Great British Poopy Summer…

It was mentioned that we would have some nice weather with warm temperatures and today my coat wasn’t needed and my sunglasses were worn for conditions other than to protect my eyes from the glare on a set road. Summer is here, if only for a few days.

Well, ok, it’s still spring, but the weather is beautiful.

This evening the girl next door and I went for a walk along the beach in the low tide before retreating to my kitchen for a cup of tea and a jammy doughnut. But I don’t think we are the only people (or things?) that have been retreating for refreshments after a leisurely stroll along the beach. 

I am blogging from my bath.

Don’t worry, I am not blogging while naked. And this is my spare washing up bowl… 

Every one moans that irresponsible walkers don’t pick up dog poop. Well, what about horses?

Yep… I stood in horse poop… Or the remnants of a freshly paid deposit…

Turns out that the girl next door and I are not the only people who thought about taking a walk in the low tide while enjoying the last of the evening sun. Someone else and their horse had the same idea. At least we went to the toilet first. 😂

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Flossy Friday: grief…

I feel for five young people. I have cried a few tears last night for one of the young people in particular. The teenage boy isn’t as tough as Flossie makes him out to be. He grunts at her but he is a fairly sensitive young man.

Somehow these children acquired two rabbits. First Bob, who died in the summer, and then Woody. Sadly, Woody died yesterday. The teenage boy was particularly upset. But Flossie’s comments were awful:

If he is like this when a rabbit dies, imagine how he’ll be when [relative] passes.

I’m not even going to mention which relative Flossie referred to. It begs belief that she would single out any relation, let alone make such a comment to a grieving teenager.

It’s not just a rabbit, though, is it? It’s a pet. Both pets were “indoor rabbits”. Both pets were, to the children, a part of the family. Just like [relative] is a part of the family.

When I learnt of Flossie’s reaction to the grieving teenager, I wasn’t even shocked. I remember telling her that a school friends relations had died and she just shrugged and said “I know”. I told her that a classmate had died and she answered “at least the class will be smaller”. I told her of a fellow patient dying and she said “sick people die all the time”. Yet, to friends, she can offer condolences. She can send a card. She can think of them. Yet, her children, she struggles to find a way to show sympathy without making the hurt worse or making the most insensitive comments imaginable. In fact, her comments are not even imaginable. I would never imagine saying these things to anyone who is grieving, let alone a child!

I can’t do much except phone the teenage boy tomorrow and send the children a card to tell them how sorry I am to hear about Woody. Because, as much as I didn’t like the rabbit (he made my eyes stream), I could tell how much joy he brought to the lives of the children. I truly feel sorry for all of them.

Hair yesterday, gone today…

In the past, I have had two amazingly brilliant hair dressers who have never put a hair on my head wrong. Sandy used to come on a Wednesday, to Nanna’s house, to cut our hair. Sadly, Sandy went. After that, I would occasionally visit a hairdressing shop, but otherwise, I let my hair do it’s own thing. I’ve never particularly enjoyed parting with cash. After paying Sandy’s cheap rates, I couldn’t ever understand why I would want to dig so deep for someone to hack a bit of hair off my head.

Following my bone marrow transplant (where I briefly lost my hair) I turned to a friendly neighbourhood face – Trish. She looked after my re-growing hair and kept it tidy for me. Well, tidy-ish. She didn’t have a magic wand, but she did her best. My new hair had a bit of a wave and was a bit thicker than my old hair; in fact, a lot of the time, my hair looked like a straggly mess of rat tail, straight bits and curls. I vividly remember getting ready to go out with my brother and my grandparents. I raced down the stairs, having left “getting ready” until the last minute, only for my Grandad and brother to ask (in unison) if I was going to brush my hair before we left. I felt insulted: I had just brushed my hair!!!

My hair is naturally messy. I put it in a clip, bits fall out. I put it in a bunch, it looks lumpy. I plait it and it falls apart. It is just a mess.

Trish had to give up hairdressing, so I made a conscious effort to go to the hair dressers once a year – around Easter time. You see, it ties in with eye test, dentist, haematology, etc… I just add “hair cut” to the list… I visited a hair dressers in my home town and I have used a local one for the last two years. However, this is the first hair cut in four years that I’ve actually liked. I’m pleased with it. I asked “how much is that then?”, expecting to hear “£25” (or thereabouts). Then the sweetest sound came to my ears: “that’ll be £12, please”.

£12? For this?

I showed the hairdresser a picture of the style I want – it’s how I have previously had my hair. Short. Low maintenance. And she came up trumps:

Image may contain: 1 person, glasses

I hate going to the hair dressers for many reasons. I find it rather intimidating. When it is in my own home, it is more relaxed – which is why I turned to Trish when my hair was growing back; she came to my home where there was no intimidation. There weren’t mirrors everywhere. I couldn’t see what she was doing and I didn’t need to look at myself.

It’s not just the intimidation, though. It’s the fear of the haircut not going right. That’s why I limit this to once a year. I know that it is, essentially, just hair, but it is hair that I have to wear on my head, outside, where people can see it. I know that hair will grow back, but that’s not really the point, is it?

I just need to point out that I’m not so vain that I think that everyone is looking at my head. But, an error might make me look even more ridiculous than I think I already do a majority of the time…

It’s also the small talk. The probing questions where I give careful answers – I’m quite savvy. I know that hair dressers like to gossip. I just don’t give them much to go by. Actually, I think I tell my blog more than I would tell a hair dresser. I have to answer the “so, you live with your partner then?” No. I live alone. “Do you have a partner?” No. “Kids?” Well…… I live alone………. “Awwwww, your time will come”. Inside, I’m screaming JUST STFU AND CUT MY HAIR. Outside, I’m smiling at my inside voice, being careful not to nod. “Do you have holiday plans?” No. “Do you watch [TV show]?” No. “Do you know any other words?” Not really…

Anyway. I’m pleased with todays haircut. My hairdresser was like all the others – asking lots of questions. However, she has done a fantastic job. I can’t believe that for the last 2 years I have paid almost £30 for a bad hair cut when a few doors away could have cut it for less than half the price!

Still here…

It’s been a quiet time for me. I promise, I’ve not given up blogging again. Unfortunately for you… I’ve just not been on my computer much because it’s in the kitchen and I don’t want the Eye Candy to think that I’m stood at the window spying on him, when actually, I’m updating my blog and playing Spider Solitaire… And WordPress on my tablet and phone aren’t as user friendly as I wish they could be.

I think, the last time I blogged, it was about my adventure in decorating. And, what an adventure it is turning out to be!! Nothing’s gone wrong, but I have learnt a few things about myself during this rather testing time.

  • The idea of watching a Grand Prix, episode of a soap opera, episode of a drama, Commonwealth Games or a 24 hour news channel is a priority over decorating.
  • When I’m bored of watching the TV, I convince myself that I should go and do some decorating. But. Wait! Is that a cup that needs washing up? What else can I wash up?
  • Once the washing up is done, I go upstairs. Where I find a sheet to fold. Well, after folding one sheet, I may as well unfold all the others and re-fold them…
  • Once I have finished folding my bedding, the towels could do with rearranging.
  • The loo rolls are looking a bit messy, too…

Progress is slow. But the ideas are developing. And, I have a USB key full of photos that I need to get printed to paste onto my wall. I have a few of my favourite ones:

My excuse for my slow progression is that I have to wait until Friday afternoon to get my socket moved. Really, it’s just laziness on my part. But things are transforming. Slowly. Unfortunately, I’ve had more ideas for decorating this room…

Flossie Friday: Easter…

I sent a parcel to five children. It arrived on Tuesday. Flossie decided that the children would have to wait until today (Good Friday) before they (“they”) opened their parcel. Fair enough – I told her it was “for Easter”, so I cannot really take issue with that. I massively regret not sending the parcel via their grandparents.

What I take issue with is that my present was used as leverage.

What I take issue with is that I was lied about.

Flossie told the children that I had “quite agreed” with her that the children should not get their parcel until they had done all that she asked of them. I had made no such comment. I would not make such a comment – I think the kids do way too much as it is.

She’s always used presents as a bargaining tool. No chores, no presents. It doesn’t matter that it’s a birthday or Christmas Day. Flossie uses the idea of the presents as the “prize” to get the children to do what she wants.

My gift wasn’t conditional. They didn’t have to earn my gift. It was a present, not a prize. My gift was to be enjoyed, not achieved. There was no strings in my gift. Yet, with the promise of a Cream Egg and Malteser Bunny, the children had to spend the morning doing housework while Flossie watched television and browsed Facebook.

A typically British bank holiday weekend…

I think most British Bank Holiday weekends involve rain, DIY stores and home improvements. Or, at the least, the ones that I didn’t spend at the beach with my grandparents included those things. Regardless of where we were, it rained. When I was a teenager, I had a job in a coffee shop, serving coffee to the flocks who were visiting the DIY store – to do their home improvements. It felt as though the world and his wife were taking day trips to their local B&Q. Who needs Chessington when we have B&Q on the doorstep?!

Now, here I am, 14 years older, doing what I told 16/17-year-old me that I would never, ever do. Never would I waste a bank holiday weekend in the DIY stores. Never, ever would I waste a bank holiday weekend doing home improvements. I promised 16/17-year-old me that when I was older (which I am now) and I have a “normal” job (which I don’t have), I would spend my bank holiday weekends on the beach with Nanna and Grandad.

I might visit the beach, but not the one that I was pretty much dragged up on. I have no real need for a DIY store now that I have stocked up on paint, paste, lining paper and a ladder. But I shall be doing home improvements. How times have changed…

It’s also set to rain. So, it’s not changed all that much 😉

Decorating

I have been in the house for 16 months and the only thing I have really changed is painting the chimney breast in the living room. I often sit in my house and feel that I am living in someone else’s house. It doesn’t matter that it is my stuff every where, I keep expecting someone to knock on my door and say “be off with you”.

Thankfully the house had nice decor when we bought it. There’s nothing too flamboyant. My kitchen is perfect. I don’t really want to change that. My bathroom is ok. But there are parts where a good scrub and lick of paint are needed – and where the decor isn’t to my taste.

The room / cupboard / box room is the room I am currently transforming. My bathroom is bigger, so I call this room my computer cupboard.

It’s such a small room, I can’t take a proper picture…

I have finally started some decorating. As soon as I moved in, I said that this is the room I wanted to decorate first. The wall paper reminds me of the 1990s – something that my mother had in her house. The walls are starting to look a bit yellow – the previous owner was a smoker. The woodwork makes the room look dingy and the carpet sort of gives a darker feel to the room. Despite having a massive cupboard in this room, there is little storage – which is a “problem” that I can easily fix.

When I told my Nanna the plans for this room she started laughing. I used to think that I came from an understanding and supportive family.

You see, after I finish scraping the 1990s wall paper off the walls, I plan to hang new paper – lining paper. This is why Nanna laughed: “but Becky, you’ve never hung wall paper in your life!”. There are a lot of things I have never done in my life before but I can do ok now!

I have assured Nanna that I have watched many YouTube videos. It can’t be that hard. I paste the paper and put it up. It’s a small room in my house. I’m not wallpapering Buckingham Palace. And, it’s lining paper. I don’t have patterns that I have to line up…

Then I want to paint the paper white and the paste up photos. Yes. I want to paste photos onto my wall. Like a big collage…

The rest of the room, I shall paint the same blue as the living room. And the wood I might turn white. Maybe. I will decide how the room looks after it’s blue…

I also have an appointment for the electrician to quote me on my socket. I want to move it up the wall. And change it to a double socket. This socket looks like it was put in when electricity was first discovered…