I'm sitting here watching the sun set behind the mountains, it's calm, chilly and beautiful. I Let property in the Heritage status mining town of Blaenavon and that is where I headed this morning when I drove over those mountains, I gasped at the fantastic view before me, it always has that affect on me (possibly because the air is thinner), yet when I was a child, that part of the world was filled with gigantic machinery. There were steel cables across the roads, bits of coal dropping from the enormous buckets that moved along them, wobbling, precariously. The air was full of dust and soot and I can not remember much about strong daylight, it was always twilight or dark.
I moved to South Wales when I was a child because my father bought a large house at auction by mistake.
It's quite true. He only went to buy some furniture.
There was a rather noisy domestic when he broke the news to my mother about their predicament. They had little choice, when the hammer goes down at auction, the contract is legally binding. They quickly sold our nicely renovated cottage and we moved into 'the valleys'
I couldn't understand a word anyone said to me with their strong Welsh accents, and they couldn't understand me either. It was all very scary. I didn't really know who to turn to, my parents were clearly insane and my sister couldn't understand anyone either. The only thing we were actually certain of was that our neighbours were called the 'Fritter's'.
I had to get on a bus and ask for 'a half to Hafodyrynys' (try that with your milk teeth falling out), but it always cost one whole pence. I never understood why a half cost a whole and my mother would tell me to shut up and get on the bus.
I remember walking to the local playground with my little friend, the Fritter, the mountain was on fire and our way back home was blocked by flames higher than us, the mountains always seemed to be on fire, it was a bleak place to live.
We moved into Herefordshire within 18 months and watched the mountains burn from far away, it felt much safer.
Wednesday, 26 September 2007
Monday, 24 September 2007
Huffy Husband
Today has been tense, moody, sultry even.
I kept looking around, had I forgotten something, done something that he simply didn't know how to tackle me about.
Was it the coffee?
No, I put the milk in after the water, that was OK.
The cup?
Bone China or John Deere mug, yep, I was OK there.
Had I run out of homemade bread?
No, there was plenty.
An Insurance salesman came, never a good move here. Darling husband treated him with admirable contempt. It would have made a great public information film about how to get rid of double glazing salesmen too.
He told the man to hurry up and make his point, he had work to do.
He let the salesman ramble incessantly for a few minutes, while eyeing up a huge chocolate sponge cake in the middle of the table.
The salesman tried to close but darling husband said, no, I'm not having it.
"Why not? Can't you see the advantages of such a policy?"
Darling husband replied, "It's none of your business why I don't want the policy, I don't want it and that's that"
Insurance Man " Well, there's only two reasons why you wouldn't have it, either it's the cost or you don't like me"
Darling Husband "Both"
Cue exit stage left for the insurance man, slightly panicky looking insurance man.
It may have been the nasty look on my husbands face, or just the worrying fact he had a spider sticker clinging to his shoulder saying "I've been good today".
Darling husband was so vile to him, it was quite brilliant. I began to hope we would get a call from India regarding our telephone supplier so he could deal with them too. In fact perhaps he could handle the advertising executives who regularly telephone me trying to sell me outrageously overpriced advertising in obscure publications only likely to be seen on 'Have I got News for You'
I still wasn't too sure what had upset Darling Husband, I put my arms around him
and looked into his seething eyes, ah.. the wind was howling outside.
"It's windy isn't it?" I said.
"Yes" he hissed through clenched teeth
My laid back, gentle, lovely humoured husband who invites the world and his wife into our home for cups of tea and a chat, turns into a (devastatingly handsome)Gruffulo in a temper on windy days. I always forget.
Moral of the story, never try to sell him anything when the wind is blowing.
I kept looking around, had I forgotten something, done something that he simply didn't know how to tackle me about.
Was it the coffee?
No, I put the milk in after the water, that was OK.
The cup?
Bone China or John Deere mug, yep, I was OK there.
Had I run out of homemade bread?
No, there was plenty.
An Insurance salesman came, never a good move here. Darling husband treated him with admirable contempt. It would have made a great public information film about how to get rid of double glazing salesmen too.
He told the man to hurry up and make his point, he had work to do.
He let the salesman ramble incessantly for a few minutes, while eyeing up a huge chocolate sponge cake in the middle of the table.
The salesman tried to close but darling husband said, no, I'm not having it.
"Why not? Can't you see the advantages of such a policy?"
Darling husband replied, "It's none of your business why I don't want the policy, I don't want it and that's that"
Insurance Man " Well, there's only two reasons why you wouldn't have it, either it's the cost or you don't like me"
Darling Husband "Both"
Cue exit stage left for the insurance man, slightly panicky looking insurance man.
It may have been the nasty look on my husbands face, or just the worrying fact he had a spider sticker clinging to his shoulder saying "I've been good today".
Darling husband was so vile to him, it was quite brilliant. I began to hope we would get a call from India regarding our telephone supplier so he could deal with them too. In fact perhaps he could handle the advertising executives who regularly telephone me trying to sell me outrageously overpriced advertising in obscure publications only likely to be seen on 'Have I got News for You'
I still wasn't too sure what had upset Darling Husband, I put my arms around him
and looked into his seething eyes, ah.. the wind was howling outside.
"It's windy isn't it?" I said.
"Yes" he hissed through clenched teeth
My laid back, gentle, lovely humoured husband who invites the world and his wife into our home for cups of tea and a chat, turns into a (devastatingly handsome)Gruffulo in a temper on windy days. I always forget.
Moral of the story, never try to sell him anything when the wind is blowing.
Saturday, 22 September 2007
Trouble
Ah, what a week.
My rantings to DHL for their diabolical service have left me exhausted.
How can a courier company be so bad at what they do? How can they say a parcel is not address correctly when they are delivering to a postcoded address of a Lutyens Listed grand building?
I take issue with their advertised 24 hour delivery, I suspect it's secret coded text for 'Next time we're passing an incredibly huge listed house with formal gardens at the address written on the parcel, we may drop off said parcel, or we may leave it for another day, or we may not bother with the delivery until we are yelled at for 24 hours'.
The Postman this week has equally been what can only be decribed as outside the human race, he drives far too fast, can't find his brakes and crashes into things when he turns his van. He has the personal speed of a sloth and wit and intelligence of a blunt knife that lost it's blade many years ago in very soft butter.
My rantings to DHL for their diabolical service have left me exhausted.
How can a courier company be so bad at what they do? How can they say a parcel is not address correctly when they are delivering to a postcoded address of a Lutyens Listed grand building?
I take issue with their advertised 24 hour delivery, I suspect it's secret coded text for 'Next time we're passing an incredibly huge listed house with formal gardens at the address written on the parcel, we may drop off said parcel, or we may leave it for another day, or we may not bother with the delivery until we are yelled at for 24 hours'.
The Postman this week has equally been what can only be decribed as outside the human race, he drives far too fast, can't find his brakes and crashes into things when he turns his van. He has the personal speed of a sloth and wit and intelligence of a blunt knife that lost it's blade many years ago in very soft butter.
Tuesday, 18 September 2007
Birthday Present
My Mother has just arrived.
She has brought Sophie her Birthday Present.
It's a triple pack of tights from Woolworths (Ladybird).
Two pairs look like they'll fit, one pair is twice the length of the others..very entertaining.
I don't know what else to say about the present really, I suppose at least she got the correct colour!
She has brought Sophie her Birthday Present.
It's a triple pack of tights from Woolworths (Ladybird).
Two pairs look like they'll fit, one pair is twice the length of the others..very entertaining.
I don't know what else to say about the present really, I suppose at least she got the correct colour!
Monday, 17 September 2007
Mothers
When I was just a few weeks from giving birth to my middle daughter, I had some car trouble. My gorgeous Jaguar sports car (sadly now sold) developed some problem and as my nearest maternity supply shops are at least half an hour away, I didn't want to risk getting stranded and having to give birth in a multi-story in Newport.
So, against all instincts, I asked my mother to get me a list of items.
Now I know she will opt for the least expensive and of course always the poorest quality item she can find, so I decided to give her a foolproof list.
I telephoned her and made her write down 'Mothercare' at the top of the list and then each item description, catalogue number, size and price.
She read the whole thing back to me, I'd cracked it, I just had to wait for her to deliver the stuff to me. I also told her, to be on the safe side, that she should approach a member of staff on entering the shop and hand over the list.
As my mother lives near Bluewater I had no fear that they would be out of stock of anything.
Well, how wrong could I have been?
My mother arrived, dropped the huge bag onto the table...it said 'Boots' on the side.
"Wrong Shop Mum" I said.
"You told me to go to Boots!"
"No, Mum, Mothercare"
"NO!..BOOTS"
Silence filled the room.
"Oh, well, they're all the same aren't they?" said my Mother realising that causing a scene might set off my labour.
Darling husband kept stifling his giggles, but I knew he was doing it and I was not impressed.
We opened the bag and went through the list.
The Maternity Bra was two sizes too big... "Well it's all they had!"
I was speechless
Composing myself, I delved into the bag again.
I pulled out Toddlers Antiseptic Hand Wipes. "What are these for? I wanted moist toilet tissue!!"
My blushing Mother said, "It's all they had"
What she meant was she was too embaressed to buy anything to do with maternity, babies and normal bodily functions.
The whole bag was wrong, every item in it was wrong. I couldn't make do with any of it, she had gone to the wrong shop and so bought none of the right items.
And, she was furious with me for being so ungrateful that I wouldn't even bother to try and make do with any of it.
I pray I never become like my mother.
So, against all instincts, I asked my mother to get me a list of items.
Now I know she will opt for the least expensive and of course always the poorest quality item she can find, so I decided to give her a foolproof list.
I telephoned her and made her write down 'Mothercare' at the top of the list and then each item description, catalogue number, size and price.
She read the whole thing back to me, I'd cracked it, I just had to wait for her to deliver the stuff to me. I also told her, to be on the safe side, that she should approach a member of staff on entering the shop and hand over the list.
As my mother lives near Bluewater I had no fear that they would be out of stock of anything.
Well, how wrong could I have been?
My mother arrived, dropped the huge bag onto the table...it said 'Boots' on the side.
"Wrong Shop Mum" I said.
"You told me to go to Boots!"
"No, Mum, Mothercare"
"NO!..BOOTS"
Silence filled the room.
"Oh, well, they're all the same aren't they?" said my Mother realising that causing a scene might set off my labour.
Darling husband kept stifling his giggles, but I knew he was doing it and I was not impressed.
We opened the bag and went through the list.
The Maternity Bra was two sizes too big... "Well it's all they had!"
I was speechless
Composing myself, I delved into the bag again.
I pulled out Toddlers Antiseptic Hand Wipes. "What are these for? I wanted moist toilet tissue!!"
My blushing Mother said, "It's all they had"
What she meant was she was too embaressed to buy anything to do with maternity, babies and normal bodily functions.
The whole bag was wrong, every item in it was wrong. I couldn't make do with any of it, she had gone to the wrong shop and so bought none of the right items.
And, she was furious with me for being so ungrateful that I wouldn't even bother to try and make do with any of it.
I pray I never become like my mother.
Thursday, 13 September 2007
It's almost here...
Friday is almost here, OK, OK, so I'm no where near ready!
I had to learn to plough yesterday (sad, but true).
And I had a lot of emails and phone calls to get through, but really I'm just procrastinating.
The Birthday Cake is in the oven as I Blog and smells good.
I've got to make some Chilli and a few puddings, some bread and buy some cheese, that will do, I think.
I think the thing I most dread is what my Mother (Shirl) will give to Sophie for her Birthday present. Last Christmas she gave her book and cd from a pound shop. The choir on the cd murdered every Carol and after one song it was quickly disgarded in favour of Bear Necessities.
Last year there was a second hand Readers Digest book of Nursery Rhymes, printed in the late 70's and had another childs' name badly written in it.
Oh and I forgot about the Bin Liner of second hand videos from a car boot sale, all of them pirate copies.
What did I get for my Birthday you ask?
Well obviously it was a very special Birthday. My husband surprised me with diamond earrings, my mother with an Asda carrier bag containing cheap red wine (£2.75) and a box of reject chocolates from the Tobacco Warehouse in Belgium.
Other presents include:
a Terrys Chocolate Orange that was four years..FOUR YEARS!! out of date.
a pot of Honey ("Wellll, I thought it would come in useful, y'knowww")
a small vacuum cleaner that we discovered she'd won in a competition ("It was very expensive, Darling")
some rubber gloves and clean o pine ("well, I didn't know what to get and I knew you'd use it") All spoken in Barbie tones!
I'm terribly, terribly spoilt by 'Shirl' and so are my children!
I had to learn to plough yesterday (sad, but true).
And I had a lot of emails and phone calls to get through, but really I'm just procrastinating.
The Birthday Cake is in the oven as I Blog and smells good.
I've got to make some Chilli and a few puddings, some bread and buy some cheese, that will do, I think.
I think the thing I most dread is what my Mother (Shirl) will give to Sophie for her Birthday present. Last Christmas she gave her book and cd from a pound shop. The choir on the cd murdered every Carol and after one song it was quickly disgarded in favour of Bear Necessities.
Last year there was a second hand Readers Digest book of Nursery Rhymes, printed in the late 70's and had another childs' name badly written in it.
Oh and I forgot about the Bin Liner of second hand videos from a car boot sale, all of them pirate copies.
What did I get for my Birthday you ask?
Well obviously it was a very special Birthday. My husband surprised me with diamond earrings, my mother with an Asda carrier bag containing cheap red wine (£2.75) and a box of reject chocolates from the Tobacco Warehouse in Belgium.
Other presents include:
a Terrys Chocolate Orange that was four years..FOUR YEARS!! out of date.
a pot of Honey ("Wellll, I thought it would come in useful, y'knowww")
a small vacuum cleaner that we discovered she'd won in a competition ("It was very expensive, Darling")
some rubber gloves and clean o pine ("well, I didn't know what to get and I knew you'd use it") All spoken in Barbie tones!
I'm terribly, terribly spoilt by 'Shirl' and so are my children!
Tuesday, 11 September 2007
Judgement Day
Sophie is 4 on Saturday.
She's having some tiddly peeps here for a tea party on Friday afternoon and I'm already getting worried. None of the Mum's have been here before and I'm going to be judged.
That bath panel that I threw out in disgust and refused to have installed is bothering me now because I have never got a substitute and the underside of the bath is displayed in all it's glory. These rash decisions seem great at the time.
Then there's the television, it's not a flat screen cinematic breakthrough in technology and although there is a DVD player in the house, it's hidden under the pile of videos, oh the shame! We are surely the last home in existence with a video player and even now, not one of us can programme the 'B' thing.
Oh dear, the landing had never been plastered, I don't notice any more. Will our guests think that because that hasn't been done, our beautiful stone walls are destined for the same thing and I'll get asked when we're plastering the sitting room and painting our beams black? A question my mothers' boyfriend used to ask frequently. He now just looks around tutting and with pity in his eyes, wondering if we'll ever be able to afford carpets instead of having to suffer bare floorboards (beautifully oiled in our eyes). Of course to him, unless your skirting board is glossed white and there's not wall to wall fitted patterned carpet covering your entire house, then he is going to feel sorry for you.
But Friday looms ever closer, what am I going to do with the piles of paper that seem to build up, I can't seem to find the right place to file them and so they just hang around, waiting to be shredded, so they can sit in the bottom of the shredder and hear me say, oh my God, I've shredded the wrong pile!
And the garden, so full of weeds, loads of bright coloured flowers and gorgeous roses, but even my Mayor of Castorbridge roses can't disguise the whiff of my pet pigs the other side of the hedge.
How can I hide the fact we have a room full of wellies and waterproof clothes (sheep smelling ones in my husbands' case), dog biscuits by the bucket full and huge sacks of pig food, chain saws and filing cabinets (oh the bliss of being married to a farmer)!
I'm thinking the best option is make a very large jug of Pimms, if they care about it all, at least I won't!
She's having some tiddly peeps here for a tea party on Friday afternoon and I'm already getting worried. None of the Mum's have been here before and I'm going to be judged.
That bath panel that I threw out in disgust and refused to have installed is bothering me now because I have never got a substitute and the underside of the bath is displayed in all it's glory. These rash decisions seem great at the time.
Then there's the television, it's not a flat screen cinematic breakthrough in technology and although there is a DVD player in the house, it's hidden under the pile of videos, oh the shame! We are surely the last home in existence with a video player and even now, not one of us can programme the 'B' thing.
Oh dear, the landing had never been plastered, I don't notice any more. Will our guests think that because that hasn't been done, our beautiful stone walls are destined for the same thing and I'll get asked when we're plastering the sitting room and painting our beams black? A question my mothers' boyfriend used to ask frequently. He now just looks around tutting and with pity in his eyes, wondering if we'll ever be able to afford carpets instead of having to suffer bare floorboards (beautifully oiled in our eyes). Of course to him, unless your skirting board is glossed white and there's not wall to wall fitted patterned carpet covering your entire house, then he is going to feel sorry for you.
But Friday looms ever closer, what am I going to do with the piles of paper that seem to build up, I can't seem to find the right place to file them and so they just hang around, waiting to be shredded, so they can sit in the bottom of the shredder and hear me say, oh my God, I've shredded the wrong pile!
And the garden, so full of weeds, loads of bright coloured flowers and gorgeous roses, but even my Mayor of Castorbridge roses can't disguise the whiff of my pet pigs the other side of the hedge.
How can I hide the fact we have a room full of wellies and waterproof clothes (sheep smelling ones in my husbands' case), dog biscuits by the bucket full and huge sacks of pig food, chain saws and filing cabinets (oh the bliss of being married to a farmer)!
I'm thinking the best option is make a very large jug of Pimms, if they care about it all, at least I won't!
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