282" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh9xTjURWI/AAAAAAAAAZc/fGDua8CRZKQ/s200/P8160082.JPG" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 152px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370678170134350386" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh7VzXNijI/AAAAAAAAAY8/LyPOVa4sYFQ/s200/P8160094.JPG" /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5DHXkQSI/AAAAAAAAAYU/I9R43uPFrLs/s1600-h/P8160117.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370675650063778082" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5DHXkQSI/AAAAAAAAAYU/I9R43uPFrLs/s200/P8160117.JPG" /></a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh8zLi6oeI/AAAAAAAAAZM/q5ObcIYTCcM/s1600-h/P8160104.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370679774353727970" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh8zLi6oeI/AAAAAAAAAZM/q5ObcIYTCcM/s200/P8160104.JPG" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh546r-oRI/AAAAAAAAAYs/70-q4aUjHOQ/s1600-h/P8160092.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 156px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370676574372667666" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh546r-oRI/AAAAAAAAAYs/70-q4aUjHOQ/s200/P8160092.JPG" /></a><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5UXJarkI/AAAAAAAAAYc/gBxv58X89Ts/s1600-h/P8160072.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370675946357173826" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5UXJarkI/AAAAAAAAAYc/gBxv58X89Ts/s200/P8160072.JPG" /></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 175px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370680011017556434" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh9A9L-EdI/AAAAAAAAAZU/b-eFVJPXmt8/s200/P8160098.JPG" /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5mx_uPLI/AAAAAAAAAYk/2EeJnLGk7O0/s1600-h/P8160079.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5370676262801915058" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5mx_uPLI/AAAAAAAAAYk/2EeJnLGk7O0/s200/P8160079.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5mx_uPLI/AAAAAAAAAYk/2EeJnLGk7O0/s1600-h/P8160079.JPG"></a></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Soh5mx_uPLI/AAAAAAAAAYk/2EeJnLGk7O0/s1600-h/P8160079.JPG"></a></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">There really was a feel of Autumn in the air today, leaves are beginning to turn, berries are showing colour and the fungi are more plentiful. Most of all there is that damp musty scent in the air, how are we heading into Autumn without a Summer</span> <span style="color:#330033;">?</span></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-68400176658928229142009-08-16T14:30:00.004+01:002009-08-16T15:24:16.501+01:00Digger for M<p><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxmkO37XqXTFjWzk6puspqBkWCvwKxgCuXKDKedzo01bOOZd-3wVRy8A371-KA8orjKd4vpPpj2jirph8h1FA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></p><p><span style="color:#330033;">I suspect Mr Spielberg is unlikely to loose sleep over this, I am not a natural cineaste however it does give an idea of the lollop in action. Not at full lick as he could not bring himself to leave </span><span style="color:#330033;">"Master".</span></p>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-72479323197485392552009-08-12T14:31:00.001+01:002009-08-12T16:49:59.639+01:00My wounded soldier. A cautionary tale<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Sky27YxPYoI/AAAAAAAAAWM/uwnKyAP4MJs/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 164px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353855188414194306" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Sky27YxPYoI/AAAAAAAAAWM/uwnKyAP4MJs/s200/untitled.bmp" /></a> <span style="color:#330033;">As those of you on Twitter may remember we recently had an "eventful" evening in our household. Ever generous, Boy Child decided to provide me with yet more blog fodder by wrestling with the dog at 1am and ending up being scalped. The joys of A&E at 1.30am are many and varied I am sure, I am just too surly to appreciate them. For a beautiful piece on this you need to go to </span><a href="http://misswhistle.blogspot.com/2009/07/emergency-room.html"><span style="color:#330033;">http://misswhistle.blogspot.com/2009/07/emergency-room.html</span></a><span style="color:#330033;"><br /><br /><br />BC had come down from his room on a fridge raid, but stopped off to romp with the lunatic hound, one thing led to another and at 1am BC stumbled back upstairs,<br /><br />"I'm bleeding". I have to admit my head went under the pillow for a moment, maybe I <em>hadn't</em> heard.<br /><br />"Mu-um, there's quite a lot of blood" .........................and then the clincher.<br /><br />"It's dripping on the floor"<br /><br />By this time Silent One had woken up and gone to investigate. when he found a length of BC's scalp with hair attached (I kid you not) on the floor things became a little more urgent. The dog was beside himself with guilt and was prostrate on the floor, BC was being stoic and Silent One proved his worth by disposing of the evidence.<br /><br />A&E was not too busy, but the nurse decided his scalp needed to be checked by plastics, so we were sent home with enough bandaging to do a remake of The Mummy and an invitation to return the next morning.<br /><br />When seen by plastics the decision was made to do clever, gruesome embroidery which I shall tell you nothing about because it makes me feel quite poorly. Not normally squeamish in the slightest, but this was my <strong>baby .</strong> Then there followed multiple check ups to make sure no brains were escaping (how would they tell ?) and the healing was going well.<br /><br />After two sets of antibiotics, sutures, clips and glue BC is mended although he will have a Heidleburg quality scar on his brow for the rest of his life. Here's hoping he can think of a story that involves beautiful maidens, swarthy villains and derring do. Being BC it will be a functional recitation of events.......................... if you want embellishment rely on his mother.<br /><br /></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367694312124538610" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Sn3hiaERXvI/AAAAAAAAAXk/Cko3JJvbSKc/s200/P6270002.JPG" />Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-22282614152586929082009-08-08T16:46:00.006+01:002009-08-08T19:07:42.864+01:00The joys of dog ownership<div align="center"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="color:#330033;">So far today the dog has</span><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Woken me at 5am to let me know someone walked past the house</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Chewed a corner off the rug</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Pushed me off the sofa</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Eaten my breakfast when I turned away for <em>half</em> a moment</span><br /><span style="color:#330033;"></span><br /><span style="color:#330033;">Stood between me and the television at a crucial moment of "Project Runway"</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">and </span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">given me a huge halitosis "kiss"</span><br /><br /><span style="color:#330033;">He did however, apparently, return when called, when Silent One took him on a walk this morning and that alone redeems all the sins listed above.</span> </div><div align="center"><br /></div><span style="color:#330033;"></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 106px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367655942386508850" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/Sn2-o_p2ZDI/AAAAAAAAAXc/SVqDLj2jFZI/s200/P4050184.JPG" /> <p align="center"><br /><span style="color:#330033;">The Hound of the Baskervilles runs wild and free<br /><br /><br /></p></span><span style="color:#330033;"></span>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1044459210352228924.post-18981952376915720912009-08-05T16:26:00.007+01:002009-08-05T23:27:43.944+01:00Now I am worried<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmyS1GRn9I/AAAAAAAAAW0/guuVpPj3flE/s1600-h/plinth.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 134px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 90px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366516467549446098" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmyS1GRn9I/AAAAAAAAAW0/guuVpPj3flE/s200/plinth.jpg" /></a><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">OK, so I stopped blogging for a bit when I suffered a loss of confidence, but today something happened that made me realise I had to stop worrying about how people interpret what you say and what you do, I stepped back and took a deep breath.</span></div><br /><div></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">Six weeks ago I applied to go on the Fourth Plinth in Trafalgar Square, the interactive work initiated by artist Antony Gormley that he has called a "a living monument to humanity". Most people will know him for "The Angel of the North" or "Another Place" on Crosby beach. He is a master of accessible modern art. </span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;">I never expected to be selected, but the idea of "performing " has always be<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmybYv3czI/AAAAAAAAAW8/zqdXaCPmKWY/s1600-h/The_Prestige_6_140824a.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 150px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366516614558085938" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmybYv3czI/AAAAAAAAAW8/zqdXaCPmKWY/s200/The_Prestige_6_140824a.jpg" /></a>en dear to me, my first dream job, at 5, was a bunny girl, by 16 I was already planning on being an opera singer, but life, parental input and sheer terror made me step back from the fantasy. It <strong>has</strong> lurked, deep inside though for years. To be on stage, judged only for what you perform, not who you are, to step forward into the dazzle of the proscenium arch and take a bow to a packed auditorium (saved from stage fright by the fact you are blind as a bat and can see no one) has been something I have often dreamt of.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">It is <strong>now</strong>, officially, a nightmare. My name has come up. I am on the plinth. If I can do that, I can write a blog, no more excuses. After all, they say it's not over until the fat lady sings.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmzBEyYB5I/AAAAAAAAAXE/8KP7q2bcBsg/s1600-h/opera-singer.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 124px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366517262034929554" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_No-3CXMXFps/SnmzBEyYB5I/AAAAAAAAAXE/8KP7q2bcBsg/s200/opera-singer.jpg" /></a></span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;">I'm off to practice my scales.</span></div><br /><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#330033;"></span> </div><div><span style="color:#330033;">PS. <em>So far reactions have been hugely positive from friends real and virtual, the Twitter band have been generous with encouragement. </em></span></div><div><span style="color:#330033;"><em>Less affirmative from other quarters. The children "God, Mum, you are sooooo embarrassing" which was expected. </em></span><span style="color:#330033;"><em>My Mother "Oh,</em> <em>well you always were a bit of</em></span><em> <span style="color:#330033;">a show off" </span></em></div>Titian redhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17130121166864903946noreply@blogger.com13