The Husband is feeling a great sense of achievement at the moment - the Wisteria has flowered for the very first time.

It doesn't sound a great thing, except we planted it as a young plant against the back wall if the house at least 12 years ago. Neither of us had any experience of this type of plant and, of course, we were both working at the time and so we left it to do its own thing. This was a big mistake as we later discovered as it needs proper pruning to shape the plant and to encourage it to start flowering.

Once we had both finished with work the Husband decided to try and get the wisteria to flower. So for a couple of years he pruned it, albeit rather tentatively. Nothing happened. The Husband got a little frustrated about this and announced that the wisteria had one more opportunity to flower or he would dig it up and throw it away. I wouldn't call his pruning this time as tentative - it was more like buchery. Real kill or cure. After he had finished this task there was very little left, it looked like a few stems and very little green.

And it worked. We've had a good first flowering from the plant. And, hopefully, we'll have more flowers on it in future years.

Pictures taken from a certain angle

Does anyone else have the problems I do in choosing greetings cards? Every time I go in a card shop to buy a card my brain fuses. It isn’t the massive amount of choice in cards, it is because I have such difficulty finding any cards that I would actually want to buy.

Virtually every card is addressed to someone – and nowadays the cards will be clearly marked on the front of the card as for: husband, wife, brother, sister, friend, best friend, fiancee, aunt, uncle, gay lover, dog or cat (I’m not joking about these last three, I have actually seen greeting cards for sale addressed to them). And inside these cards is some sickly sentimental verse which usually is so bad it makes William McGonagall seem like the poet laureate. (The standard of verse in Valentine’s cards is especially notable.)

The less said about the so-called “funny” cards the better. I usually look for something like this for my nephew (aged 22, and so of the right age to receive such a card). You have to plough through a huge amount of dross to find anything that is reasonably humorous without being totally offensive. Who on earth sends some of these cards with humour that borders on the obscene? And what does the recipient think?

What is wrong with a nice card with a nice picture on the front which says inside “Happy Birthday”? That’s what I like to find but usually I have the dickens of a job to find anything suitable. I like to think that by sending a card that it goes without saying that I am thinking of the person. I don’t need to send card with some meaningless verse inside to say so.

The local card shop is exceptionally large and full of cards. But those of the type I like fill just a couple of feet of space in the very back of the shop and I generally have to hunt to find them. And even then the choice of decorations on the front of the cards often does not inspire. I can usually find something suitable for a lady with perhaps flowers or something else feminine and pretty on the front. But try to find a card for a man. Just what “manly” picture do you find on the front of a card? Racing cars, yachts and then only if you are lucky.

Often nowadays I go for a card with no writing inside. That always seems the best option. Then I can chose something with a picture I like and am suitable for the person I am sending it to and write something suitable inside.

Am I being too picky about greetings cards? I am just aware of a close friend who was sent an ordinary Christmas card with a printed verse inside that wished her “the best Christmas ever” two months after the death of her son. It was obviously done totally unthinkingly by a sender who just hadn’t thought of what was printed in the card. But seeing how much hurt that card caused made me think twice and forever about the potential impact of a sent greetings card.

HMS Dasher

On 27 March 1943 HMS Dasher exploded and sank with the loss of 379 lives.

Dasher was built in America but was commissioned into the Royal Navy the following year. Such ships were desperately needed to provide air cover for the Atlantic convoys. These were Britain’s lifeline and were being remorselessly attacked by German submarines. In 1943 the ship’s flight deck was extended by 42 feet and it began to carry Fairey Swordfish aircraft. It undertook one mission successfully but after its second mission it suffered a major internal explosion and sank into the Firth of Clyde.

Various possible causes have been suggested for the explosion but exactly what happened has to date not been officially recognised. Her death toll, 379 out of 528 crewmen despite rapid response and assistance from local ships and rescue craft was amongst the highest in British home waters. Immediately after the explosion there was an official cover-up aimed at concealing what was a significant loss both in Naval and human terms.

One theory for the explosion and sinking of HMS Dasher is that a Swordfish aircraft failed correctly to land on the Dasher’s flight deck but instead crashed into the ship itself. This view is strongly held by several who remember seeing this happen, including a young woman who was taking her infant son for a walk on the sea front.

Another witness was a young naval telegraphist on a tank landing craft nearby. His name was George Humphreys and he is my Father-in-Law. For years he has talked of the day he saw a Swordfish aircraft hit the Dasher, after which he saw the ship explode. He originally told the Husband of this in 1960 and his story of the actual incident has not changed over the years.

On 28th, 29th and 30th March 2008, 65 years after the explosion and sinking, there was a memorial weekend for HMS Dasher. My Husband and his father flew up to Glasgow to become part of the ceremony and to meet some of the others also acknowledging the incident with their hearts and minds. Ceremonies took place where wreaths were laid at the memorial gardens at Ardrossan. The ferry that usually runs between Ardrossan and the Isle of Arran took a small detour to the site of the wreck, a further ceremony took place and the Father-in-law laid a wreath in the sea on behalf of both those who lost their lives in the explosion and its aftermath and also his friends who died during the Second World War.

George still feels very strongly of the need to remember those who were lost during the War, his memories are still sharp of that time. Those he met at the memorial weekend feel the same. It is easy to belittle these thoughts and feelings as being those of the old, but important to remember the lives and times then. They are a part of our history and a sharp reminder of the cost of the freedom we are lucky enough to enjoy.

Above is a picture of George Humphreys as a young naval rating during the war. Below is one of him laying a wreath overboard at the site of the wreck.

HMS DASHER (27 March 1943)

This is what the Husband and the Father-in-law did a few days ago.

Easter is finally over. It seemed to go on for an awfully long time.

Easter always starts in our family on Maundy Thursday, not surprising as the Husband and I are both former civil servants and Maundy Thursday is still a noticeable day for the British civil service. And so we started with a big family meal in the evening with lots to celebrate as this was the day that the Stepdaughter finished her current job. The next day (Good Friday) she was setting off for Australia for a 3 week holiday and when she returns she starts a new job that she really looking forward to and at a considerable rise in salary. So she brought two bottles of champagne which we drunk during the meal which, which added to the usual wine made the amount for us to drink more than enough for four people. A good time was had by all.

Good Friday the Stepdaughter set off to Australia (not from Terminal 5, thank goodness), the Stepson disappeared meeting old friends and the Husband and I recovered from the night before. Later in the weekend we drove to Whitstable and picked up the Father-in-law, so that he could spend some time with us. We are conscious that he finds being alone difficult, especially after the death of his wife last October. We came back here and the Stepson came over. We spent that day and the next eating and talking. The day after we took the Father-in-Law home the Husband and the Stepson went up to London to go around the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew and to see the Henry Moore sculptures on exhibition there. Too far for me to walk and anyway, all I wanted to do was to curl up in bed with the Cold From Hell which had appeared a few days earlier.

By this time Easter was officially over but it all still felt like part of the Bank Holiday, what with all the family things still going on. The Thursday after Easter became a special day for the Husband and his father as they set off for something special. I’ll describe this in much more detail, and the reason for the trip on another occasion but just to say now that they were away from home for four days. I spent most of the time in bed still with the Cold from Hell and was grateful for it.

The Husband returned home and things returned to normal on Monday. Easter is over at last. And I’m still croaking and coughing but at least the worse of it has gone.

Like most people I carry a mobile phone around with me whenever I am out of the house. Its now an essential piece of equipment for modern life, like carrying my glasses and my credit cards. The trouble is that I’ve been cursing my old mobile for ages because although it worked well, recharging it was a real pain. Connecting it to the charger was so very fiddly and I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve spent a long time and lots of curses trying to get the connection just right so that the phone would recharge.

After a couple of years of this I decided out of sheer exasperation to make a change and started looking around for a new mobile phone last November. The trouble is that I am one of those people who find themselves baffled by too much choice. I can remember years ago, long before I was married, going into the local Toys-R-Us for a Christmas present for my young nephew and leaving with empty hands after a couple of hours as I was just totally confused and baffled at the amount of choice available. There are so many different mobile phone models around, all with different facilities and all at different prices that my brain fused every time I went into my local mobile phone shop. And I’ve been going into the shop virtually every week, staring at the display of all the different models, failing to make a decision and beating a hasty retreat.

Then this Thursday I saw this one. Not black as in the photograph but purple. Just what a Red Hatter needs. It not only caught my eye, the price was reasonable and it has lots of facilities that I can play with. So I bought it, with real relief that my ordeal was finally over. Orange (the mobile phone service I use and have always received good service) transferred my (old) phone number to my new mobile overnight, and Yesterday it became my new phone.

The first thing I did was to download onto my new phone a tune to become its new ringtone. Too many times I have been on a train or on a station and an ordinary ringtone has gone off and everyone in listening distance has reached for their own mobile phone to see whether it was theirs ringing. I did not want that, I wanted a ringtone that was special to me alone. So my old phone had the music from Mission Impossible (the tv series); this one has the film music from Superman (the original film – I’ve always loved John Williams music from this film). I am unlikely to find too many other people reaching for their mobiles if someone rings me.

I’ve got a lot to learn about my new phone and much I can do with it, from downloading music onto it to learning how to use its FM radio. Those I shall learn and play with over the future months. For the moment I have a phone that works effectively. And isn’t a pain to recharge.

The other day I’d moaned like the dickens here when virtually everything that could have gone wrong in my life did, although it was just lots of little things. I’m feeling a lot more cheerful now, although I can’t think of anything in particular that happened. I just got on with things and it all got better.

Last Thursday, though, I didn’t spend all day alone after all, because the Husband did a real Man thing. Last year he walked a minimum of 16 – 18 miles every day and became really fit. He stopped walking last October and winter put him off walking. As the weather has started to improve and the first vestiges of spring started to appear he decided that now was the time to start walking again. So, last Tuesday he walked 8 miles. And in the evening he complained that his feet hurt but that didn’t stop him walking 16 miles on Wednesday. He could hardly walk by the evening and was little better on Thursday morning. So he decided just to go up to London for the evening concert as he wasn’t up to walking around London and walking around exhibitions. So I wasn’t alone all day Thursday after all.

Friday I was, as he had another concert in the evening and felt able to walk during the day. But I wasn’t feeling down and enjoyed the solitude. I also managed to watch a DVD I was given for Christmas but that the Husband didn’t want to watch.

Sunday was nice as I am a member of the Crimson Crumblies, the Red Hat chapter based in Chelmsford and yesterday was the chapter’s third birthday and we all went around to our Queen’s house for tea and chatter. There was about 12 – 13 of us there, some of our members couldn’t make it, and a good time was had by all.

Today is not a nice day to be out as GB is being lashed by heavy rain and high winds. I was woken by the weather early this morning and it hasn't abated. We are staying indoors today in the dry and the warm. The only flaw at this moment is that the Husband is listening to Berg, not my idea of fun.

Dogs in Elk

I am crying with laughter. As I write this I cannot see the keys properly because of the tears (of laughter) in my eyes. The mental images I have.....

You can read it here: http://dir.salon.com/story/tt/post/2005/10/19/posts_of_the_decade/index.html

This is a post of me moaning. Avoid if you wish. I just want to get it all off my chest.

Yesterday was one of those days when I wished I had never got out of bed. Everything that could have gone wrong did.

First I had made arrangements for a Red Hat visit to the "From Russia" exhibition in the Royal Academy of Arts in Picadilly for this Thursday. But it had over the last few days became clear that this date wasn't suitable for many and so I've rearranged the visit for April. Fine for the many but I was looking out for something to do out of the house this week, especially as the Husband is out for two days.

Then I had a phone call to say that the day course in British Prehistory I was going to do on this Saturday had been cancelled due to lack of interest. I am fascinated by the subject. Clearly no-one else is.

Then the doctor had arranged an appointment for me to see the nurse to have my blood pressure checked. That was yesterday afternoon. Only the nurse decided to discuss my "lifestyle" and started wittering on about eating less and walking more. When I left the surgery I bought a big bar of chocolate. And ate it. I've spent my whole life being told what to do - first my parents and then, of course, at work. Now I'm free and NO ONE tells me what to do anymore.

I should have made some soup but I forgot to buy the onions. So the poor Husband went out again just to buy some for me. He is kind and knew how fed up I was.

Anyway, Monday is over and life goes on. Now what shall I do with the time that was formerly booked up?

Three of our Camellias are in bloom at the moment, only the white one has still to come out. The problem is that we are expecting snow and cold winds in the next couple of days and I suspect that these blossoms are soon to become damaged.

It's Mothering Sunday today and the Stepdaughter came around for most of the day. After lunch we watched the DVD the Husband has just bought - "Atonement", the one that has had all the plaudits and wone some Oscars and other awards. All three of us decided afterwards that it was one of the most depressing films we had ever seen and we all felt like slitting our wrists. So afterwards we watched "A Close Shave" with Wallace and Gromit, to cheer ourselves up. So the day ended up quite nicely after all.
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A friend sent this to me. Real teamwork and friendship.

Sounds like good advice.

I'm not sure whether we are in Winter or in Spring. Neither seems to be the plants. We have had lots of the early Spring flowers out already, including crocuses, daffodills and snowdrops. Unfortunately the very, very mild weather we have been getting at regular intervals since December is being regularly interrupted by very bitter frosts at times. The first blossoms on our pink camellia came out two weeks ago, much earlier than usual, only to be very badly frosted last week. Still I suppose I shouldn't complain too much, living in a part of England that has lots of sunshine and mild weather and absolutely none of the heavy gales and snow that Northern England and Scotland has (sort of) enjoyed. I understand that Scotland has actually had a skiing industry this year, so much snow has fallen (unlike last year when there was no snow at all).

When I was a child my father had a favourite saying “from the sublime to the gorblimey”. I’m remembering that saying at the moment as it is an appropriate description of the last week and a bit.

Christmas was good although it was very clear that we are going through a new phase in life now that the kids have grown up. The Stepdaughter is 25, the Stepson is 21 and they want to be away spending time with their friends rather than to be with us, the old fogies. Nevertheless Christmas Day was good: the Stepdaughter and her boyfriend turning up in the morning, there was cooking for the big meal, eating and drinking, mid-afternoon the Stepson left to stay with his mother, an evening with the Stepdaughter and boyfriend who then went home. Boxing Day was even quieter as it was just the two of us.

The Thursday was expensive as the tv in the sitting room had started to play up so we braved the sales and found a new one. Having paid for it we discovered that it would be a while until it could be delivered – in fact Monday 14th (an irritation as our old one has now completely packed up).

Friday was quiet and we prepared for the following day’s drive to Cardiff to visit my mother. Little did I know….

When I awoke on Saturday I had a pain in my tummy, which I ignored. The drive to Cardiff was better than either of us had expected as the roads, usually some of the busiest in the country, were clear of major roadworks or jams. But by the time we had got there my abdominal pain had begun to get worse. But we saw my mother, who was delighted to see us and we stayed for a couple of hours which was as long as she could cope with. The less said about the journey back the better what with the pain and the nausea I was now feeling. So when we got home again I rang the out-of-hours GP and made an appointment for his clinic in the local hospital for after midnight and the Husband drove me there.

I saw the GP who immediately sent me next door to their A&E department. To cut a long story short I was admitted to the hospital with suspected appendicitis…or kidney stones…or gallstones, no-one was certain at that stage. There followed a series of tests and scans, as well as some heavy duty painkillers for which I was very relieved. Monday morning I received a visit from the hospital Urologist who informed me that my appendix is fine but that the scan had shown a kidney stone which was causing the problem. About 10 minutes after he left I had a personal experience of the separation of medical disciplines with the arrival of a General Surgical team which informed me that the scan had also shown that I had a supply of gallstones but they weren’t immediately causing any problems. Wonderful. The next couple of days were a mixture of drugs to get the kidney stone to move through my system and painkillers.

Yesterday the Urologist returned to say that things were clearly getting better and that I could go home that day. So the Husband picked me up in the afternoon and I am at home again. The terrible pain has gone, although my side is still a little tender, not surprising I suppose. And so I am taking it easy and hope soon to be well and up and doing things again.

Then I suppose I shall have to find out how to manage kidney stones and gallstones in future. I wonder how you can prevent them?

The Christmas Song sung by Nat King Cole

Happy Christmas everybody and may we all have a healthy and peaceful New Year.

One of the things we do when we put up Christmas decorations is to replace the normal candles in our big candle holder with Father Christmas ones.

Although we've done this for some years this time the Stepdaughter took a step back and said "those Father Christmasses are doing the Nazi salute"

Well, taking another look at them I feel that their arms are at the wrong angle for that. I feel that they are just waving at us.

They certainly give me seasonal feelings and nothing else.

Hmmm. I'm feeling a bit dubious at the moment. I've just back from an appointment with my doctor to monitor my blood pressure. Again. This time it was 150 over 85 which is a lot better than a few months ago when he first put me on BP pills. (Loathsome things - difficult to swallow as they disintegrate in the mouth.)

He said that as a last stand before doubling my BP medication I should use a home kit to monitor my BP every day - just in case visiting the surgery is making it go up. So I bought a kit from the chemists and am trying to learn how to use it. I'm not sure I've got it right though. Just now it said that I was 189 over 122. Either I'm not using it right or perhaps the mere effort of using it makes my BP go higher.

The Christmas Decorations are up

It took the Husband later than usual this year to decide to put up the decorations, not surprising given what he has been through. But in the last few days he decided the time is right and called the Stepdaughter around the other evening to help put them all up.

I've taken pictures of some of the decorations but not of the chains. Luckily these are chains we've had for years because it's now difficult to find them in the shops. I can't imagine why as I always feel that they give a really Christmassy feel to a room.


And yes, that's a picture of us to the left of the clock, taken on our wedding day. 14 years ago now.

How time flies.

Now This I Couldn't Resist

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?
From the fecund loins of Rum and Monkey.



You are Charles VI of France, also known as Charles the Mad or Charles the Well-Beloved! A fine, amiable and dreamy young man, skilled in horsemanship and archery, you were also from a long line of dribbling madmen. King at 12 and quickly married to your sweetheart, Bavarian Princess Isabeau, you enjoyed many happy months together before either of you could speak anything of the other's language. However, after illness you became a tad unstable. When a raving lunatic ran up to your entourage spouting an incoherent prophecy of doom, you were unsettled enough to slaughter four of your best men when a page dropped a lance. Your hair and nails fell out. At a royal masquerade, you and your courtiers dressed as wild men, ending in tragedy when four of them accidentally caught fire and burned to death. You were saved by the timely intervention of the Duchess of Berry's underskirts.


This brought on another bout of sickness, which surgeons countered by drilling holes in your skull. The following months saw you suffer an exorcism, beg your friends to kill you, go into hyperactive fits of gaiety, run through your rooms to the point of exhaustion, hide from imaginary assassins, claim your name was Georges, deny that you were King and fail to recognise your family. You smashed furniture and wet yourself at regular intervals. Passing briefly into erratic genius, you believed yourself to be made of glass and demanded iron rods in your attire to prevent you breaking.


In 1405 you stopped bathing, shaving or changing your clothes. This went on until several men were hired to blacken their faces, hide, jump out and shout "boo!", upon which you resumed basic hygiene. Despite this, your wife continued sleeping with you until 1407, when she hired a young beauty, Odette de Champdivers, to take her place. Isabeau then consoled herself, as it were, with your brother. Her lovers followed thick and fast while you became a pawn of your court, until you had her latest beau strangled and drowned.


A severe fever was fended off with oranges and pomegranates in vast quantities, but you succumbed again in 1422 and died. Your disease was most likely hereditary. Unfortunately, you had anywhere up to eleven children, who variously went on to develop capriciousness, great cruelty, insecurity, paranoia, revulsion towards food and, in one case, a phobia of bridges.

I’ll be glad when tomorrow comes and we’ll no longer be pestered by political canvassers. Yes, we’ve an election in this ward tomorrow. December is an odd time to have one but it has become necessary due to the exploits of our previous councillor, who was also Mayor for the Borough of Chelmsford.

You could, I suppose, call him a Naughty Boy. Personally I would call him a Complete Idiot. Let’s face it, if you are Mayor and are using a Council’s computer on official business then you don’t download child pornography onto that computer. Of course the police found out and undertook a formal investigation. And then the local media found out and so on and so forth. Finally he resigned as our councillor and as the Mayor.

There are four political parties all desperate to fill his place: the Conservatives, Labour, the Lib-Dems and even UKIP. The trouble for us is that they don’t have every ward in the Borough on which to disseminate their efforts and so this time everything is concentrated just on our ward. So we are being pestered and pestered. Hardly a day goes by without at least one paper or leaflet being thrust through our letterbox. I’ve had telephone calls and one candidate knocked on the door. Yesterday I handed to the Husband a handwritten envelope addressed to him that I assumed was a Christmas card. It wasn’t, it was another leaflet.

We’ve even had a leaflet from the UKIP candidate which really amused us. Talk about a total lack of understanding of the extent of power held by a local councillor: he clearly thinks that being elected will make him controller of our government. But other than that light relief we are just exasperated at the amount of stuff they have sent us. The paper recycling sack is full of it.

Oh well. It’s a prime lesson how the actions on one can affect the many. And the sooner tomorrow comes the better.