Three tell-tale signs .....

 

.... that there's a princess around!

 

View from my heavily personalised "arrow slit" from whence inspiration cometh.

 

You may recall that I am currently squatting in the east turret

of Castle Long Dog with my son, his beautiful Ozzie Sheila wife

and their daughter, the fair Ocean Lily.

 

There's three sure-fire ways to tell that you're in the entourage

of a three year old royal:

 

 

1.  Pink rules, OK!

2.  A vast number of key words in a conversation now have to be spelled out, and

 

 

3.  Something very odd seems to happen to the toilet rolls from time to time.

 

No Alice, I haven't sneaked the Andrex puppy in under cover of darkness. 

My heart remains forever true to lurchers and longdogs.

I do so miss them.

 

 

 



Learn from my mistakes!

Long, long, long dog ago when the world was young,

Adam was still a boy

and I was still in short knickers

(these days I simply don't bother - it's so liberating to feel the breeze)

a stunning, breath-takingly beautiful design was born

called ........ Scarlet Ribands.

Some of you are probably even old enough to remember it
or possibly still struggling on trying to get it finished.

Just as I had imagined it.

It was born during my "red phase" shortly after Mouline Rouge and
The Token and just before Bois le Duc.

So what did I do?
I decided to stitch it up in DMC B5200 Brilliant White
on a Terra Cotta Aida.

 

I've always been canny with my money and as I didn't have any white

material instantly to hand I thought I'd be frugal and go

with what I had.  OK so this is a nice way of saying I'm mean.

 

 

I knew instantly that this was a grave error of judgement on my part

but did I stop?  Did I hell!

 

 

On and on I stitched like a thing demented while my tea went cold

and my G&T grew warm, with every new stitch compounding

my felony until it lay finished on my knees and my fingers ached

from sheer exhaustion.  (I get a bit dramatic at times - sorry).

 

I want you to know - love doesn't always conquer all and

I still can't stand looking at it to this day!  Yeuk!!!!

What's that Suzie, you did yours on Terra Cotta too - ooops.

 

 

 

 



"B" is for .......

BANK HOLIDAY - yippee cry all of those of you

unfortunate enough to still have to work for a living.

 

All ready to go.

 

"B" is for bean plants of the runner variety bought

at the local garden centre on the annual bank holiday pilgrimage.

 

The south facade.

 

"B" is for the battlements of Castle Long Dog looking magnificent on

this sunny summer's day.  No arrow slits or indeed crennelations

for the purists but tant pis as we used to say many lifetimes ago.

 

 

"B" is for barbie, the first of the year and certainly not the fraught

sort of affair complete with burnt offerings to which I have become

accustomed over the years.  No, this was all so laid back it

was almost horizontal, no danger of salmonella and

no having to slip the raw bits to the dogs when nobody was looking.

It was wonderful.

 

 

And finally, "B" is for badly snapped lupin because I couldn't find

any begonias, butterflies or bunnies to fit the bill.  It's also for

bum but as all the workmen have gone now I couldn't find

one of those either for your amusement although let me see .....

 

 

That should lower the tone nicely!

 

 



In a "houndbag"?

 

.... to misquote Lady Augusta Bracknell.

The houndbag to which I refer certainly had no part to play

in Oscar Wilde's "The Importance of Being Ernest"

but a leading role in the life and times of a Long Dog woman like me.

 

 

I went to heft it onto my shoulder this morning as is my wont only

to be met by several tons of resistance. 

It was very heavy.  Had what strength I had deserted me in the

night or was it time for drastic action - a clear out?

 

The tassells had to stay (they were from Mouche's old collar) and it

wouldn't be a houndbag without the resident plastic greyhound now would it?

 

 

Mirror, tweezers, comb, nail file, lippy x 2 (both the same shade).

lead pencil, purse and tape measure - all vital parts of my kit.

 

 

Wallet - yes, shades - yes, you never know when you will be invited

to an impromptu Blues Brothers party, racy hat with feather - he and

I are never parted - I've had him since he was a pup,

 greyhound/fox head bangle - silly question, obligatory!

 

 

Assorted cables and leads, calculator, air mail stickers, another pencil,

stapler, Dad's old penknife and army lighter, polished carnelian stone

(a present from Lisa), tiny porcelain plate out of a Christmas

galette du roi, a piece of enamelled Maundy money and a packet of

Garibaldi biscuits (or squashed fly if you prefer, well out of sell by date)

- definately all items required on voyage.

 

 

Which only leaves my Kindle Fire (the charger has already been mentioned).

French 2-pages per week diary and a boxed set of Hamish Macbeth DVD's

- all compulsory.

 

So do I take up weight training to improve my arm muscles

or get some wheels fitted?

 

 

 

 

 

 



There's no fool like an old fool!

I have, of late, developed a taste for granola for breakfast.

This morning was no exception.

 

Yum, yum.

 

However, feeling rather guilty about the half eaten packet of

Rice Crispies I had spurned for my new passion,

I decided to add a couple of handfuls of them too -

waste not, want not having been drummed into me at an early age.

 

A quick dollop of low fat Greek yoghurt (who am I trying to kid - low fat?)

and it was back upstairs to my lair to let the heady mix foment awhile.

 

Could this be the cause of my fears?

 

My butterfly brain (of the Lupus variety) quickly moved on to

matters more interesting like a new needlework blog I'd

found recently and Prince Charle's latest gaffe, when I became

aware of a curious noise which I didn't quite recognise

although it sounded "rodent" inspired to me.

 

I searched high and low for the source of my anxiety.

Not rats again please.  Perhaps the workmen had disturbed

something nasty in the walls which was now about to seek revenge?

 

It turned out, however, to be nothing more sinister than the

Rice Crispies coming to life beneath their blanked of yoghurt.

To use an old Norfolk saying "What am I loik?"

I must get out more.

So there I was ......

..... minding my own business trying to fathom out

6 Across: Proportion, five letters - something, something,

T, something something.

 

 

6 Across has always been regarded as F, something, something, K of an

ill-fated clue in my family ever since my father died whilst in the course

of solving it, many moons ago. right there in his armchair.  

Admittedly it was the Telegraph Cryptic

which does put an altogether different slant on the matter.

Mine was in a small book of "Coffee Break Puzzles"

so I didn't really feel in any imminent danger.

Pick any two, they all look dodgey to me!

 

 It was at the exact same moment that the front door nearly

came off it's hinges.  When I finally got downstairs to answer

it there stood two extremely dodgey looking geezers
on the doorstep complete with a fine collection of tattoo's both

front and back although how far down they went was

anyone's guess.

 

 

Over the weekend my son had left a trailer full of rubbish to be

taken to the dump and they had spotted the old copper boiler

and various other bits of metal that they offered to take off my hands.

 

"Nothing to do with me mate" I said craning my neck to look

up at the smaller of the two, "it belongs to my son."

"When will he be back" said tattooed man No 1.

Knowing full well that it wouldn't be until the weekend at the earliest

I continued to bluff it out not wanting them back again

any time soon.

 

 An offer of a fiver soon went up to thirty notes when thankfully

my daughter in law pulled into the drive.  Suddenly the heap of worthless

rubbish grew in value (that girl can barter) and the price

rose and rose.  It was like being at an auction when two old dears

both want the same piece of Spode for their dressers.

Money eventually changed hands and the blokes left.

 

Funny how potentially tight corners seem to turn up even

when you are minding your own business.

I must have something about my person that attracts them.

 

The answer was "RATIO" by the way - just in case you were stuck.

 

 

 

 

 

 



The devil makes work ......

not only for idle hands but, in my case, idle feet too.

 

You put your right foot in, your right foot out ....

 

 Please don't be alarmed, this is not some new and rather

strange foot fetish that I have developed of late

nor was I attending a meeting of one-legged women.

It is a photo taken accidentally whilst trying to

kick start my camera back into life.

The feet in question belong to myself and the lovely

Mrs Cassidy, stitcher extraordinaire and friend in a million.

 

But as usual I digress.

 

The image reminded me of an incident which took place last week.

You know how it is, time on your hands,

not much to do and the next thing you know your

thoughts have transported you back to those heady days of your

youth when, in my case, I could put both feet behind my

head and think nothing of it.

 

 

I think most of you will guess what is coming next.

At the very moment that my left foot locked arthritically

behind my left ear cramp struck in my left hip.

 

It was nearly midday and no one else was due back in the

house until six o'clock at the earliest.

Small beads of sweat broke out on my upper lip,

I was glad that I had decided to have a wee before.

and not after, my trip down memory lane, panic swiftly turned

to hysteria followed by a fit of the giggles and I

wondered how I would explain my plight to the ambulance

crew who I was convinced would feature somewhere

in my latest escapade.

I wonder what happened to my skates?

 

Eventually I braced myself between the bedhead and the

windowsill, took a deep breath (this helps in a multitude of

tight corners) and pulled the offending foot outwards

and upwards with both hands until it came free.  Oooooof!

 

Please do not try this at home.

They're back!

There I was laying flat on my back while a full scale

eight years old's birthday party raged downstairs.

It was much akin to Armageddon (out of here) meets

Gunners supporters on speed.

 

And as the house gently shook I turned my head slightly

to the left and my heart skipped a beat because

from my bedroom window I caught my first glimpse

this year of some swallows who had made their

way back from South Africa to nest here in Norfolk.

Bravo!

May the beat go on and the cycle continue.

Yesterday was good ......

..... and after yet another visit to yet another doctor

my very thoughtful Ozzie daughter-in-law

whisked me off into the heart of Norwich

to join the public library.

 

The Forum which houses the new library

 

So much has changed since I was last here.

The old library burned down while I was in France

and the new one is quite amazing and just a little

bit overwhelming if I'm honest.

 

The covered market

 

Some things, however, never change.

The old covered market with it's brightly covered awnings

was just as busy as ever.

 

 

The 900 year old cathedral was just as beautiful and

awe inspiring as the day it was built.

 

 

And the buskers were still out in force entertaining

the locals and visitors alike although I don't remember

ever having seen one quite so shy as this guitarist

who wishes to remain anonymous.

Perhaps it was Eric Clapton having a laugh.

 



An apology

I must apologise for the lack of fun we seem to be having on

the blog at the moment.

 

Look, they're even doing meme's about the Bayeux Tapestry now!

  

There are many reasons for this - most of which

are beyond my control at present.

 

Somewhere between France & England

 

My camera is in England

however all the bits and pieces that go with it are in .....

France.

So no fun photos as I don't even have a phone

that will do the job.

Not a longdog but beggars can't be chosers!

 

 

My trips beyond the bedroom door are also

rather few and far between of late and as most of them

culminate on the receiving end of one or several

members of the medical profession there's

usually very little of a stimulating or amusing nature to report back.

 

A girl can dream.

 

And if that wasn't enough

my brain is in such a fog of late that sometimes it's

quite difficult to string a few coherent words together

let alone put e-pen to e-paper in an attempt to raise a smile

The Irish space agency launch pad

So come on, give me a steer
What would you like to hear about.
Don't answer that Camilla!

Here she comes again!

This lady brightens my day,

so with glasses and a dodgey accent at the ready

I'm about to self motivate.

I must try not to feel self-conscious or giggle, that would never do.

 

Give it a try, I'm sure they can't touch you for it..

Sometimes life saddens me

The other day during my stay at the health spa and fitness centre (hospital)

I was awoken at some ungodly hour by the noise of a team of reasonably

attractive looking workmen busily jet washing the entrance

to the West Block.

You can hose me down any time lads.

 

Four of them spent a considerable time meticulously removing

every dog end and blob of chewing gum from

the paved entrance area.

They were just finishing and were starting to pack up their
equipment having done a job to be proud of when
out of the automatic doors waddled a heavily pregnant
young woman in a pink dressing gown towing a drip stand.



A close approximation minus drip stand.

She quickly lit up her cigarette and stood there puffing away.
Then without further ado she cast her dog end on the
freshly cleaned pavement right next to the bin provided
for smokers and ground it out with her foot.

I was saddened by her actions for many reasons.
What must the nurses and doctors think who are trying to
help her and her unborn child.
What a total lack of disrespect for the workmen who
were trying to keep the public area clean and tidy for everyone
to enjoy but worst of all ....
what a selfish disregard for the new life growing inside her.
Her future son or daughter.

I counted a further three such women throughout the morning.
Sometimes I despair!



A warning .....

..... for those of you of a nervous disposition ...

 

BANG!!!!

 

That was very silly Julia, behave yourself.

No, the warning is of bad language (the "F" word), flashing images,

pictures of parrots, childish jokes, blow up's of hippo's.

Cillian Murphy wearing a cap and Nigella

wrestling naked in a vat of chocolate.

Well you were warned!

What I just wanted to draw to your attention is that 10th May
is World Lupus Day.  I shall probably "celebrate" it flat on
my back in bed where I seem to have been for ages now as I'm
in the middle of a flare. 

Wear purple, spitting not compulsory though.

There's loads of information (and gruesome pictures, if you're that
way inclined) on the web.  It's not widely spoken of but
there's loads of poor sods like me around the world trying
to do our best to cope with this truly horrible affliction.

I make no apologies for this, you were warned and it makes me laugh.

Not much to add really except perhaps the following picture which
doesn't make me laugh but does have an alarming effect upon my knees ....

Do you need a light mate?

Oh! yes, yes she cried ..... it's Cillian Murphy in a cap.
Consider yourselves lucky I spared you the one of Nigella!

I've been away for a few days .......

Door to door transport ........



The speedo reach Warp 6 this trip.

 

Room service .......



Cordon Noire if I'm not mistaken.

Lots to see and do .......

 

Some very unusual treatments on offer in the beauty salon.

..... and, some truly inspirational people to chat to.

Some mornings the queue for the bathroom could stretch right down the corridor.

 

I met an amazing woman in her seventies who, in the course of her cancer

treatment, had her tongue reconstructed, hadn't eaten for three

years and was fed through her stomach yet she still looked

after her young grandson two days a week and regularly

cycled to the shops.

 

My path crossed with another sweet soul of ninety one who worked

on spitfires during the war and the tales she told of

being a teenager in London during the blitz would make your hair curl.

Especially when sleeping down the underground during an air raid.

 

Another poor, suffering lady with major stomach problems

was required to keep a "poo chart" and had I not met her I would

not be the "expert" on the subject that I have now become.

 

However, all good things must come to an end so .....

 

 

...... sod it, I'm away home!  Don't worry, I can still walk.