Progress day 5

We are almost there. Jobs still to do are: tiling, installing the ceiling chandelier, fixing up a shelf and replacing a door that is a little damaged.

Then we move on to the decorating. Painting the wood panelling, doing something with the ceiling and painting the woodwork. And after the lambing, we shall have new flooring laid. But for now, the bulk of the operation has been done and the prognosis is looking good. I could be spending all next week in a cleaning frenzy but I was most impressed when witnessing the workmen brushing up the kitchen floor earlier and Mr Ponytail asked for a brush and pan. It was quite a pleasurable experience watching four grown men at work.

Now I just have to fathom out the dishwasher and the new oven. That will be a task in itself for me. Of course, never having my own dishwasher it could take a little while remembering that it is there. And now I have to remember to buy dishwasher tablets. I can see I shall need an extra list.

Amy keeps saying she likes the new kitchen and even the farmer seems pleased. The dogs however, are a little less impressed as they have been banished to the stable during the day and are allowed to sleep in the boot room at night. Sparky keeps bounding about with a ball but Molly is quite happy to plod to her basket, so long as she gets enough cuddles to last through the night.

There have been quite a few goings-on in the house whilst the renovations have been taking place but I shall leave those for my next post. I shall publish further pictures next week when the tiling has been done and the chandelier is up. Thank you for following the progress with me.

Progress Day 4

As you can see, the kitchen is looking pretty amazing. I keep standing in the middle of the room, doing a strange little pirouette as I admire the workmanship. Just one workman has been here today; the joiner. As usual, he has worked extremely hard to get the units up, pelmets on and everything fastened together.

I realised I had made a slight error in my design specifications when I noticed the space near the immersion heater cupboard seemed a tad too bare. Wires and pipes have been laid in order to service under-cupboard lighting and the dishwasher but I have not allowed enough material for them to be boxed in. After discussions with the good looking joiner, he will wait to see how much material is left over in order to use any surplus to make a step-like effect under what could be almost classed as a 'breakfast bar'. The idea is to put the bin in that space which can still happen but I did not realise how bad a state the wall would be in once the old cupboard had been removed. Fingers crossed that once it is plastered over the painter and decorator will just paint it. There is also a gap between the kitchen door and the oven where it is possible I have not ordered enough tiles. The pound signs just keep mounting!

The joiner says he will work late tonight. He did, until 7.15pm. He really has earned his dozen eggs that's for sure. Arriving at 8.15 this morning, raring to get to work, he has barely stopped all day but to have a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Sparky brought her ball in earlier, hoping to strike lucky but he carried on fixing his pelmet.

Talking of Sparky, she was a very naughty doggie last week. Somehow, she got through the kitchen and into the rest of the house. Let loose on the stairs, she bypassed my Lady and went into the little toilet room. There, she left her mark. Now Amy got a joke kit for Christmas which consists of, amongst other things, plastic poo. And guess what I thought was on the floor in that little room. Not to put too fine a point on it, I spent the next hour scrubbing my hands. Sparky however, was long gone. And none the wiser that along with her calling-card, a dollop of plastic poo is now wrapped up and safely waiting for the bin man. I am on the look out for a good air freshener. If anyone has any suggestions, let me know.

Progress Day 3

An empty space is today beginning to resemble a new kitchen. Base units have been built and work tops have been cut to size. The rewiring and toilet training of the last couple of days all seems like work behind the scenes, but work that has to take a large chunk of the credit in order for the kitchen to be designed in the first place. It goes without saying that after the joiners had finished today, we could visualise the kitchen in all its glory and I was half tempted to give the place a once over and start filling up the shelves. I haven't. Can't have the building crew thinking I'm a desperate woman.

None of them have been bothered about having their photo taken for the world wide web. The joiners even asked for a comb.

We just had 2 very minor hiccups today. The first happened this morning when I was typing a couple of paragraphs for the novel and the electrician decided to switch the electric off. I hadn't saved the work I had done. I mentioned that perhaps he should let me know next time he intended to do this and then found myself saving my work after every sentence. The second little mishap occurred this afternoon when I popped downstairs to see progress. A small section of worktop had been missed off the end near the sink unit. It appeared on my plans but not on the joiner's. Good job I'm about. Think I might take up this project management, it's quite fun. I have a delivery of a farmhouse kitchen table and chairs arriving tomorrow. All in flat pack of course. I have asked the joiner if he would do the honours - I shall throw him a few quid for his trouble. And probably a dozen eggs.

Progress day 2

Rewiring and plastering today. One poor guy has been in the attic most of the afternoon. I do hope he hasn't been eaten. He commented on how dirty and dusty it is up there but also said he has been in worse. Still, I think I'll stand at the bottom of the ladders. It is quite comical to hear one builder shouting at the other, "bit more, keep wiggling it, go on, keep shaking, don't stop" then the odd, "aww, for $%^&'s sake". Sounded like toilet training. Not being able to hold my sides any longer, I put new batteries in Amy's Bratz walkie talkies and offered their use. Unfortunately, Amy having previously chewed the atenna off one of them, only one would work! They succumbed to using their mobiles instead. The walls are so thick in the house, well built and sturdy. A fairly good description of myself.

Tea up! I have to say however, the only break they had was for lunch, half an hour in the van.

I could almost taste the dust while I sat working in the office, upstairs. Eventhough the kitchen is on the ground floor, the whole house will need to be cleaned. I am thinking of recruiting. My mum. The wood panelling will be painted, possibly a shade of cream. The Farmer thinks it just needs a bit of a clean. Get the nicotine off. Yeah, right! The skip which should have arrived yesterday afternoon still hasn't landed. We have been left with kitchen debris outside the back gate. If these winds pick up any more, we could be left with debris scattered way beyond the back gate.

We dined in one of the holiday cottages last night. Amy thought she was on her holidays. We all sat round the table eating homemade fish and chips watching Doctor Who save the world. It was great fun. She made herself comfortable and even wanted a bath. "I've got enough cleaning to do this week," was my reply. I did not fancy deflooding the holiday cottage for Saturday's guests arriving. The workmen are quite confident they should have the kitchen in and functional by Friday tea time. They did more than expected today and tomorrow the joiner arrives to fit the units. The garage currently resembles a furniture warehouse. It makes one wonder how he will sort his way through it all. But I hope to bring you a few shots of the new units tomorrow, so see ya then.

First day progress

Tea time yesterday

TO .........

Monday morning work in progress. Mr. Ponytail with the white shirt on did remember to pull his trousers up. Amy thought it highly amusing to see his "builder's bum".

Lunch time. Didn't they do well.

Two really nice guys have worked like trojans all day. The electrical points are in and now the wires and leads have to be run through the house. They go into the loft tomorrow and will no doubt discover my shoe-clad spider friends. God help them!

See you tomorrow!

Spring is in the air

From this............

................ to this.

Sparky has made a remarkable recovery and proved that her fitness knows no bounds. Amy thinks she has springs in her paws, and perhaps one in her bottom too, but we won't go there.

The new kitchen arrived today. Eventually. I was booked for a morning slot, between 8am - 1pm. By 1.30 and still no phone call I rang the helpline. The girl chased up the driver who told her he had broken down. Nice one. "He will ring you very soon and let you know when he will be with you." Very soon became two hours later. I rang the retailer this time and asked where my kitchen was. "I'll chase it up and ring you back." Half an hour later the phone rang. "He will be with you between 6 and 7pm." The Farmer, rather hungry from a day in the fields, came in looking forward to his warm supper only to hear me tell him the news. Supper was of course ready at 6.30 just as the wagon arrived. Who could have guessed that would happen. Supper went in the Aga and we went outside to help unload the kitchen. It took 45 minutes in all. A total of 186 pieces including handles. The work begins on Monday when the old kitchen will be ripped out of which I will take great pleasure in witnessing. It is without doubt that a few "others" with be within the room also, looking on at forty years of history being hauled into a skip. I am expecting some very interesting activity during next week and I am not talking about the installation.

The dogs will have to stay in the stables during the day, Sparky in particular will most likely badger the boys with a tennis ball all week if we let her so I am afraid it's temporary accommodation for the collies. They can sleep in the boot room at night like always, in nice warm baskets but I have no doubt we won't be flavour of the month. Before we got Molly, the farm dogs lived in the stables permanently. They had a cosy stable, bedded with straw, cleaned out daily. Fresh water when needed, plenty food, bags of warmth and lots of snuggles with me, who incidentally, took pity on them and made the decision that from Molly's arrival, all farm dogs would in future sleep in the boot room. They haven't complained.

I have to say the half-term week has gone reasonably well so far. It is quite common knowledge that I have a tendency to speak too soon but Amy has been particularly angelic and together we have enjoyed some extremely special quality time. She slept in my bed on Wednesday night which she found very exciting. We watched two episodes of Doctor Who till 11pm then had a big cuddle and went to sleep. Unfortunately, she snores quite like the Farmer so my sleep pattern was once more interrupted. We have spent time at the shops; had lunch at McDonalds; lots of walks with the dogs, and as you can see above, throwing the ball which is always great fun. The dogs enjoy themselves also. We have painted pictures with water colours, very artistic, especially for me. Someone bought Amy a dog's bowl to paint for a Christmas present and we finally got round to doing it on Wednesday. Unfortunately, Sparky didn't like it very much and wouldn't eat her dinner! Then the paint washed off. Water colours; planks, short and thick sprung to mind.

A day at the Beach

I thought I might continue with the theme of memories. As always, my beautiful daughter has inspired me to write and eventhough she is currently on school holidays I am able to snatch a little time here and there to reminisce about my memorable childhood. Being brought up by a mum who could not wait to get her hands on a microwave and packets of frozen veg, one has to admit that it rubs off. I was twenty-one years old and living in Aylesbury when I cooked my first chicken. I think I recall frozen peas on the plate also and nonetheless, it was a tasty dish.

Woolacombe in North Devon was another favourite hot spot for our family holidays and one year we went away with three other families. Their kids were a little older than my brother and I while my sister was still in a pram. We all trundled down to Croyde Bay, a stunning stretch of coastline, popular with the surfing community, and set up our rather large corner of the beach. Three of four windbreakers sheltered the sunbathers amongst us while my dad and my brother spent the first hour blowing up the rubber dinghy in true holiday, "is it ready yet?" "If you helped instead of standing there pickin' ya nose, it might be ready quicker," style.

Meanwhile, I sat and stared at the sand, wondering if I could get away with leaving my flipflops on. Even back then, I hated sand. The amount of items we would take onto the beach was quite excessive. Deckchairs and windbreaks, picnic baskets in abundance, bags filled with clean clothes and towels, beach balls, tennis rackets, cricket bats and stumps, not to mention the rubber dinghy. We must have looked like we were moving house and what the icecream man used to think as we struggled past his van and queue of customers makes me cringe.

But the highlight of those beach trips has to be my mum's famous changing robe. A huge piece of blue fleece-like material, open at the bottom with a drawstring at the top. The adults, not the kids I hasten to add, would step into it while someone else, preferably a husband or wife, would hold the top at shoulder height. The idea was then to pull the drawstring so that no one could see the person inside the robe removing their clothes and changing into a swimsuit. Then voila, transformation would appear, the robe would be dropped to the sand and the newly attired person would step out, all ready to sit on a nice clean deckchair and eat a cheese sandwich, flavoured of course with Croyde Beach.

On one of these beach visits, I accompanied a couple of the men to the local chippy. I will never forget the many faces behind me when my dad asked for fifteen portions of chips and several fish. It took a long time for us to live that down. We have a great photo in the suitcase of memories of all of us sat on that beach enjoying freshly made chips. The next time I am able to look in the suitcase, I shall seek out some of the old photographs and post them on here. To me they are priceless.

Good Clean Fun

Palmolive soap always reminds me of my childhood. A certain time in my youth when along with my family, we set off on a train bound for a station in Cornwall. We always used to stay on farms, the ones that did bed and breakfast accommodation and in our case, dinner too. My dad owned a Triumph car, a maroon classic that he loved. He drove it to Piccadilly Station in Manchester where it was then packed onto the train, before we found our compartment as pyjama clad kids. The compartment had 2 sets of bunk beds and it was the best adventure since Indiana Jones went in search of a mysterious stone. My brother and I thought we were the bee's knees. We had to walk a short way down the carriage to where the bathroom was situated and the wonderful smell of palmolive soap hit you as you opened the door. It's creamy lather and unique aroma will stay with me forever.

I will always remember one farm in particular, it's name I cannot remember, however, the bull which lived in the shed was a creature that fascinated me. As a child of a very young age, Buster looked huge. An enormous ring pierced through his nostrils, showing his masculinity, asserting his authority to the ladies who dared approach. His owner, the farmer's wife, looked much the same. Even at a cute impressionable age, I still wondered why she had called her prize bull, Buster. Many years on, I think I get the idea.

We met another family during that holiday. Another young girl, a little older than me but whom I played with on the farm. She was called Victoria and had the longest hair I had ever seen. My mum has a photo of the two of us, packed away in her suitcase of memories. I also recall one occasion when I was exploring the farm yard alone and got chased by a cockerel. Perhaps I should not have been poking around the barn, looking for eggs but still, it was a hair raising moment for a five year old kid. Amy brought back this memory to me recently when she refused to come inside the house due to a cluster of friendly hens which clucked their way around the back gate.

And then there is the memory of my dad's roof-rack. The spider fastener he used in order to secure the cases on the roof of the car left us in stitches as it constantly pinged at him leaving him bad tempered and my brother frantically making a mental note of some new words to use at school. My mum used to take a note pad away with us, many of its pages filled with names.

Margaret - Fudge

Clarice - doesn't like fudge, get chocolates instead

Auntie Babs - Tea towels

Auntie Dot - Tea towels and fudge

Mum - Oven mits

Nana - Sweets

and so on.....

And another list contained who to send post cards to. That one went on forever. My dad would frown at the amount of money he would have to spend on everyone else, outside his family. Not to mention stamps. We would spend a good few days parading round shops looking for all these presents to take back and would always be struggling for space in the car, amongst the tea towels and boxes of fudge. In those days my mum did not drive and it usually took us two or three Sundays to deliver all the holiday souvenirs. My dad used to frown a lot in those days.

Wonderful times; happy memories.

Granddad

The stillness unnerved me. Unfamiliar territory beckoned my senses, almost requesting I did not refuse its offer. I lay a while, sidetracked by the silence which enveloped me, waiting for the storm. I had not seen the light then, I was a child wishing for the shadows to vanish from my bedroom walls. The curtains were closed. Darkness lay upon our home yet no moon lit up the sky as clouds overwhelmed the vastness of space. I do not recall the hour, yet I knew it was late. The middle-of-the-night panic was threatening to set in as I tried desperately to go back to sleep, my heart racing uncontrollably, my head knowing I would be struggling once the morning dawned. In those childhood days, I shared a bedroom with my brother, though I always felt alone. The room, a darkened area where toys and clothes tricked my mind into thinking monsters and ghosts had decided to watch over me. Would they jump at me from where they hung on the door or from where they sat on the shelves? My mind would not rest. As always, I would chew my nails praying I had no need to be scared. My nerves often got the better of me. Then I saw the light. A large ball of bright white light, floating in mid-air around my bedroom, as though finding an appropriate place to rest. I lay, afraid of this new sight yet comforted by its presence. My brother continued to sleep. I thought about how beautiful it would be to sleep beneath the stars, gazing into infinity at the man in the moon. My heart had ceased its race to the finish, my head no longer worried that I would be submerged in tiredness. And as I lay in my bed that night, watching that beautiful force of energy protecting me from the monsters and ghosts, I once more saw my grandfather. A face I will never forget. I have but one memory of him; his adorable face, smiling and kind, dusted by pit-fallen hands. He peered at me around the lounge door in his house as I sat huddled with my mother, listening to grandma busying herself in the kitchen upon his return. I was four years old. Within weeks he had passed. And I feel privileged that he was able to give me that thought. One which I will take onto my next life.

Questions, questions

Trying to explain something to an autistic child is rather difficult at the best of times. Trying to explain something to Amy when I am still half asleep is almost impossible. She is terribly inquisitive these days. A wonderful step on the black and white ladder of her life. I try to answer as many of her questions as I possibly can, however ridiculous they are. There are of course occasions when I simply have to bite the bullet and admit that I don't know. Far too many occasions I am afraid to admit. I am currently being asked a constant stream of questions about my own childhood. She is very keen to know how I differed in my youth. At age eight, I had extremely long hair and could skip for England.

"How many skips could you do with a skipping rope?"

"Can't quite remember,"

"Could you do as many as me?"

"How many is that then?"

"A hundred!"

Now I had to think about this. Amy does not take kindly to being beaten. She much prefers, as most children, to be first. After I had sat and thought for a while, my answer of a puny 20 did not seem to impress her at all. I then had to sit for another while as she demonstrated to me that she could indeed do 100 skips. Altogether. Just not at the same time. But still, I had to commend her intelligence. She knew what she meant.

"Did you watch Sponge Bob when you were eight,"

"No, it wasn't invented."

"Did you watch Ratatouie?"

"Hadn't been made."

"How about Doctor Who?"

The favourite program of the moment. I never enjoyed it when I was young but I have to say, it's pretty good viewing now. I have taken to watching each and every episode in Series 3 and I am hooked. The characters in the series are quite ridiculous of course and totally unbelievable but it really is very cleverly made. The problem is that Amy thinks the characters are real. Jadoon's and Cyber Men, Daleks and K9; oh yes, they all exist. On which planet we have not yet established but I am sure we can make one up. There is one episode which features Peter Kay. He is one of my most favourite comedians. Apart from the fact he comes from my neck of the woods in the North West, he is totally funny and a very clever man. I have often been watching his DVD's when Amy has appeared and asked her usual twenty questions so she is aware of who he is. We have not yet got round to the episode in which he appears but there is a picture of him on the front sleeve. Not a very nice picture as he is in full costume and looks, in Amy's words, "gross".

"Who's that?"

"It's Peter Kay."

"Why does he look like that?"

"He's in Doctor Who. He's just acting."

"Acting like an idiot," she replied.

Do you want to be my Valentine?

So who's doing what for Valentine's Day? Flowers? Chocolates? Meal out? Me? I get my husband to help me clean out the sideboard. How romantic is that. It is one of those ancient humongous pieces of furniture that people have no need for. A Victorian antique, probably quite attractive in its day. Now, however, scratched and chipped, taking up far too much room in the kitchen. I think it will take the best part of the morning. He thinks it will take five minutes. Maximum. Poor farmer, having to say goodbye to a dust collecting wood pile, one which he has used all his life, one which he has known all his life. I do feel a little sorry for him. I suppose since I have come into his life he has been introduced to that familiar saying, "out with the old, in with the new".


There are other pieces of furniture in this big old house that I would never dream of parting with and I am sure he would be happy to hear me say that. Even the kitchen table is going to serve a new purpose. As a dining table. The farmer will not allow me to get rid of it so we are therefore throwing a table cloth over it and sticking it in the dining room, which is currently filled with items for the charity shop, including two recliners and a settee. Oh and another Victorian sideboard, but a beautiful one which I am definitely keeping. I will have to buy some dining chairs for our "new" dining table as Sparky is often so hungry she simply cannot wait for her supper.


I guess February the 14th is a relatively ordinary day in the Jigsaw household. However you wish to define ordinary of course. Life goes on, the sheep are fed, the farmer is fed and the rest of the animal kingdom which resides here are spoilt rotten. Life on a farm is ongoing, never a moment spare when something or someone does not need attention. Don't tell, but I have bought the farmer a card. Neither of us are in the least bit romantic but just to tell the love of your life once a year that you appreciate them does not hurt anyone. I am one hundred percent sure that I will not get a card back, but a hug will suffice. And perhaps a bunch of flowers. Freesias or roses if you please. Maybe even a chocolate or two. In fact, I was hoping he might have booked a table at my favourite restaurant. In Paris. Oh well, like I have previously said, miracles do happen. Just not in the Jigsaw household!

*********************

There is a meme flying about where you are required to reach for the nearest book, turn to page 123 and go to the 5th sentence. From there, write down the next 5 sentences. As usual, my nearest books include a number of compositions based mainly on the same subject but I have put my hands on one named "Life After Death" written by Deepak Chopra.

"At this point Benedict made a startling decision. He asked for the experience to stop, and it did. That he found a way to control what happens after death would not surprise a rishi, but it is almost unique in NDE literature. Benedict called a halt so that he could talk to the light. As he did so, it continually changed shapes, sometimes resembling Jesus or Buddha, other times turning into a complex pattern like a mandala or archetypal images and signs, as he puts it."

Most people who have done this meme have left the tagging open to anyone who wants to have a go so being a sheep farmer I shall follow suit.

C x

Neighbours and the Sheep

Neighbours is now on Channel 5. All I can say, is that it's a good job we have Sky otherwise I would be in serious mourning. For in our neck of the woods, Channel 5 cannot be received. Perhaps the powers that be think us country-folk have no time to watch television. Perhaps they think we spend all our time making jam and ploughing fields. Just half an hour every day in front of the telly watching my favourite soap is a little escape from the rough and tumble that life has a habit of throwing about. It takes me to far away places, to a land of sunshine and frivolity. I wonder if our little corner of the world will ever be thrust into the twenty-first century or whether we will always just have to 'make do'.

In view of our new kitchen being fitted in two weeks time I have decided to add a little luxury to my domestic arena and have bought a new television. Just a small one of 15", but it is LCD with built-in freeview. I thought I might slum it for a couple of weeks in the lounge before I am able to sit in my pristine palace kitchen, enjoying the delights of Erinsborough.

It is that time of year again when our straw bales are loaded onto the wagon and two hungry men come barging through the back door, desperate for their ten o'clock elevenses. Of course in the olden days, I was expected to be in the kitchen, standing by the cooker, doing my best to supply a plate full of food and steaming pot of tea. Now, I am most pleased to say, our wagon driver is happy with self service, consisting of toast and a cup of Tetley. We used to hope and pray that the men did actually arrive into the house some mornings after watching an old man leaning against the wagon load of straw, feeding his habit of nicotine. Miracles perhaps do happen.

Then of course we have the lambing to look forward to. The ewes are currently walking around the fields, slightly in fear of toppling over due to their expanding waistline. Some of them are starting to get tired and I am sure all of them are relieved that the tups have been put back into their own field. We have managed to hire a lambing assistant which is a God-send. The farmer would quite happily work 24 hours a day, catching the odd nap by the Aga, but I have put my foot down with a firm hand. Not that I want my husband to appear hen-pecked or anything, just that I love him and cannot bear to see him so exhausted when it is not necessary. My help is required in the evening when he goes to bed for 4 hours. And that is the only sleep he gets for the day. It will be interesting to see how Sparky reacts as this is her first lambing season. "At last," she will think, "there is a creature apart from the cat, that is smaller than me!" It could be fun. Then again...

What's Cooking?

The farmer went to bed early with a cold. He never complains. He keeps going, no matter how poorly he feels. The sheep have to be fed and feed has to be prepared which, as we mix our own, means a long drawn-out job. It is cheaper even though a little less convenient. I realised I would have to make a fast recovery when he came in through the back door, red eyed and exhausted. A quick sandwich was made and devoured before he struggled up to the spare bedroom to get into bed, still thinking of others as he finally gave in. I tried hard to keep Amy quiet. It isn't easy telling a hyperactive child to shush or be quiet. Her softer approach to the spoken word is still somewhat louder than normal which meant us staying downstairs until bathtime. My quietly's and not-so-loud's didn't really cut the cloth but there were no complaints from the spare room.

Every night, apart from lambing time when the farmer is in bed between the hours of 7pm-11pm (another story for another blog), I see to the dogs, taking them out for their bedtime wee, fluffing up their baskets, making them a hot milky drink, the usual routine. I went to bed myself at 10pm. I like to sit up in bed each night, watching the television. I have a collection of sitcoms on DVD which I adore; To The Manor Born, The Thin Blue Line, One Foot in the Grave. I watch them over and over again and never tire, a little autistic trait in me I suspect.

After kissing the dogs goodnight and making myself a drink to take upstairs, I went on my way turning the lights out and closing the boot room door, remembering not to close the kitchen door in case the cat wanted a midnight snack. My warm cosy bed awaited. Pink fluffy dressing gown and red flannelette pyjamas hugged my skin as I covered myself up with the duvet and switched on the DVD player. Currently watching To The Manor Born Series 2, I pressed play on the remote control and settled back against the pillows.

Within five minutes into the episode, I heard a dog bark. Sparky to be precise. She has a much higher pitched bark than Molly and a tendancy to bark at anyone who comes to the door. She is an excellent guard dog and we always know that someone is about when she barks from the boot room. Pausing Penelope Keith in full flow, I pulled back the duvet and reluctanctly made my way downstairs, a little anxious that someone should be at our back door at five past ten at night and I was dressed in my pink fluffy dressing gown. I had not heard any car draw up outside yet Sparky continued to bark, not aggressively, but what I would call, intermittently. I was quite sure there was no one at the door as I entered the kitchen, switching the light on and extinguishing the odd shaped shadows.

I went through the kitchen and into the boot room. Both dogs looked up at me, confused as to why I had disturbed their longed-for rest. There was no sign of anyone at the door, thank goodness, nor was there any reason for Sparky to have barked. Her head, gently resting against the cushion in the basket, stayed where it was. Molly barely opened her eyes. I left them in peace. But just before going back through the kitchen, I decided to walk past the oven. I did not need anything from that side of the room yet something pulled me towards it, as though reminding me of something that needed to be done.

As I walked towards the oven, I felt a sudden warmth around my hand, gliding it over the ceramic hob. I had carelessly left one of the front rings on, just low, but enough for me to have realised as I almost touched the top. Switching it off I smiled and looked at the door which leads to the boot room. The shadow disappeared as I thanked him for reminding me to turn off the oven before going to bed. One of his favourite bone-picking moments with me when I first did it a few years ago and he, typically, was first to realise. This time, however, he made sure I came downstairs.

Getting up to alsorts

Having been tagged by Vi and given a very colour co-ordinating award to add to my side bar (thank you, my dear), I shall list below some random facts about myself which, I might add, are absolutely true. I only hope my mother doesn't read them.




1. When I was 13, I was bullied at school by a horrid older girl who lived around the corner from me and caught the same bus. I used to sit at the back of the bus in the morning, trying to look hard whilst choking on a crafty fag. She hated smoking and I hated her. One winter, on the way home from school, she bombarded me with snowballs. One of them contained ice which hit my face and ever since I have hated snow. After six months of bullying and me getting off the bus a stop early to avoid having to walk near her, I heard the devasting news that her dad had passed. He was only in his early 40's. Not long after, we became friends. Not particularly good friends, but at least she didn't bully me anymore. However, still to this day, I hate snow.



2. I nearly emigrated to Baton Rouge in Louisiana during 1997 after being involved with a guy I had never met. Tom, was a work associate. He was a lovely man with a great personality and my loneliness almost introduced me to a new life. I have blogged about him if you want to read it here.



3. When I was 21, I lived in a house in Aylesbury with two other girls. I had moved there to join my then boyfriend who later became my first husband. The girl who owned the house was rather mysterious and we used to have our suspicions that she was a private hooker. She would take phone calls at all times of day and night then without explanation, disappear for an hour or two, completely dressed to the nines, only to return and spend an hour in the bathroom.



4. After becoming homesick and moving back to Manchester, I got a job in the city as a Legal secretary in a Jewish firm of solicitors. They were so rude and nasty, I went in work one morning and told my boss where to stick his Menorah. I felt pretty low as I descended the stairs to make my way to the train station but I still got my pay cheque the following week. And they had given me a bonus.



5. I went on holiday with my boyfriend on Christmas Day in 1997. We went to Lanzarote and only booked 2 nights accommodation in an apartment. Having booked the flights separately to return 7 days later (i.e. New Year's day), we had to find 5 nights accommodation when we arrived. We scoured Puerto Del Carmen for a full day for somewhere to stay until we finally went into a 5 star hotel on the outskirts of the town and managed to check in. It cost us an absolute fortune, but boy, was it worth it!



6. And whilst in Lanzarote, we went nude bathing on the beach right near Arrecife Airport. It is located so near to the airport that passengers can see bathers as they get that all-over tan. The sea was incredibly warm.



7. I once played a pregnant French woman in a production with a local amateur dramatics society. My character was split when I had to appear later in the play, as an American spy with a southern drawl accent. Always wondering if I would make the big time, I left after being approached by Ken Dodd.




So there you have it. A few more things about me that you never knew and now you do. I have that many skeletons in my cupboard that I have had to buy a new one. Some skeletons are best left at the back, covered up and forgotten about.