Tag Archives: silliness

Why, why, why

“Ah! You’re reading SAGA Magazine,” exclaimed Ms M triumphantly, a few minutes ago. I guess she regards this as the ultimate evidence that her mother is cantering down the slippery slope into complete decrepitude. Answer – an elderly acquaintance of mine kindly gave me her copies. Actually,they’re rather good – though I’ll not be taking out a subscription anytime soon.

In any case, she’s a fine one to talk – being about to head on down to the racecourse for Ladies Day with a guest appearance by a certain Sir Tom Jones. That’s different, apparently.

A new hobby

Way back during those long, dark winter evenings, I blogged about the joys of choosing a tent for Greenbelt.

As I have difficulty folding and unfolding your average deckchair, I’ll need to practice in the comfort and privacy of my back garden before I try and pitch camp in full public glare.

Hah!

So, to the moment of truth…yesterday, when I tried out my super-duper easy-pitch tent for the first time. Replicating that GB ambience went by the wayside, though I did aim for authenticity by wearing 4 layers of clothing and draping my sleeping compartment with enough fleecy blankets to kit out an arctic expedition. And a very good night I had, too.

This morning…not so good. I’d no trouble ‘popping’ the tent up; but folding down…well, let’s just say that in the time it took to upend it, my cosy green caterpillar-like abode transformed into a huge, threatening amorphous mass, billowing round the back garden like a barrage balloon. It unleashed in me (and in Mr M) dark forces that no amount of watching instructional videos on Youtube could purge. And there are no shortage of them, believe me. To wrestle the sodding thing into submission requires arms the length of a gorilla, and the strength of one too.

We, or to be truthful, Mr M, managed in the end. Barrage balloon is sitting there in the study, neatly packaged into its 26″ disc…biding its time….

Hmmm. 🙁

Morning Earworms

Walking Miffdog just now, it struck me that we’re both singing from the same hymnsheet.

The Ship has a great thread on ‘earworms’ at the moment. My latest is Beethoven’s Creation’s Hymn, ‘To God eternal the heavens utter glory,’ which the choir I sing in used in concert last Saturday. (Umpteen versions to listen to on Youtube; can’t get links to work on here this morning). Sadly, Mr M does not appreciate either my tuneful whistling or the dog’s meliflous tenor barking first thing in the morning. Come to think of it, I don’t exactly fancy our resident Pavarotti warming up either, but that’s beside the point.

So, out to the park we go. If you’re a dog owner, especially owner of a scent hound, you’ll know that walking them is a sloooooooooowwwwwwww process indeed. It’s not unlike being with a toddler. You (or rather the dog) stop to sniff every lamppost, investigate every piece of shrubbery, explore unknown and (to you) unsniffable pongs. Though my sense of smell seems to be particularly acute just now; I love strolling along taking in the scent of flowering shrubs and blossom. I just operates at a higher level than Miffdog; his view of creation is definitely more earthy, basic, and nearer to the ground. (Besides which, if I walked round the neighbourhood with nose to the ground and bottom up in the air, I might just end up being arrested!).

Still, anyoldhow, here we are: him where he is, and Yours Truly where she is, humming away in happy harmony; Creation’s Hymn. I love it.

Spryinge hath sprunge

Whan that Aprill, with his soures shoote,
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote;
And bathed eery veyne swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour…(theyre followythe an lengythe passayge of purple prose)
…hanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages…
…And specially from the backe ende of Engelond,to Wintonceastre they wende.

The Miffyes sette offe

Doth anybodye know of an goode middel Englysshe translator, please?

Too old to..you get the rest

Mr M and myself had a trip back down memory lane yesterday when we took ourselves off into Reading to see Jethro Tull in concert. Not surprisingly,the average age of the audience was, how shall we say it…mature, to the point that the beloved and self were probably one of the youngest people there. Though thinking back, the same applied last time round, in the prehistoric ’80’s when we were not that much older than our daughter. “Where have the years gone?” I wondered, as I sat in the bar beforehand, nursing my mouth ulcers, and regaling Mr M with the gory details of that morning’s post gastroscopy visit to the doctor. Reflecting ruefully also that whereas last time round I could barely see the band because I was too vain to admit I needed to wear glasses or contact lenses; this time although I wear both, I still can’t see clearly as I’m too vain to admit I need bi-focals. And who would have guessed that such innocent amusement could be gained from watching the small but steady trickle of audience members wind their way in and out throughout the set – bound for the littlest room.

So after all the gripes and grumbles, did we enjoy ourselves? The answer’s a resounding YES! We even splashed out and bought some chips on the way home. But in case any readers are worrying in case we let all that dangerous living go to our heads, you’ll be relieved to learn that we were back home, tucked up in bed with a hot water bottle and the cat, by midnight.

Christian Bloggage

On the Sixth Day of Christmas, my feedreader sent to me: St’s excellent links to Will Mancini et al and their words of wisdom re Christian bloggery in all its glory. Guilty as charged, mea culpa and all that… I Am A Christian whose focus frequently fails to home in on anything more dynamic than the making of the next cup of tea. Terms like optimization, feedback, stats, mission statement and even the dreaded ‘E’ word inculcate in me an uncontrollable urge to run screaming for the hills; or at least the nearest nunnery. (Which last is a bit unfair on the nuns to be honest). I am a modest, simple soul, who loves nothing more than to wander lonely as a cloud, embroidery in hand, thinking beautiful thoughts, to the accompaniment of Songs of Fluffiness meets Celtic Worship Vol XXIII. I am a woolly, wavering wiblogger. Why, I even sport ‘Musings’ in my blog title!

Be that as it may, (and let’s face it; any excuse for putting off those thankyou letters will do), being ever so ‘umble, as I am, I felt convicted by these words, and, thus inspired, set out to set the blogosphere ablaze. I determined my content, categorised my categories, and twiddled my tags. Lastly, bearing in mind that a Picture Paints A Thousand Words, I seized my camera, aimed and fired.

It was at this point that the whole exercise began to go horribly wrong. I extracted the memory card, then inserted it in the card reader. (A move necessitating the powers of a contortionist, given the location of the USB ports on my steam-driven pc.) There came a ‘plink,’ and a ‘plunk,’ but nothing happened. I twiddled. I twaddled. I searched the image editor. It said No Way. I removed the lead; re-inserted it, removed the mouse lead, re-inserted that. Fell off my chair. Swore at the computer. The pc sulked.The card reader sulked. They refused to talk to each other. The mouse joined them in solidarity. In desperation, I cracked open a box of After Eight Mints. There was only one thing left to do. Summon the aid of The One Who Knows. No, not The Almighty; I was forced to drag Mr M away from his World of Warcraft. (Fools rush in…). He advised extreme measures. Switch Off And Reboot.

Thus it is that several hours later, I have only just managed to finish this post. And, so it is, gentle reader, that you will never learn the answer to the mystery of why I discovered a hot water bottle (still warm) at 7.30 a.m. outside on the front doorstep along with our organic fruit ‘n veg box.

On reflection

Looking up the rcr and ‘virtual hospital’ radiology links so kindly supplied by the local hospital when they sent details of my scan appointment due later this month was not a good idea. Though mercifully most of terminology describing the various ‘proceedures’ is so complicated that I’m really none the wiser about what I should be looking for. Which is just as well, judging from the one that I did manage to read. One step at a time is the way to go I think, and don’t swallow the medical dictionary. If as they think it does turn out to be the oh so glamorous gallstones, there won’t be much room for anything else!