Fabulous at Forty

Well I survived and plenty of fun was had. A really enjoyable evening with a few lovely people, a wonderful day and night away with Justin in Oxford staying at a fantastic hotel called the Old Parsonage, and a new toaster! Don't ask me why but I've fancied a 4 slice chrome Dualit toaster for years, and I thought my fortieth was the ideal time to ask for one, and my siblings came up trumps and did me proud. I received many other wonderful gifts. One of Justin's gifts is a balloon ride over London which I can't wait to go on later in the year. Me scared? - never.

Another gift was the 1963 civil defence handbook 'advising the householder on protection against nuclear attack'. So I must go and fill as many boxes and bags as I can with earth, paint all the windows white and take down a couple of doors. Wish me luck.

Before I go a wonderful quote from one of my birthday cards, attributed to the actor Richard Harris. 'I'm a member of a new group called alcoholics unanimous. If you don't feel like a drink, you ring another member and they come over to persuade you'

On the Turn

I'm sure the last time I looked I was about 28 in years and waist, but no, I am mistaken because the strangest thing is happening - I'm turning 40. I know what you're thinking, and yes I do only look about 17 (stone maybe).

Just to be on the safe side I have just dug out my birth certificate. Ivy Ollett registrar of births and deaths confirms that i was born in the district of Warwick and Leamington on seventeen April 1969 - so it must be true. Actually I know a bit more detail than that. Going through mum's things recently I came across a whole lot of stuff from the olden days; things we had done at school, mother's day cards we had sent her, a very sweet bidding prayer I wrote at primary school about being nice to disabled people 'the disabled', but also the card they gave her recording my birth details.

So legend would have it that I was born at 9.23 am and weighed in at a middling 7lbs and 3ozs. My blood group is A rh + and I am male. So i think based on that, and the certificate, we can safely say that the day after tomorrow I will be forty!

So what now? Well aren't you supposed to have a mid life crisis? I do have a mini crisis every night trying to choose the next bottle from the cellar - does that count? Or I think you can buy a sports car or run off with a blond girl in a yellow bikini. Now I could manage the sports car at a push but the others - well if you don't mind, I'll pass.

But I think evaluation and thinking through are good, and what with mum passing as well there is plenty of scope for using the time wisely, as we should all do from time to time, to sit down and think. I'm hoping if I think hard enough I'll wake up retired in a big house on the Cornish coast.

I've asked mum to try and send me a Golf for my birthday. We think it was her who made social services up what they are giving towards my Gran's nursing home place, so she's obviously got influence in high places. I bet they have good antiques in heaven. I think I need a car more suited to my age and style, something that will take some furniture in the back, and overtake at excessive speeds.

Actually I'm looking forward to my middle class middle age - I think it will suit me well.

TTFN

WHGG x

Just for the Listening

Don't say I never give you anything! And if you like why not go and give War Child a couple of quid.

http://www.warchild.org.uk/donate/single_donation

Miss Brahms

I don't know about you but Wendy Richards had always got right up my nose. But as always I stand to be corrected. I was shocked when she passed away recently, I suppose she had been through some of the similar stuff to Zena. Anyway this documentary may soften her in your eyes as it did with me.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b00jcrz7/Wendy_Richard_To_Tell_You_the_Truth/

Surfing the blogs

Today I have been assigned to lazy duties. It is about all I am fit for at the mo although it did successfully involve buying a new white shirt, buying some nice things for tea from M&S, putting fresh bed linen on, doing a load of washing, picking up my dry cleaning, discussing a shite deli in Dulwich Village with Trading Standards, eating quite a few jelly beans, taking delivery of a nice case of wine from Majestic and eating yet more jelly beans. I am resting in prep for my return to Leamington tomorrow for Zena's funeral on Friday.

Already it seems so strange. I spent a week with Dad up in Leamington, keeping him company, having a bit of a clear out of Zena's rubbish, not her things, just her rubbish, and doing a range of other low level supportive tasks. It was nice to spend such a long time in Leamington and reacquaint myself with the old place. I have suggested to Justin that we move there, as the sainsbury's is about twice the size, and it is easy to park everywhere!

This being a semi orphan though is taking me in many strange ways. Most of the time i feel OK, sad, strange, somewhat out of sorts, but OK, and then at the drop of a hat I am very sad. I am sure things will be like this for sometime, and I am dreading the funeral on Friday where there will be loads of people asking how I am and being very sorry and sad themselves etc. But I am looking forward to hearing lots of interesting stories about Zena and how her path crossed with a whole range of people. We shall see.

But anyway another reason for blogging is because my being lazy day has also involved surfing for the mad and the interesting on the interwap. I have come across a few good sites today which should produce a chuckle at least, and I hope they give you a laugh as they did me.

http://thisiswhyyourefat.com/

http://wonderfulcouponing.blogspot.com/

http://www.lovelylisting.com/

http://www.foundmagazine.com/

I have also added a range of the books I have read recently and can thoroughly recommend them all, so if you are looking for a read have a flick through my shelves for some literary inspiration.

Take care.

TTFN xx

Zena Godwin 8 April 1935 - 27 February 2009

Sadly my wonderful mother Zena died today. She had been living with cancer for some time, but since last Autumn it and her hadn't been getting on terribly well. She was comfortable at the end, at home and with lots of good care, love and attention from family, friends and the health and social care services.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.

Confessions of a speed junkie

Not only was I very good at stuffing my mouth with sweets whilst trying to act all nonchalant, but apparently I was also a speed and adrenalin junkie.

As some of you may know, England has been turned into a veritable winter wonderland today. No trains, no buses, just lots and lots of people who couldn't get into work throwing snowballs at each other in the street. The snow is about 5 inches deep which is unprecedented in recent times, and certainly the deepest I can remember in London. The table in our garden this morning is reminiscent of an iced cake!

It was whilst visiting the parents over the weekend and as the first snowflakes started to fall that I reminded my father of the sledge we had built (he had built) following the Blue Peter fact sheet. It was chuffing brilliant as I recall. Before global warming when we had good snow, deep and crisp and even, every winter there would be plenty of sledging opportunities across the hillocks of Leamington. Dad assures me that I always wanted to go very fast and over and over again! He then let slip that my addiction followed me through the seasons. Apparently when I was very small and we were 'a plage' I would demand that he walked into the sea with me on his shoulders; wanting to go ever deeper. He says he was often scared, I was never.

I then recalled making an entrance to one of my parents' ' Zena and Stan at Home' parties, by coming down the stairs on a tray. I remember the exhilaration of this great feat, and dad remembered that I could have killed myself. I further remembered that it took everyone's attention away from the curious rice salad my mother had prepared and their stranger drunken friends.

Oh sweet memories.

Keep warm.

Death In Leamington Spa

Bacon and Ethics

It is strange that after all these years of being a vegetarian (26) I still get asked, on a fairly regular basis, why. It's not done along the lines of -

'My mother made me a vegetarian'

'if I give her the wool, will she make me one?'

But it is surprising because I thought vegetarianism was so run of the mill and common place these days. Even the most ordinary restaurants will offer one veggie dish on their menu. Although saying that, some very good restaurants do seem to find it a bit of a challenge to provide even one mediocre offering, whilst their meat eating patrons are spoilt for choice with an extensive range of inventive and flavoursome culinary delights.

However I'll leave my 'how to easily provide wonderful vegetarian options and what vegetarians really want to eat' seminar until another day. In fact if you want my short and concise fact sheet on the subject just send a S.A.E to the usual address.

Back to the question - 'So why are you a vegetarian?' It often comes with intense interest as if I have just come out as being Jedi, or am in fact the first, and only, vegetarian in the village. I usually trot out the same sort of thing, about welfare and the abundance of other foodstuffs and my unwillingness for anything to be reared simply to be killed for my plate.

But every now and then something hits me between the eyes as the perfect answer to the age old question. Something so crystal clear that I would never be able to offer such simple clarity to the enquiring questioner.

So today, my meat eating chums, I would like to offer, in answer to the question, an excellent article by Jon Henley from today's Guardian. I do hope that you read it - and I'd be very interested to have your thoughts.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk/2009/jan/06/animal-welfare-food-bacon

Happy Eating!

In the bleak mid winter

What is it with workmen? Why do they have to leave the front door open, just because they are going to their van from time to time? Is it that hard to operate a Yale latch system? Maybe they are more the Harvard types, but that’s enough of my ludicrously sharp wit.

I shouldn’t really be being funny as it’s actually too cold. Surveys have shown that exuding an unnecessary torrent of continual high quality intelligent banter can, in the wrong circumstances, lower the body’s temperature by up to 3°.

So why am I so cold? Well firstly it is winter and the sun hasn’t come out yet, and secondly because my very ancient and never knowingly efficient central heating is in the process of being upgraded to a modern, state of the art, A rated, fully programmable, microprocessor included, thoroughly flushed heating super system! (Do you think I should copyright that?)

New boiler, new pipe work, new radiators, new thermostats, new wireless controls, all very modern. But what an effing ada of a palaver.

It all seemed so simple to start with, British Gas came round to give me my bench mark quote, and when I had managed to pick myself off the floor, and make my way to the chair, had two sherries and a cold compress, I got someone else to come and do it for a lot less money.

Yes of course it will fit in the toilet, not a problem, yes there is plenty of room, yes a perfect choice, suits you sir! Let me just write this up and I’ll send the paperwork through to head office. You want the work done on 20th and 21st of October, our pleasure sir, a very quick job indeed; they’ll be in and out.

The various bits of paper I have been sent since, talk about dust sheets, tool boxes with rubber bottoms, engineers bringing their own flasks of tea so you don’t have to worry about that etc etc etc. So really I could have left them the key and they’d have just got on with it.

Not likely. Firstly it wouldn’t fit in the loo, so now it is in an alcove in the bedroom, which I think will be good, but I didn't want it there. The key issue was to have it moved from a very handy cupboard in the bedroom to make way for further storage space. They are now on day four of their two day job. Tuesday, day two, was peppered with some stern words to 'customer service' which resulted in an extra engineer coming yesterday ‘to ensure the job got completed’. Much action did take place yesterday, but it is still not finished. But I’m hopeful about having the place warm by Christmas. The problem is they are contracted from Ipswich, and don’t get here until 11.00 and leave at 3.00, with 3 hours driving either side. Today is their last day or I’ll poo in their van!

The electrician is here at the moment. He is very dedicated to his job but when I foolishly asked him what bonding the earth meant (not just randomly, he had told me he was about to ensure the earth was bonded), I got 12 minutes on the history of electrical regulations for homes. Apparently edition 15 of the Institute of Electrical Engineers Wiring Regulations was very different to edition 17 published this September. Now back in the fifties you could put a live wire by a warming kettle, but in ’74 they decided that before you could use a hairdryer it was necessary for everyone in the room to stand behind a rubberised fire grate. And so he went on. It was at this point that I realised that he probably didn’t have a girlfriend. ‘How interesting’ I announced. ‘It’s like the DoH and their guidance on red wine, always changing!’ (institute of wine drinkers miss your limits regulations 1969 – 2008).

I better crack on. Dumb and Dumber will be here soon to flush my system and make good my walls. I’m starting to worry that they’ll have to come every day forever and I’ll never be warm, and everything that should be in the bedroom will be in a big pile in the middle of the sitting room, and that I will forever be breathing in brick dust and boiling pans of water on t’hob.

We all need a little bit extra

It's too darn HOT

I stuck my finger up my nose this morning. Quite violently. I was in the shower innocently scrubbing my face, minding my own business, dreaming of having my own business more like, when wham! I jammed my finger right up my nose during an upward motion cleansing stroke. Very painful and now I have a big red mark. I think the heat is driving me to self harm. It’s a cry for help, cool breeze, tip tops, 4 weeks in the Greek isles, something – who knows!

Basically its too hot, and the weather men seem to be sending me random suggestions as per what precautions to take and whether to don my mackintosh or break out my parasol. For example yesterday the BBC said the weather in London would be heavy showers all the day long. But no, just scorching blue skies – quite Azure in fact. I even managed to get three loads of washing on that line. Now you can’t do that in a downpour.

It's been too hot at night, and I can’t sleep with the fan on, as it keeps me awake. Not that it is very noisy, but it is a distraction from sleep. It takes very little to keep me awake these days. My sleeping pattern seems to be getting worse. I’m thinking of getting some old school sleeping tablets – I’ve heard Tamazapan are very good. I think a job which one looks forward to of a morning may also aid the transition to slumber town.

Did I say it was hot. Where I work it is like being next to a motorway, but the only way to stay at all alive in this inferno is to have the windows open and the fan on. This causes but a stir of the air, but is a little better than nothing. You can’t hear yourself think though or the person next to you speaking aloud, but there is a little breeze. The other downside, apart from the sirens and the constant motorway level rumble, is you can hear the populous going about their dailies. I think the heat is getting to them as well. I witnessed one woman today screaming at her child so very loudly. I think it wasn’t standing still or some other heinous crime, although the thump she gave it made me think it must have just committed a gun related crime or have been trafficking narcotics. I said to her ‘that’s nice’ in a very unhelpful middle class way. I suppose the best thing would have been to offer her parenting lessons. I do love to help, I’m sure she’d have taken it well.

The weather also infringes on taste and decency fashion wise. Hot you see, makes all sorts leave the house in all sorts. It’s like dress down Friday gone mad. Normally quiet inoffensive slightly nerdy people seem to come alive and attend donning some sort of Alan Whicker styllee get up. Where do they get these outfits from, and what gene based trigger kick starts the process of outfit choice. I think it must work along the same lines as my other 'it is too darn hot' bete noire – which is those frigging flying ants – nasty, where did they come from, where did they go to buggers!

Did I mention old people wearing shorts? Well its too hot to remember everything I suppose. Maybe that is a heat wave moan too far. Let’s just say having seen the first aider at work in shorts today, I have placed a ‘do not resuscitate’ sign on my desk chair. Like a living will – it avoids any confusion.

All the best - keep cool.

I've decided it's probably time to write my misery memoir. Everyone else is doing it and I don't want to miss the boat on this one. I think this could be the big money spinner I've been looking for.

When you work somewhere as glamorous as I do there are limited retail opportunities during one's lunch hour amble. Once I've bought some vegetarian pate and a fruit bar from Holland and Barratt and checked again, just to be on the safe side, that there isn't anything I need from Poundstretcher, all I'm really left with is W.H Smith.

As I enter this magical emporium I am faced with the latest book releases, and the bestseller rack always has a good percentage of misery memoirs. They tend to have a picture of a crying child on the cover and are called something like, 'Don't let him take me' or 'A Childhood Betrayed' etc etc. Apparently Waterstones even have a new 'Painful lives' section in which to house these new best sellers in their stores.

The masses just can't seem to get enough of them. In my day one was satisfied with a quarter of Quality Street (or radishes) and a second hand People's Friend, but then again if you read on you'll find that my day wasn't all it was cracked up to be. My day was dark.

So, dear reader, please bear with me as I share the outline draft of my first gut churning chapter.

Part 1 - If you don't stop crying I'll give you something to cry about

There’s a photo somewhere of a post war inner city slum child. He is wearing black NHS specs, he has a badly executed home haircut and sticky out teeth, he is sporting a very strange home knitted stripy jumper, old grey school shorts and black plimsolls. He doesn’t look like he is freshly bathed. But he does have a smirk on his face so he's probbaly just stolen a sweet.

So where is this photo – well I don’t know now, but for years it sat on the mantelpiece in my mother’s bedroom. So who is this poor child? Well my sister Mary would tell you it was a rat on a string, but others just knew him as William.

For my misery was that I was an ugly child, brought up in the time style forgot, the 1970’s. Well I know there was style in the 70’s but not in Leamington and not in my life. When a little older I did have an orange jumper but I think that was about as bright as the 70’s got for me.

There is another picture, which I will try and find as the world must see it, of me in shorts, a shirt and tie, still rat on a string era, my brother Joe in a suit I think, my sisters Mary and Anna both in what they were told were gowns, but Mary swears blind they were nighties from Woolworths. We are stood in the garden of our ancestral home with the Doctor, St Jennifer and Suzy. It was Suzy’s wedding day.

Photos also exist from Suzy’s wedding party showing people smoking and looking like they should be up North. Suzy was a girl we had living with us, one of my parents’ pregnant young girls they took in and housed and directed in support of abortion avoidance. They were all very nice. I also remember Margie, Laura, Carol and Patsy. I think Patsy became a model and we used to see Carol’s mum’s name in the credits of some of the old carry on films.

So maybe there was some joy in the 70’s. My neighbours, Phillip, Howard and Lucy certainly had an amazing collection of toys requiring batteries. But I seem to remember the 70’s as mostly being overcast. Perhaps that is simply down to the black and white photos. But I was ugly and at the start of the 70's they did make me wear an eye patch.

As a poor catholic orphan I was taken in by the church and forced to be an altar server. Well I think that's what they'd have thought seeing me up there on the altar. Probably in a too short or too big cassock. Little did they know that I was their doctor’s son. And if they did they should have written in! I think the altar is where I first got the taste for the grape juice. Granddad always said, and I firmly believe rightly so, that if they offered a bit of cheese with the wafer more people would come.

To be continued……. Next time read about how I was made to wear unfashionable clothes whilst being told they were ‘ideal’. About the time I was made to eat my cornflakes out of a dirty bowl, how I was forced to go to school with the poor and about having a Kagool.

Coming this Autumn – the 80’s – haircuts, orthodontists, corrected eye sight and the deep fat fryer.