This is Chi Mimi peering down the stairwell, considering whether to use a flying leap as an alternative to bounding down the stairs. To my great relief, she chose the more sensible option!
Yes! After all this time - I'm Back!
11 months ago
Wednesday, 31 August 2011
Dare I?
This is Chi Mimi peering down the stairwell, considering whether to use a flying leap as an alternative to bounding down the stairs. To my great relief, she chose the more sensible option!
Saturday, 27 August 2011
TROLLOPUSS AND THE SLUG
TROLLOPUSS AND THE SLUG
1.
Trollopuss in the garden gave something a hug.
When we went to investigate, we found it was a slug.
Lying close together, curled up nice and snug,
From the look she gave it, we could tell they were in love.
CHORUS
Trollopus and the slug, oh Trollopuss and the slug,
From the look she gave it we could tell they were in love.
2.
A cat can look upon a queen, it can look upon a king.
For a cat to look upon a slug, ain't that the darnedest thing?
Fat and grey and greasy, lying face to face,
That slug gave her the slippiest kiss that lips could ever trace.
CHORUS
3.
Feather and feather, fur and fur can dally, date and dance,
But gastropod and feline? God, they haven't got a chance!
If they got round to making love, what would they call their brat?
Would it be a furry cug or a little slimy slat?
CHORUS
The moral of this little tale is, know when you are beat.
Sometimes on life's bumpy trail you must admit defeat.
When her lover tried to slither off, the poor heartbroken cat
Gave that slug one last big hug and squashed the bugger flat!
CHORUS
(c) Lorna Read 2002
Friday, 26 August 2011
Newsflash
My gorgeous goddaughter in Canada is pregnant again. She vowed that after her first (who's now two and has been very difficult indeed with her eating and sleeping), following two or three miscarriages and a really tough birth, she would never have another baby and she and hubby were being very careful... but it appears that her daughter really needed a little brother or sister and here she or he is, on the way!
My congrats to the pair of them, and I hope from the bottom of my heart that things go well, with no problems. She's feeling better this time, for a start. Last time she suffered morning sickness throughout the pregnancy, which isn't too clever when you are a news broadcaster (as she was then), plus ghastly back pain. They say every pregnancy feels different. I hope this one continues to be pain-free and trouble-free. It's making me feel broody myself. I wish I were several decades younger!
As for Trollopuss and the Slug... I'm still searching for that piece of paper. I thought I might have typed the lyrics into the Songs file on my computer, but no such luck. My Virgo Ascendant is supposed to modify my wild, creative Pisces sunsign by giving me a nice, tidy, businessy-officey side, but alas, it hath fled and is probably in the dregs of the half bottle of rose I have just finished. Hic, hic, hooray!
Which reminds me, part of my reason for feeling slightly maudlin is that I have just watched most of Jools Holland's tribute to Amy Winehouse which I recorded the other week and am under strict instructions from Mr G to clear from his hard disc recorder, along with a few dozen other progs I haven't got round to watching yet. Seeing her in date order made her deterioration clear. When she was on his show in 2004, she was brilliant. Her singing, her musicianship were superb.
By 2007 when she sang Monkey Man with fixed, glazed eyes, tugging at her horrible, strapless fringed dress and moving legs that didn't seem to belong to her in a jerking, almost obscene dance, I was almost too embarrassed to watch. Her Heard It On The Grapevine was mostly sung by her male co-singer. I couldn't take any more and switched off as it was too painful. She reminded me so much of my friend Barbara, who died five years ago last month. Same petite stature, same drinking and wildness and brilliant, gutsy, bluesy voice. Same sense of a severed talent, a jagged life, a soul so sensitive that the world around chopped at it like broken glass. And I drink a toast - to absinthe friends!
Now, where is that bloody song lyric?
My congrats to the pair of them, and I hope from the bottom of my heart that things go well, with no problems. She's feeling better this time, for a start. Last time she suffered morning sickness throughout the pregnancy, which isn't too clever when you are a news broadcaster (as she was then), plus ghastly back pain. They say every pregnancy feels different. I hope this one continues to be pain-free and trouble-free. It's making me feel broody myself. I wish I were several decades younger!
As for Trollopuss and the Slug... I'm still searching for that piece of paper. I thought I might have typed the lyrics into the Songs file on my computer, but no such luck. My Virgo Ascendant is supposed to modify my wild, creative Pisces sunsign by giving me a nice, tidy, businessy-officey side, but alas, it hath fled and is probably in the dregs of the half bottle of rose I have just finished. Hic, hic, hooray!
Which reminds me, part of my reason for feeling slightly maudlin is that I have just watched most of Jools Holland's tribute to Amy Winehouse which I recorded the other week and am under strict instructions from Mr G to clear from his hard disc recorder, along with a few dozen other progs I haven't got round to watching yet. Seeing her in date order made her deterioration clear. When she was on his show in 2004, she was brilliant. Her singing, her musicianship were superb.
By 2007 when she sang Monkey Man with fixed, glazed eyes, tugging at her horrible, strapless fringed dress and moving legs that didn't seem to belong to her in a jerking, almost obscene dance, I was almost too embarrassed to watch. Her Heard It On The Grapevine was mostly sung by her male co-singer. I couldn't take any more and switched off as it was too painful. She reminded me so much of my friend Barbara, who died five years ago last month. Same petite stature, same drinking and wildness and brilliant, gutsy, bluesy voice. Same sense of a severed talent, a jagged life, a soul so sensitive that the world around chopped at it like broken glass. And I drink a toast - to absinthe friends!
Now, where is that bloody song lyric?
Slugs!
Not everybody's favourite creature, I know, and wow, doesn't this wet weather bring them out. The other evening a bright orange one was sliming its way up the patio doors. It looked about six inches long. (No ribald comments, please. Well, only if you must!)
Years ago, when I first met Mr Grumpy - 1997, it was - he had two black and white cats called Bastard and Trollop. Trollop was also known as Trollopuss. One day I looked out to see her lying unmoving on the soaking wet grass after a heavy shower. I called her and she didn't even twitch. Terrified, I found Mr G and said, "I think Trollop's dead." She was about 16 at the time.
Grim-faced, he splashed out to take a look... and came back grinning all over his face. "Go and look," he said.
I went, getting soggy slippers in the process, and found Trollop with her paws wrapped round something and her face nuzzling against it. It was a big, fat slug which she had 'caught'.
It amused me so much that I wrote a song about it. Wish I could write notes of music in my blog but there's nothing I can do about that and I haven't recorded any of my songs. However, once I have found the scrap of paper the song is scribbled on, I shall type the words out for you. The title is Trollopuss and the Slug.
Years ago, when I first met Mr Grumpy - 1997, it was - he had two black and white cats called Bastard and Trollop. Trollop was also known as Trollopuss. One day I looked out to see her lying unmoving on the soaking wet grass after a heavy shower. I called her and she didn't even twitch. Terrified, I found Mr G and said, "I think Trollop's dead." She was about 16 at the time.
Grim-faced, he splashed out to take a look... and came back grinning all over his face. "Go and look," he said.
I went, getting soggy slippers in the process, and found Trollop with her paws wrapped round something and her face nuzzling against it. It was a big, fat slug which she had 'caught'.
It amused me so much that I wrote a song about it. Wish I could write notes of music in my blog but there's nothing I can do about that and I haven't recorded any of my songs. However, once I have found the scrap of paper the song is scribbled on, I shall type the words out for you. The title is Trollopuss and the Slug.
Thursday, 25 August 2011
Blog followers
Oh dear, I had 12 followers and now I only have 10 and this has happened since yesterday. I'd better try and make this blog more interesting. But how? Or is it time to finish it altogether? Perhaps every blog runs its course.
Today I managed to get from Hayes to North London on public transport in an hour and 20 minutes. I think this is a record. I had the unfair advantage of getting a lift (from Mr G) to Hayes and Harlington station, 3 miles from where I live. There are 3 stations I can use and all of them are 3 miles away. It's like a school algebra exam question. If A lives x miles from station U, y miles from station H and z miles from station HH, how long will it take her to reach station E?
Here is my journey. I was lucky to find a train already at the platform. I sprinted down the stairs, almost breaking an ankle or three, and - oh joy - it was a fast train that only stopped once at Ealing Broadway. I was at Paddington in 15 mins. I had to be at station E by 2.30. I reached station P at 1.20, where I had to change to the tube line to Kings Cross. There was a 6 min wait. I got to Kings Cross, walked down corridors, down stairs, took a wrong turning onto the Piccadilly Line, retraced my steps, went down an escalator, found there was a 7 min wait for a High Barnet Northern Line tube, sat down and took a breather... and finally reached station E at 2. 20, congratulating myself on being early... only to find the person I was due to meet had gone for lunch!
So I high-tailed it to Costa Coffee and had a BLT and a cappuccino. Well, needs must. Viewed a flat, dropped in on an old friend for tea and cake, then made the four-stage journey back. And it didn't rain! I call this a good day.
Today I managed to get from Hayes to North London on public transport in an hour and 20 minutes. I think this is a record. I had the unfair advantage of getting a lift (from Mr G) to Hayes and Harlington station, 3 miles from where I live. There are 3 stations I can use and all of them are 3 miles away. It's like a school algebra exam question. If A lives x miles from station U, y miles from station H and z miles from station HH, how long will it take her to reach station E?
Here is my journey. I was lucky to find a train already at the platform. I sprinted down the stairs, almost breaking an ankle or three, and - oh joy - it was a fast train that only stopped once at Ealing Broadway. I was at Paddington in 15 mins. I had to be at station E by 2.30. I reached station P at 1.20, where I had to change to the tube line to Kings Cross. There was a 6 min wait. I got to Kings Cross, walked down corridors, down stairs, took a wrong turning onto the Piccadilly Line, retraced my steps, went down an escalator, found there was a 7 min wait for a High Barnet Northern Line tube, sat down and took a breather... and finally reached station E at 2. 20, congratulating myself on being early... only to find the person I was due to meet had gone for lunch!
So I high-tailed it to Costa Coffee and had a BLT and a cappuccino. Well, needs must. Viewed a flat, dropped in on an old friend for tea and cake, then made the four-stage journey back. And it didn't rain! I call this a good day.
Springing a leak
I was sitting here enjoying a game of Wordscraper online when I heard some ominous dripping sounds. It's raining heavily so I thought the noises were outside... but I was wrong. A crack has appeared to the right of the roof window and water is trickling down the wall and splatting onto the electric sockets where my laptop is plugged in. In addition, all my paperwork is soaked.
Mr G is out, having taken one of his friend's lads to his swimming class. Standing here with towels and a bucket, I feel as if I have been swept back to the my flat-share days of the 1960s, where roofs always leaked and landlords never fixed them, and inches of soggy newspaper had glued themselves to the lino, signs of previous tenants' attempts to stem the tide.
I was due to view some more flats today but have had to cancel just in case the soggy plaster decides to fall off the ceiling before Mr Grumpy gets back. I gingerly scrambled onto the desk and stuck my head through the window into the rain and can see a split tile, probably the culprit.
Oh, here he comes. Good. He can take over the mopping up now.
Mr G is out, having taken one of his friend's lads to his swimming class. Standing here with towels and a bucket, I feel as if I have been swept back to the my flat-share days of the 1960s, where roofs always leaked and landlords never fixed them, and inches of soggy newspaper had glued themselves to the lino, signs of previous tenants' attempts to stem the tide.
I was due to view some more flats today but have had to cancel just in case the soggy plaster decides to fall off the ceiling before Mr Grumpy gets back. I gingerly scrambled onto the desk and stuck my head through the window into the rain and can see a split tile, probably the culprit.
Oh, here he comes. Good. He can take over the mopping up now.
Wednesday, 24 August 2011
Romance is not dead!
No, I'm not talking about myself (for once!). It's the title of a competition being run by Mills & Boon to find new romantic writers. The comp launches on September 13th and here's a link to the website.
http://www.romanceisnotdead.com
Let's all have a go!
http://www.romanceisnotdead.com
Let's all have a go!
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