Now just the thoughts of me and not my dog until I can persuade Husband we should get another.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Ireland 14 - 13 England
As it is, Ireland is still on course for the Grand Slam. Wales can still win the Triple Crown (by beating Scotland, England and Ireland) and that match is the final game of the tournament on 22nd March. And judging by Ireland's performance today they don't deserve the Grand Slam either.
And now we're off to friends' for an Italian evening. Ciao!
the adulterous woman
I was condemned. Found and condemned with no chance to explain. No chance to explain that it wasn’t my fault. That I’d been forced into marrying an older man. A man who didn’t love me or want me for what I was. His only use for me was as a woman; I could have been any woman I meant so little to him. A trophy to be worn on his arm.
But that’s no excuse I know; excuses are meaningless.
I could say that I suspected he visited the local women of the night; that he rarely shared my bed; that he often came home smelling of sickly perfume, not the perfume I used; that other women looked down on me pityingly. I could say all of that.
But I said I wasn’t going to make excuses.
I was guilty. Guilty of the crime.How could I not be when they found me in the committing of it? When the door of my bedroom was kicked open and they burst in as I lay with my lover. I was guilty.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Saturday Photohunt - Thankful
From International Velvet by Catatonia
Popular Welsh quotation, adapted from an original poem by Brian Harris
Fit for the game
Still on a sporting theme, it's a big game for Wales tonight. The first time ever (I think) that a Six Nations game has been played on a Friday evening. Wales, having won their first 2 games, take on France In Paris.
{Six Nations - a rugby tournament played in the Spring between, Wales, England, Scotland, Ireland, France and Italy. If one team beats all the others it's called the Grand Slam.}
Back in the seventies Wales had a great team. I remember those days fondly. The following few decades were miserable for Welsh rugby, and as rugby is the national sport of Wales, it was a hard time. But in one way it was an easy time.
Because each game was approached with very little chance of winning, we didn't get too disappointed. True, there was a grey cloud that hung permanently over the principality but this Wales: it rains.
But last year Wales did the Grand Slam. For the second time in three years. Suddenly we have a team that is being acclaimed as probably the best in the northern hemisphere. And the pressure ...
I don't know about the players but for the fans it's immense. Alun has been stressed about this game since the beginning of the week. I didn't really enjoy beating the English because it was too stressful. Jules sweats - literally.
So think of me this evening as you sit back, relax and enjoy that end-of-the-week feeling. I'll be on the edge of my seat, my stomach knotted, holding my breath for eighty minutes.
xx
Thursday, February 26, 2009
I am what I am
I Am: me
I Want: grandchildren
I Have: more than I need
I Wish: I had grandchildren
I Fear: not having grandchildren. And spiders and snakes
I Hear: badly but better now that I’ve fixed the telephone in work
I Search: for my keys regularly
I Wonder: if I’ll ever have grandchildren
I Regret: nothing except …
I Love: my dog
I Always: misjudge time
I Usually: am late
I Am Not: good at talking
I Dance: In my Kitchen
I Sing: badly
I Never: say I never because sometimes I do
I Rarely: cry
I Cry: rarely
I Am Not Always: an idiot but quite often
I Need: to get ready to go to circuit training
I Should: be so many things that I’m not that it doesn’t bear thinking about.
Read the previous post first. Or don't ...
I was telling the men who'd come to the chaplain's hour in prison about how I'd accidentally given up chocolate for Lent last year - I don't know how it happened but I suddenly found myself committed to not eating chocolate for 6 weeks - and that this year I was going to do something more positive for Lent.
'So, this afternoon, when I was in Tesco's I was standing next to a lady and I started sniffing. I said, "You smell nice." She looked at me like she'd just realised she was standing next to the loonie on the bus and she said, "Do I?" "Mm, yes." She paused a moment and then smiled. "Well, thank you."'
So I think I told the story quite clearly but at the end of the evening, several people said to me, 'Good luck on giving up chocolate.'
'No, no, I'm not giving up chocolate. ... Am I?'
The girls who'd come in with me to sing thought this was hilarious. 'You've done it again,' they said. 'You're going to have give up chocolate again!'
'Noooooooooo!'
Incidentally one of the men started asking me questions, which would have been all right if a) he hadn't known the Bible better than i do; and b) I'd been able to understand everything he said. As it was I had to give an answer to a question that might not have been the one asked.
I must have done all right though because before he left he came and shook my hand and said, 'I like you. Will you come in again next week?'
At least he didn't walk out halfway through like one of the others.
Fat and ashes
I grew up in the Anglican church so I am familiar with the customs but refreshed myself - and found out new info - by doing a bit of googling. You can skip over the rest of this post if you know all about Lent.
Ash Wednesday is the seventh Wednesday before Easter and it marks the start of the 40 day period known as Lent (from old English, lencten, meaning to lengthen i.e. more hours of daylight in the days). The smart amongst you may think, ah, but surely that's more than 40 days, and it is. But Sundays don't count.
Ash Wednesday takes its name from the habit of making the mark of the cross in ash on a believer's forehead in a service during the day. The day before Ash Wednesday is, of course, Pancake Day or, more properly, Shrove Tuesday (from the verb, to shrive, meaning to confess your sins and receive absolution). It's also known as Mardi Gras (fat Tuesday in French) and Carnival (goodbye to meat in Italian).
Shrove Tuesday is a day for penitence, to think back and say sorry, and feasting. As it was traditional to fast or abstain from meat, eggs, fat and milk during Lent, they all had to be used up the day before. Hence the pancakes.
Why fast? Because the 40 day period is to remember Jesus who spent 40 days in the desert, fasting and praying, before he started his ministry. Are you still with me? Parties and festivities weren't allowed either. I'm currently reading The Boleyn Inheritance, by Phillipa Gregory, about Anne of Cleves and Katherine Howard, Henry's 4th and 5th wives, and Katherine Howard, who is only a spoiled and silly girl, complains because she can't dance or have new gowns during Lent.
Today few people will fast for Lent but very often people will give up something they enjoy, like chocolate. Alternatively some prefer to take more positive action.
A little round belly
Last night he got into the pantry and ate all the food left in the dog food bag. Probably 3 meals at least.
Luckily for him I had a tin of little puppy food in the pantry given to us in one of those 'Puppy Bags' from the vet, provided by manufacturers trying to persuade you to use their products. George approached it tentatively - he's used to dry food - but when he realised he could eat it, he thought his birthday had come.
(Yes, I know if he ate 3 meals last night he shouldn't have needed feeding this morning but try telling him that.)
Now he is full of beans and dog food and is currently digging to Australia via the front garden. Each time I yell at him, he stops straightaway, and sits up, wearing his most innocent face. 'Who, me, mum? No, I'm not doing anything.'
xx
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Oh no you're not!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
One for sorrow, two for joy
Five for silver
Six for gold,
Seven's a secret never to be told,
Eight's a wish
And nine's a kiss ...
Twenty-three's a best-selling novelist.
See, if even almost rhymes - if you slur your words a bit.
Off to make pancakes now for Younger Son and Zac's. Will reply to comments later.
What a wonderful walk!
The summer of the Rosenbergs
It's the first line of Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. I hadn't read the novel and I didn't know anything about the Rosenbergs. Rather than find out and do anything as sensible as use facts in my story, I went my own sweet way, and this is what I came up with. Or rather this is the start of what I came up with. (Oh yes, and I changed the first line and the names later.)
Ziggy
I remember the summer of the Carvers’ execution; it was the summer I met Ziggy. Two momentous things happened during those three short months, the first being that I fell in love.
The Carvers were husband and wife. They believed they had a God-given mission to purify American society. At the trial, in his defence against the charge of first degree murder, Jimmy claimed that an angel had appeared to him and told him to rid humanity of the scourge of homosexuality. To accomplish this, he would frequent downtown nightclubs and lure young men back to his fourth floor apartment where Nancy had prepared and left out poisoned wine. Having killed their victims — there was some doubt about how many — they got rid of the bagged bodies in their waste disposal. They were only discovered when one larger than usual victim became wedged in the shute. It was so simple, it’s only a surprise that more people haven’t tried it. Or maybe they have.
(Continued on the bits that are too long)
On the good ship beddybyes
They'd have been helpful for some of the dreams I've been having lately but the one I'd just woken from involved robbers and murderers and scary people. A baseball bat would have been more use.
* * * * * * * * *
I haven't signed up to Follow any blogs (keep meaning to check it out but always get distracted) but I notice, gratefully, that several people are following mine. For ages the number stayed at 11 then over the last week or so it climbed to the heights of 17. Until yesterday. When it dropped down to 12.
I wonder what happened to make people change their minds. Was it something I said?!
* * * * * * * * *
Oh, yes, and when walking the cliffs yesterday I came up with a good beginning for my novel! Yay! I will write it later on today. After the ironing and chocolate articles. Definitely.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Gower cliff walk
George was wondering how much had to be paid in bribes to get planning permission for the monstrosity just on the edge of the beach. I told him it was built in the late sixties and was probably considered tasteful then. He looked at me doubtfully, 'Could that ever have been considered tasteful?'
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Mutley the dog
I thought I was safely past hormonal downers but it appears that yesterday might have been just that.
So thank you for your sympathy - and yah boo sucks to mutley for his unsympathy!
You're rubbish, you are
There was one there with the Subject 'Your stories!!'. I didn't recognise the name in the From column so opened it tentatively, expecting a spam-type mail. It turned out to be from a lady called Sandra who had read my stories on The bits that are too long, liked them and wanted to use one in her blog post for today.
A timely coincidence? Or reassurance from a loving God?
If it's coincidence, it's odd how timely these coincidences are.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Oh me
I'd better go and take a pill.
4.30 pm
Well, I've done lots of cleaning and showered. Husband said he'd go to Sainsburys for me and Younger Son will cook dinner!
But I've decided that Husband can take me to Sainsburys: he needs to go to the DIY shop for some strange light bulbs and he can drop me off, get the bulbs, then come and join me shopping. It will be easier that way. Otherwise I will have to write a list.
And I think - I don't know for certain, mind, but it could be a possibility - that a large bar of chocolate may leap into my trolley.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Saturday Photohunt - Warm
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The pope's thong
But what gets me is that people who write to complain seldom write to compliment.
However I am suitably chastised and will do better in future.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
What shall I do this evening?
Read magazines about writing?
Watch Grey's Anatomy on DVD?
Iron?
Write
I could work on rewriting the beginning of my novel as I don't like it as it is and I want to send some of it off soon for some critique-ing. But I haven't decided how I want to start it. And late evening isn't always the best time to think.
Read magazines about writing
More useful than it sounds as there are sometimes writing opportunities or competitions in them.
Watch Grey's Anatomy
Just relaxing.
Iron
Big pile needs doing. If I don't do it now when will I?
Decisions, decisions.
I was thinking about sex
Which isn't normally what I think about at 12.15 on a Wednesday lunchtime.
I'm working on my novel (hooray! at last!) and I've reached a bit where I can't decide whether the hero and her partner will have sex or not at this precise moment in their story. And I get all flustered just writing about it even in the most indirect terms.
I think I need a cup of tea. And, in the absence of chocolate, some lunch.
P.S. I just had beetroot and smoked mackerel on toast for lunch. Does that sound as odd to you as it does to me?
There is a conspiracy afoot
Last Thursday morning my body woke me at 6.30. I was not happy with my body. I gave it a serious talking-to and finally dropped back to sleep to be woken at 7.15 by George barking to go out. I gave up and got up.
This morning my body tried to wake me at 6.45 but I battled and managed to ignore it. At 8.30 there was a knock on the door.
'Did I wake you?' said the (rather good-looking) workman.
'No, I always wander round the house in my dressing-gown with my hair on end and an exceptionally vacant look on my face.' (I didn't really say that.)
Love is ...
For Daughter's wedding I was delighted to be asked to write something and, based on that chapter, this is what I wrote.
Love is patient. Even when you change the television channels so fast it looks as though Alan Titchmarshis giving the Queen Vic a flouncy frilled make-over and Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen is phoning a friend, even then love is patient.
Love is kind. I know you don’t like to be too hot in bed so, because love is kind, I put my cold feet on you.
Love does not boast, even when Wales beat England, 23-15, it doesn’t boast, not even mention it, not once.
When I get the dance steps right and you rumba stumblingly to a halt, love is not proud.
Love is not rude, and never mentions bald heads or expanding waistlines.
Love is not self-seeking - except possibly when dishing up the chips.
Love is not easily angered, and I do not drive too close to the car in front!
Love keeps no record of wrongs –you’ve spilled red wine on my clean tablecloths 243 times but I’m not counting.
No, love isn’t easy. And sometimes it hurts.
And a mother’s desire is to protect her children from those hurts, to shelter them from pain, to scatter petals before them, to make their paths beautiful. Were I to pray for an easy life, for easy love, for you, would I be sparing you heartache or preventing you from experiencing the richness of love and life in its fullness?
I ask instead that God will be the rock on which you stand and your strength, that the knowledge of his perfect love for you will be the security that frees you to walk into the future, hand in hand, with your love and laughter being the only ties that bind.
Love is hard work.
And it costs.
Wrinkles and grey hairs the world sees; the tears it doesn’t.
Love takes effort but if you can see your own and each other’s faults and love yourself and each other in spite of them, you will understand more of the power of love.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
xx
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
We're going to FLY!
This morning the mechanic phoned and said, 'We've taken off one of the wings and we've found two holes that need welding. It will be easier to do while the wing is off; would you like to come and look at them?'
'And me looking at the holes would be of what benefit exactly?'
He laughed. 'Okay, would your husband like to come then?'
'Naah, just go ahead and fix them, please.'
Honestly, like I'd have any idea.
* * * * * * *
I was on my way to the woods with George when I realised I was still wearing my slop-about-at-home trousers instead of my get-filthy-muddy trousers. I couldn't be bothered to go home and change but it hadn't been raining so it was only in a few places that I needed to tuck my trousers into my knicker legs.
I was just glad I was wearing knickers with proper elasticky legs.
It all began when I said
Not a pretty sight. So last night Wayne came to see us. I'd asked him to call and give us some ideas and a price for a conservatory-type utility room. There's no point having a proper conservatory because, as you can see, we have no view and not that much sunlight.
So Wayne looked and thought and said, 'Yes, we could do what you've suggested but what if ...' and he came up with idea of making it a little wider than we thought and creating a more useable room.
Now Husband has said that as I arranged for Wayne to come, I can make the decision. So do I opt for:
a) no extension but just paving stones and pots (which we can still have either way);
b) our original slim lined-up with the house extension;
c) Wayne's wider more room-sized idea?
I don't think the cost of the smaller one would be much less than the larger as all the basic work would still need to be done and it's not that much less material, but do we need what would be an extra room? Indeed, do we need a utility room at all? And if we do, do we go for how it looks or for usefulness? And if ... oh, I could go on and on. Flipping Wayne making it even more difficult.
Monday, February 16, 2009
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Wales 23 - 15 England
England, in their previous game against Italy, were rubbish, and Wales are on form so it should have been easy but it was England and I never relax when we're playing England. It's the game that matters most, more than any other. "As long as we beat the English, that's okay."
England played well and we made some silly mistakes letting them get through for two tries but we won - and that's what matters. It was a hard game - but one that was remarkably free of injuries - but we came through it.
And after two weekends of competition there are just two teams who can do the Grand Slam: Wales and Ireland. It's going to be an exciting tournament.
I'm sorry I can't write very lucidly about the game: I spent too much time jumping off my seat or eating my fingers.
We've been in Devon for the weekend
Crocuses in the cathedral garden.
The sun setting behind the steelworks (at 70 mph!).
Friday, February 13, 2009
Supporting survivors
Please go and visit Hippy Mama or Deb to see what's for sale.
Thank you.
Goodbye, Hope
We were at the crem first thing this morning to say goodbye to a child we'd never met, a girl who died in her mother's womb. To have to give birth to a baby you know is dead must be one of the most destroying things.
Her parents named her Hope.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Have you found Jesus?
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
A bit of a ramble about self-worth
For a human body to work as it is intended it needs all its different components. Paul, the apostle, was using this analogy for church, meaning for a church to be living it needs everyone in it to play their part, and everyone is of equal value. Yes, some people are natural leaders and others are natural tea-makers but the leader isn't more important than the tea-maker. That's what Paul says.
Several of the people in Zac's are there because they've bad experiences with regular church and they were quick to point out that some leaders think they're a lot better than their flock. I'm fortunate in Linden that it's not like that. Oh, we've a couple of people that may think they are - but in truth that is more likely to be my view of them rather than reality. No, I think the problem in Linden and in probably other churches is not inflicted from above but self-inflicted.
You can tell the tea-maker one hundred times, a million times, that she is just as valued as the speaker but does she really believe it?
We've just started on a new Sunday morning teaching series on Jesus and women. Alun and Alice introduced it last Sunday and as part of it they got all the women present to go and stand at the front. Then Alice asked us to say what we thought was valuable about us. Alun and I were discussing it in work the next day. Alun said, 'There I was, looking at this group of strong, resourceful, intelligent, creative, accomplished women ...' he stopped and looked at me, 'I'm not including you in this by the way ...'
'Thank you, Alun.'
'And not one of them could come up with one valuable thing about herself.'
Was it natural modesty? False modesty? Or do we all genuinely believe there is nothing good about us? If we'd been asked to find something good about each other we'd have had no problems.
When we become children of God we put on his cloak of worth. We are valued. God doesn't prefer Alun to me because he's male, or funnier, or smarter. He places an equal value on each of us.
Many of us struggle with the issue of self-worth, whether it's because of our past, our present or our nature. We often find that even the most confident amongst us puts very little value on herself. Yet we are valued by God and to deny that is to miss out on such a lot. And I'm talking to myself here.
It's a bit like the jumper Auntie Mary knitted for me for Christmas one year. It's a perfect fit but I'm not convinced that it really suits me. So I said, 'Thank you very much. It's lovely and it must have taken an awful lot of effort,' before I put it in the back of the cupboard and only get it out when all my other jumpers are dirty and I don't have anything else to wear. And when I do people say, 'that jumper really suits you. You should wear it more often.'
xx
The Australian bushfires
God's Squad, Christian motor-bikers' club, was started in Australia by John Smith, and it's run on the same lines as other secular - and outlaw - biking clubs, where you have to earn your colours (the right to wear the badges).
Last night Sean pointed out two faces amongst the many in the collage. Buffalo, who's lost his home in the bushfires, and Brouss, who's lost his two daughters.
I can't begin to imagine what that's like. I don't want to try.
I've only been vaguely aware of the fires - I watch very little television and hadn't seen images - but seeing someone with whom I have a link, even if it is in the most roundabout way - makes them become all too real.
God, be with Brouss and his family. Be with Buffalo and all the others who've lost family, friends or homes. And let the rains come, lord.
xx
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
My home town
What became of Mair?
The second - and final! - part of Mair's story.
Sorry, I'm very behind with visiting and I will try and catch up soon.
Monday, February 09, 2009
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Meet Mair - my alter ego
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Me anxious? Never ...
I've bleached my top lip because, obviously, when I scramble onto the stage in my mini-skirt with a tattoo on my left bosom, my top lip will be the first thing everyone will look at. 'Does she have a dark shadow?' will be the question at the forefront of everyone's minds.
I'm wondering whether to have a practice tattoo session. The rugby will be on soon so I'll probably wait until afterwards when I shower. I can still do a practice one on my shoulder first.
Now, don't worry; everything will be fine.
By the way, Wales play their first game of the Six Nations tournament tomorrow and I have a special photo of star winger, Shane Williams, to post. Courtesy of the BBC.
Friday, February 06, 2009
Saturday Photohunt - Bridge(s)
To take part in Saturday Photohunt, visit tnchick.
My theme tune
A most attractive sight
No chance!
Which is, apparently, what the carpet fitters said when they came to fit our stair carpet today. Most of it is done; we're just left with a bit at the bottom for which they didn't have a large enough piece.
One day, one day, we'll get the hall finished.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Missing: one coil, last seen ...
I was having my contraceptive coil checked by the doctor. Now normally it's a case of hand in, a quick how's your father, and, 'see you next year.' This time it was how's your father, how's your auntie and how's your granny's cat? And she's still rummaging.
Meanwhile Ms Hypochondria is getting the first pangs of panic. What has the doctor found? Something fatal? Of course it is; that's why she's taking so long.
She speaks to the nurse. 'Bring the light a bit closer, please.' It's too dark; that's the problem. No need for me to worry. I breathe a little easier.
The doctor calls the nurse. 'Nurse, come and have a look.' Oh, no, she's found a tumour so big she can't believe her eyes; she wants the nurse to confirm what she's seeing. Ohmigosh, it's probably inoperable, too late. What shall I tell the family? When shall I tell them? I'll keep it to myself, there's no point upsetting them. They'll find out soon enough. I wonder if they'll cry at my funeral. I wonder if anyone will come to my funeral.
The doctor looks up and speaks to me. 'Have you noticed anything coming away?''
'Coming away?'
'Yes, anything ... unusual?''
'No,' I squeak.
'Okay.'
She goes back inside.
I am just wondering if anyone will have anything nice to say at my funeral or whether they will simply list all the mistakes I made in my life - it was a short life but a stupid one - when she withdraws and switches off the light. She takes off her gloves and looks worried. She looks worried? I'm the one who should look anxious: how am I going to break the news to Husband?
'I can't find it,' she says, after an age.
'You can't find it?'
'No, it seems to have disappeared.'
'Disappeared? (Panic always bring out the parrot in me.) But where could it go? I mean there's not exactly a lot of room for it to hide down there.'
'Well, it might have made its way somewhere.'
'Somewhere?! Do you mean I could be like a magician and produce it from behind my ear?'
The doctor tells me she will send me to the clinic for an ultrasound scan to see where it's got to , but, in the meantime, she suggests that I use an alternative form of contraception. It's my turn to look at her.
'And how long ago might I have lost it?'
She shrugs.
'And now you're suggesting I should use an alternative contraception?'
Words like horse and stable-door spring to mind.
And I leave the surgery knowing that I really have lost more than just the plot.
Two and a half years later I can tell you that the coil was exactly where it was supposed to be, but my hair is significantly greyer for which I blame the doctor.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
My bad back
I was in Sainsburys earlier and all of a sudden, with no warning or reason, my back twanged. But don't worry, I'm fine ... as long as I don't stand upright, lift anything or climb stairs. Oh and deep breathing is a no-no too.
I had to go to Sainsburys because our cupboards were bare and I feared Younger Son would start eating me if I didn't but the place was heaving. I had to drive around the car park twice to find a space. I think everyone is preparing to be snowed-in for three weeks at least. I've just about got enough for three days.
Mmmm, this hot water bottle is nice ...
I am not happy
A light came on!
There are sentences that I stumble over each time I practise it. Now I know why: because they're laboured, they're not natural and they just don't work. So it's red pen time. Now that may sound obvious but when you've written something and nurtured it, it's sometimes hard to spot the fool's gold.
But there's genuine gold in West Wing. Younger Son has just started watching season 1 and it's making life very difficult for me. Every time I pass the television when it's on I have to stop and watch a bit. And a bit more. And a bit more.
Are you slow today?
Or is it just me?
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
ABC Wednesday - C
The thing I always forget about snow ...
I was so excited this morning when I opened the curtains and saw the snowy fleece covering the ground. George and I went straight down to the beach. (I was supposed to be going to the hairdressers but he rang and I said I wouldn't go so he could go home and play in the snow! Actually it was so I could play in the snow.) Another thing about snow is that when it's snowy outside I want to eat lots. And not do any work. But as I'm working from home I don't really have an excuse. Husband had to drive to Reading this morning. I kept telling him he shouldn't go but he pooh-poohed it. Just like Elder Son yesterday who travelled from London to Newcastle - to find no-one else had bothered.
Women Centre Stage but not me
Well, when the new Dylan Thomas brochure arrived last week, I noticed that there was another Women Centre Stage happening this year. (Obviously someone had forgotten to tell me about it ...) I quickly emailed the organisers asking if they wanted me to perform again (it had obviously slipped their minds how good I was ...)
Yesterday I had a reply. 'Thank you so much, dear, but our draft programme is full. May I put you on the reserve list?'
I'm tempted to tell them what to do with their reserve list. But I won't. I'll say, pathetically gratefully, yes, please, and thank you.
A right testiculator
Testiculate (v), to wave one's arms round wildly while talking balls.
We agreed that we both knew a lot of testiculators.
Speaking of dictionaries, I had a very nice reply from a lady at Chambers dictionary regarding my query about foreseeable. She explained what had already been pointed out to me that all the fore- words are listed together under fore-. But she did add that they were always reviewing the way words are listed and would take comments into consideration.
* * * * * * * *
On Sunday Husband set up the video camera so I could film myself rehearsing my monologue for next Saturday evening (yes, next Saturday!) I waited until he was in the bath and Younger Son was out before I began and then it took me until yesterday evening to pluck up courage to watch any of it. Oh my, it is so embarrassing watching one's self on film. And I am so bad. I am a right testiculator; I need to practise lots. It's strange: I can do it with no problem in the middle of the woods.