Wednesday, 8 October 2008
Wednesday, 1 October 2008
AOLUK are dumping all journals from the end of this month, bastards.
Anyone interested in continuing to read can from now onwards find Rattlebox in its new home here: Click here: Rattlebox
I don't know who reads this blog apart from 2 or 3 who occasionally comment - and your comments have been very much appreciated - but whether you are a commentator or lurker, you'll be welcome on my new blog so please Fave the link up and sign up for notifications.
Monday, 29 September 2008
He found himself on an island with no other people, no supplies, nothing, only bananas and coconuts. After about four months, he is lying on the beach one day when the most gorgeous woman he has ever seen rows up to the shore.
In disbelief, he asks, 'Where did you come from? How did you get here?' She replies, 'I rowed from the other side of the island. I landed here when my cruise ship sank.'
'Amazing,' he notes. 'You were really lucky to have a row boat wash up with you.' 'Oh, this thing?' explains the woman. 'I made the boat out of raw material I found on the island. The oars were whittled from gum tree branches. I wove the bottom from palm branches, and the sides and stern came
from a Eucalyptus tree.'
'But, where did you get the tools?'
'Oh, that was no problem,' replied the woman. 'On the south side of the island, a very unusual stratum of alluvial rock is exposed. I found if I fired it to a certain temperature in my kiln, it melted into ductile iron. I used that for tools and used the tools to make the hardware.'
The guy is stunned.
'Let's row over to my place,' she says. After a few minutes of rowing, she docks the boat at a small wharf. As the man looks to shore, he nearly falls off the boat. Before him is stone walk leading to an exquisite bungalow painted in blue and white.
While the woman ties up the rowboat with an expertly woven hemp rope, the man can only stare ahead, dumb struck. As they walk into the house, she says casually, 'It's not much but I call it home. Sit down, please. Would you like a drink?'
'No! No thank you,' he blurts out, still dazed. 'I can't take another drop of coconut juice.' 'It's not coconut juice,' winks the woman. 'I have a still. How would you like a Pina Colada?'
Trying to hide his continued amazement, the man accepts, and they sit down on her couch to talk. After they have exchanged their stories, the woman announces, 'I'm going to slip into something more comfortable. Would you like to take a shower and shave? There is a razor upstairs in the bathroom
No longer questioning anything, the man goes into the bathroom. There, in the cabinet, a razor made from a piece of tortoise bone. Two shells honed to a hollow ground edge are fastened on to its end inside a swivel mechanism.
'This woman is amazing,' he muses. 'What next?'
'Tell me,' she begins suggestively, slithering closer to him, 'We've been out here for many months. You've been lonely. There's something I'm sure you really feel like doing right now, something you've been longing for?'
She stares into his eyes ..
He swallows excitedly and tears start to form in his eyes....................
'F*****g hell, don't tell me you've got Sky Sports?'
Friday, 19 September 2008
What a fab day. We went to one of our very favourite places, Barmouth on the Welsh coast, for a picnic lunch and a good long walk on the beach. Barmouth has old fashioned charm, a treasury of everything anyone over 40 remembers of family seaside holidays. A gorgeous stone walled harbour sits at the mouth of the beautiful estuary among narrow streets of slate roofed stone houses at the foot of steep rocky hills covered in bracken and heather. Sand dunes, rock pools, swing boats on the beach, stalls covered in racks of buckets and spades and a very small funfair with very subdued music playing. And it's all set in the most lovely scenery. It's one of the best places in Britain to get some sun on your back and sand in your toes.
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Wednesday, 20 August 2008
I had a cortisone jab in my left shoulder this morning. I could have typed reams - would my now duff left arm allow - describing in horrid detail the absolutely dire pain which both caused me to have this jab and resulted from submitting to it. I further embarrassed myself by silently sliding off my chair onto the floor in a dead faint, my GP following my downward trend to finish the job as I lay prostrate and semi-conscious in a crumpled heap.
Instead I thought I'd just post a pic of my outdoor lav as a piece of expressive art denoting my feelings of lost dignity. If my shoulder doesn't improve following this torment I may post a pic of the lavatory pan. Fingers crossed that isn't necessary.
Friday, 15 August 2008
August 8, 2008, 12:48 PM EDT
Members of the East Central Narcotics Task Force arrested a West Hartford man was arrested after a short chase in South Windsor Thursday evening.
According to police, Almighty Supremebeing Allah, 35, of 119 Elmhurst St. West Hartford refused to stop for a marked cruiser and was detained about a mile down the road after the initial stop.
He was charged with Reckless Driving, Disobeying an Officers Signal, Interfering with an Officer, Criminal Attempt/Sale of Cocaine Criminal Attempt/Possession of Cocaine.
Imo his parents should be arrested too.
I wonder how often he's heard 'Oh My God' screamed into his pillowed ear <g>
Wednesday, 13 August 2008
Saturday, 9 August 2008
Wasn't the Beijing Olympics Opening Ceremony simply superlative? How can London ever hope to match it? I expect to be mortally embarrassed in 2012. I also expect Seb Coe to explain the national humiliation by whining about having a virus as he did without fail every time he lost a race.
But I must be getting awfully emotionally shallow. I watched the opening ceremony from start to finish and, I'm a bit ashamed to admit, several times found myself getting teary - even the firework 'feet' got me surreptitiously reaching for a tissue. I know that much of the symbolism was hypocritical in light of the realité; the representation of the Chinese ethnic minorities for example, and the mass participation dove of peace thing to say nothing about the 'green' theme thing but it seems to me that the Olymics is all about ideals and so actualité is somewhat beside that idealistic point. I sat there like a completely wet ninny watching the little lad who supposedly sang to keep up the morale of his classmates who were buried alongside him by the Szechuan earthquake and even tho I thought the story was probably nothing but Chinese national morale raising propaganda I still came over all sentimental. Sentimental and a bit Jewish momma - I kept thinking 'his/her mother must be so proud!'
I must be sickening for something.
Something else sickening was the council man who came out yesterday to sort out the wasps nest in my lawn. Parked, walked across the grass, stuck his spray nozzle down it, one squeeze, done. £34 for less than 3 minutes thank you. He spent more time telling me that his son who lives 10 minutes away would have done it for half the price.
Thursday, 7 August 2008
A body of whom I've written a piece before: NICE (the National Institute for Clinical Excellence) - now there's a misnomer if ever I heard one - today ruled that kidney cancer patients may not have drugs to prolong their lives because at £30K pa it costs too much. Never mind the millions spent to prolong the lives of infants born with no kidneys, no bowels or no stomachs, or the millions frittered on removing tattoos or pinning 8 year old ears back. Today someone whom I regard as a genuine stoic and hero made a post on her blog. Please read it and email your local MP urgently.
I've had a busy day today, mostly owing to crops ripening. I've made and frozen 2 ice cream containers of rattatouille made from all organic home grown red onions, garlic, tomatoes, yellow and green courgettes, orange peppers and purple aubergines. Then I picked a backbreaking 10lbs of blackcurrants and made a litre of blackcurrant cordial and 4 pints of sorbet. My kitchen tops got so splattered with concentrated blackcurrant juice that they look like they have some dread disease and I doubt they will ever recover.
In the garden Gyp discovered the most gross humungous caterpillar, exactly the length of my index finger and at least as fat. It was an unbelievably fast mover but I managed to get it onto my husbands cap brim long enough to take a pic. It's the caterpillar of that equally horrifying moth I found in the kitchen sink a month or so ago. Crap pic but I think it still conveys the horror.
We also have a very busy underground nest of digger wasps. The local authority pest control man is coming out tomorrow to get rid of them as we have Grace and her little friend here from Sunday and the last thing I need is two tots with fat stung legs. £34.50 it's going to cost, isn't that disgraceful?
We are inundated with teensy little frogs, some of them a hundred yards from their pond and one poor little thing we found drowned in the pets' courtyard water bowl.
Monday, 4 August 2008
As soon as Constance and her friend Esme had been collected
by Felix and his Mum
our youngest granddaughter Imogen
and her parents came for a long weekend and on Saturday we went to the Oswestry Show.
Just after I took this photograph the cow blew a massive snort at Immy and she fell over backwards in shock. I almost fell over in shock myself.
Now we have a few days clear and then Grace and her friend Eleanor will be with us for a week. I'm definitely moving to the wrong side of the tracks in Nuneaton before next summer :O)
Friday, 1 August 2008
Friday, 25 July 2008
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Thursday, 17 July 2008
A few entries ago I mooted the potential of high decibel James Blunt as a Weapon of Mass Destruction (Click here: Ban this ban that, what's the world coming to????). It would appear that the CIA really do spy on blogs because they have stolen my idea, tweaked it a bit to avoid my tort for theft of intellectual property rights, and put it into practice. Prisoners in Guantanamo Bay are being bombarded non-stop with David Gray's 'Babylon' at top volume.
I have just two observations on this 1) if the poor beggars are still holding out after this cruel torment then they must be innocent and 2) I appear to have missed my natural calling. Tho some of my kids wouldn't agree there.
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
Expectant parents spend literally months reading endless published Baby Name lists and having fraught conversations about the forename they will give their infant. It's one of the ever-present banes of (other people's) pregnancy in my opinion but then I've never been very imaginative.
I've been reading a research paper written by economists S. Levitt and R. G. Fryer Jr. and expanded to a chapter in the very entertaining and fascinating 'Freakonomics' by Levitt and Dubner. The paper looks at the gulf between black and white culture in the USA. One very noticeable difference in cultural indicators is that black parents give their children names that are starkly different to those given to white children. (and of course vice versa). The paper: The Causes and Consequences of Distinctively Black Names is summarised below:
This research was based on an extremely large and detailed data source of data: birth registration information for every child born in California since 1961 - more than 16 million births. It included standard items like name, gender, race, birthweight, and the parents' marital status, as well as more telling factors: the parents' ZIP code (which indicates socioeconomic status and neighbourhood racial composition), their means of paying the hospital bill for the birth (again, an economic indicator), and their level of education.
The California data establish just how differently black and white parents have named their children over the past 25 years or so - a side-effect maybe of the Black Power movement. The typical baby girl born in a black neighbourhood in 1970 was given a name that was twice as common among blacks than whites. By 1980, she received a name that was 20 times more common among blacks than whites. (Boys' names moved in the same direction but less so - parents of all races apparently less adventurous with boys' names than girls'.)
Today, more than 40% of the black girls born in California in a given year receive a name that not one of the roughly 100,000 baby white girls received that year. Even more remarkably, nearly 30% of the black girls are given a name that is unique among every baby, white and black, born that year in California!
The data offer a clear picture of which parents are most likely to give a child such a distinctively black name: unmarried, low-income, undereducated, teenage mothers from black neighbourhoods who themselves have distinctively black names. Giving a child a super-black name would seem to be a black parent's signal of solidarity with her community. White parents, meanwhile, often send as strong a signal in the opposite direction - more than 40% of the white babies are given names that are at least four times more common among whites than blacks.
The California names data offer the opportunity, by subjecting this data to regression analysis, to tease out the effect of any one factor (in this case, a person's first name) on her future education, income, and health.
The data show that, on average, a person with a distinctively black name - whether it is a woman named Precious or a man named DeShawn - does have a worse life outcome than a woman named Emma or a man named Jake. But it isn't the fault of his or her name. If two black girls, Uniqque Williams and Claire Williams, are born in the same neighbourhood and into the same family and economic circumstances, they would likely have similar life outcomes. But the kind of mother who names her daughter Claire doesn't tend to live in the same neighbourhoods or share economic circumstances with the kind of mother who names her daughter Uniqque. And that's why, on average, a girl named Claire will tend to earn more money and get more education than a girl named Uniqque. Parental income and educational level is the prime factor in the child's own eventual socioeconomic position. Uniqque's name is an indicator - but not a cause - of her life path.
In my work I tend to see a lot of forenames of school age children. Generally, altho I've not compiled my very own data set so this is no more than an anecdotal observation: the children attending 'good' or 'excellent' schools as judged by Ofsted tend to have very different forenames to those attending 'satisfactory' or 'inadequate' schools. Jack and Harry, Olivia and Jessica even on those uncommon occasions where they attend the same school are not found in the same academic sets as Jayden and Chokota , Alexus and Madonna - but are most often not found in the same school. As Levitt and Fryer conclude, it's not the names themselves which account for the difference in life outcomes, but that the names they are given indicate their parents' life position - and parents socio-economic position is the foremost and principal determinant of the child's.
Having said that when we hear that someone is named Chokota I believe that we form prejudgements about them, about their abilities, habits and expectations - and those prejudgements themselves are an important limiting factor. (Unless of course it happens to be Chokota Beckham in which case we'll assume that they've had the best education money can provide.) The reverse, imo, is true when we hear a child is named Tristram or Miranda - our expectations of them are set by a prejudgement based on their forename only.
So, imo, whatever our social class it's important that we give our children forenames that at the very least will not prejudice their life chances. Those interminable hours spent coming up with suggestions and arguing about whether baby is to be a John or a Jodrell actually are absolutely crucial.
Saturday, 12 July 2008
20 years ago ultrasound scanning came into widespread use in China and Asia generally and gave pregnant women a cheap and readily available means to discover the sex of their unborn foetus. The results, by the million, are now coming to maturity in Bangladesh, India, Taiwan and China. By choosing to abort females and give birth to males millions of Asian parents have propelled the region into a unique experiment in the social effects of gender imbalance.
As a result of foetal gender selection the natural (universal non-selective) balance of about 105 male births to 100 female has grown to around 120 male births for every 100 female births in China. The imbalance is even higher in some locales; 136 males to 100 females on the island of Hainan, an increasingly prosperous tourist resort, and 135 males to 100 females in central China’s Hubei Province. According to the China Family Planning Association Lianyungan, a booming port, has the most extreme gender ratio for children under four - 163 boys for every 100 girls. There are currently 37 million more young men than young women in China.
Similar patterns can be found in Taiwan, with 119 boys to 100 girls; Singapore, 118 boys to 100 girls; South Korea, 112 boys to 100 girls; and parts of India, 120 boys to 100 girls.
(China, India, and other nations have now outlawed the use of prenatal diagnostic techniques to select the sex of an unborn child but a suitably compensated ultrasound technician need only smile or frown at the expectant mother or father.)
Many of these excess boys will be and are poor and rootless, a lumpenproletariat without the consolations of marriage and family. Prostitution, sex tourism, and homosexuality may ease their unfulfilled urges, but Asian societies are witnessing far more dramatic solutions. Chinese police statistics recorded 65,236 arrests for female trafficking in 1990–91 alone. Updated numbers are hard to come by, but it’s apparent that the problem remains severe. Mass sexual frustration is thus adding a potent ingredient to an increasingly volatile Chinese mix of problems that include surging economic growth, urbanization, drug abuse, and environmental pollution.
Beijing expects that it may have as many as 40+ million frustrated bachelors by 2020. The regime, always nervous about social control, fears that they might generate social and political instability. What are the chances hmm? Well, China watchers are already seeing signs of growing criminality; over the past decade, as the (post ultrasound) boys have hit adolescence, the country's youth crime rate has more than doubled.
One might assume that China’s economic growth will solve the problem, as prosperity removes the traditional economic need for poor rural peasants to have sons who can work the land but the numbers don’t support that theory. Indeed, the steepest imbalance between male and female infants is found in the most prosperous regions, such as Hainan Island and Lianyungan.
The long-term implications of the gender imbalance are largely guesswork because there is no real precedent for imbalances on such a scale. A Beijing powerstruggle between cautious old technocrats and aggressive young nationalists may be decided by mobs of rootless young men, demanding uniforms, rifles, and a chance to liberate Taiwan. A study undertaken under the aegis of the CIA suggested “in 2020 it may seem to China that it would be worth it to have a very bloody battle in which a lot of their young men could die in some glorious cause.”
In contrast a study in the USA into criminality and specifically the sudden drop in crime rates in the 1990s suggested that the legalisation of abortion in 1973 was a key factor. By 1980 1.6 million abortions were carried out annually - almost 1 abortion to each 2 live births.
Thursday, 3 July 2008
Wednesday, 2 July 2008
Imagine the bladder weakening thrill as, on my own in the house when tidying up before going to bed, I found an elephant hawk moth sitting in my kitchen sink. A horrifying 2½" across and flesh coloured with a body the size of Felix's thumb it leered up at me and challenged me to hold my ground without whimpering. I lost and snuck off to bed leaving it lurking there.
Of course I couldn't get it out of my mind and eventually went back downstairs and, without putting the overhead lights on, I managed to drop a teatowel over it and gently roll it inside. I unlocked the courtyard door and in my nightie in the rain opened out the teatowel on the table. The moth scowled up at me and refused to move so I shook the teatowel. It lurched with (I swear) an audible thud onto the table top and then horridly fluttered down to the bench seat where, like a ginger flash, my cat Dennis leapt on it and finished it off with one crunch.
Sunday, 29 June 2008
Friday, 27 June 2008
Glasgow Daily Record - 2 hours ago
THE public spent £22000 on sending the Queen to the races by helicopter, figures have revealed.
Tuesday, 24 June 2008
Sunday, 22 June 2008
The garden here is a scene of widespread devastation. Whole large flowering plants broken off at base, climbing Rambling Rector roses wrenched from their supports - including from 20' up in the old pear tree, even rhubarb stalks snapped in half, but worst of all, 6 years growth of Virginia Creeper torn from the walls of the house and crashed onto my Brown Turkey fig tree. The winds have been utterly ferocious and it looks as if a hurricane has passed through. I've just spent 30 minutes out there getting buffeted by tail winds while trying to clear the pond of what turned out to be a 10 gallon drum full of leaves and gathering ceramic pots, plants, ground cover matting and overturned wheelbarrows and I've come back inside full of gloom. It's amazing that the polytunnel is still standing and no damage has been done to the house or cottage. I'm telling myself it could have been worse but.......... :O(((((((((
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
Today I'm sure we've all heard the tragic reports about the father who put a hoax bomb in his estranged wife's home with a note saying that she would hear about him in the newspapers, who then took his two little children for a drive, parked on a lonely Welsh lane, attached tubing to his exhaust and murdered his tots.
This follows two fairly recent cases in Scotland of fathers murdering their little children, plus the man who murdered his little lad by tossing him from a holiday balcony before jumping off himself while carrying his toddler daughter, and, I think worst of the lot, the father who drove a car containing his children into the sea and then phoned their mother so that she could hear them screaming as they were drowned.
I can't be the only woman who wonders what is going wrong with modern men - and who wonders why people are surprised that so many women now are choosing to have children without fathers.
I wonder whether tho it isn't something wrong with men per se (tho it could be) but that these particular men don't actually regard their children as human but merely as objects which their wives, whom they have come to hate, actually love more than they now love their former husband. They tried to get custody of the children and when they failed they simply killed them.
They murdered their children, all of these men, as a way of punishing their wives for not wanting to continue being married to them. It's the same impulse that can make some people kick a pet dog or cat. If only they would think before they murder their nippers that someone willing to murder small children as revenge isn't a suitable husband or father at all. Someone who would even contemplate such evil horror is barely human.
I think it's a great pity that this latest man died with the children he murdered because now he cannot be made to suffer torments for the rest of his life.
On a much lighter note, yesterday evening I went to Colemere to see the orchids.
There are literally acres of orchids and yellow rattle, the most I have seen anywhere in the world and they're all right on my doorstep to see for free. Fabulous, aren't they?
Monday, 9 June 2008
I love the garden at this time of year when there are plenty of flowers and yet still lots of favourites to come, and some yet in the polytunnel waiting to be bedded out. It's a busy time but I'm not the sort of person who can just sit and look for very long without seeing a weed needing a tug or something needing an extra stake. The one exception is first thing in the morning when I sit near our rough ponds and watch the dragonflies prising themselves out of their ugly adolescent carapaces, reminiscent of a Hammer Horror film, to rest and dry their wings in the early sunshine until fully pumped up they can fly away. Here's where I sit every day from about 6am until 7am when I fetch the lead and get the dog out in the lanes.
When it gets too hot to do anything but read then I take my chair into the dappled shade under the old apple tree and spend a couple of hours wafting away money spiders which drop from the branches and watching the birds in the pear tree nest boxes.
Then at the end of the day, I sit at my dining room patio waiting for my hair to dry and sipping something cold while I watch the swallows flycatching over the paddock and listen to the swifts screaming overhead.
My fingers are permanently stained, my nails are ragged and my sandalled feet don't bear description but all in all a summer spent gardening takes a lot of beating.
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Tuesday, 3 June 2008
Do you always walk when you could drive? Do you use a hairdryer instead of letting your hair dry naturally? Do you not have a hybrid car? Are you still buying the occasional pineapple or maybe black peppercorn?
Shame on you! In fact, shame on you for using electricity to be online and read this.
You, yes YOU are morally as evil as Josef Fritzl. You sit there possibly wearing shoes made from the skins of cattle which eat corn that starving people could eat - and don't think that limiting yourself to sandals exculpates you even if Jesus did wear them too.
Everything you do which is not part of the conscious fight against global warming damages children to the same extent as Fritzl did. Oh yes it does. The Bishop of Stafford has made it all quite explicit. Eat a burger or keep your milk in a refrigerator and you, sunshine, are one of The Damned.
Get on your knees right now and switch your PC off.
Monday, 2 June 2008
Wednesday, 28 May 2008
A 98 year old woman in the UK wrote this to her bank. The bank manager thought it amusing enough to have it published in the Times.
I am writing to thank you for bouncing my cheque with which I endeavoured to pay my plumber last month. By my calculations, three nanoseconds must have elapsed between his presenting the cheque and the arrival in my account of the funds needed to honour it. I refer, of course, to the automatic monthly deposit of my Pension, an arrangement, which, I admit, has been in place for only thirty eight years. You are to be commended for seizing that brief window of opportunity, and also for debiting my account £30 by way of penalty for the inconvenience caused to your bank.
My thankfulness springs from the manner in which this incident has caused me to rethink my errant financial ways. I noticed that whereas I personally attend to your telephone calls and letters, when I try to contact you, I am confronted by the impersonal, overcharging, pre-recorded, faceless entity which your bank has become. From now on, I, like you, choose only to deal with a flesh-and- blood person.
My mortgage and loan payments will therefore and hereafter no longer be automatic, but will arrive at your bank by cheque, addressed personally and confidentially to an employee at your bank whom you must nominate. Be aware that it is an offence under the Postal Act for any other person to open such an envelope. Please find attached an Application Contact Status which I require your chosen employee to complete. I am sorry it runs to eight pages, but in order that I know as much about him or her as your bank knows about me, there is no alternative. Please note that all copies of his or her medical history must be countersigned by a Solicitor, and the mandatory details of his/her financial situation (income, debts, assets and liabilities) must be accompanied by documented proof.
In due course, I will issue your employee with PIN number which he/she must quote in dealings with me. I regret that it cannot be shorter than 28 digits but, again, I have modelled it on the number of button presses required of me to access my account balance on your phone bank service. As they say, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.
Let me level the playing field even further. When you call me, press buttons as follows:
1 To make an appointment to see me.
2 To query a missing payment.
3 To transfer the call to my living room in case I am there.
4 To transfer the call to my bedroom in case I am sleeping.
5 To transfer the call to my toilet in case I am attending to nature.
6 To transfer the call to my mobile phone if I am not at home.
7 To leave a message on my computer (a password to access my computer is required. A password will be communicated to you at a later date to the Authorized Contact.)
8 To return to the main menu and to listen to options 1 through to 8.
9 To make a general complaint or inquiry, the contact will then be put on hold, pending the attention of my automated answering service. While this may, on occasion, involve a lengthy wait, uplifting music will play for the duration of the call.
Regrettably, but again following your example, I must also levy an establishment fee to cover the setting up of this new arrangement.
May I wish you a happy, if ever so slightly less prosperous, New Year.
Your Humble Client
(Remember: This was written by a 98 year old woman; DOESN'T SHE MAKE YOU PROUD!)
Monday, 26 May 2008
I have just been reading Paul Mcs latest blog entries here: Brininess and Volubility and saw this rhyme:
A funny bird is a pelican,
his mouth can hold more than his bellycan.
He can hold in his beak, enough for a week,
And I don't see how in the hellican.
-- Dixon Lanier Merrit
It reminded me of another rhyme I heard spoken by Miles, the pre-school best friend and daily companion of my eldest daughter and her one-time guest at her Church playschool Christmas Party. The children were asked if they knew a song, carol or poem that they'd like to recite to all the Mums and the other party-going poppets.
Miles braved up, stepped into the middle of the floor and proudly piped up with his offering. It went like this
He was 3¾ and he never left another room as fast as I whipped his little arse out of that one.
Later that day after Miles had gone home to tell his brother of his triumph, my daughter told me she was sad because she hadn't had a chance to say her poem because we'd left the party too quickly. Brilliant, sez I, I didn't even know you had a poem you wanted to say.... tell it to me now poppet. She went out of the room to make a grand entrance onto the rug 'stage', curtseyed to her audience and said
Wednesday, 21 May 2008
Monday, 5 May 2008
Tuesday, 29 April 2008
Not only have I created a DUN connection so that I can still get online if/when this Carphone Warehouse server migration malarkey buggers up my aol connection, but I've actually braved up enough to try it and wooweeee, I can be online and using aol software without loading it up on my pc. I could even uninstall aol from my hard drive completely and still get online and still do everything on aol that I want to do. Brilliant.
If you fancy doing the same then do exactly what this link tells and shows you to do, then just use IE and go to aol.co.uk, log in and voila. Go on, it's easy peasy.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
I've just returned from a long weekend away - can you guess where?
Here's another clue
Yes, sunny Devon. We drove for 5½ hours to get there through Shropshire snow and sleet and found a blue-skyed Shangri La smothered in primroses and bluebells and clotted cream teas. My sister in law has cannas in her garden 12" high already. Mine are blighted soggy stumps that I doubt will ever rise again.
Tuesday, 8 April 2008
The price of rice, the people's staple food, has doubled in the last year. This increase naturally has forced poverty-stricken residents to look for substitutes for rice.
Apparently in the past they have baked “dirt biscuits” using salt and vegetable shortening along with clay from a nearby area. The clay has some nutrients in it, so it is not entirely filler. The problem tho is that the supply curve of clay is not horizontal; so with this increased demand for the clay, its price has risen too — by 40% during the same period.
The dirt is no longer dirt-cheap - and the poor are just too poor to eat dirt.