Washday Greens!

Since our family came back to live with us, the washing machine is much in use & I recently stopped to think how difficult it must have been for my mother to do the washing when I was a child.

I remember she used to have to get up very early on a Monday morning & light a large gas boiler that she had previously filled with buckets of cold water. I used to watch her grate up a hard bar of Fairy household soap. She filled "dolly tubs"to rinse the whites with. She used to scrub & sluice off the dirty hankies in the old stone sink.

Between boiling & rinsing everything had to be mangled carefully & again after the last rinse. Mangling was a hazardous task as you could scald yourself from the boiler & squash fingers in the mangle. Then there was starch to make up & certain things had to be dipped into it.

A whole weeks washing would need to be dried somehow. On a fine day, out on the washing line in a yard or garden. Sometimes the line would snap & the washing would be dirty again. On a wet day it all had to be draped round an open fire on a "maiden" which was a kind of wooden clothes horse, sometimes taking days to dry. Then the mammoth task of ironing. What a palaver!

However the smell of the hot washing coming out of the boiler is one of those never to be forgotten smells ............ a smell of wholesome goodness that even now sends me into a state of nostalgia when I remember it. Funny how you can "remember" a smell!

I am really glad that I do not have to face all the hard work that my mother had to.

The children are always secretly slipping strange objects into the washing that are not usually found until the programme has ended. I recently found a bright green, very clean looking "my little pony"that sprang from some item of clothing, startling me with the unexpectedness of it. Not long after that, I pulled out a soggy heart shaped note book and a little red glass heart, both treasures that had escaped my pre wash search. I consider myself very lucky that the red felt tee shirt from a Bratz doll did not colour the whole wash pink!

But by far the strangest thing that could ever have messed up a wash was found in Amber's trouser pocket, before it even went in. A raw, green Brussels sprout! As no one in the house likes Brussels sprouts, where it came from we will never know!

Maybe she goes to Sainsbury's when we are not looking!

Another award!

Many thanks to gonebacksouth for this new award that has been especially designed by you! Wow! I'd only just got over the trauma of putting in the last one! Now my son, who helps me is just about to go away for a week! Eek!

Here is my list:

Swearing Mother
Thoughts from Miller Manor
softintheheadblog
She's like the wind
Retired and Crazy
Amen with a T
welsh hills again
US IN FRANCE
MANIC MOTHER OF FIVE
MERISI'S VIENNA FOR BEGINNERS

Anyway, Please accept your awards and hope you have fun sending them on to ten others!

What Irks You?

What things annoy you or really irritate you? Sometimes I find its the little things that annoy me, like other people leaving the lids off toothpaste or leaving marmite and jam pots sticky, or sitting on a park bench before realizing that some moron has left chewing gum that has stuck to your clothes. (A devil to get out of material of any kind.)

One of the silly things that truly irritates me, is when I see a man who is bald, straining and greasing half a dozen or so hairs over his bald pate. To do this he has to part what hair he has just above one ear and stick it down with grease. If he is lucky it sticks like glue to his head but if its windy it stands up like a cock's comb. I subconsciously feel the need to snip off the offending strands with a pair of scissors. Why would a bald man need to do this? What is wrong with being bald?

My boss in my second part time job, is so indignant if anyone sits on a table and has trained us not to do this but if anyone of us needs to go to a training session or lecture and the tutor happens to be sitting on a table whilst talking, we are all uncomfortably neurotic about it!

I am asking my family what irritates them.

Kaiko my daughter in law, had been living with us for two months and apparently suffered the most excruciating irritation without saying a word. (Typical Japanese.) Then one day she asked if I had an oil can for the squeaky living room door. No one else had noticed it was squeaky. It was a kind of family squeak that was so familiar that our ears didn't register the sound. It was easily remedied and she asked if she could oil the children's bedroom door too!  Another squeak that had gone unnoticed.

Sam says he doesn't like public snogging! This reply has amazed me as he did his fair share when he was a younger! The reserve of the Japanese culture must have rubbed off on him after all those years he spent in that country!

Harry says that he can't think of anything that annoys him, (except me, sometimes!) However, the rest of the family thinks it would be easier to list the things that DON'T annoy him!

I really could write a book about my irritations but graffiti must come really high up on my list. Why is it that every inner city in Britain seems to have this problem? Surely this is as antisocial as housebreaking, car theft or shoplifting. So why isn't something done about it? When these little vandals get  caught, what happens? An ASBO more than likely. They are like trophies to teenagers! I would like to see  graffiti hooligans scrubbing off their "work" with nothing more than a toothbrush and a bucket of soapy water. That would take the smirk off their faces! 

Bonfires are another of my pet hates! it is so annoying when thick, grey smoke engulfs a small city garden like mine, usually on a nice day when I've put the washing out. Fortunately this does not often happen as I think my neighbours know how I feel.

I get pretty mad with the Government for a whole range of things but is it really true what the papers were saying recently, that a man in England was claiming social benefit for his four wives! What?! We're not even allowed to have four wives or husbands in this country so why should we be taxed to pay for other peoples'? When in Rome do as the Roman's do, I always say! I respect the laws of other countries so why shouldn't other people, when they are here?

I do realize that by now I might have offended some one with these views & they really are only my views for what they are worth. However, if you are sitting on a table, with strands of greased down hair across your head, and have more than one wife or husband, who loves squeaky doors, kissing in public, a lover of graffiti and planning your next bonfire, then I am truly sorry!

I've Got An Award!

I was amazed yesterday to receive an award from Mother's Pride!

After hours of confusion & staring at it hoping it would jump onto my blog somehow, I think I have finally cracked it!



I have found quite a few lovely blogs and I have awarded the big E to the following people not in any particular order. Anyone who is not in this list already has one! I'm also hoping that by the time you receive the awards you haven't already received one from someone else quicker on the mark than me! In which case you can have bloody two!

• Retired and Crazy
• Manic Mother Of Five
• Valleys Mam
• Rice in Asia
• welsh hills again
• L'Eggs up and Laughing
• She's like the wind
• Red, White and Bleu
  
• A Mother's Place is in the Wrong
  
• Dusty Spider

Please send to ten other people & visit the links. Hope you all have fun and find it easier than I did! 

Una Ragazza Bella

I was going to write about the absurdities of "Political Correctness" but thought, "Hang on, I've only been doing this blogging for 5 minutes, better not write anything too controversial!" So instead, I am writing about something fairly unusual (for us) that happened on a bus a few nights ago.

Harry and I had been out for a lovely evening with friends.

As we knew we would be having a couple of drinks and we never drink & drive, we left the car at home and caught a bus to our city centre. No problems going ...........

Coming home, just before 11 pm, we waved friends off, as they boarded their bus. We were now back on our city centre, not a good place to be late at night, but it still wasn't that late.

We were faced with three choices. We like walking, but that was not an option as we would have to go through a most unsafe area to get home.

We could get a taxi or bus it. We walked a short distance while we were deciding, but happened to come to the bus stop first. There were already several people waiting and this bus would take us almost to our door. So we joined the queue.

What was the fracas going on? A young, small, pretty teenage girl lying in the gutter, her back in a pool of water. A very irate man, not much older, trying to get her up and trying to reason with her. She was blind drunk and obviously didn't know what she was doing or saying. She staggered to her feet and started screaming obscenities in Italian and English.

The bus drew up and our small queue boarded it, the drunken girl followed us and went to the back of the bus without paying. The driver did not say anything. The red haired lad told the driver that he'd pay for the girl and he joined her, sitting on the seat beside her. He kept scolding her for making a spectacle of herself and for putting her feet up on the seat in front.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed she'd taken off her coat and was lying on the floor stroking the leg of the man sitting directly behind us. The young man who had taken responsibility for her, some how or other managed to get her back into her seat, his face now as red as his hair! He tried reasoning with her one minute and being angry the next, but nothing seemed to work. 

"Sebastian, Sebastian ..... I love him ..... he is my husband ...... he is my lover," she exclaimed with her lilting Italian accent.

"Shut up, will you!" Redhead replied, "Can't you see everyone's looking at you!" and so it went on.

I was suddenly aware of her standing right by us now, only clothed in a tiny skirt and tights. She looked as though she was about to take her bra off. Harry was trying to turn his back on her as she started to rub up against him.

No one said anything .... bus driver taking no notice and boyfriend not rescuing her this time. Harry did not think it was Christmas come early and was looking so embarrassed.

I looked into her glazed eyes and said, "I'd go and sit down, love, before you fall." Ridiculous remark, but it seemed to cool her ardor and she went back to her seat. 

Still no one saying anything in the bus but lots of eye rolling by now.

Our stop came fairly soon afterwards and the driver never said a word as we disembarked.  As we walked past the bus. We turned to see where the couple were sitting, Redhead still trying to control the girl's behaviour, she, still resisting and carrying on the antics.

Normally after a night out, we'd have a bedtime drink to wind down, and discuss our outing, but this time the scene in the bus, played on our minds & prevented us from settling down.

Was the boy she was with, taking her home to save her from being harmed on the city centre or was he  also going to take advantage of her?

She must have parents somewhere who worried about her. Why did she have to get into such a state in the first place? She was just about young enough to be our grand child! Took a long while to get to sleep as I worked out the possibilities.

I guess I need to get out more!

The Dangers of Recycling!

A few months ago I noticed I was limping because of a pain in my right foot. The whole foot felt as though it was on fire & really hurt when I walked. My chiropractor pulled the affected foot about & asked if there was anything different in my lifestyle. After a very long, hard think, I realized what had caused it. Recycling!

Since Sam & family had come to live with us, there seemed to be much more to recycle.  All his beer & lager cans had been stamped on to make them more compact, using my right foot. (After a course of treatment, the foot pain eased, but this cost a fortune!) As we give all aluminium to a church scheme sponsoring a little girl in India, I was becoming embarrassed by the sudden influx of beer cans & tried to arrange them at the bottom of the bag, hidden from view. Didn't want people thinking that Harry or I were were verging on alcoholism! Now I use a little hammer to flatten the tins & my foot is back to normal. For people like us, who have no garage, recycling can present problems. Our kitchen is overwhelmed by little bags, boxes & bins, each packed with something or other that we have been urged to save by the Council.

The large wheelie bins are only emptied once a fortnight, so we really do need to recycle or there'd be no room left for real rubbish & anything left outside the bin will not be collected.Just looking at some of the houses round here, with small front gardens filled with bags of rubbish, makes it obvious that they are multi let homes. The bins  overflowing with rubbish do attract rats. (I will write about MY rat very soon!)

The Council also provides a box for a variety of things, including paper, glass, foil, tins, spectacles, shoes, batteries & textiles. This is emptied every week & believe me, is heavy when filled! We have separate compost containers provided for house hold food waste & I also have two compost bins in the small garden, but have stopped using these for now, on account of the large number of  fruit flies that somehow or other find their way into the kitchen. For a small yearly rent we have another large wheelie that we can fill with garden waste & cardboard. All this is made into compost & probably sold at a profit by the Council. Bit of a cheek that!

All this recycling is very time consuming & you have to be fairly fit. If you don't get a hernia or slipped disc lifting the heavy boxes, or damaged feet crushing the drinks cans, then you might forget what goes where or which day things are collected. You really need to be with it! Oh, & I still have to walk half a mile to the nearest plastic bank as the Council does not yet pick up plastic for some obscure reason. Is our city unique with all this nonsense? And why don't we get a reward for all the hard work?

Its All Sam's Fault.......

I used to be a moderately competent housewife with two part time jobs. My house looked reasonably presentable, if not gleaming. I used to read lots of books & follow the soaps on TV. I used to do gardening & enjoy watching the birds & be at everyone's beck & call. I used to do a lot of things. Until recently, that is..........

My son, Sam put paid to all that when he asked me if I'd like him to set up a blog for me. A what?

He had to explain first of all what a blog was as I'd never heard of one & was wondering what I'd let myself in for.

I couldn't imagine anyone would be interested in my writings & thought it would be even more unlikely that I would want to read other peoples'. How wrong I was!

After Sam found me a few suitable sites, I found I was completely hooked!

Other people's blogs seem more interesting, well written & witty, but very inspiring. You bloggers are an interesting lot! I find an entirely new aspect of life has opened up. There's the thrill of receiving first comments & wondering what other people will write about next and the frustration of making a draft only to discover that someone else has written about that very thing & pipped me to the post!

In the meantime, I have an untidy, filthy house & a garden that needs attention & even the birds seem to have given up on me, in disgust!

How do other bloggers manage? Are you all super efficient types who get up at dawn to tidy the house before settling down to a few hours blogging? Do you all have to employ cleaners so that you can blog? What is your secret?

Apart from Sam, no one knows of my secret blogging. Everyone must be wondering why things are in such a mess.

Harry asks me, "What ever are you doing? What is the matter with you? Where is my dinner?"
Well something's got to give, but it ain't going to be my blogging!