Musings

Mr M has managed to put his back out – climbing into bed on Sunday night! We still can’t for the life of us work out exactly what happened. He can get out and about around the house at least – albeit he looks rather like a ponderous, bearded turtle.

I’m positively athletic in comparison – though the aches and clicks remain. (I joked to oldchurch choir director that if she needs any jazzy accompaniment to the stuff we’re doing, just use me as a pair of castanets!). Must admit however, that the thought of the annual Christmas card marathon isn’t an enticing one just now. If this goes on I’m afraid it’ll just have to be a quick scrawl, no news and a New Year’s Resolution to finally get round to doing a proper database so that next year we can do address labels.

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I could get to like this arty crafty pottering thing. I finally began my Christmas shopping today. Yes, really! Armed with my trusty railcard I made my way down the line to the annual Arts and Crafts Fair at The Lightbox museum and gallery in Woking. It’s a gentle way to ease into the preparations without all the noise and hassle of the mainstream shops. This is the second year I’ve done this. An old schoolfriend has a stall there each year, selling cards and jewellery so it’s a brilliant opportunity to catch up with her and to enjoy some of the beautiful craftwork. As you can see from the video in the link, the place has only been open a few years, but from the look of it is fast becoming a place for all sorts of projects in the local community.

Last year I had to hurry back to a choir practice; this year I’d more time to potter round and explore the other centre exhibits as well. As well as a permanent local history exhibit, this time round, there was a display of Chinese ceramics, (I went round this one before I became too load up with shopping. Can you imagine the bill if my bags got caught in some priceless tea set!). Thankfully, none did, and I spent a very enjoyable couple of hours there, managing to buy a few bits and bobs for various people, including cards, (the one in the picture is one made by my friend). I even had time for tea and a sandwich in the cafe – accompanied by the mellow strains of the Bishop Brown School Steel Band.

Wound my way back down through the shopping centre to the station, by way of the British Heart Foundation shop, amongst others, where I was beguiled and tempted and finally fell to the temptations of a hooked rug kit – Nativity Scene – a snip at £3.99. A snip even without the latching tool, luckily we have a spare at home…somewhere. Whether I’ll get it made in time for Christmas itself is open to debate – maybe Christmas 2012 might be a more realistic guess. Especially as I’ve had my writing hand in a support bandage for the last couple of days. I’ve been having problems with achey wrist, arms and fingers lately. The most likely cause is lugging heavy weights around; my heavy case on retreat and overenthusiastic clutter clearing at home. Or could it be the dreaded RSI? Let’s hope not. Either way, I simply couldn’t resist the kit. The finished wall hanging will go beautifully with the patchwork camel I bought last weekend!

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My fears that my last post on my offspring’s facial furnishings has scared everybody off have been confirmed. Nobody else has posted today – so far… So I’ve decided to put matters right with you all by showing you a pic of the latest addition to the Miffy Christmas menagerie I fell in love with the little chap above yesterday evening whilst we were setting up for the church Autumn Fair, so snapped him up as soon as I had the chance. Isn’t he lovely? Granted he’s at least twice the size of most of the other nativity creche figures, but anyone who’s familiar with our policy of come one, come all as far as the holy family are concerned will know that anything goes!

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Here’s hoping I’m not banned from the wibsite for featuring this little menagerie: Firstly, Miffy Jnr, sporting his very first moustache, in aid of the Movember mens’ health initiative.

Second up – our two resident hairy horrors: Miffcat in one of her (many) snoozing places – the dog’s kingsize bed; her humble servant and subject, Miffdog squeezed into second class accommodation nearby.

I’ll spare you the sight of HH number three – Mr M’s beard. It wouldn’t be fair.

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Even without the excitement of the pet blessing service – it’s been quite a week, culture-wise (using the word in its widest sense;). I’d forgotten to mention last weekend’s trip with a friend to see Our House – the Musical. No prizes for guessing what thatwas about. It was great! Two hours or so of light, colour, music, fun…With enough of an underlying seriousness to give the impression that the writer wasn’t simply fitting the songs to the plot; it wasn’t just a jolly singalong. As it was a local production we also had the fun of spotting folk we knew amongst the cast – always good for a laugh.

Then on Tuesday out for our regular singing spot.

Thursday, Mr M and I were back down at the theatre again, to see an adaptation of Michael Morpurgo’s Friend or Foe. Again, another superb production from the same company who toured with Private Peaceful a few months ago. A simple set, just five actors and within five minutes we were transported back to WWII and the adventures of a couple of evacuees. That grown men can convincingly play the part of an 11 year old is a testament to their acting skill. And with such a small cast, the chopping and changing of parts had all the potential for disaster, yet everything went smoothly. Friend or Foe is a set text for one of the Key Stages in school – hence the question and answer session with the cast after the play which was one of the highlights for us. We’re so lucky having the arts centre close to home; we may not always have the big productions they have in the West End, but what we do get is generally first class.

Then on to Friday afternoon, when I arrived home just in time to listen to son, making hisdebut. First class again, but then I’m his mum so hardly unbiased. It was a wee bit nerve-racking – Parental Guidance as I said at the time, but we’ve got over it. No doubt offspring will be relieved to know that next Friday, Mum at least, will be off in the wilds of North Wales contemplating her navel and well without the reach of all modern technological communications. So he can Breathe Easy. Though I’m dying to know whether they follow up the Breakfast Music theme. I wonder what tracks you could choose?

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…that wand’r wild and free…

…at times I was taken back years to when the children were small; sitting there trying to mouth ‘For the Beauty of The Earth’ and ‘Morning has Broken’ whilst keeping an inquisitive, wriggly Fido with the attention span of a gnat from misbehaving, fidgeting, and generally ‘showing us up’ was a salutary reminder of what life used to be like every time I went to church. At the point when we were asked to hold and pray for our pets, I was bent down busily trying to remove congealed bits of half-eaten doggie treats from under the pew and untangle the lead from round us both.

Read about what happened when I took Miffdog to church, over on my other blog.

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Grab your current read
Open to a random page
Share two (2) teaser sentences from somewhere on that page
Be careful not to include spoilers! Make sure that what you share doesn’t give too much away. You don’t want to spoil the book for others!
Share the title and author too, so other TT readers can add your book to their TBR lists if they like your teasers.

My teasers are:

I don’t want to be houseman where people look at me as if I were part of a wall.
and

But I don’t know how I’ll ever get a college degree and rise in the world with no high school diploma and two eyes like piss holes in the snow as everyone tells me.
– From Frank McCourt’s memoir ‘Tis

You were lucky here that that somebody lent me the Frank McCourt at book group last night. The alternative would have been our group choice for the month: Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe.

Then again, if I’d done this meme a week ago – you’d have been regaled with some choice titbits from the BT Repair Project Guide: Getting to the heart of the problem on your line. Real gripping stuff!

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There’s been excitement in the house today as Mr M realised a long-held ambition – to have a kilt. Those of you who follow me on FB will realise that the topic has caused slight ‘disagreement’ twixt self, spouse (and my Scottish cousins) as to whether as a Sassenach, he’s actually entitled to wear the thing; especially as it’s me who has the Scottish connection, through my late mother’s family. His assertion that if it’s ok for the Duke of Edinburgh to sport one, it’s good enough for him has carried little weight up until now…However, he’s worn me down. After all, anybody who possesses the staying power to tramp through mud, heather, mist, parties of disgustingly smug German and Dutch hikers and hairy Highland cattle with me last Spring is entitled to some compensation. So here we are. What the best-dressed Octoberfest drinker is modelling this autumn: Mr M in his ‘Scottish heritage,’ (our family tartan ‘Gunn,’ motto-’Either peace or War!’ is far too expensive to wear for a mere p***-up!)

And now, to slip into something more comfortable…

This one is for Cal and Japes.

Many moons ago, you’ll remember I blogged over in Greenpatches about a momenteous decision that the beloved and I needed to make. Would we or wouldn’t we? To green or not to green? It was a big step to take, one that would have repercussions not only on our own self-image but on the delicate psyches of our nearest and dearest. We thought about it. In my case – prayed about it. We sat at the feet of image consultant gurus. (Well, ok, for that read consulted the great god Google). And waited…in trust. And, our patience was rewarded. The GGG moved mightily in power, and well..might, offering us a way through our dilemma. To cut both a long story short and putting all my mixed metaphors into the proverbial nutshell: it came to pass that there was Greenbelt, and a big, green, foldy tent thingy; umpteen layers of bedding, a spare groundsheet, a kelly kettle with accompanying kindling, sundry layers of woolly thermal underlayers, three year’s worth of carefully amassed hiking gear, a fetching pair of floral ankle wellies, a stinking pair of walking boots, a socking great 60 litre backpack; the lot topped with a dainty garnish of chintzy bunting, oh, and myself. And nothing to carry it in.

Then it came to me. I hied myself to the GGA (no prizes for guessing this one) and behold! There it was; verily an answer to prayer: a ‘Festival Trolley.’

It did the job brilliantly. Mr M being A New Man is delighted and can be regularly seen with it and the dog in the shops and round the market. (Though not round the market with the trolley and the kilt). He’s convinced, converted, a Born Again Trolleyperson. Our neighbour remains to be convinced, however. Never mind, we’re biding our time…

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There’s a distinctly Autumnal feel round here today, hence I’m indulging myself with an old favourite . In our case it’s not only autumn leaves drifting by our window, but sprinklings of ash, following from an unscheduled bonfire in the next street. Around 10.45 pm yesterday, we were about to lock up when we noticed a burning smell. Thinking it might be another electrical fault; the dishwasher blew earlier in the week, we tried to track down the stink. Then Mr M looked out over the garden and spotted flames nearby. Thinking it might be a fire on the old school building site, and being an over-fussy Mummy (OK, I’ll admit it, a nosey so-and-so as well) – son was at a friend’s birthday do just up the road – I made my way up the street to find that the fire was much nearer than we’d thought. Down a nearby cul-de-sac, sundry neighbours,mostly in their night things, were out on the street watching a clump of trees burning away merrily. Thank goodness it rained yesterday, otherwise it could easily have spread further than it did. As it was, the flames were only ten feet or so from the nearby houses.

Any old how, the fire brigade arrived, doused the remaining flames and hosed down a couple of cars that had got covered in ash and embers. Nobody was hurt, damage was minimal, which was the main thing, and the general thought was that the fire had been caused by somebody chucking a cigarette end down in a nearby alleyway. So – quite a frisson of excitement for our neighbourhood – which is normally quite peaceful. Still I will admit to a smidgeon of disappointment at the fire brigade. Though lovely, the fire brigade weren’t quite the hunky chaps I’d anticipated. Pathetic, I know. I blame all those episodes of Fireman Sam I used to watch with the children when they were littlies.

Never mind, all cleared up now. Some of the nearby cars and gardens have a delicate sprinkling of ashes, but the rain will soon clear it away.

The photo above, of course is entirely unrelated. I’ve done all my Greenbelt catching up over on my other blog – here, here and here but thought this snap was suitably Miffy-themed so deserved a place on Musings.

It’s been a mixed experience for me again. Looking back GB seems to have fallen into an alternating pattern of one good, one bad, one good, one bad for me. Actually let’s now say more ‘mixed,’ than ‘bad’ per se – as long as I can learn from the experience and I’d say I have. A couple of encounters, there and elsewhere recently have underlined the importance of letting yourself be seen to be vulnerable and when appropriate, saying things as they are for you. So, beginning as I mean (hmmm) to go on, I’ve been back to a piece I was struggling to write, have rehashed it in the light of GB, completed, and sent it off. It’ll be interesting to see what sort of a reception it gets.

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