Today
One of my Christmas presents was a Sony Walkman MP3 player. A gift from Becky who thought that I would like to be kept amused by my own choice of music while attending the gym etc. So I've signed up to Napster and spent the morning browsing music selections and downloading them onto my Walkman. It's amazingly easy (I think this is really the secret of why young people seem so clued up on technology; most of it's idiot-proof) and I've a personal and eclectic mix awaiting my pleasure.
We should also be able to play it through the car speakers. Unfortunately the adapter Paul bought me is for IPods only, but we should be able to change it.
So no lugging along half our CD collection with us whenever we go anywhere!
In My Day
The ability to save music, let alone make it portable, was not available when we were children. Out first foray was with the acquisition of reel to reel tape recorders in the '60s. They did have the merit, since lost with CDs and MP3s, of being playable backwards, with fascinating, not to say hilarious, results.
During my teenage years David had a very superior reel - to reel and he worked out how to connect it directly to the radio. This meant that he could listen to his favourite programmes even if he was out. This was just so exciting to us. Mamma would have instructions as to when to push which button (she didn't always get this right, resulting in much wailing and gnashing of teeth). I think that later David managed to automate this. As my bedroom was next to David's and as he'd rigged up a speaker in my room, this meant that I was treated to a varied, if somewhat esoteric, selection of recorded classical hits.
The recording I remember most vividly was a recording of the play Leonce & Lena. We played it again and again and practically memorised it.
All of which makes the ease, speed and variety of what's possible in the digital age really exciting.
I shall take my Walkman with me to the gym next time I go, and listen to Beethoven's Mass In C while I pound the treadmill.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Stripper
Today
As earlier blogs show, Paul likes to tan. His skin is quite dark anyway, so he often ignores the need to use SPF.
During our recent WW tour I generally managed to persuade him at least to cover the more vulnerables bits. This he did; so I decided to overlook the fact that he always squeezes out too much lotion (it's a man thing), in the interests of the wider good.
In Fiji we did the whole Blue Lagoon bit. Paul tried snorkelling, until his moustache got in the way and the snorkel filled up with water. He swam about a bit in the warm water, then came up to where I was on the beach, playing with corally sand and trying to keep my hat on. "Fancy a walk along the beach?" he proposed. "OK - do you want some SPF?" "I'll be OK - we won't be gone long." And this was true - we walked along for about 40 minutes, looking at shells and coconuts and playing with 14-month old little Eva.
Later, I noticed just how red his back was. Slathered on coolants but too late. Over the next ten days the entire skin on his back peeled off. It itched like hell. I resisted (only partly successfully) the urge to help this process along by pulling bits off.
In My Day
When I was a child there was no SPF and nobody ever suggested avoiding sunshine. I did have little frilly sunbonnets up until I was about 5, I think, but we never put anything on our skins. Getting burnt seemed to be accepted and shrugged off. Mamma used to put calamine lotion on if it was very sore and itchy. This did help a bit, but one was then covered in an unsightly pinkish distemper.
I think that my skin was more sensitive than most and it didn't take much exposure to make me burn. Mamma sunbathed freely without apparent problems and we never saw Daddy in trunks, shorts or even short-sleeved shirts. The most he did was roll up his trouser legs and pop a knotted hanky on his head, like a parody of a Londoner by the seaside.
When we went to Bigbury Bay in 1957 it rained nearly all week. On the last day the sun at last came out and we spent the day on the beach, playing in rock pools and the like. Of course my back became very burnt.
On the train home the next day it was very crowded and we had to stand in the corridor for some of the way. One of Daddy's less fascinating bits of fun was a tendency to stuff crumpled bits of paper down your back when you least expected it. Normally, we just groaned, fished it out and carried on with what we were doing. Well, Daddy decided to inflict this little jape on me on the train. With my back red and raw with practically 2nd degree burning, this was even less funny than usual. I remember screeching and giving him quite a telling off. And I've always remembered it.
At least, as I told Paul, his flakes of skin were all nicely tanned.
As earlier blogs show, Paul likes to tan. His skin is quite dark anyway, so he often ignores the need to use SPF.
During our recent WW tour I generally managed to persuade him at least to cover the more vulnerables bits. This he did; so I decided to overlook the fact that he always squeezes out too much lotion (it's a man thing), in the interests of the wider good.
In Fiji we did the whole Blue Lagoon bit. Paul tried snorkelling, until his moustache got in the way and the snorkel filled up with water. He swam about a bit in the warm water, then came up to where I was on the beach, playing with corally sand and trying to keep my hat on. "Fancy a walk along the beach?" he proposed. "OK - do you want some SPF?" "I'll be OK - we won't be gone long." And this was true - we walked along for about 40 minutes, looking at shells and coconuts and playing with 14-month old little Eva.
Later, I noticed just how red his back was. Slathered on coolants but too late. Over the next ten days the entire skin on his back peeled off. It itched like hell. I resisted (only partly successfully) the urge to help this process along by pulling bits off.
In My Day
When I was a child there was no SPF and nobody ever suggested avoiding sunshine. I did have little frilly sunbonnets up until I was about 5, I think, but we never put anything on our skins. Getting burnt seemed to be accepted and shrugged off. Mamma used to put calamine lotion on if it was very sore and itchy. This did help a bit, but one was then covered in an unsightly pinkish distemper.
I think that my skin was more sensitive than most and it didn't take much exposure to make me burn. Mamma sunbathed freely without apparent problems and we never saw Daddy in trunks, shorts or even short-sleeved shirts. The most he did was roll up his trouser legs and pop a knotted hanky on his head, like a parody of a Londoner by the seaside.
When we went to Bigbury Bay in 1957 it rained nearly all week. On the last day the sun at last came out and we spent the day on the beach, playing in rock pools and the like. Of course my back became very burnt.
On the train home the next day it was very crowded and we had to stand in the corridor for some of the way. One of Daddy's less fascinating bits of fun was a tendency to stuff crumpled bits of paper down your back when you least expected it. Normally, we just groaned, fished it out and carried on with what we were doing. Well, Daddy decided to inflict this little jape on me on the train. With my back red and raw with practically 2nd degree burning, this was even less funny than usual. I remember screeching and giving him quite a telling off. And I've always remembered it.
At least, as I told Paul, his flakes of skin were all nicely tanned.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Twinkle Toes
Today
We're now in Kaua'i on the penultimate leg of our tour. Another resort which could completely change my mind about resort holidays - the Grand Hyatt at Poipu. It's beautiful, with a staggering attention to detail. We breakfast surrounded by waterfalls and pools on which swans swim and from which fish leap. We gaze at the ocean with the surging waves. Our every wish is anticpated.
And there are also shops!
One of these is called the Sandal Tree. On the somewhat tenuous grounds that I needed some "city" shoes for San Francisco, I popped in to take a look.
Ended up buying some glorious black patent peep-toe wedges with clear perspex heels and some very silly mules with strawberries for heels.
In My Day
Mamma had good legs and liked to wear stilletoes or other fashionable shoes. Daddy, so generous in so many ways, couldn't understand the need for any form of frivolous clothing, nor, indeed, nor than one set of anything.
I got my first Saturday job back in 1962 working for a trading stamp company - Pink stamps (they were the 60's equivalent of Nectar, I guess). I saved my wages till I could buy a coveted pair of shoes from Ravel in Croydon. They were in very classy brown leather with several buttoned straps across the instep and a nice heel.
I bought patent leather shoes (I & my friend Lynda often found we'd chosen the same style), wedges, white patent (I was wearing a pair of those on my first date with Paul) Roman soldier inspired sandals when they were all the rage; in fact every frivolous style you can imagine. I remember owning a pair of very high wooden platform sandals back in 1975 and having to manage luggage and the 2-year-old Liz on the underground while wearing them Ah, well, you have to suffer etc.
I still wear high heels and, in fact, own a pair of Pradas!
We're now in Kaua'i on the penultimate leg of our tour. Another resort which could completely change my mind about resort holidays - the Grand Hyatt at Poipu. It's beautiful, with a staggering attention to detail. We breakfast surrounded by waterfalls and pools on which swans swim and from which fish leap. We gaze at the ocean with the surging waves. Our every wish is anticpated.
And there are also shops!
One of these is called the Sandal Tree. On the somewhat tenuous grounds that I needed some "city" shoes for San Francisco, I popped in to take a look.
Ended up buying some glorious black patent peep-toe wedges with clear perspex heels and some very silly mules with strawberries for heels.
In My Day
Mamma had good legs and liked to wear stilletoes or other fashionable shoes. Daddy, so generous in so many ways, couldn't understand the need for any form of frivolous clothing, nor, indeed, nor than one set of anything.
I got my first Saturday job back in 1962 working for a trading stamp company - Pink stamps (they were the 60's equivalent of Nectar, I guess). I saved my wages till I could buy a coveted pair of shoes from Ravel in Croydon. They were in very classy brown leather with several buttoned straps across the instep and a nice heel.
I bought patent leather shoes (I & my friend Lynda often found we'd chosen the same style), wedges, white patent (I was wearing a pair of those on my first date with Paul) Roman soldier inspired sandals when they were all the rage; in fact every frivolous style you can imagine. I remember owning a pair of very high wooden platform sandals back in 1975 and having to manage luggage and the 2-year-old Liz on the underground while wearing them Ah, well, you have to suffer etc.
I still wear high heels and, in fact, own a pair of Pradas!
Thursday, February 07, 2008
Flied Lice
Today
Travelling in the Pacific countries has yielded a range of international cuisine. All of the countries we‘ve visited are multi-cultural and proud of it. So we’ve eaten Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Turkish, French, American, Mexican, Italian foods in the last few weeks.
The New Zealanders, especially, are very fond of their bread & dips. Generally this means a massive heap of various types of bread, pesto and other dips of a pate-type consistency. They’re a meal in themselves we quickly found out or a starter for two or more to share.
We always enjoy plates of veggie antipasti with dolmades, artichokes, pitta, hummus, olives etc. I love Indian meals where I have about five different types of veg and dhal with my rice. The Japanese meal I had last night was a lovely mix of ginger flavoured rice and little dishes of tempura veg, dumplings & noodles. And there’s always Nachos
“I sometimes think,” I said to Paul “That we often sit down to meals that my mother wouldn’t have recognised as meals at all.”
In My Day
Mamma was a good cook and we ate well as children. Food was fresh (we had veg & fruit delivered weekly) and not overcooked or dull. Some of my school friends were astonished at the range of foodstuffs we ate so I think it was probably a feature of the times.
Mamma’s range was fairly limited and, looking back, I’m surprised at just how much packet soup was consumed. And I taught her how to make shepherd’s pie and apple crumble, having learnt how at school. There was the inevitable German touch to the diet, with Wiener Schnitzel, Frankfurters and Saurkraut making appearances regularly.
Mamma made proper fish and chips and I remember the batter she used to dip the cod and the vile ancient chip pan we used (It was never washed up and the lard only changed occasionally). She made steak and kidney pies but not puddings. Her only homemade soups seemed to be Tomato – at Christmas only and made with tinned tomato juice – and cauliflower which was very creamy and I recall rather salty. She rarely baked puddings, but did do a baked rice pudding – always served with tinned apricots and my brother David’s most hated dish – and the occasional pie. Once in a while she’d do some mid-European baking: caraway seed cake, German Plum cake (this had fresh plums sliced and cooked on top of the mixture) and an apple, rum and raisin cake.
But food was always served as meal of solid courses. There might be soup to start then a meat with vegetables course and a pud which was very often tinned fruit and bird’s custard. Each course was brought to the table in serving dishes or plates. I still have Mamma’s beautiful soup tureen. The idea that we might pick from a selection of little nibbly things and call it dinner was unthinkable. And there was no “foreign” food at all.
I first had Chinese food when I and friends used to pop into a restaurant in South Kensington after a Prom and share a couple of spring rolls and some fried rice. I’m embarrassed to say that we called it “Flied Lice” and in front of the waiters
Travelling in the Pacific countries has yielded a range of international cuisine. All of the countries we‘ve visited are multi-cultural and proud of it. So we’ve eaten Indian, Chinese, Japanese, Thai, Turkish, French, American, Mexican, Italian foods in the last few weeks.
The New Zealanders, especially, are very fond of their bread & dips. Generally this means a massive heap of various types of bread, pesto and other dips of a pate-type consistency. They’re a meal in themselves we quickly found out or a starter for two or more to share.
We always enjoy plates of veggie antipasti with dolmades, artichokes, pitta, hummus, olives etc. I love Indian meals where I have about five different types of veg and dhal with my rice. The Japanese meal I had last night was a lovely mix of ginger flavoured rice and little dishes of tempura veg, dumplings & noodles. And there’s always Nachos
“I sometimes think,” I said to Paul “That we often sit down to meals that my mother wouldn’t have recognised as meals at all.”
In My Day
Mamma was a good cook and we ate well as children. Food was fresh (we had veg & fruit delivered weekly) and not overcooked or dull. Some of my school friends were astonished at the range of foodstuffs we ate so I think it was probably a feature of the times.
Mamma’s range was fairly limited and, looking back, I’m surprised at just how much packet soup was consumed. And I taught her how to make shepherd’s pie and apple crumble, having learnt how at school. There was the inevitable German touch to the diet, with Wiener Schnitzel, Frankfurters and Saurkraut making appearances regularly.
Mamma made proper fish and chips and I remember the batter she used to dip the cod and the vile ancient chip pan we used (It was never washed up and the lard only changed occasionally). She made steak and kidney pies but not puddings. Her only homemade soups seemed to be Tomato – at Christmas only and made with tinned tomato juice – and cauliflower which was very creamy and I recall rather salty. She rarely baked puddings, but did do a baked rice pudding – always served with tinned apricots and my brother David’s most hated dish – and the occasional pie. Once in a while she’d do some mid-European baking: caraway seed cake, German Plum cake (this had fresh plums sliced and cooked on top of the mixture) and an apple, rum and raisin cake.
But food was always served as meal of solid courses. There might be soup to start then a meat with vegetables course and a pud which was very often tinned fruit and bird’s custard. Each course was brought to the table in serving dishes or plates. I still have Mamma’s beautiful soup tureen. The idea that we might pick from a selection of little nibbly things and call it dinner was unthinkable. And there was no “foreign” food at all.
I first had Chinese food when I and friends used to pop into a restaurant in South Kensington after a Prom and share a couple of spring rolls and some fried rice. I’m embarrassed to say that we called it “Flied Lice” and in front of the waiters
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