Today
Pouring with rain today, so what better thing to do than sort out your paperwork? I sorted mine out after Paul's stuff was transported to Sussex, but after his return, we got sort of drowned in paper.
It appears that we have enough paperclips, rubber bands, fountain pen cartridges, drawing pins, pens, and punched plastic wallets to last us until we die. Punched plastic wallets are like wire coat hangers: they breed and take over the world when your back's turned.
I've a policy which is never leave a hotel, function etc without pocketing the free pen or pencil, so we also have pots, drawers and packets of these things, of variable quality.
Then there are the bank statements going back 10 years, out of date insurance policies and all those cheap loan, 0% credit transfer and accidental death insurance offers that you don't throw out the minute you get them.
We've at least 6 briefcases, some girlie, like my powder blue one, some smart, like Paul's silver one and some frankly frightful. I've found 4 clipboards and 7 document holders, zipped and unzipped. In fact we could equip an entire conference with assorted freebies.
And as for phone battery chargers - even though Paul can't bear to throw out his old phones, we still don't need 7 Nokia chargers as they're all the same.
In My Day
My father had a desk in the corner of our living room. The room was large, so it didn't exactly crowd us. He had boxes of pencils, from which we borrowed freely. For some reason I often couldn't find a pencil sharpener and many times used the kitchen bread knife for the purpose. Later Daddy bought one of those fancy desk-mounted ones.
We didn't have pen cartridges in those days; instead there were bottles of ink: Watermans and Quink. Daddy had a tall cylindrical tin full of paper clips. One of my pleasures during idle moments was to string them together in long chains. How Daddy must have been pleased when he wanted one in a hurry!
For paper we used drafts of parliamentary questions. On the back was plain paper for drawing or playing consequences, or keeping scores. On the front were fragments like this: "In view of the recent upsurge in... would the right honourable member for East Cheam like to assure the house that....." etc etc.
There was no such thing as punched plastic wallets and Daddy kept essential documents in manilla envelopes, secured with rubber bands and labelled on the outside.
Daddy just couldn't resist buying stationery and could go mad in WH Smiths.
Like father, like daughter actually - shopping in Staples brings out the worst in me. How is it then, that you can never find a drawing pin when you want one?
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Today
At last it's warm enough to sit outside without woollies. Yesterday, being now retired, I took full advantage. I slapped on some factor 60, poured myself a glass of water and another of Madeira, took out my Harry Potter book and soaked up the sun.
Our garden is entirely patio, so there's no stretching on grass. Until we've replaced the mouse-nibbled loungers, there's really no stretching at all. However, we have our lovely cast iron furniture - and sunshades, of course.
Paul and I frequently take lunch outside; when the weather really warms up breakfast also. We like to sit out in the warm evenings with wine, candles and the chimenea (although that was irreparably cracked over the winter).
In My Day
When I was a child, garden furniture always involved striped canvas and wood. There were deckchairs whose construction required greater problem-solving skills than I had and which, even when erected properly, could collapse suddenly. Sometimes the canvas tore or the wood broke - I treated these contraptions with respect and fear and preferred to sit on the grass on a blanket.
We didn't have sunshades, although Daddy had a personal deckchair that had its own parasol attached. For the rest of us when Mamma or Daddy decided that tea would be taken outside, we had the "shelter". This was a canvas and wooden structure, which, when erected, looked like a stripey lean-to. It was orangey in shade and had a small fringed overhang at the front to keep off the sun and was tall enough for an adult to stand up in.
One could have made a good Laurel & Hardy type film of the struggles and arguments we had when trying to put it up. Once you'd got it up, you always hoped that no-one had been watching.....
Doing the job properly meant some tent pegs to hold it in place. We were often too lazy and many times had to scramble madly to catch it as the wind threatened to send it sailing off above the trees.
You could put the tea table in it to stop the butter melting too quickly or the milk curdling, or you could just sit in it, protected from the sun. It was such a job, getting it out and erected that the tea always tasted a little better, as though you'd really earned it. And the garden was a long way from the kitchen.
So we have it easy, Paul and I, with the garden table 4 paces away from the wine bottle and corkscrew.
At last it's warm enough to sit outside without woollies. Yesterday, being now retired, I took full advantage. I slapped on some factor 60, poured myself a glass of water and another of Madeira, took out my Harry Potter book and soaked up the sun.
Our garden is entirely patio, so there's no stretching on grass. Until we've replaced the mouse-nibbled loungers, there's really no stretching at all. However, we have our lovely cast iron furniture - and sunshades, of course.
Paul and I frequently take lunch outside; when the weather really warms up breakfast also. We like to sit out in the warm evenings with wine, candles and the chimenea (although that was irreparably cracked over the winter).
In My Day
When I was a child, garden furniture always involved striped canvas and wood. There were deckchairs whose construction required greater problem-solving skills than I had and which, even when erected properly, could collapse suddenly. Sometimes the canvas tore or the wood broke - I treated these contraptions with respect and fear and preferred to sit on the grass on a blanket.
We didn't have sunshades, although Daddy had a personal deckchair that had its own parasol attached. For the rest of us when Mamma or Daddy decided that tea would be taken outside, we had the "shelter". This was a canvas and wooden structure, which, when erected, looked like a stripey lean-to. It was orangey in shade and had a small fringed overhang at the front to keep off the sun and was tall enough for an adult to stand up in.
One could have made a good Laurel & Hardy type film of the struggles and arguments we had when trying to put it up. Once you'd got it up, you always hoped that no-one had been watching.....
Doing the job properly meant some tent pegs to hold it in place. We were often too lazy and many times had to scramble madly to catch it as the wind threatened to send it sailing off above the trees.
You could put the tea table in it to stop the butter melting too quickly or the milk curdling, or you could just sit in it, protected from the sun. It was such a job, getting it out and erected that the tea always tasted a little better, as though you'd really earned it. And the garden was a long way from the kitchen.
So we have it easy, Paul and I, with the garden table 4 paces away from the wine bottle and corkscrew.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Today
The shed arrived yesterday. The van driver dumped the pieces in the driveway. It was pouring with rain. "Manana" we said and left it there. It poured all day and the thought of the whole task became larger and larger. First, the pieces have to be dragged through the house into the back garden. Next, we need to check that they're all there. Then we have to attempt to assemble it, following the, no doubt lucid, instructions provided by Focus DIY. And we have to do this without getting our hands full of splinters, putting our backs out or having a major row.
The benefits are plain to see - our garden will be better organised, the lawnmower can come in out of the rain. And anyway we've paid for it.
This morning, after my run, I still had some energy, so, solo, I heaved the shed pieces through into the back garden. Noticed that one panel was a little damaged - can we repair it? Don't think I'll mention it Paul - it'll be amusing to see his face when he goes out the front and sees it gone!
Another instance of me seizing the carpe diem.
In My Day
When we bought the house in Montfort Close the owners were proud to tell us that there was a greenhouse, complete with vine. Well, when we took a look, we saw that the vine was pretty complete but that it had destroyed the greenhouse in the process.
So, at the end of the summer we bought a new one. Like the shed (above) it was delivered in anonymous flat pack form. So we stuck it in the back garden and tried to pretend that we'd never bought it.
One weekend, early the next spring which we were spending with our best mates, we all sized the proverbial on the Sunday morning. Cold, wet and windy though it was, the 4 of us unwrapped, read instructions, laid a brick base, lost and found screws, bolts etc and got up the greenhouse without so much as cracking a single pane.
I grew tomatoes and courgettes in the greenhouse, having hacked away the vine, as an unproductive things that wouldn't even give us a single bottle of Merlot .
And our best mates are still our best mates.
The shed arrived yesterday. The van driver dumped the pieces in the driveway. It was pouring with rain. "Manana" we said and left it there. It poured all day and the thought of the whole task became larger and larger. First, the pieces have to be dragged through the house into the back garden. Next, we need to check that they're all there. Then we have to attempt to assemble it, following the, no doubt lucid, instructions provided by Focus DIY. And we have to do this without getting our hands full of splinters, putting our backs out or having a major row.
The benefits are plain to see - our garden will be better organised, the lawnmower can come in out of the rain. And anyway we've paid for it.
This morning, after my run, I still had some energy, so, solo, I heaved the shed pieces through into the back garden. Noticed that one panel was a little damaged - can we repair it? Don't think I'll mention it Paul - it'll be amusing to see his face when he goes out the front and sees it gone!
Another instance of me seizing the carpe diem.
In My Day
When we bought the house in Montfort Close the owners were proud to tell us that there was a greenhouse, complete with vine. Well, when we took a look, we saw that the vine was pretty complete but that it had destroyed the greenhouse in the process.
So, at the end of the summer we bought a new one. Like the shed (above) it was delivered in anonymous flat pack form. So we stuck it in the back garden and tried to pretend that we'd never bought it.
One weekend, early the next spring which we were spending with our best mates, we all sized the proverbial on the Sunday morning. Cold, wet and windy though it was, the 4 of us unwrapped, read instructions, laid a brick base, lost and found screws, bolts etc and got up the greenhouse without so much as cracking a single pane.
I grew tomatoes and courgettes in the greenhouse, having hacked away the vine, as an unproductive things that wouldn't even give us a single bottle of Merlot .
And our best mates are still our best mates.
Friday, May 05, 2006
Today
Have to face it, the shed is knackered. The floor has disintegrated after x years of being subjected to Somerset winters. I heaved out the cushions for the garden furniture - showers of foam cascaded onto the patio. Cushion covers full of little nibbled holes. The cushions had obviously provided very comfortable winter quarters for probably several generations of mice.
Some of the cushions appeared undamaged but Paul wasn't taking any risks - "mice have very weak bladders, they've probably pee-ed on all of them." So out they all went. I have to say, we never saw any sign of mice while Arietty was alive - Abby's altogether less of a threat, it seems.
In My Day
Our house was overrun with mice. Droppings on the kitchen worktop, scurryings in the basement; once I saw one in my bedroom. Daddy tried everything: ordinary mousetraps they laughed at. There were a couple of cats in the house but the house was so big that no cats could keep them under control. He tried poison - the mice seemed to like it for breakfast. He even tried the horrible sticky boards - placed outside the holes, they certainly caught the mice who then either died a long and painful death trying to get off the stickiness, or my father had to bludgeon them to death in the morning. This was not a job he relished, and anyway, they made new holes and mice breed at a horrifying rate, so that there were always plenty more in the walls.
Eventually we became resigned to living with these creatures.
During the 50's we became intrigued with the building of 2 television transmitter masts; one for the BBC at Crystal Palace, one for ITV, just up the road by All Saints' church. I don't think we acted like the "no mobile transmitter in my backyard" brigade; it was rather exciting. Even more exciting was to hear that they had both been switched on. We didn't have TV, so why the excitement? Because from that day, we never saw a single mouse again.
Which just proves that radio waves do addle your brain - at least mice brains.
Have to face it, the shed is knackered. The floor has disintegrated after x years of being subjected to Somerset winters. I heaved out the cushions for the garden furniture - showers of foam cascaded onto the patio. Cushion covers full of little nibbled holes. The cushions had obviously provided very comfortable winter quarters for probably several generations of mice.
Some of the cushions appeared undamaged but Paul wasn't taking any risks - "mice have very weak bladders, they've probably pee-ed on all of them." So out they all went. I have to say, we never saw any sign of mice while Arietty was alive - Abby's altogether less of a threat, it seems.
In My Day
Our house was overrun with mice. Droppings on the kitchen worktop, scurryings in the basement; once I saw one in my bedroom. Daddy tried everything: ordinary mousetraps they laughed at. There were a couple of cats in the house but the house was so big that no cats could keep them under control. He tried poison - the mice seemed to like it for breakfast. He even tried the horrible sticky boards - placed outside the holes, they certainly caught the mice who then either died a long and painful death trying to get off the stickiness, or my father had to bludgeon them to death in the morning. This was not a job he relished, and anyway, they made new holes and mice breed at a horrifying rate, so that there were always plenty more in the walls.
Eventually we became resigned to living with these creatures.
During the 50's we became intrigued with the building of 2 television transmitter masts; one for the BBC at Crystal Palace, one for ITV, just up the road by All Saints' church. I don't think we acted like the "no mobile transmitter in my backyard" brigade; it was rather exciting. Even more exciting was to hear that they had both been switched on. We didn't have TV, so why the excitement? Because from that day, we never saw a single mouse again.
Which just proves that radio waves do addle your brain - at least mice brains.
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