Today
Very successful couple of days, getting the Christmas shopping under way. We were buying items for stockings in one shop - the cashier said, "That'll be £43.00, please. "How much?" said Paul. "Remember," I reminded him "the days when we could fill a sticking for a fiver are long since past."
In My Day
We didn't have stockings as children, for many reasons, but I was more than happy to introduce the custom into our children's Christmas experience. With the help of a mail order toy shop called !Tridias! I was able to fill their stockings with a collection of unusual and dirt cheap toys. Add a fluffy toy, satsuma and mince pie and the job was done.
I suppose for most parents there comes a moment when you know you've done your job properly. 1986 was a grim year for us with no settled home and uncertain job prospects. We came to Somerset so that I could take up the offer of the job with Flare. We were living with Chris and I explained to the girls that there'd be no stockings because that wasn't how Chris and his family celebrated.
To our great joy we found that we were able to move into our home in Stoke St Michael two days before Christmas. I explained to my sister-in-law Marilu that we would still love to celebrate Christmas with them but would move straight away into our new home.
Seeing that we would be waking in our own home on Christmas morning, Paul and I set about buying stocking gifts for the girls. On Christmas Eve they hung up their stockings and we all went off to bed.
Christmas morning arrived. "Good morning, girls!" we said "Happy Christmas! Have you opened your stockings?" "Well," they said "have you opened yours?" Ours? We hadn't hung up stockings - but there they were, hung up by Becky at four in the morning and lovingly filled with the sort of trivial gifts that two children could afford out of their pocket money.
And we've hung up our stockings every year since.
What I've never quite understood is how, in less than two days, they got into Shepton Mallet to buy this lot without our knowledge.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
To Infinity & Beyond
Today
Started our Christmas shopping today in Brighton. We walked through North Laine enjoying the bustle and trying to find Cyber Candy. On the corner of Gardner Street is "Infinity Foods", a rather posh-looking wholefood shop. "Workers' co-operative, established 1971" was proudly written above the door.
In My Day
Exactly how we became involved with Infinity Foods back in 1971 I'm not sure. We were living at Belmont near Seven Dials at the time. I've an idea we saw a poster - or were we approached? - for a new vegetable co-operative. We walked down to the shop which was a small, somewhat scrubby and joss-sticky place. We sat at mis-matched tables, freezing cold, and drank coffee and met other people who were also interested.
The idea seemed to be that, if we pooled our resources, we could get good organic vegetables very cheaply. So, each week off we trotted and placed our order for fruit and veg, at the same time collecting the items ordered the previous week. I've an idea that we took away a huge boxful for about £3.00. It certainly kept us healthy at a time when we had no money.
We made a few friends there - the unwashed Jan & Steve with their little boy Adam, Ian & Val who were lecturers and social workers, also with a baby - a girl called Lara and a big jolly girl whose name I can't remember but who was convinced that washing vegetables reduced their nutritional value. I wonder what happened to them all.
It was all very hippy and new age and full of good intentions. It's good to see that the ideals have prospered and that the place is flourishing like the green bay tree. I wonder if I'm entitled to a long service award?
Started our Christmas shopping today in Brighton. We walked through North Laine enjoying the bustle and trying to find Cyber Candy. On the corner of Gardner Street is "Infinity Foods", a rather posh-looking wholefood shop. "Workers' co-operative, established 1971" was proudly written above the door.
In My Day
Exactly how we became involved with Infinity Foods back in 1971 I'm not sure. We were living at Belmont near Seven Dials at the time. I've an idea we saw a poster - or were we approached? - for a new vegetable co-operative. We walked down to the shop which was a small, somewhat scrubby and joss-sticky place. We sat at mis-matched tables, freezing cold, and drank coffee and met other people who were also interested.
The idea seemed to be that, if we pooled our resources, we could get good organic vegetables very cheaply. So, each week off we trotted and placed our order for fruit and veg, at the same time collecting the items ordered the previous week. I've an idea that we took away a huge boxful for about £3.00. It certainly kept us healthy at a time when we had no money.
We made a few friends there - the unwashed Jan & Steve with their little boy Adam, Ian & Val who were lecturers and social workers, also with a baby - a girl called Lara and a big jolly girl whose name I can't remember but who was convinced that washing vegetables reduced their nutritional value. I wonder what happened to them all.
It was all very hippy and new age and full of good intentions. It's good to see that the ideals have prospered and that the place is flourishing like the green bay tree. I wonder if I'm entitled to a long service award?
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Butterfly
Today
Becky's Facebook status today bemoans the fact that, not only does she not have stacks of invitations, those that she has are all on one day. David suggested that this allows her to appear to be a terrific social butterfly with little effort.
In My Day
I remember the day we went to three parties, all on Easter Saturday, I think in 1979. We had a babysitter, in the form of Beatrice, so why not party the night away? The first was the 18th birthday party of a friend that Paul had met through the ambulance service. Her name was Fiona and she was a nursing auxiliary at a residential care home. She was drop-dead posh and famous for the incident with the false teeth and for her large number of concurrent boyfriends of a range of ages and marital status whose presence in the house at all times of day or night was tolerated by her easy-going mother. The guests at the party seemed to be either family or said boyfriends, which made Paul and me feel a little bit out of it. After I'd broken the cheese knife on the huge Stilton and then been embarrassed by fond references to her baby days, we decided that it was time to go on to the next do.
With two more parties to go to we had to plan which would be the best place to end up the night. There were a number of issues to consider; driving, eating and the general party-ishness of the event. While Fiona's was reasonably close to home, it certainly didn't promise to be a frolic. And there was that matter of the broken Stilton knife.
Priding myself on my memory as I do, I regret to say that I don't really remember the second one - I think that we more or less put our heads around the door before buzzing off to the final one at Lynda's. Lynda was also a friend of Paul's from the hospital and also had a cut-glass accent although it was inclined to slip when she became drunk.
She was fond of partying, despite or maybe because of her husband's long absences on business in Qatar, and we could be sure of lively company, plenty of food, drink and dancing. I was feeling pretty jolly, having lost my post-Becky weight, and treated myself to some new clothes and I accepted compliments and invitations to dance with equal readiness.
Like Fiona's party, quite a number of the guests were Lynda's boyfriends past and present. But there was a better balance of age and the sexes and generally more sense that they were there for the fun.
How did we get home? I don't remember and didn't have to do the driving, but we got back with a sense of duty and pleasure both satisfied. And we've never had this delightful dilemma, since so go for it, Becky!
Becky's Facebook status today bemoans the fact that, not only does she not have stacks of invitations, those that she has are all on one day. David suggested that this allows her to appear to be a terrific social butterfly with little effort.
In My Day
I remember the day we went to three parties, all on Easter Saturday, I think in 1979. We had a babysitter, in the form of Beatrice, so why not party the night away? The first was the 18th birthday party of a friend that Paul had met through the ambulance service. Her name was Fiona and she was a nursing auxiliary at a residential care home. She was drop-dead posh and famous for the incident with the false teeth and for her large number of concurrent boyfriends of a range of ages and marital status whose presence in the house at all times of day or night was tolerated by her easy-going mother. The guests at the party seemed to be either family or said boyfriends, which made Paul and me feel a little bit out of it. After I'd broken the cheese knife on the huge Stilton and then been embarrassed by fond references to her baby days, we decided that it was time to go on to the next do.
With two more parties to go to we had to plan which would be the best place to end up the night. There were a number of issues to consider; driving, eating and the general party-ishness of the event. While Fiona's was reasonably close to home, it certainly didn't promise to be a frolic. And there was that matter of the broken Stilton knife.
Priding myself on my memory as I do, I regret to say that I don't really remember the second one - I think that we more or less put our heads around the door before buzzing off to the final one at Lynda's. Lynda was also a friend of Paul's from the hospital and also had a cut-glass accent although it was inclined to slip when she became drunk.
She was fond of partying, despite or maybe because of her husband's long absences on business in Qatar, and we could be sure of lively company, plenty of food, drink and dancing. I was feeling pretty jolly, having lost my post-Becky weight, and treated myself to some new clothes and I accepted compliments and invitations to dance with equal readiness.
Like Fiona's party, quite a number of the guests were Lynda's boyfriends past and present. But there was a better balance of age and the sexes and generally more sense that they were there for the fun.
How did we get home? I don't remember and didn't have to do the driving, but we got back with a sense of duty and pleasure both satisfied. And we've never had this delightful dilemma, since so go for it, Becky!
Friday, November 20, 2009
Nature's Way
Today
I'm not one of those people who are horrified by their cats' tendency to destroy the local rodent population. In fact, when one of them proudly leaves a dead rat (and they can be huge) on the patio to prove they've the right to food and shelter, I'm more inclined to be rather pleased with them. Although, when a field mouse ran into the corner of the dining room this summer and stared at us with its wide open terrified eyes, I did feel very sorry for this tiny scrap of life.
Stepping gingerly into the utility room each morning trying to avoid dead shrews and an assortment of entrails is another thing altogether. And I don't blame Paul at all for being a little nauseated when his first encounter on his way to make tea this morning was with the entire back end of a squirrel, tail and all. At least it makes my draconian no-cats-in-the-bedrooms-ever-or-wandering-the-house-at-night rule seem entirely reasonable.
I don't think that the cats ever try to offer these dead remains to us as gifties - they like to eat what they've caught and carelessly leave behind the indigestible bits.
In My Day
My first cat Ariadne was quite a hunter too. When I moved into a student house in Station Road in Worthing she was very happy to discover that the railway embankment behind the house was full of mice.
My bedroom was on the ground floor, overlooking the back and I used to leave the window open a notch to give Ariadne access. Behind the bed head was a radiator with a vent on the outside of the window. I got used to chasing half-dead mice out of the room.
During that Summer I noticed rather an unpleasant smell developing and couldn't imagine where it was coming from. After some searching I realised that it emanated from the exterior vent, down which some mouse corpses had become lodged. In the winter I hadn't noticed this but it was fairly vile right beneath my bedroom window. I began to form draconian rules in my mind right there and then.
Only one of our cats ever offered us a rodent gift; that was Annalise, who brought a mouse to me when we were in the flat at Belmont. She laid the wriggling back-broken animal at my feet and looked at me for approval. Paul had the unpleasant task of destroying and disposing of the wretched creature. On another occasion we were offered a fully live mouse; we took it out in a jam jar and let it lose on the Downs where, arguably, it lived for an even shorter time than if we'd left it to the cat's mercies.
We saw a van selling cat food today with the slogan "Cat Food as Nature Intended". With our cats in mind that means red in tooth and claw.
I'm not one of those people who are horrified by their cats' tendency to destroy the local rodent population. In fact, when one of them proudly leaves a dead rat (and they can be huge) on the patio to prove they've the right to food and shelter, I'm more inclined to be rather pleased with them. Although, when a field mouse ran into the corner of the dining room this summer and stared at us with its wide open terrified eyes, I did feel very sorry for this tiny scrap of life.
Stepping gingerly into the utility room each morning trying to avoid dead shrews and an assortment of entrails is another thing altogether. And I don't blame Paul at all for being a little nauseated when his first encounter on his way to make tea this morning was with the entire back end of a squirrel, tail and all. At least it makes my draconian no-cats-in-the-bedrooms-ever-or-wandering-the-house-at-night rule seem entirely reasonable.
I don't think that the cats ever try to offer these dead remains to us as gifties - they like to eat what they've caught and carelessly leave behind the indigestible bits.
In My Day
My first cat Ariadne was quite a hunter too. When I moved into a student house in Station Road in Worthing she was very happy to discover that the railway embankment behind the house was full of mice.
My bedroom was on the ground floor, overlooking the back and I used to leave the window open a notch to give Ariadne access. Behind the bed head was a radiator with a vent on the outside of the window. I got used to chasing half-dead mice out of the room.
During that Summer I noticed rather an unpleasant smell developing and couldn't imagine where it was coming from. After some searching I realised that it emanated from the exterior vent, down which some mouse corpses had become lodged. In the winter I hadn't noticed this but it was fairly vile right beneath my bedroom window. I began to form draconian rules in my mind right there and then.
Only one of our cats ever offered us a rodent gift; that was Annalise, who brought a mouse to me when we were in the flat at Belmont. She laid the wriggling back-broken animal at my feet and looked at me for approval. Paul had the unpleasant task of destroying and disposing of the wretched creature. On another occasion we were offered a fully live mouse; we took it out in a jam jar and let it lose on the Downs where, arguably, it lived for an even shorter time than if we'd left it to the cat's mercies.
We saw a van selling cat food today with the slogan "Cat Food as Nature Intended". With our cats in mind that means red in tooth and claw.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
All Mod. Cons.
Today
Everything's coming together for the purchase of the flat to let in Bristol. In these financially uncertain times, buy-to-let seems the way forward. The purchase money landed in my account this morning and the letting agents have a possible tenant who can move in within 3 weeks!
When the transaction on the Bexhill flat completes I shall be very happy with 2 nice little nest-eggs. I have met the tenant at the Bexhill flat but it's highly probable that I shall never meet tenants at the Bristol flat - the agents will deal with it all. So, in a way, it's quite as impersonal as any other investment.
In My Day
Just like me, when times were hard back in the '30s, Daddy took the opportunity of buying some properties that were going cheap. In the early years I think these were just 4 Beulah and the house next door in Upper Beulah. The whole of Upper Beulah was let into flatlets. We occupied half the basement and the whole of the ground floor of 4 Beulah. Dawson Large, Daddy's father-in-law occupied 2 rooms on the top floor and the rest was divided into a mixture of self-contained flats and flatlets.
Later, Daddy also bought 2 more properties in Upper Beulah and 6 Beulah, all with sitting tenants.
What made his enterprise so different from mine was our close involvement with all these tenants. At 4 Beulah we shared our bathroom with at least 2 families. Often all tenants would be on the lawn in the summer enjoying tea and gossip together. It's not that Daddy ever interfered with their lives; we were just all living much closer together.
We became good friends with the Lawrences on the 1st floor. They somehow managed to bring up 4 children in 2 rooms with kitchenette and share bathing and toilet facilities, before eventually buying a house in Eastbourne. They owned 2 cats who roamed freely and we girls often played with and took care of the children.
Daddy carried out much of the maintenance and repair work himself, creating kitchenettes and doing plumbing and decorating. He collected the rents himself and found himself becoming involved in all sorts of ways with the tenants' sad and sorry stories. Many of them were very old or struggling families and he was much too soft and probably didn't make much money out of some of them. And I can't remember him ever evicting anyone.
The properties were all on 99-year leases with a short time left, the freeholds being owned by the Church Commissioners. While he received some compensation on having to leave 4 Beulah, the others simply ceased to be his on the due date. He took some dramatic pictures of the houses in Upper Beulah being demolished with massive steel balls. So they weren't exactly investment opportunities, although I guess the rents did supplement his earnings a bit.
With modern purpose-designed flats I don't see myself doing plumbing or wielding a paintbrush, let alone becoming an agony auntie for my tenants. But who's to say that my life will be the richer for that?
Everything's coming together for the purchase of the flat to let in Bristol. In these financially uncertain times, buy-to-let seems the way forward. The purchase money landed in my account this morning and the letting agents have a possible tenant who can move in within 3 weeks!
When the transaction on the Bexhill flat completes I shall be very happy with 2 nice little nest-eggs. I have met the tenant at the Bexhill flat but it's highly probable that I shall never meet tenants at the Bristol flat - the agents will deal with it all. So, in a way, it's quite as impersonal as any other investment.
In My Day
Just like me, when times were hard back in the '30s, Daddy took the opportunity of buying some properties that were going cheap. In the early years I think these were just 4 Beulah and the house next door in Upper Beulah. The whole of Upper Beulah was let into flatlets. We occupied half the basement and the whole of the ground floor of 4 Beulah. Dawson Large, Daddy's father-in-law occupied 2 rooms on the top floor and the rest was divided into a mixture of self-contained flats and flatlets.
Later, Daddy also bought 2 more properties in Upper Beulah and 6 Beulah, all with sitting tenants.
What made his enterprise so different from mine was our close involvement with all these tenants. At 4 Beulah we shared our bathroom with at least 2 families. Often all tenants would be on the lawn in the summer enjoying tea and gossip together. It's not that Daddy ever interfered with their lives; we were just all living much closer together.
We became good friends with the Lawrences on the 1st floor. They somehow managed to bring up 4 children in 2 rooms with kitchenette and share bathing and toilet facilities, before eventually buying a house in Eastbourne. They owned 2 cats who roamed freely and we girls often played with and took care of the children.
Daddy carried out much of the maintenance and repair work himself, creating kitchenettes and doing plumbing and decorating. He collected the rents himself and found himself becoming involved in all sorts of ways with the tenants' sad and sorry stories. Many of them were very old or struggling families and he was much too soft and probably didn't make much money out of some of them. And I can't remember him ever evicting anyone.
The properties were all on 99-year leases with a short time left, the freeholds being owned by the Church Commissioners. While he received some compensation on having to leave 4 Beulah, the others simply ceased to be his on the due date. He took some dramatic pictures of the houses in Upper Beulah being demolished with massive steel balls. So they weren't exactly investment opportunities, although I guess the rents did supplement his earnings a bit.
With modern purpose-designed flats I don't see myself doing plumbing or wielding a paintbrush, let alone becoming an agony auntie for my tenants. But who's to say that my life will be the richer for that?
Sunday, November 08, 2009
9 lives
Today
I'm not quite sure what to do. We haven't see Abby for a week. Some neighbours say they think they've seen her in the Close, but don't seem sure. I call her during the day and at supper time; hoping to see her little black shape careering towards me like a cannonball.
We've put some leaflets into various doors in the Close and hope this might turn up something.
Is she alive or dead? I don't know. I really hope that she's tucked herself up somewhere away from the hated kitties. But I feel angry to think that someone might have stolen my lovely Abby. And she's not young, Last year she suffered such a serious injury; if we hadn't got to her she would have died. It would be awful to think of that happening again.
In My Day
When Arietty was about two and a half years old she disappeared. We called and called and called. Left notes stuck to lampposts and in the shop as well as letting all our neighbours know. It was early December; most cats don't much like the cold and where there's a good fire and plenty of food they're unlikely to go far. She was only little and a real cutie; how could she survive? Days became weeks and we realised with great sadness that we would never see her again.
About a week before Christmas we popped up to Eastbourne as usual to see relatives and collect Mum to bring her back for the festivities. We'd made all the usual family visits and were just packing Mum up to go when there was a phone call. It was my neighbour, Carolyn. "I've a Christmas present for you," she said. I just knew what she was going to say. "I've got Arietty here and I've shut her in the dining room till you get back." I was overjoyed; no Christmas present could be better.
We flew home on wings of happiness to find Arietty, thin but just fine. Apparently she'd been found in a neighbour's shed - during the winter I suppose we don't go to our sheds that often. It was only when said neighbour put the dead body of their beloved chicken in the shed to await burial that Arietty was found. I believe she helped herself to a bit of the chicken!
I so long for a similar result. Abby, I miss you so much - please come home.
I'm not quite sure what to do. We haven't see Abby for a week. Some neighbours say they think they've seen her in the Close, but don't seem sure. I call her during the day and at supper time; hoping to see her little black shape careering towards me like a cannonball.
We've put some leaflets into various doors in the Close and hope this might turn up something.
Is she alive or dead? I don't know. I really hope that she's tucked herself up somewhere away from the hated kitties. But I feel angry to think that someone might have stolen my lovely Abby. And she's not young, Last year she suffered such a serious injury; if we hadn't got to her she would have died. It would be awful to think of that happening again.
In My Day
When Arietty was about two and a half years old she disappeared. We called and called and called. Left notes stuck to lampposts and in the shop as well as letting all our neighbours know. It was early December; most cats don't much like the cold and where there's a good fire and plenty of food they're unlikely to go far. She was only little and a real cutie; how could she survive? Days became weeks and we realised with great sadness that we would never see her again.
About a week before Christmas we popped up to Eastbourne as usual to see relatives and collect Mum to bring her back for the festivities. We'd made all the usual family visits and were just packing Mum up to go when there was a phone call. It was my neighbour, Carolyn. "I've a Christmas present for you," she said. I just knew what she was going to say. "I've got Arietty here and I've shut her in the dining room till you get back." I was overjoyed; no Christmas present could be better.
We flew home on wings of happiness to find Arietty, thin but just fine. Apparently she'd been found in a neighbour's shed - during the winter I suppose we don't go to our sheds that often. It was only when said neighbour put the dead body of their beloved chicken in the shed to await burial that Arietty was found. I believe she helped herself to a bit of the chicken!
I so long for a similar result. Abby, I miss you so much - please come home.
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