Today
Having at last bought a much-needed headboard for the Chinoiserie room at the flat, we then had a lengthy discussion as how we could transport it to Brighton.
"Well", I said "the E-class has roof bars so, provided we tie it down properly, there shouldn't be a problem."
In My Day
When we were first married we had, as readers of this blog will know, a succession of tired old cars. We were also pretty broke and obtaining furniture was a hit-and-miss, hand-me-down affair.
Paul's parents once passed down to us a mattress that could be used on Becky's bed. On a certain foggy night we went up to collect this object. Paul strapped it to the roof of the Zephyr. No roof bars so he tied it to a makeshift roofrack with odd bits of string. We set off. Driving along Lottbridge Drove in Eastbourne Paul became very irritated by the driver of a Mini behind us. First the driver flashed his lights at us repeatedly. Paul cursed, "I can't go any faster!" Then the Mini drew alongside us. "Well, if you're going to overtake, get on with it!" growled Paul. The Mini stayed alongside.
Paul lowered the window, preparatory to issuing expletives. The Mini driver lowered his window "Hey, mate!" he yelled "You've lost your bed!" In the foggy darkness we hadn't noticed the mattress slide off the car into the ditch. Sheepishly, Paul thanked the Mini driver and turned round to collect the item which was fortunately wrapped in plastic and wasn't too damp.
As if this taught us nothing, we later bought a wardrobe from MFI in Southampton. This bargain item was in the "casualty" section, having already been constructed, and missing door knobs. We heaved this onto the top of the Marina, attached it with ropes threaded through the windows and set off.
It was a Saturday morning in busy Shirley High Street. As we approached the traffic lights they turned red. The car stopped. Unfortunately, the wardrobe didn't and slid forward, to hang precariously over the windscreen. Gingerly, Paul edged forward over the crossing, pulled the car up and tied the wardrobe more securely. We think the policeman standing on the pavement "looked the other way".
Let's hope we get it right this time; I should hate to think of our headboard languishing at the side of the A303.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Rose Bowl
Today
On Saturday we went to Paul's cousin's retirement party. There were several relations there whom I hadn't seen since 1975.
We talked about Roger's deceased mother, Norah; her vivaciousness, tendency to call out at 11.00 am in a plummy voice "Bar's open!" and her impact on our lives.
"Do you know", I said to Roger's Aunt Joan "I haven't seen you since "Miss Saltdean" in 1975".
In My Day
Roger's mother, lived in Telscombe. She had her daughter Debbbie living with her as well as her grand-daughter who was about Lizzie's age, so we often visited and were quite close for a time.
Norah had a spell as Mayor of Saltdean. One day she called us and begged us to attend a civic dance being held at Butlins, Saltdean. It was very out of season and I think she was afraid no-one would go. We flossied ourselves up and went along.
Debbie and Auntie Joan were there as well so there were some familiar faces. Norah told us that she had been asked to be on the adjudicating panel at an event that evening "Miss Saltdean 1975" and would we girls be willing to add to the numbers. I say "girls" but Joan couldn't have been far short of fifty.
We sportingly registered our names and got on with having a good time. Eventually the contest started. As this was in February and far more genteel than Miss World, we weren't expected to parade around in cossies or anything like that. Instead we joined a line-up of women and walked around the dance floor. A DJ interviewed us and I have no idea what he asked me or what I said.
Eventually, the winners were called, "In third place - Mrs Joan Barnett!" Auntie Joan stepped forward. "In second, Miss Debbie Barnett!". Debbie joined her aunt. Norah was beginning to look embarrassed. Would the rest of the council think that it was a set up?
"In first place, Julia Barrett!" announced the DJ. I joined the others, was draped in a sash and awarded a rather pretty rose bowl. Norah was by now hiding under the table. "I didn't vote for any of you!" she protested. "Well, Norah", I reassured her, "When you look at the competition, it's not really surprising that we won!"
This early success certainly didn't lead me into the Beauty Queen world and I now couldn't say what happened to the rose bowl.
On Saturday we went to Paul's cousin's retirement party. There were several relations there whom I hadn't seen since 1975.
We talked about Roger's deceased mother, Norah; her vivaciousness, tendency to call out at 11.00 am in a plummy voice "Bar's open!" and her impact on our lives.
"Do you know", I said to Roger's Aunt Joan "I haven't seen you since "Miss Saltdean" in 1975".
In My Day
Roger's mother, lived in Telscombe. She had her daughter Debbbie living with her as well as her grand-daughter who was about Lizzie's age, so we often visited and were quite close for a time.
Norah had a spell as Mayor of Saltdean. One day she called us and begged us to attend a civic dance being held at Butlins, Saltdean. It was very out of season and I think she was afraid no-one would go. We flossied ourselves up and went along.
Debbie and Auntie Joan were there as well so there were some familiar faces. Norah told us that she had been asked to be on the adjudicating panel at an event that evening "Miss Saltdean 1975" and would we girls be willing to add to the numbers. I say "girls" but Joan couldn't have been far short of fifty.
We sportingly registered our names and got on with having a good time. Eventually the contest started. As this was in February and far more genteel than Miss World, we weren't expected to parade around in cossies or anything like that. Instead we joined a line-up of women and walked around the dance floor. A DJ interviewed us and I have no idea what he asked me or what I said.
Eventually, the winners were called, "In third place - Mrs Joan Barnett!" Auntie Joan stepped forward. "In second, Miss Debbie Barnett!". Debbie joined her aunt. Norah was beginning to look embarrassed. Would the rest of the council think that it was a set up?
"In first place, Julia Barrett!" announced the DJ. I joined the others, was draped in a sash and awarded a rather pretty rose bowl. Norah was by now hiding under the table. "I didn't vote for any of you!" she protested. "Well, Norah", I reassured her, "When you look at the competition, it's not really surprising that we won!"
This early success certainly didn't lead me into the Beauty Queen world and I now couldn't say what happened to the rose bowl.
Monday, August 09, 2010
Information Highway
Today
More on the power of the Internet and its capacity to inform.
I received one of those "round robin" emails today spouting on about today's over-cautious-ness with pregnant women and unborn babies, saying that we oldies survived drinking and smoking mothers and we're OK, aren't we? A little research came up with the infant mortality rates for 1930, 1950 and 2009 and showed that the rate today is 5% of what it was in 1930. So I emailed back my comments to this effect.
It does seem that the Internet provides as much mis-information as information and an awful lot is completely unverified and un-moderated. And some is downright scurrilous.
In My Day
Relying, as we did, on books, did we receive higher-quality information than nowadays? This is a very hard question to answer. Once you'd found something in, say, Chambers Encyclopedia, you tended to trust it. Verfiying the information was such a laborious task and the encyclopedia, you believed, was written to a high academic standard.
Often this was true and I've had very few occasions when I've had to say "that was complete rubbish". On the other hand, authority was much less subjected to questioning and there were very many prejudices aired in these books.
The medical dictionary, for example, said that menstruating women shouldn't bathe or wash their hair. This is tantamount to crying "unclean!" and only one stop short of saying that we shouldn't appear in public. I found that I could do both with impunity and, incidentally, felt so much better for clean hair and a bathed body.
My dictionary told me that masturbation was "self-abuse" which didn't make me any the wiser and world maps usually coloured British colonies in triumphant red as though that was all that mattered.
The encyclopedia confidently divided the world's people into three types (Caucasian, Mongoloid and Negro), which we now know is damagingly too broad-brush, and arrogantly ignored a number of obvious anomalies.
Perhaps that's the true difference between then and now; information was handed down literally, from God-like and British authorities to grateful and unquestioning recipients. Today, we can see how all the world thinks in the click of a mouse.
Not that that has stopped prejudice and bigotry from spreading just as fast.
More on the power of the Internet and its capacity to inform.
I received one of those "round robin" emails today spouting on about today's over-cautious-ness with pregnant women and unborn babies, saying that we oldies survived drinking and smoking mothers and we're OK, aren't we? A little research came up with the infant mortality rates for 1930, 1950 and 2009 and showed that the rate today is 5% of what it was in 1930. So I emailed back my comments to this effect.
It does seem that the Internet provides as much mis-information as information and an awful lot is completely unverified and un-moderated. And some is downright scurrilous.
In My Day
Relying, as we did, on books, did we receive higher-quality information than nowadays? This is a very hard question to answer. Once you'd found something in, say, Chambers Encyclopedia, you tended to trust it. Verfiying the information was such a laborious task and the encyclopedia, you believed, was written to a high academic standard.
Often this was true and I've had very few occasions when I've had to say "that was complete rubbish". On the other hand, authority was much less subjected to questioning and there were very many prejudices aired in these books.
The medical dictionary, for example, said that menstruating women shouldn't bathe or wash their hair. This is tantamount to crying "unclean!" and only one stop short of saying that we shouldn't appear in public. I found that I could do both with impunity and, incidentally, felt so much better for clean hair and a bathed body.
My dictionary told me that masturbation was "self-abuse" which didn't make me any the wiser and world maps usually coloured British colonies in triumphant red as though that was all that mattered.
The encyclopedia confidently divided the world's people into three types (Caucasian, Mongoloid and Negro), which we now know is damagingly too broad-brush, and arrogantly ignored a number of obvious anomalies.
Perhaps that's the true difference between then and now; information was handed down literally, from God-like and British authorities to grateful and unquestioning recipients. Today, we can see how all the world thinks in the click of a mouse.
Not that that has stopped prejudice and bigotry from spreading just as fast.
Wednesday, August 04, 2010
Stating the obvious
Today
One of the problems with having the flat is managing the food store cupboard. While it's easy to decide what to do with perishables it's the "dry goods" that are more difficult to gauge. Just how long should we keep bags of nuts or crisps? We put everything into airtight containers but sometimes that's just not enough.
Fancying a few oat cakes with my cheese at lunchtime today, I pulled out an unopened pack. A rancid odour assailed my nostrils. The "use by" date on the base was December 2009 and it seemed clear that the fat used to make them had gone off. Into the bin with them!
In My Day
I think that "sell by" dates were introduced in the UK about thirty years ago. Before that we had to rely on judgement, old wives tales and the bleedin' obvious.
Judgement generally meant going by the look of something and how long we'd had it. Meat and fish had to be eaten quickly - they kept longer once cooked, from whence came the "joint on Sunday, cold on Monday, pie on Tuesday" kind of housekeeping. Bread went mouldy after a couple of days.
Old wives tales covered seafood being eaten immediately, regardless of whether it looked or smelled OK (they had a point there, those old wives), thunder "turning" the milk or cream and not eating rhubarb or pork in a month with (or was it without) an "R" in it. (no summer months contain an "R")
But mostly, it's bleedin' obvious. If the milk has gone lumpy and smells funny, don't drink it! If the lettuce has gone sort of slimy and the cheese is covered in green mould then it's probably best to leave it alone. Meat with a strange rainbow sheen to it is likely to give you the runs and fish that should be white but looks kind of grey has probably passed the point where you should put it in your face.
So, while I think that the sell-by (now expanded to include "display by" and "use by") concept does afford some protection, it's really a way of letting food manufacturers off the hook as they often are vastly over-cautious with their dating. and nothing beats judgement and the bleedin' obvious.
I found some oatcakes in the cupboard with an even earlier date but they smelled just fine and I've had a couple with cheese and coleslaw.
One of the problems with having the flat is managing the food store cupboard. While it's easy to decide what to do with perishables it's the "dry goods" that are more difficult to gauge. Just how long should we keep bags of nuts or crisps? We put everything into airtight containers but sometimes that's just not enough.
Fancying a few oat cakes with my cheese at lunchtime today, I pulled out an unopened pack. A rancid odour assailed my nostrils. The "use by" date on the base was December 2009 and it seemed clear that the fat used to make them had gone off. Into the bin with them!
In My Day
I think that "sell by" dates were introduced in the UK about thirty years ago. Before that we had to rely on judgement, old wives tales and the bleedin' obvious.
Judgement generally meant going by the look of something and how long we'd had it. Meat and fish had to be eaten quickly - they kept longer once cooked, from whence came the "joint on Sunday, cold on Monday, pie on Tuesday" kind of housekeeping. Bread went mouldy after a couple of days.
Old wives tales covered seafood being eaten immediately, regardless of whether it looked or smelled OK (they had a point there, those old wives), thunder "turning" the milk or cream and not eating rhubarb or pork in a month with (or was it without) an "R" in it. (no summer months contain an "R")
But mostly, it's bleedin' obvious. If the milk has gone lumpy and smells funny, don't drink it! If the lettuce has gone sort of slimy and the cheese is covered in green mould then it's probably best to leave it alone. Meat with a strange rainbow sheen to it is likely to give you the runs and fish that should be white but looks kind of grey has probably passed the point where you should put it in your face.
So, while I think that the sell-by (now expanded to include "display by" and "use by") concept does afford some protection, it's really a way of letting food manufacturers off the hook as they often are vastly over-cautious with their dating. and nothing beats judgement and the bleedin' obvious.
I found some oatcakes in the cupboard with an even earlier date but they smelled just fine and I've had a couple with cheese and coleslaw.
Monday, August 02, 2010
When mother papered the parlour
Today
I can't believe I let Becky talk me into doing some of her decorating. I'd agreed to go up to help her with a massive tidy up and clear out of her flat. As if clearing her garden of weeds, helping her clean and clear her cellar, and sorting CDs, DVDs, books and clothes wasn't enough, I found myself painting some shelves that looked perfectly OK to me.
In My Day
I really hate decorating. I don't know why it's assumed that, as soon as we reach independence, we're all capable of wielding a paint brush, trowel and pasting brush in a way that will do even a halfway decent job.
As a child, I had, of course, watched Daddy doing decorating. The only thing I learnt from him was the importance of cleaning brushes properly.
I think I tried decorating in my teenage attic bedroom at 4BH, but my first proper foray was when I lived in Tarring with Sue Hole. Our otherwise lovely ground floor flat was looking dingy and we persuaded our landlady that we could do the needful. We went to a shop which mixed the paint for you. Eau-de-nil for the living room walls with eggshell grey woodwork, shocking pink in my room with white gloss and I can't remember what Sue wanted. At least we didn't paint the ceilings purple, walls orange and doors pink as many of our hippie colleagues did.
The colour, when mixed didn't look at all right so we went back to the shop where it was proved to us that it exactly matched the colour card. "I'll put some more green in it, if you like", said the shopkeeper, doing so. We decided to live with the resulting vivid peppermint green. I've no idea what the landlady thought of our idiosyncratic colour scheme, which I assume she discovered after we'd left. What I do know is that the quality of our work (especially mine) was of the lowest standard, with unevenly painted walls and curtains of dripping gloss.
Later on, Paul & I decorated the flat at Belmont. There I actually hung wallpaper and am amazed that it clung to the walls at all. At Rowan Avenue we decorated the lounge walls in dark brown gloss and one wall of our bedroom in mirror tiles. We again managed to put wallpaper up at Montfort Close and have decorated at Mead Close. Paul, while being very good at putting shelving and doing electrics and light fittings, has a technique even worse than mine and is a great deal messier, believing that you can clean up all the drips later.
In order to save our marriage, we now get someone in every five years or so to put on another coat of magnolia.
At Becky's I dug my heels in and refused to paint the perfectly nice pine bookcase in the lower hall.
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