The Inaugural Eye Spy Sunday (or Eye Spy.... what I want for Christmas)

The very lovely BugandPop has come up with a fabulous idea to fill the gap left by the finish of 'On my desk'. Starting this Sunday up here on the hill we are joining all the cool kids in playing Eye Spy! Of course being in a different time zone means it is played a little later here at Trash Towers but I figure that just makes the fun last a little longer ;-)



So Santa? If you are reading this blog let me just say



"I spy towels."


Yep, that's it - towels. Lovely big, fluffy, new towels.

You see, CK has spent some minutes of his spare time over the last few weeks pulling up lino and the cork tiles under them, stripping back lining paper and rewiring bits of electrical stuff to give the bathroom a flash-whizzy new look. And it suddenly occurred to me last night, that even when the painting is done (edited to say 'redone - that colour, eurgh!') the bathroom will still be suffering from the nastiest case of S.O.T.S.you've ever seen.


Yes, we have been struck by Same Old Towel Syndrome. When I stepped back and looked at them objectively it occurred to me that ALL my towels are nasty. They are old and all crinkled and unattractively gathered. I didn't choose most of them so they are in patterns and colours I don't particularly like and the youngest of them is over three years old.


That doesn't sound like an especially advanced age for towels but that is two out of nearly 20. Most of them were wedding presents (12 years) and some gifted to CK by my mother over time - thus making some potenially 17 years old!


Obviously some we will keep for when the puppy arrives but if Santa is as good to me as I hope then the rest are off to god without a backward glance.

Some of you may have been waiting for this...(ahem)

One bright, sunny but cold morning I opened my front door to find the fairies had left me a surprise! I knew it hadn't come from The Royal Mail as neither of my dogs had morphed into the Hound of The Baskervilles.



'Oooo! How exciting!' I thought. 'What could be in here?'

Well it was definitely for me so I knew the fairies hadn't made a mistake.




However I was wondering whether I may need magic to be able to get into it - you guys didn't tell fibs!



Having finally excavated through the tape look what jumped out at me!

After wrestling That Little Blue Guy into promising to be good I was able to display all the bountiful munificence to which I had been treated!

And do you know? There was only one thing that was returned to me :-)

I was in the right field but wrong job.

My friend 'Granny' sent me this tonight. I was going to forward it on instead but thought it would be a great way to explain why I love working with young children.

Slow down for three minutes to read this. It is so worth it.
Touching words from the mouths of babies.

What does 'Love' mean?

A group of professional people posed this question to a group of 4 to 8 year-olds, 'What does 'love' mean?'
The answers they got were broader and deeper than anyone could have imagined. See what you think:






'When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore.

So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too. That's love.'
Rebecca- age 8



'When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different.
You just know that your name is safe in their mouth.'
Billy - age 4



'Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other.'
Karl - age 5



'Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs.'
Chrissie - age 6



'Love is what makes you smile when you're tired.'
Terri - age 4



'Love is when my mummy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him, to make sure the taste is OK.'
Danny - age 7



'Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more.
My Mummy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss'
Emily - age 8



'Love is what's in the room with you at Christmas if you stop opening presents and listen.'
Bobby - age 7 (Wow!)



'If you want to learn to love better, you should start with a friend who you hate,'
Nikka - age 6
(we need a few million more Nikka's on this planet)



'Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday.'
Noelle - age 7



'Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well.'
Tommy - age 6



'During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling.
He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore.'
Cindy - age 8



'My mummy loves me more than anybody
You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night.'
Clare - age 6



'Love is when Mummy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken.'
Elaine-age 5



'Love is when Mummy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford.'
Chris - age 7




'I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones.'
Lauren - age 4



'When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you.' (what an image)
Karen - age 7



'Love is when Mummy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross...'
Mark - age 6



'You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget.'
Jessica - age 8



And the final one -- Author and lecturer Leo Buscaglia once talked about a contest he was asked to judge.

The purpose of the contest was to find the most caring child.
The winner was a four year old child whose next door neighbor was an elderly gentleman who had recently lost his wife.
Upon seeing the man cry, the little boy went into the old gentleman's yard, climbed onto his lap, and just sat there.
When his Mother asked what he had said to the neighbour, the little boy said,
'Nothing, I just helped him cry'

My double digit doris.

Yesterday my girl turned ten. Double figures.

We had a party with nine of her closest friends. And her little brother.


They did playing and screeching and beading and present opening and screeching and squealing and a fiercely competitive'Strictly Come Party' contest complete with professionals (the girls from ballet class) and the celebrities (the ones from school). After several minutes of intense practice we were treated to lifts, shimmies and some v. graceful neck and head arches.

The top row are the riddles on the box-in-a-box-in-a-box where her 'not' present was hidden.

The middle row is the nose of a crochetted toy dog she got as a stand-in for the real live puppy which will arrive in the new year. Look at that face when the knowledge sinks in!

The bottom row are party pics - the fun to be had with metre long straws! her triple decker checkerboard cake and two participants of 'Strictly Come Party' (three if you count my grey dog getting in on the act!)

Have you ever noticed no-one overtakes a police car?

Dear Innernets,

would it be alright if I rang one of you to bail me out of jail? Perhaps there could even be some sort of fund to dip into to share the cost-bearing. Tonight up here on the hill I made a strike for the rights of the common man.


I may have mentioned before that our little town up here is really only three streets wide and as the three conjoin there is a sweeping bend which makes the whole thing verrrrrrrrrrrry narrow and I turn around there to go home.


As I came up beside the bank there was a police car stopped in front of me. He was sitting there chatting to the occiffer in the police car beside him.

Both of them stopped on double yellow lines. Taking up the entire width of the road. So after a few seconds I gently beeped my horn. The van drove off and the police car rolled forward indicating I should wind down my window. Obvbiously it was at this point that I should feel all submissive and respectful b/c he was driving a police car.



'Did you just beep your car horn at me?'



'Yes.'



'Well you shouldn't because I am driving a police car and I can send you to prison.'



'Well you shouldn't be stopped on double yellow lines.'



'Is there a problem?'



'Yes. I need to get home to my children.'



'Calm down.'



'No I won't b/c if it had been anyone else stopped like that blocking the road you would have had something to say about it.'



'It is illegal to beep your horn when you are stationary Madam.'



'Well I wouldn't have been stationary if you hadn't been stopped there!' And then drove away.



I figured it would all be okay in the end b/c I was driving CK's car ;-

Note to self. When the hole is so deep you can no longer see the sky - STOP DIGGING!!!!

I have just spoken with my 'silver'* s-i-l and while chatting she exclaimed over the joys to be found online. Without thinking I mentioned something about blogging and blogs. Oh silly me!

'Oh, do you blog?'

'Errrrrrrrr......yessss...'


'What do you blog about?'


'It's my not-so-secret online diary'


'I shall have to read it.'


'You'll have to find it first.'


Do you think I can last a month at home without anyone tracking it down?










* think Olympics.

I WASN'T STANDING ON THE TABLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

things not to admit to one's children

Since discovering YouTube CK, Princess Curly-Wurly and DestructoBoy have spent many a happy afternoon (or morning or even into the evening) finding music that they love or tv clips to enjoy. Since she joined the Doctor the Catherine Tate 'Lauren' ones have been a special favourite.

Now, given the accustations flying around the innernets about my attitudes and behaviour I'm not entirely certain I should publish this but when my family are laughing at 'Lauren' in this sketch b/c she is so outrageous in class I am torn between laughing at her chutzpah and laughing in recognition.

On the off chance that Mr Murphy, my home room teacher from Yr 10, ever actually reads this let me say - while I am not apologising I could possibly accept that 'obnoxious' may have been a suitable adjective ;-)

I went to London on Friday.

and do you know what Innernets? It was a very big and busy place!

Not so big and busy that I was able to hide from those crazy real imaginary people who have been haunting my blog for some time now.

Having collected Missus Moog from the ABBA train station, we (Missus Moog, Wonderwoman and myself) set off for Islington - along with two thirds of the population of the UK. On arrival we were a little taken aback as the queue to get into the C.L. fair stretched down around the building and snaked its way along the road into the next block!!!!!! There really wasn't much for a girl to do other than join the wait and take out her knitting to pass the time!

Finally we got in and were descended upon by one highly excited Locket and marginally more cicumspect Gina. Obviously I had to be a little nice to Locket as she had my ticket but once through the door I dropped all pretence and reverted to my normal charmless self.

The (by-now-traditional) blogger meet-up gift exchange thing took place (in order thanks to Locket, Gina and Lesley)

and then I ran off and hid from them all because to be honest (with the exception of Ali, Locket's bossy big sister and occasionally Gina) they were appallingly behaved - swigging wine, making vendors think they had a sale, being rude about other shoppers and getting sworn at! This doesn't even begin to cover the whole 'showing of exceedingly large pieces of cloth' thing. Or the 'quiche filled with cement' thing.

The afternoon was rounded off with a trip to Loop. I think the bumping of their cases over the London pavements had made both Locket and Missus Moog slightly crazed, I'm not sure either is fit to be out publicly in shops. There was a suggestion from the lovely man at Loop that we may like to offer compensation for the whole situation. I would just like to offer my apologies now and ask that he hold off on lawyers for as bit until I can speak with those two ;-)

Thankfully Wonderwoman (not!) went home quite happy, clutching a bag full of gorgeous Manos del Uruguay. I had to pry it from her hands to get her coat off her when we got on the train.

Then to finish off my trip you won't believe WHO came off the train behind me and got into the car parked next to mine!! Yes, that instigator of A.R.S.E. - Mrs Ibsongay. I watched carefully in my rearview mirror all the way up the hill!

10 things that make me happy.

It is raining here today. Again.



I have read lots of blogs when I should have been doing other stuff.



I have been doing the other stuff but it has made me cough.



I think I will make a'Happy List'.





1. Watching my old dog sleep. For a biggish dog he can curl up very small.



2. Watching my black dog prepare himself for sleep on a cold day. His very fluffy tail is curled around to cover his nose and half his head. Everytime he does it I have stop and watch. It makes me smile.



3. Going painting. I did this last night and had a fabulous time. Those women make me laugh and the painting gods were smiling on me. Things were finished off.



4. Posting parcels and packages. I sent things off to April and also to Missus Stashbasket and a young man on the other side of the world. I hope all are pleasantly surprised with their mail.



5. Learning new things and finding them less complex than anticipated. I taught myself how to knit a picot edge this week.





6. Gifts from friends - I was given an 'official helper badge' this week.



7. Knowing there is only a month until we head for the sun.



8. Destructoboy.



9. Princess Curly-Wurly.



10. CK.

Lest we forget.

I wrote this last year and have read it a couple of times since. Each time I end up with tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. There seems no need for new words.

"This is my 50th post. As seems (and rightly so) to be the form in the part of the blogosphere I spend most time a big number post is an occasion for celebration. I had great plans for this to be the one where the whistles, bells, party hats and streamers came out.



There might even have been a giveaway; of course it would have to be something I loved so that if nobody else joined in I would be more than happy to keep it for myself. (Selfish? Moi?) But 'workingmomknits' left a comment on Post #49 that asked about the significance of the poppy flower and November 11 so I am using this auspicious post for a much more worthwhile use of words.



Simply put W.M.K., November 11 is like the US Veterans Day. Most likely it is why the US has chosen that date.



At the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month in 1918 the ceasefire of World War 1 was officially declared. It was months before the war was officially over but the killing stopped. So here in the UK at 11'o'clock on the 11th of the 11th every year a two minute silence is observed.



Two minutes in which to be still and remember. Officially it is to remember the soldiers of all the conflicts since the 1914/18. But I like to remember more.



Remember the ones who died. Remember the ones who lived. Remember the ones who fought with faith and conviction. Remember the ones who fought only for their 'brothers in arms'. Remember the ones who ran away from the fighting, those shot for cowardice and desertion when they were simply young boys who cracked.



I spend my two minutes thinking of the women and children who stayed at home waiting. Of the volunteers who joined up because it was a man's duty to protect and serve. Of the men and women who were conscripted.



During those two minutes, as the tears roll down my cheeks and the lump in my throat becomes more dense, I think of the old men laying a wreath in memoria to their lost friends, of the men and women serving now around the world.



I observe the two minute silence because for me it is important to value the lives lost, whose ever they were, during the futility that is war.



The poppy is a simple flower. It will blossom anywhere, on any soil. It was the first flower to bloom again on the Western Front after the fighting stopped. Its symbolism is potent. It does not commemorate war but celebrates the value of peace. "

well...okay, but remember you all asked for it.

This whole idea of 'great posts being streamlined to fit into a commentbox' has been lingering for a while. As has the idea that perhaps it is a post in itself. But my thoughts coalesced today when I was surfing through RicRac's blog roll and today's 'This is....' was 'This is ... my favourite quote'

Someone's blog (I have just made a fool of myself over at Jodie's while looking for the link) highlighted the fabulous exchange between Lady Nancy Astor and Winston Churchill in parliament in the twenties. You know the one -


'Sir, if you were my husband I should poison you.'


Madam, if you were my wife I should drink it.'


Always makes me think of another (currently unattributable) exchange - poss Lady A and Winnie again but maybe not -


'Sir you are drunk'


'Yes Madam but you are ugly and at least I shall be sober in the morning.'



Which in turn always makes me think of this place.

Years ago I worked in a cafe at one end of this street and was shutting up for the evening after a long and very busy Summer's day trade. On my way to clear the outside tables I vaguely noticed some people in the distance. My hands were full of other people's tea cups, cream tea remnants and such as I went back through the door so I hooked it closed with my foot. Except that it didn't close.


In the time it had taken me to make outside less attractive to the pigeons (a universe full of another story) the people had made it parallel with the cafe and one was on his way in for a restorative tea, just as I shut the door over.



He went ballistic in his so soothing Northern Irish accent, demanding to know why I had shut his head in the door and refusing to accept my apology that I hadn't seen him. He got all shouty and red-faced at me so I must confess to you all that I got a little shouty back. You are all surprised, right?

(It wasn't actually him > but you get the idea of level of shouty Northern Irishman to which I am referring .)

Please bear in mind that while this exchange is taking place I am laden with china and jam and scones and clotted cream, not to mention the assortment of tea dregs in my hands. Oh, and my boss and her friend were right behind me.

He kept ranting, even making it personal saying 'that I was fat and I'd seen him walk towards me and he only wanted a cup of tea' and well, I must confess to letting fly. I said that while I may be overweight I could always go on a diet but he would always be crazy. He stomped off muttering away.

Apparently he came back the following Summer and wanted to know if the angry Australian waitress was there before he would come inside! ;-)

Best blog post ideas

Mine always come when I am leaving comments.


So do I stop commenting or repeat myself in blog posts?


Oh the dilemmas!

Have you met my new boyfriend?

He has just got a new job and things are going to be kind of busy so sadly we won't have a lot of time together for a while. But he has promised to ring regularly and we text like crazy.


I am going to miss having him around every day but I must learn to be a bit more selfless. My new guy, he is kind of an angel really.



I hope you can all get to meet him some day.

maybe really, really interesting

Tomorrow is sure going to be interesting!

Weekend work (fabric has been claimed :-)

It rained here this weekend.



And it was cold.



It was also extremely windy, especially just in front of the main door.



The childer were recovering from all the attendant excesses of a Halloween sleepover.



So CK made us all do boring old house stuff.



The airing cupboard has been begging for a sortout for some many months now. Once our guest had left on Saturday morning CK pulled everything out onto the floor with great relish then came downstairs and said I would have to go sort it all!



Poor old Princess C-W's bedroom was several metres under towels, bed linen, cot sheets, ancient cloth nappies, table linen and fabric. Lots of fabric.



For someone who doesn't sew it seems I have quite a stockpile of fabric - just in case.

Just in case I work out how to use my sewing machine.
Just in case there is ever a worldwide fabric shortage.
Just in case I ever have a need for some wide strips of plum coloured cord.


We bought 10 storage bins - 2x75 litre, 2x40 litre, 6x15 litre. The littles are fabulous for table linens, single duvet covers, 'in-case of'* duvet covers and pillowcases - one for them and one for us, everything all paired up and easy to hand.


The medium ones fit sheets and our duvet covers (kingsize so they needed some space) and then the big ones. One has a couple of duvets and the other? All 75 litres? Is full to the brim of fabric. All kinds, all sizes, all weights and colours. Among all the exciting stuff was a 2 metre piece of dove, grey heavy, slubby linen. How fantastic is that!


However I didn't keep all of it. A few scraps got thrown into the bin and then I put some into a bag because I thought you folks on the innernets may like to have a little nosey too.

There is just about everything in there - from cotton to fleece, fake fur to silk. Some bits are scrappy and others are over a metre long. If you are interested in a bag of scraps leave your name and you may join in the benificence of CK's weekend work :-)

*skanky old ones but good enough to keep 'in-case of' sicky bugs