Little snow, big snow

According to Mr WithaY, "the Indians" have a wise saying relating to snow: 

"Little snow, big snow.  Big snow, little snow."

It means that when "little snow" is falling, there will be lots of it, and when "big snow" is falling, there will be less of it.  He is unable to provide any kind of verification as to who "the Indians" are, or indeed how they measure the size of snowflakes, or the total volume of snow that falls.  How much snow falls in India, anyway? 

None of this stops me from thinking it's a great saying, and one which I intend to trot out at every possible opportunity from now on. 

We woke up to about 6 inches of snow this morning, which has increased throughout the day, giving a pleasing sense that the End Of The World Is Nigh.  The only traffic I saw on the roads for several hours was tractors and the occasional Landrover, braving the elements to get to the garage to buy lottery tickets and fags.  And maybe chicken and bacon pasties.

Mr WithaY went off to work this morning with a spring in his step, Christmas cake in his bag, a shovel and wellies in the back of his truck, ready to face the worst that the weather could do.  I think he was hoping to have to dig out people who were stuck in their cars, and thus get a whole page to himself in next week's local paper.  Mystery Shovel Hero Saves The Day kind of thing. 

He was back home again at lunchtime, one of only a handful of people who made it into the office.  They all made an executive decision to head for home when it started blizzarding again, which I think was a wise thing to do. 

We sat having tea and crumpets this afternoon, and I mentioned that perhaps we ought to go out to the supermarket to pick up some supplies.

"What do we need?" asked Mr WithaY, butter and honey all over his face.

"Bread.  Milk.  Eggs.  Fruit.  Veg.  Just some essentials really."

"We can make bread in the bread machine.  We have some fruit*.  We have loads of frozen veg."  Mr WithaY ticked off the list on his fingers, clearly disinclined to go out in the weather again.  Especially while there were hot buttered crumpets to be had. 

"True.  Oh!  I think we have a carton of soya milk in the cupboard, we can use...hey...where are you going?"

He was off, gone before I even finished my sentence, half-eaten crumpet abandoned on the plate, shoes hastily pulled on, out into the snow to the garage to buy milk.  He really doesn't like the soya stuff, it seems.

I took some pictures from the cosy warmth of the house.  Well, I am still suffering with the Black Lung, after all.

A snowy rose arch.  The climbing plant on it, under the snow is in fact a clematis.  The rose I bought to climb up the other side has mutinied and refused to get any taller. 

A snowy bird bath.  I like how the snow has followed the contours of the bath, making it look like a posh cake. 

A Verbena bush.  In the snow. 

I particularly like the one of Rosemary the Sheep standing in the back garden with a large snow hat on. 

There is no more snow forecast overnight, but as any fule kno, the Met Office simply make up the weather forecasts at random, so I will not be overly surprised if we can't get out of the house in the morning due to ten foot snowdrifts.  

One of my mates once told me the best thing to do was to ignore the weather forecasts completely and simply look out of the window, then dress appropriately for whatever the weather is doing at that moment.  It works more often than you'd think.

 *The kiwifruit that time forgot

Returns

One of my favourite bloggers, Manuel, has returned in triumph with a shiny new website.

That has cheered me right up.

It also got me thinking about what makes me enjoy other blogs.  Obviously I like mine best, because it's mine, and I know everyone in it, but you know, other people sometimes make me sit up and take notice. 

Being a slightly anal* type, I thought I'd make a list of Things I Like In Other Blogs.  There may also be a subsequent list of Things I Dislike In Other Blogs, but that seems a bit negative.  Plus I am lazy.  And ill.  Did I already mention that?

So.

List:

1)  Humour.  I look for stuff that amuses me.  Not necessarily laugh-out-loud comedy, but stories with a twist in them, something a bit offbeat and quirky.  My favourite blogs feel like listening to a great friend in the pub telling a good story. 

2)  Intelligence.  To be honest, I have seldom read a blog where I thought "Wow, this was written by a halfwit," probably because pressing the keyboard keys in the correct sequence to actually publish anything requires a sort of Plimsoll Line of intelligence.  Typos and minor spelling errors are a fact of life, especially when you write in one hit and haven't worked out how to use the spell check function**, but stupidity is something else.  Showing off your top-notch highbrow classical education is annoying though, probably because I never had one, so am suffused with envy. 

3)  Variety.  This is a bit rich coming from someone whose life can be encapsulated under about three subject headings, but I like to read about other people having wild interesting times, things I didn't know about, places I might want to go to sometime.  I've learned a lot from other blogs, sometimes too much.  Dan, I am looking at you here. 

4)  Pictures.  It took me about a year and a half to work out how to put pictures on my blog, and I love seeing them on other blogs.  Especially if they have captions and/or labels.  Big fan of that.  Yes, I know the LOLCats franchise are teh Interweb market leaders, but I like to see the freelance sort as well.  Antonia is spectacularly good at this. 

5)  Ranting.  Well, any sort of impassioned diatribe really.  As long as it's not too pious and worthy, that just bores me, being a selfish and short-attention span type of person.  But a good rant is usually worth reading.

6)  Swearing.  As long as it is done with style.  Manuel is a past master at this, which is another reason I am glad he's back. 

7)  Good nature.  I'm not a fan of spitefulness, or maliciousness, or deliberate hurtfulness, so I like blogs which are mostly positive.  Not "hello clouds, hello sky" stuff, though, that is too cloying and boring.  Anything that gets spiteful turns me right off.  It is perfectly possible to be grumpy and positive at the same time.  I make it a mainstay of my daily life.

I started my own blog when I had a MySpace page, about 3 years ago now, and it was a way of keeping friends and family informed of stuff in a small way, plus it was a way to get myself back into writing after a very long break.  I mentioned that I was lazy already?  Anyway, I really enjoyed doing it, and when I kicked the MySpace thing into touch, I exported the whole lot across to Blogger, mostly because I was a huge fan of the much-missed Badgerdaddy, and liked the way his site looked. 

It means that the first ever post on here is in fact about 20 posts (short ones) all squidged together, and covers a few weeks, but I can't be arsed to break it all up into individual days.  I assume that if anyone is that interested, they will just scroll down the page.   Do people read archives?  I tend not to.  Lazy.  Sorry. 

Hmm, that went a bit retrospective, which wasn't the intention.  I guess reading Manuel's blog made me feel nostalgic, as he was one of the earliest commenters on here.  Welcome back, matey.  I missed you.







*Stop that

**I do that.  Sorry about the typos and spelling errors.

Hoary

Managed to get an emergency appointment with the doctor this morning, which was a relief.  Apparently I have both a virus AND a bacterial infection, which is why I felt a bit better after the first load of antibiotics before Christmas, but then much worse again. 

It seems that my body is hosting a tag-team of infections, taking it in turns to overpower my feeble swooning immune system and ravage it whilst twirling their moustachios.  Listen...you can just hear them going "Mwahahahahahahahaaaaa" as they do it. 

Lovely.

Anyway, he's prescribed me some more powerful antibiotics and signed me off work for a week, and told me to come back if I am not greatly improved by the weekend.  He was very reassuring, which has made me feel much better.

Whilst walking around town* for a few minutes waiting for my prescription to be made up, I took a couple of pictures of the hoar frost on the trees.  It is still minus 4 outside, even though the sun is shining.  At least we haven't had any snow recently.

It's very pretty out there.  I'm just glad I get to enjoy it from inside my warm cosy house.

Other news:  All the fish in the aquarium are still alive, which is encouraging.The two little shoals of tetra and barbs are swimming around together, which is entertaining to watch.  The gourami seems to prefer hanging about near the surface, sometimes diving down to the gravel at the bottom, terrorising the leopard cory. 

*Ha.  But I did pop into the butcher to get some mince, and tell them how great the turkey was.

Foaming

If you were wondering why it had all gone a bit quiet over here, it's because I still have a fucking chest infection, and feel like shite.  It went away for a few days, then came back with extra phlegm and coughing just to remind me how great it was first time around.  So, back on the phone tomorrow morning to try and get an emergency appointment with the doctor, more antibiotics, and probably some steroids to help me breathe.  I am SICK of it. 

I have had it for over three weeks and it is boring, painful, alarming and disgusting in turn.  Lucky old Mr WithaY gets to hear me cough, choke, splutter, gag, retch and then swear about once every six minutes.  How nice for him.

On the plus side, my finger is healing up nicely.  I will have an Interesting Scar to add to the many others.  Don't you agree, scarred knuckles make a woman look extra-specially elegant?  I bet Audrey Hepburn had knuckles you could grate cheese on. 

Added to the docker's cough I have going on, I am quite a catch, let me tell you.

Other news:  We have more fish in the aquarium.  All the "old" fish are still alive, and the "new" fish are looking cheerful too, so we are very pleased.  Mr WithaY has been doing all the scientific stuff with pH testing, and water changes and gravel sucking* and the like, and so far, so good.  We now have:

5 x freshwater shrimp
7 x glowlight tetra
5 x leopard cory
6 x pentazona barbs
1 x dwarf Gourami

We also had some teeny snails, but Mr WithaY hoiked them out and disposed of them, bloody freeloaders.

Also, the dishwasher was blocked**.  We've had it for about  4 years, and it has always been great.  A simple arrangement, but it works.  We put dirty greasy dishes in, a little while later it beeps, we take nice hot clean dishes out.  It's like having a robot slave in the kitchen, which, frankly, is what I was hoping would happen in the Twenty-First Century. 

Anyhoo, today it beeped, I opened it and instead of hot clean dishes there were hot wet dishes and several inches of hot grey water in the bottom of the dishwasher.  Gah. 

I did what any self-respecting modern woman would do: removed the filters, then poked ineffectually in the water-filled hole with a long spoon before going to ask Mr WithaY to fix it.

We both considered the problem from all angles, poking with the spoon in between discussing probable causes of the blockage, and how much a plumber would cost if we had to call one out next week.

After an hour or so of this useless flapping about, Mr WithaY decided to pour a bottle of Mr Muscle sink unblocker into the dishwasher and leave it for 15 minutes, as per the instructions.  Once the 15 minutes were up, we ran the empty dishwasher on a Rinse Cycle, congratulating ourselves on our amazing fixing skills. 

It beeped.

We opened it.

We closed it again hastily, great clouds of toxic, corrosive Mr Muscle bubbles spilling up from the drains, in danger of seeping out of the edges of the door.

We looked at one another in horror. 

"We've fucked up the dishwasher!"

"No we haven't.  It's just a bit....frothy."

"How are we going to get rid of all that deadly poisonous foam?  We can't put our hands in it or we'll strip ourselves down to the bone!"

"Hmm.  Let's run another rinse cycle and see what happens."

Mr WithaY is a fan of the "Let's See What Happens" school of thought.

We ran another rinse cyle.  Then a third.  We poured several jugfulls of tap water into the dishwasher, hoping to wash away some of the Foam of Death.   We ran another rinse cycle.  After what seemed like many hours of this, the foam level subsided by inches. 

We were winning. 

If you've never stood in a kitchen on a Sunday afternoon listening to the noise a dishwasher makes as it drains, trying to establish what a free-running drain sounds like, you've never lived, that's all I can say. 








*I think there is a more technical term for it, but it escapes me.

**I didn't say it was interesting news. 

Medical notes

Welcome to the House of Many Ailments. 

Today, for your entertainment we can offer:

1)  Hideous racking coughs, often with choking and gasping.  The special extended remixed version also features a weak hand pressed to the sweat be-dewed forehead, fluttering eyes like a Victorian heroine dropping into a swoon, followed by effusive swearing.  "Fucking hell.  I am SICK of this FUCKING COUGH." 

Medical advice:  Try not to suffocate, hold onto something solid and wait for it to pass.  And cut down on the swearing. 

2)  Explosive sneezing.  For best effect this happens completely out of the blue, loudly, and for several minutes, leaving the sneezer exhausted and spume-speckled.  The other person in the house must shriek "Will you STOP DOING THAT!" once they recover from their shock. 

Medical advice:  Stay out of the blast radius and make sympathetic noises afterwards to try and mask the shouting you did initially. 

3)  Snot-related trauma.  This often follows the sneezing, and is exemplified by the victim having to run to the nearest box of tissues (we have them in almost every room in the house at the moment) and making noises which would only ever normally be heard in a film about alien slime monsters.  It's like a Giger drawing being interpreted through the medium of sound. 

Medical advice:  Stand clear and make sure there are plenty of tissues at strategic points throughout the house.  And wastepaper bins. 

4)  Headaches. These are vague and usually shortlived, but render the victim incapable of doing more than flopping weakly on the sofa and flicking savagely through the TV channels, hissing through their teeth at the paucity of quality entertainment available at 11am on a Wednesday.  

Medical advice:  Turn off the TV and suggest they take the recycling out.  Fresh air is good for headaches. 

5)  Aches and pains.  These come and go, depending on the level of interest in other stuff going on in the house at the time.  For example, whilst watching a good film, nothing.  All limbs are comfortable and fully-functional.  However, when pottering around in the kitchen, looking hatefully at the accumulated debris of the past ten days it is imperative to walk with bent knees, one hand pressed to the small of the back, shuffling like an aged chimpanzee with advanced gout. 

Medical advice:  The offer of a cup of tea and a mince pie can work wonders.

6)  Knife wounds.  Always at least one of these in the house at any given time.  The sufferer will move through the various behavioural stages of Panic, Dismay, Relief That It's Not Worse, Grouchiness, Forgetfulness and finally Bragging.  During the Forgetfulness stage there will be several incidents where the wounded appendage is knocked or bashed, causing the sufferer to swear and hop about. 

Medical advice:  Ice, pressure, elevation, tea, sympathy, exasperation and finally mockery.

And remember, always ask a trusted medical professional if things seem to be getting too dull.  They always have loads of gruesome anecdotes. 

The entertainment value of injuries may go down as well as up.

Bonanza!

Today you get a photo bonanza*.  It's a rather eclectic mixture, as I haven't uploaded stuff from my camera for a while.  Lucky old you, eh?

In chronological order we have:

1)  The festive decorations outside the garden supply and aquatic shop.  The deer are there all year round, Santa is a seasonal addition.  I think the red noses are also seasonal, but to be honest I am not sure now I look at it again.

2) A seemingly innocent diorama spotted in the window of a charming dolls house shop in Chichester.  I did a double-take, then sneaked a photo.  Whoever dressed the window is a genius. 

Yes, she is wearing a basque and stockings.  And, as Mr WithaY pointed out, her nipples are very realistically painted.  Sorry about the flash bounce but you get the idea.  I think everyone ought to go and buy miniature furniture and whatnot from the shop by way of applause. 

3)  Some rather impressive icebound cobwebs on a garden ornament at Father-in-law WithaY's nursing home.  It was on the day of the Terrifying Ice.  At least it was pretty. 

I did a close-up as well, it was so beautiful. 

Like Narnia.  But in Wiltshire.

4)  Fish!  We have more fish in our tank.  Today we went and got some freshwater shrimp, which move at the speed of light around the tank; all the other fish are shit scared of them, it seems.  They will eat algae and help keep the tank clean.  We got five of those, they are very pretty, and, despite being fish, very appealing. 

We also got five Leopard Cory, which zip about like mad things, often crashing into the shrimp.  They also eat algae, so we will have the cleanest tank in the world, with any luck. 

Just in case we don't, though, we got a glass cleaner thingy which is powered by MAGNETS. I feel like a super-villain now.

I took more, but Mr WithaY has banned me from using the flash so they were all blurry and shite.  Sorry.

5)  Readers of a nervous disposition may wish to look away at this point. 

As I have mentioned previously, we have the remains of a large roast turkey in our kitchen, along with half the population of the UK**, I imagine.  Look:

Mmm, leftovers.

I decided to make a curry (using the Malasian curry mixes sent by Middle Sis), duly donned an apron, picked up the carving knife, and set to with gusto.

Too much gusto.

See that single slice through the leg joint at the top of the picture there?  If you look closely you will see*** that there is a finger-shaped gap in the underside of it. 

I literally made the first incision, the knife slipped and I made a huge deep cut in my left hand index finger.  Fuck me it bled.  There was blood on the floor, on the butchers block where the turkey sat, on the edge of the turkey plate, on the knife, on my slippers, in the sink.  None on the turkey, though. 

I ran to the sink, put my hand under the cold tap, and shrieked for Mr WithaY.  He was cleaning the fishtank gravel so had to stop that, dry off and then run into the kitchen to see what was going on.  His first question was "What have you done?"   I thought it was fairly obvious, what with the huge fuck-off knife and all the blood, but no.

The knife in question:

It's about 10 inches long**** and razor sharp.  Given my track record, I am lucky I didn't manage to stab myself in the head with it, I suppose. 

Mr WithaY was initially very sympathetic, but has more recently taken to waggling his stump at me and making "But did I tell you about this?" noises at me if I whinge that my finger hurts. 

So.  No curry making.  I sat on the sofa and watched the original version of "Miracle on 34th Street" instead.  Much nicer. 

Cold turkey for supper, I think. 





*Sorry, no cowboys though.

**I mean half the population also have cold turkey in their kitchen, not that half the population of the UK is IN our kitchen.  That would be inconvenient.  We'd run out of chairs after 8 of them arrived. 

***No you won't.

****15 if you're a bloke.

Compliments of the season

Hello!  Season's Greetings and all that jazz.   Hope everyone is having a pleasant time. 

We've been having a very quiet Christmas here, which has been (and continues to be) lovely.  My hideous racking cough has diminished, although every now and again it creeps up on me, leaving me wheezing, teary-eyed and panicky.  Mr WithaY has gone down with a merry festive head cold and has spent much of the Christmas period so far on the sofa with a box of tissues and the remote control to hand. 

No relenting on the Christmas tree thing, and to be honest, I've not missed having one.  When we were getting all the boxes of decorations out of the loft it felt like only a few weeks since we put the things up there, so maybe a year off will make us appreciate them more next time.

The fabulous free-range turkey was cooked to perfection, along with half a pig's worth of chipolatas, stuffing and bacon.  We managed to get through about 1/50th of it at lunch yesterday, so I can see a few curries in our future.  Fortuitously, Middle Sis and family have sent us some very interesting looking Malasian curry mixes, so we can try them out.

This is the first Christmas I think I can remember where neither of us got books as gifts.  In years gone by, I would get the new Terry Pratchett, and then spend Boxing Day reading it, but over the last couple of years I have been very impatient and bought them when they come out, rather than waiting a couple of months till Christmas. 

We did, however, get lots of DVDs, so we have spent the last few days sitting on the comfy sofas watching them.  Oh, and chocolate, which was handy whilst watching the DVDs.  The new Star Trek is still excellent, and I still want to run away and join Starfleet.  

It's thawed out now.  Tuesday and Wednesday were terrifying.  Coming back from a neighbour's house at about 11.30 at night, everything was covered in thick sheets of ice.  It looked as though a hose had been turned on over everything, and then allowed to freeze solid. 

Walking home was the most scary thing I have done for many years.  I walked along on the grass where I could, clinging to fences and gates all the way, but I had to strike out across the roads a couple of times, and it was really just luck that I didn't end up face down on the ice.  One of our friends was less fortunate and took a slip and tumble on the way to the party, giving herself some very nasty bruises in the process. 

Anyhoo, Mr WithaY was helpful, offering me his arm (which I refused on the grounds that if I was going down I would only take him with me.  Such a hero, me) and some sage advice on how to walk on ice.  You have to "straddle, and walk crabwise" apparently.  At one point I was in the middle of the road, feet slipping wildly, not making any forward progress, when a car turned the corner and headed towards me.  I stayed where I was, unable to get out  of the way, convinced I was either about to break my nose/head/arms on the ice, that or get run over.  The car slid to a stop, and the driver very kindly waited till I had got myself off the road before continuing slowly on his way. 

We went to see Father-in-law WithaY and the roads were like ice rinks, even in the Landrover we were sliding about.  But everything is thawed out now, thankfully. 

Other news:  We have fish in the aquarium!  Some little glowlight tetras, which are small and pretty, and very entertaining to watch.  We started off with eight, but one of them didn't make it, and had to be scooped.  The remaining seven are settling in, chasing each other all over the tank, sometimes swimming in a shoal, sometimes all off in different directions.  They seem to like the pipe where the water comes out of the pump/filter thingy, and queue up to take turns at being pushed away by the flow. 

I like it when they all gather in the corner of the tank and watch the TV.  You can almost hear them: "Ooh, CSI!  I haven't seen this one."

Tomorrow we are going to get some more fish, which hopefully will survive the trip home.  I think barbs are next on the list, but we will take advice from the nice young man at the aquarium supply shop.  Mr WithaY did the science stuff today, testing the pH and so on, and everything was ok for a new tank.  The plants are doing well, so we are taking that as a good sign.

It's all very pleasing, watching the fish.  And good for the blood pressure, apparently.  Just as well after three days of TV-watching and chocolate-eating, really.   Aaah Christmas.

Pitching

It's snowing!  Hurrah!  We may have a white Christmas.

Spent today down at my lovely Mum's house, which was very pleasant, despite everyone still coughing.  We sounded like a Fourteenth Century peasant re-enactment group* as we walked through town, hacking and spluttering.  Also popped in and visited Youngest Sis and family, including their two new dogs, both mental Jack Russells, but very appealing with it.  

We chickened out and left Sussex a bit earlier than planned, as the weather was closing in.  I am jolly glad we did.  By the time we got to Southampton the rain had turned to sleet, by the time we left the M27 (look on a  map, American readers) it was snowing hard, and getting foggy.  Nice combination.    We arrived home about 6-ish, it kept snowing heavily for about three hours, and has settled.  Or "pitched" as the locals might say.  Well, the locals I worked with in Bath, anyway. 

If it freezes overnight it will be a bit hairy driving around tomorrow, but other than a trip to the supermarket for provisions, we are pretty much set now.  If it is still nice and snowy tomorrow, I suspect more snow animals could be in the offing.

I have not put a tree up this year.  We** got all the decorations down from the attic, and then decided neither of us really felt much like doing a tree, so we have put up a few little bits, and the rest is still in the box.  I might relent and put the tree up but if not, it doesn't matter.  We are spending Christmas at home, just the two of us, for I think the first time in 8 years, and as a result we are doing as we please. Which means being a bit lazy, it seems.

I might make some sausage rolls tomorrow.  I might not.  Ha! 

I like being a grown-up.





*Well, what I imagine such a group would sound like.  Singing Gaudete and spitting a lot.

**Mr WithaY did.  I don't do ladders due to my mighty bulk, and fear of falling.

Setting up

So, we have a fishtank in the sitting room.  No fish yet, because the tank has to acclimate first, or they will die.  DIE! 

It took a fair old bit of setting up.

First we had to put the cabinet into position, with a layer of special squishy expanded polystyrene under it to protect from frost.  Or electric shocks.  Or maybe earth tremors.  I wasn't really listening at that point. 

Then the tank itself, carefully lowered into place by Mr WithaY and I, making sure it was level.  Mr WithaY's spirit level has been much in evidence this weekend.

Once the tank was satisfactorily in position, we added dirt and rocks.  Not just any old dirt and rocks though.  Special Fish Shop dirt and rocks.  Also a background, so the fish don't press their noses to the back of the tank and comment disparagingly on our choice of wallpaper.

After that, there was the artful placing of Big Rocks and Wood.  Again, specially bought from the Fish Shop (I have a feeling they are going to see a lot of us), then thoroughly scrubbed by Mr WithaY to ensure no fish-killing germs are left clinging to them.  He ignored my suggestion that we use bleach.

Once the dirt, gravel, rocks and wood were installed, we could add plants and water.  No fish though.  Not yet.

Hmmm, maybe a bit more water than that?

That's better. 

Now we have to wait for all the sediment to settle, the filter system to get going and the water temperature to get to the required level.  That will take about a week, and then we can add a few fish.

It's all very exciting.

Other news:   I still have a cough, but I feel much better than I did, so, all in all, an improvement.  It's been snowing here today for the first time, not much, but the roads are white.  I expect it will have vanished by morning.  I hope so, as we are driving down to visit my lovely Mum for the day, and driving all the way in snow would be a pain in the arse. 

Also, I made a huge lasagna for dinner tonight, which was bloody excellent.  I can't remember the last time I made one, and it was a very satisfying thing to do for an hour or so on a cold afternoon.  Plus we got a fab meal at the end of it. 

 

Fish!

It's been a busy day today.  I am feeling much better, despite coughing till my eyes fall out several times an hour, and to celebrate we shifted furniture about for a while.  Well, I say "we".  In fact, Mr WithaY did it and I flapped about behind him with a duster. 

Oh, reader, the filth!  The FILTH.  We live in disgusting slatternly surroundings, despite the best efforts of the Staff. 

Why are we moving furniture? You may well ask. 

Is it because we are playing some large-scale Chinese puzzle game with the entire house?

Is it so we can get into those really tricky corners for a good hard clean?

Is it so we can finally measure the exact internal dimensions of the sitting room?

No.

We are getting an aquarium.

It is our Christmas present to ourselves, and we are very excited about it.  It will be a tropical freshwater tank; we plan to get lots of small shoaling fish, hopefully ones which will flit about appealingly and not try to kill each other.  We had a  place for it all planned out, till Mr WithaY read one of his new "How Not To Kill All Your Tropical Freshwater Fish Instantly" books, and we learned that the place we had planned to put the tank was almost exactly wrong. 

We readjusted our thinking and decided on the diametrically opposite corner of the room, hence the need to move furniture.  Oh, and now there's nowhere to put the Christmas tree*.  Bugger.

We collect the tank on Sunday, get it set up, and a week after that we can introduce the fish. 

"Fish, tank. Tank, fish." 

Other news:  We listened to the last hour or so of the last ever Terry Wogan breakfast show this morning, and I had a little tear in my eye at the end of it.  Yes, I know.  But he has been a part of my life as long as I can remember, usually in the background to the early morning getting ready for school/college/work panic, and I will miss that.   Not that I listened much of late, either being on the train and unable to, or in my office at home with Planet Rock on, but hey, it's the thought that counts. 

Oh, also:  I saw this, and I agree. It is a tricky ethical area.



*We're really late with everything this year.  If we carry on at this rate, it will be about February before we get the tree up, and August before the mulled wine and sausage rolls make an appearance.

Wildlife

Ahhh, winter.  The time when all of Nature seems to slow down and sleep for the colder months.  The time when even the little birds in the trees seem sleepy and lazy.  When the plants in the garden furl up and die rest.  Even the light is washed out and tired, pale and disinterested. 

The only exception to this bucolic placidity would appear the be the bastard rats in our garden.  They are getting extra-specially busy.  Perhaps they are swept up in the excitement of the pre-Christmas rush.

I bet they have made"to do" lists:

1)  Run out from under the shed and frisk round the garden (Note: only do this after Mr WithaY's Landrover has left the drive.)
2)  Climb into apple tree and gnaw on remaining apples. 
3)  Remember to glare into the kitchen window while doing this.
4)  Avoid the rat traps.  Especially the one in the top of the compost bin.
5)  Continue with Project S.
6)  Ignore the bread spread with peanut butter outside the shed.  It's another trap. 
7)  Buy kevlar vests.
8)  Get in touch with the mole and remind him that he is spending the rest of Winter with us.
9)  Have a word with the robin about the meaning of the word "Sharing".

I have broken their code.  I know what Project S is all about.  It's about gnawing a hole in the floor of the shed from underneath so they can get in there and play with all our stuff.  I fully anticipate seeing a team of rats riding my bicycle* round the garden before Spring. 

The garden, incidentally, which is being gradually converted from a moss-infested dank wilderness to a tidy, fertile home for all manner of fruits and flowers.  I planted raspberry canes the other weekend, before I went down with the Black Lung.  I also planted up the big stone trough with Spring bulbs, so with any luck we will have tulips, irises, crocuses, hyacinths and narcissi.  Assuming the resident wildlife doesn't start using the place as a snack bar, of course. 

I saw a squirrel in the apple tree again, he was tucking into the peanut feeder we hung there for the birds.  He stopped stealing nuts for long enough to stick two fingers up at me, then went back to his thieving.  Mr WithaY recently saw a rat in there too, calmly eating one of the apples without a care in the world. 

Earlier today I saw a woodpecker on the same feeder, tucking into the nuts.  We've also had blue tits, coal tits, great tits, wrens, sparrows, jackdaws, greenfinches, pigeons, collared doves, starlings and a crow.  Oh, and the scary robin.  He is a terror.  All the other birds seems to be afraid of him, and I can see why.

Other news:  I am on the mend.  Hurrah.  I am still coughing like a pauper from a Victorian workhouse, but the pain in my chest has lessened and I don't think I have a temperature any more. 





*And, to be honest, that would be the first time it has been ridden in 8 years.  Anyone want to buy it?

Hack, revisited

I'm ill.  Very, very ill*.  So ill, I might even up and die**. 

Must be nearly Christmas.  How do I know?

It's because I have my annual chest infection.  Hurrah for the good old seasonal traditions. 

It started last Wednesday, made itself properly felt on Thursday, and has me coughing like a wiry old docker with a 60-a-day habit.  Knowing from bitter experience that the only thing to shift a chest infection for me is a course of terrifyingly powerful antibiotics, I made an emergency appointment with a doctor for Saturday morning.  He listened to my chest, looked down my throat and up my nose, said lots of sympathetic and encouraging things, then prescribed me a week's worth of erythromycin.

I looked up the list of possible side effects, and rather wish I hadn't now.    One of them is "temporary deafeness." 

I said "TEMPORARY DEAFNESS."

So, my chest hurts where my "big tubes" are infected.  My lungs hurt.  My back muscles are sore from coughing.  My head aches from a mixture of the deep, echoey coughs and the lack of sleep.  My throat is sore from barking like a seal.  My stomach is decidedly dodgy from the antibiotics.  Not deaf yet though. 

We had a long-planned dinner party last night.  Mr WithaY and I had been preparing for it for several days.  The food looked lovely.  The wines were well-chosen.  I'd even made a chocolate bread and butter pudding.  Delicious. 

Our mates arrived and a good time was in full swing.  I made it through the starter and half of the main course before feeling so awful*** that I had to take myself off to bed.  Half past nine on a Saturday night.  Ever the perfect hostess, me.

Gah.

I have to go into London tomorrow for a meeting, because it is one that I have already postphoned once, and really can't again.  I will go in late, come home early and hope that I don't distress too many people with my hideous, racking cough while I'm there. 



*Not that ill, truth be told, really.

**No I won't. 

***Really, really sick.  Another delightful side effect of the antibiotics.

Lord of the Pings

Hello!  Were you missing me at all?  I can't believe it's already Thursday, and I haven't hardly* been here since the weekend. 

Where have I been, readers?  Why, I have been to London, working like a slave.  A SLAVE, I tell you.  And Bristol, which was less toilsome, and rather more relaxing as it is half the commute that I normally do.  So hurrah for Bristol.

Today I had to take my work laptop to the office** to get it fixed.  It has been temperamental of late, shying at connecting me to the work system, and dropping me off the edge of the intranet world and into the offline abyss at random. 

Why?  I have no idea.  I knew I wanted it fixed, though.  So, I lugged my ancient laptop all the way to the big city, then phoned the IT helpdesk. 

"Bring it to the tenth floor" they ordered. 

"Ok..." I replied.

"Do you know how to get to the tenth floor?" they asked me.

"Why yes, of course," I replied, breezily, confidence flooding my very soul. 

But no!  It turned out I didn't.  I had assumed that you just got in the lift and pressed the button marked "10". 

No no no.

You get in the lift and go up to the NINTH floor, where you disembark, looking furtively around to make sure you aren't being followed. Then, carrying your laptop, you make your way through the offices on the ninth floor, walking briskly and purposefully.

When you get to the far end of the office, you find a small secret door, hidden behind some cupboards.  You walk through the door, keeping your eyes tightly closed, or the enchantment fails, and there is a magical stairwell, leading up to the secret IT room on the tenth floor. 

Up the secret stairs, through about fifteen fire doors, where you half expect to end up out on the roof, and there is the IT office door.  Finally! 

You open the door, peering into the room cautiously in case there is a Watcher At The Gate made of cables, or some other technology Balrog to bar your entry.  Peering around the stacks of cardboard boxes and cages full of dead and dying computer equipment, what do you see?  It's those rarest, shyest and loveliest of creatures, the IT Helpdesk Trolls. 

They all turn, like synchronised swimmers, perfectly in time with one another, and fix you with their chilly basilisk stares.  This is rapidly sucking the will to live from you, so you hold your broken laptop out like a talisman.  Their eyes immediately shift to the computer, and they point wordessly to the troll in the corner, who will fix it. 

You have to creep deep into the bowels of the office, approaching the laptop specialist.  The other trolls return to their own screens, whispering arcane mysteries into their headsets.  I think I catch a few words, right on the cusp of hearing....."Switch it off...and on again...ok, how about now?" 

It's truly educational.

I fled back down ten flights of stairs to the land of the living, and waited for them to call me back, which they did a short while later.  I will find out tomorrow if it really does work, or if they were just dicking with me.

And being dicked by an IT troll is not something I think any of us want to be thinking about. 




*Living in Wiltshire is rubbing off on me

**In London.  It was bloody heaving, what with it being two weeks before Christmas and all.  Gah.

Shopping list

Mr WithaY is out, wandering the wide open spaces of West Wiltshire, somewhere in the rain.  Where can he be, I wonder? 

Possibly sat in his Landrover stuck in a huge hole that even his mighty entrenching tool can't remedy? 

Possibly up a tree, clinging to a branch with a pack of snarling stoats after his blood, desperately trying to get a signal on his mobile to call for an airstrike*? 

Possibly sneakily shopping in Salisbury, buying me a fabulous Christmas present? 

Possibly sat in someone else's kitchen, drinking tea and eating cake?

I have no idea.  He'll be back eventually.  Given his track record, I am always slightly apprehensive if he's gone for more than a few hours, but fingers crossed, eh. 

I decided to Get Stuff Done, so went into town** and ran errands like a woman possessed.  I have ordered us a turkey for Christmas from the local butcher.  A free-range bronze, which sounds like it will be mighty tasty.  As the butcher was filling in the order form I asked him "It'll be dead, will it?"  He looked up at me for a moment, not quite sure if I was joking, then said "No, madam, but it will be in a box.  You'll just need to get it out and kill it."  He then did an exceptionally good mime of a man taking a live turkey out of a box, upside down.  If he gives up butchering the man has a career in alternative theatre just waiting for him.

I bought Christmas cards.  We decided this year we are not sending out hundreds of cards, but instead will make a donation to charity.  Most of the cards we get are just "To Name and Name love from Name and Name (and Name and Name and dog.)"   I always try to write a message in every card, because otherwise it seems like a bit of a waste of time, to be honest.  Anyway, we will send out some cards, but far fewer than we usually do.  I will have to make more of an effort and actually ring people to talk to them. 

I went to Lidl.  Ahhhhhh Lidl.  What a great shop.  You can get anything in there, if you turn up on the right day.  Today they were offering electronic keyboards, brioche pans (I bought one), slippers in a huge range of styles and sizes but only one colour*** and a drummer's stool.  A seat, I mean.  For sitting on.  Oh, and a nice little wooden cabinet with a glass-inlaid door.  Well, that's what I thought it was.  Turns out it is a box to keep tea bags in, but I like my idea better.  Anyway, I bought one.  I can't resist their weird bargains. 

I bought a couple of bottles of their Champagne which is usually not half bad, and some cheap brandy as the Christmas cake has finished all ours.  Greedy bloody cake that it is.  I swear it's started moving around the kitchen on its own, rummaging through the cupboards and mocking my crockery.

Where else...Ah yes. 

I went to Argos, as we needed a new iron**** and I can't be arsed with looking at stuff in electrical shops for hours.  All the Argos catalogues were open at the Wii pages, which I thought was funny.  I left a few open at the Ironing Accoutrement Pages so that people will think "Some poor bastard is in for a miserable Christmas present."  Heh. 

Other news:  I have been learning to play the acoustic version of "Hey Ya", the Obadiah Parker version.  Look it up on YouTube if you've never heard it.  Lovely.

Oh, and a mate put me onto Jeff Healey, who (shamefully) I had never heard of.  Disgraceful, I know.  What an astonishingly talented man. 

Unfortunately, though, when I see people who can play guitar like that it doesn't inspre me to become as good as them.  I just think "Why do I even bother?" and think about selling all my guitars.  I won't, but it is interesting to see exactly how uncompetitive I am in some areas.  Whilst still being dreadfully, inappropriately competitive in others, of course. 

Right. Time for a cup of tea.  I love Saturdays. 




*This one's my favourite idea.

**Ha!

***Beige

****Rock and Roll, man!  Rock and fucking roll.

Creative cookery

There was a great story on the radio today.  People were sending in tales of how they had cooked meals anyway, after discovering they had run out of a key ingredient.  Using salted peanuts in a chilli when they found they had no salt, that kind of thing.

Someone sent in a tale of how they were making a lovely stew.  Mmmmm stew.

They made the stew, and then prepared to make the dumplings.  But oh no! No suet!  And we all know a stew isn't a stew without the delicious suety goodness of dumplings.  What to do?

Apparently the hapless chef looked out of the window at the bird table, and had a dreadful, dreadful idea.

He ran outside, grabbed the block of birdfood suet and brought it into the kitchen.  He shaved off the "dirty bits", then grated up the remainder to make dumplings.  And only told his wife what he'd done several days later, when it was all eaten up.