exit looming

This morning I handed to my boss my notice of retirment. I haven’t been able to stop smiling since. Five weeks to go and that’s all. Fantastic!

don’t try this at home!

I refuse to believe that it’s old age but rather being un-used to the recent improvement in weather and the resultant rise in temperature that caused me this morning to put a string of beads into the washing machine along with the bed linen. I’d been bringing the beads to the kitchen to get the little gadget that I use when I want to shorten beads temporarily.  A few minutes later I couldn’t find the beads and when re-tracing my steps didn’t locate them either I thought I might have put them in with the washing load. Sure enough, when the washing cycle was coming to an end, I heard the telltale sound of something clanking against the drum. Fortunately, the beads survived their ordeal. It’s not a method I’d recommend for cleaning jewellery and it probably wouldn’t do the washing machine much good either but the beads do look fresher and brighter after their environmentally friendly low temperature wash!

lottery shmottery

As I came up in the office lift yesterday, I realised that I’d been dive-bombed by one of our feathered friends whilst walking through town. By the size of the mess, it could only have been a pigeon that splattered my jacket and bag strap and not one of the numerous seagulls that threaten from every rooftop. I stopped by a colleague’s room to say good morning and to ask if I’d been hit anywhere else too but she assured me ‘no’. She said it was supposed to be lucky to be dive-bombed and that maybe I should buy a lottery ticket. I’d heard this before, about the luck part I mean but wearing a jacket with bird crap stains down the front of it does not strike me as particularly lucky. Anyway, yesterday’s lottery was a big rollover so I bought a ticket. I’ve bought lottery tickets in the past. This is how it usually goes:

For some unknown reason I feel lucky so I log on to the lottery and select the Euro millions game. I pick the numbers at random and buy for that evening’s draw. If I later think about there being a winner’s email in my inbox the next day, I get a little frisson of excitement. What if I really have won? I’m not greedy. I don’t  need to have won all 58 million Euros or however much the jackpot was. I’d be happy with half or a quarter of it or just a million or two. A half million would be fine. A few thousands or hundreds even. Anything at all really! Just make it worth my while to have bought all those dud tickets in the past with a bit of interest thrown in for good measure, thank you. In the next breath I tell myself that people like me don’t win lotteries. Don’t ask me what ‘kind’ do. I’ve no idea but not my kind for sure. In my whole life I have won two raffle prizes and had one lottery win. Seriously! In my whole life that’s the extent of my prize winnings.

I never check the results and sometimes I don’t check my emails for days. This keeps my expectation of a win quite high. Well, there’s obviously an email waiting to say I’ve won but I won’t rush it. At the same time, as I never win anything, it’s unlikely to be there I tell myself, but then again why not? Someone has to win. Thinking like this can keep the excitement mounting. I try to imagine how I’ll react when I get the invitation to come and collect my winnings. Will I be able to walk into work next day without a smirk on my face? Will I even bother going to work next day? How will I share the winnings? What would be the first thing I would buy after the champagne and caviar?

Days after the draw I finally check the emails by which time I’ve almost forgotten about the lottery ticket. There is a lottery email! My heart skips a beat. My finger hovers over the mouse button. To open or not to open. No! No! Don’t delay it any longer! This is a life-changing email! I open it. Crap. It’s just about where they safely stored my ticket numbers. Only once have I received an ‘we have good news about your lottery ticket’ email. I won £2.50. Perhaps this week will be different. I bought the ticket on a Tuesday for the Tuesday draw instead of Friday. Might that have made me luckier? I want to check the emails now but at the same time I don’t want to because I’m bound to be disappointed again. I’ll be no poorer in spirit for not having won and if I won a substantial amount it might change me beyond all recognition but I’d quite like the opportunity to test the theory!

OK, I’ve convinced myself. No point in putting it off any longer. I’ll just publish this first and then check those emails… Back in a bit.

enough of ‘of’

I recommend that you read this post on Elaine’s blog. I only caught up with it today and I agree with what she says about the use of ‘like’. It got me thinking about other words that are frequently wrongly used. My current pet hate is seeing ‘of” when it should be ‘have’. I often need to read a sentence twice in order to make sense of it because ‘of’ has been substituted for ‘have’.

 
I’ll give the errant users the benefit of the doubt and assume that the cause of this incorrect use of the preposition is down to the accoustic properties of our language because I don’t want to believe that there might be school teachers out there who don’t know how to write what they speak and therefore fail to correct pupils who do the same. Computer spell-check software won’t highlight the problem even if there’s a spelling error and whereas the MS Word grammar-check software will indicate that ‘of’ with ‘should’, ‘would’ or ‘could’ ought to be replaced by ‘have’, many users remain completely oblivious to the error. Mobile phones work on the same basis and text-speak must take some of the blame for a lowering of standards in written grammar and spelling.

 
Her Majesty’s Civil Service has succumbed to word sloppiness these days too and where once upon a few decades ago a draft letter could not be sent to the typing pool without it being checked beforehand by someone of a higher grade for possible errors in grammar, spelling, and relevant content, now we can all send emails, texts and traditional letters without a manager ever being aware of our grammatical skills or the lack thereof. Grammar, spelling, and content checking have all disappeared in the name of ‘lean’ and so-called progress. If only ‘should of’, ‘would of’ and ‘could of’ were to disappear likewise – that to me would be progress indeed.

what choice?

This one’s another rant so I’ll understand if you leave now.

 
I needed a pork knuckle for a particular recipe and thought I had nothing better to do but pick one out of the chill cabinet at my local (large) Sainsbury’s branch yesterday. Not so – there were none to be had so I went to the butcher counter but the helpful assistant there told me that Sainsbury’s only sell boneless pork. I innocently asked what they did with all the bones then, thinking that they were removed by the butcher in-store and that perhaps I could buy a quantity of same, but she stunned me by saying that all pork is delivered to the stores minus the bones! Does that mean that I can never hope to buy a pork knuckle in Sainsbury’s? I guess so.

 
I know that there are thousands of people out there who would run a mile from any meat product that was even vaguely recognisable as an animal part, but I am not one of them and I also know that I am not the only woman in Britain who still cooks from scratch, avoids the ‘ping dinner’ aisle of any supermarket like we would a rabid dog, and who just wants to know that I have choice. (Sainsbury’s appear to have stopped stocking extra hot Tabasco too and I’ve given up hoping for brown gluten-free pitta to be re-stocked after it suddenly disappeared off the shelves months ago.)
I mourn the passing of local butcher and fishmonger shops as a result of supermarkets pricing them out of existence and I object to large conglomerates dictating ‘choice’ based on shareholder dividends, profit margins and so-called customer surveys. (I’ve been a supermarket shopper for over forty years but have never been asked to take part in a customer survey and don’t know anyone who has, do you?)

 
After Sainsbury’s we went to Waitrose’s, a store I have never been annoyed with but when we were queuing for coffee and tea in the cafe area it was apparent that JP had a variety of sticky buns and cakes and sandwiches to choose from but for me, the gluten-free range was limited to just three things – all of which were pre-packed brownie types and chocolate or fruit based. I love chocolate and fruit as much as the next person but I do not like chocolate cakes or chocolate brownies or anything else where the chocolate or chocolate derivitive is baked in and anything with a heavy fruit content sets my blood glucose levels soaring skywards and beyond. I’ve come to terms with the fact that as a coeliac diabetic I have fewer choices in restaurants and cafes but I somewhat grumpily settled for a bag of crisps with my coffee. Later in the day I well and truly saw red when I read an article in the summer edition of the Waitrose Love Life magazine advertising a new gluten-free range of ‘teatime treats’ which were not all laden with chocolate or fruit and which are their own brand. So why weren’t they available in their cafe???????????

 
Rant over.

a grand day out

Every six weeks or so, I meet up with a friend in Reading. Today is one of those days.
I get to the station well ahead of my train departing because I’m that kind of traveller but I also like having time to watch the other passengers and try to guess what lives they lead just from what they’re wearing and how they stand on the platform. I enjoy the train journey too. Sometimes I like to look out of the window and sometimes I just read my Kindle.

 
When I arrive at Reading, I will meet my friend just inside John Lewis’s store. There we will have coffee and sticky buns (or similar) while we catch up on our news and then we’ll wander around the women’s fashions probably not finding much in colours that we like. Out onto the street again we will stroll to TK Maxx which has had little to temp us these last few visits but we must always have a good look round, just in case there’s a shoe bargain to be found. As we leave TK Maxx we’ll realise that we haven’t had lunch yet but will probably make do with soup in Pret à Manger and chat some more. Back to the shopping mall proper after that and more wandering. Depending on what we might each be looking for today or how tired we are by then, we could decide on a quick trawl around Marks and Spencer or Debenhams or both or neither although we usually manage at least one of them after which we’re glad of a sit down and it’ll be another coffee (no buns this time) or heading straight for dinner – usually tapas and a bottle of wine.

 
Just before 7pm we’ll walk quickly to the railway station, say our farewells and go to our separate platforms. Once my train is pulling out of the station, I’ll send a text to say I’m safely on the way home. I do this at my friend’s request because one day I mis-read the information board, got on the wrong train going in the wrong direction and after several changes of trains and a long solitary wait in a scary station, arrived home in the early hours of the morning, four hours later than I should have. I will most likely be collected from the station once I arrive home which is a lovely finish to the day although I wouldn’t really object to walking home from there. My friend and I will already have decided on the date of our next day out and all I have to do now is look forward to another grand day out!

progress of sorts

On Friday last week, JP and I paid a visit to Ikea but as far as JP was concerned, it was to be mainly a browsing expedition. I, on the other hand, was determined not to return home empty-handed but I also knew that the quantity of any flat-pack purchases would need to be restricted due to the size of the car boot.

 

I had had a particular chair in mind for my soon-to-be workroom but although it looked good online, it wasn’t comfortable to sit on. A quick test of various others found me choosing a sleek black model which was destined to accompany us on the journey home.  At £62.99 the quality might not be good enough for a blue chip company boardroom but I like it, even though I feel as if I should be wearing a power suit when I lean back in it…

 

 
Having wandered around Ikea’s table department for quite a while, I decided on a two metre long table top with legs. Yesterday I preferred two small single door cabinets rather than legs. This morning I changed my mind again.  I have two tall four drawer cabinets and if I settle for a shorter length of table top, I might fit one of these set of drawers into the resultant free space and then I might also be able to fit my dressmaker’s dummy in front of the drawers. If that worked, I’d revert to having legs on one side instead of a cabinet. Still with me? In my mind’s eye this will work and it won’t look crowded but considering that on the working surface at any one time could be a laptop, a printer, a television, a worklamp, a radio and whatever project I’m working on, the reality will be much much different. Something second son said the other week gave me the idea of a doughnut-shaped work surface/table. Picture me sitting in my executive’s chair in the hole in the middle and everything to hand as I swivel round. I just need a bigger room or a bigger house. Could be time for a session with Google Sketchup again.

why privacy matters

When I read a news item the other day about how WordPress bloggers could enable friends to find our blogs through Facebook or Twitter or Google Contacts, I have to admit that I was horrified at the thought that I could be ‘outed’ so easily. One of the major plus points of starting a blog for me was that I could retain my anonymity if I wished.

 
I have not posted photographs of me or my friends or family on this blog and that’s how it will remain unless they allow otherwise. Even my avatar image is not of me. By remaining anonymous, I can let off steam about the things that bug or interest me without fear of recrimination. I mistakenly told a few family members and a couple of friends about the blog in the early days and then realised that it would be best if I never referred to anyone I wrote about by name on the basis that we’re all entitled to remain anonymous. On the other hand, none of my work colleagues know that I blog and if I ever post about them (which I am bound to do at some point) and they were to find my blog through a Facebook or Google Contacts search, (I don’t do Twitter), they might put two and two together and recognise themselves and I’m not sure that I want that because very little of what I would ever write about work and my colleagues would be positive.

 
I don’t regard my desire for anonymity as cowardly or devious. You may not agree with that and that’s fine by me but I have to prove my identity so many times in the week by way of logons and passwords, personal identity numbers, wearing an office ID card, proving my address is actually mine and so on, that I like being able to write anonymously in a blog simply because I have the choice to do so.

 
Yes, I know I can make my blog private but it’s fun to check the stats regularly and possibly discover a new follower (whose numbers, in case you were interested, have now reached the dizzy height of ten, thank you one and all).  When I started this blog and was still playing around with all the settings that WordPress offered me, I connected to Facebook but had not fully understood the ramifications of doing so and hours later was horrified to find my latest post in all its naked glory for all to see on my Facebook wall. I swiftly disconnected the link and cannot imagine a day when I would ever want to re-connect. I will not be connecting to Google Contacts either. I don’t want to have to take my blog elsewhere but if there’s no alternative, that’s what I’ll do to preserve my true identity. Unfortunately, if I do, you won’t then be able to find me again because I obviously won’t say where I’m going because that would defeat the purpose of moving elsewhere. The words ‘catch’ and ‘twenty two’ suddenly spring to mind…

is there a hoarding gene?

Second son removed the last of his belongings today (apart from a few boxes which he will come back for on a date as yet unspecified) and to JP it appears that our son has thrown little away since he was old enough to lay claim to his own books and toys and that this reluctance to dispose of anything makes him a ‘hoarder’. The blame for this is laid firmly at my genetic door since JP and first son do not hoard, each claiming to be able to pack their total belongings in no more than a couple of hours. The fact that I recently discovered three forgotten sets of salt and pepper grinders in the kitchen cupboards and that I keep any decent sized plastic container that comes my way cannot be considered as conclusive proof that I am a hoarder. A dictionary definition of ‘hoard’ is ‘to accumulate money, food, or the like, in a hidden or carefully guarded place for preservation or future use’ but since my accumulations are neither hidden nor carefully guarded, I would argue the hoarder label.

 
When the boys were young, I was a stay-at-home mum and there was no spare money for much beyond the essentials so it was a bonus to be able to make things and to find ways to re-use things that might otherwise be thrown away. I also became quite proficient at DIY and saved off-cuts of wood because I never knew when we might suddenly need a shelf or a new swing seat or fuel for the barbeque.

 
Those years probably explain my thrift hangover and the need to keep most of all lidded plastic containers that come into the house. Once their original intended use is over, they’re fantastic for dried fruit and pulses or for freezing home-made stock, sauces or an extra meal portion -0 the list is virtually endless. 2-litre ice cream tubs have been used for storing small game parts, Lego bricks, Playmobile figures, fridge magnets, key-ring and lapel badge collections as well as curtain rail fitments, rawlplugs and loose drill bits and some of them are still in use, more than twenty years later. Jam jars are terrific for storing things under shelves (nail or screw the lid to the shelf underside and then screw the jar to the lid).

 

 

You surely have to agree now that I’m not a hoarder and neither is second son. He is a collector – of comics, films, sketch pads and other things of which I am not aware. I am a saver, who was brought up to think that it was wasteful to replace something that was still fully functional, (condiment grinders obviously excluded) and I was a recycler before it became trendy to be one. I ‘save’ something because it might come in handy one day (purpose possibly unknown at the point of deciding to save) or I might be able to use it in a craft project or because it’s always good to have a spare. I don’t have a problem with this. My accumulations are regularly weeded but I’m in a quandry as to what the growing stack of Persil and Fairy liquitab containers in the kitchen can be used for. I’ve already used loads for beads and jewellery findings and spare washing-up cloths and decanting of paint and goodness knows what but I’m sure I could find even more uses for them. They’re just too good to bin! Ideas will come to me in time but feel free to offer suggestions meantime and I’d love to know if and what you hoard or rather, save….

everything comes to she who waits

All my life I’ve been ‘crafty’ but I’ve never had a work-room. When I was growing up, I used a corner of my bedroom or as now, a small portion of the dining table and once I even used a small cupboard but I’ve never had a whole room that I could dedicate to all my craft interests. Until now that is. I’ve often thought how lovely it would be not have to put the current project away so that dinner could be eaten and soon I’ll be able to find out!

 

Soon I will have a craft room of my very own. Yaaaay! Where has this work room sprung from? Well, second son moved into his own flat last week and before he changes his mind and comes back here, I announced to the family that I would be taking over his former bedroom as a work room. It will also be used as an occasional guest bedroom but mainly it will be a work room. My work room.

 
I’ve been trawling the internet for work bench ideas. Should I build a permanent one under the window? Should it be the full width of the room? Would a trestle table suffice? How strong would it need to be? How deep does it need to be? Would I prefer a white or a wooden surface? Would I be better with an office desk and drawers arrangement? So many choices!

 
Then there’s shelving: most of my craft books are currently stored in our garage so it will be lovely to have them all at hand. Shall I wall-mount the shelves or have stand-alone bookcases? Should the shelves be metal or wooden? How many shelves should I have?

 
What about drawers? I have several sets of these in different sizes. Should I stack the smaller ones under the table or on the top? What if I put some inside the wardrobe? Do I need more?

 
A chair – I’ll need a chair of course. A nice swivel one whose height can be adjusted to suit me alone? Hmm. Sounds good. And a lamp. I have a very good crafting lamp which is currently on loan to first son so I’ll get that back.

 
All these different things are spinning around in my mind and it won’t be long before it’s a reality. Well, having an empty room will soon be the reality. Before I can start on the rest, I have to wait for second son to remove all the gear that he’s left behind. There’s quite a lot of it too. Still, I can start by painting the woodwork and walls and measuring for that work bench…

 

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In the meantime, here are the latest carrot and pepper photographs before they were re-potted today. The weather has been cold and damp for a few weeks and the seeds in the greenhouse have not yet shown their heads above ground. I don’t know what the little white umbrella is – it looks like the start of a mushroom. First son obviously removed it from the pepper tray as it wasn’t there this morning.