Going out...party time, or bedlam

           Had a great night out watching my brothers band, playing at the local pub. At least I think I did?

I say I think because of all the loonie, stupid drinkers. Who, it seems can only enjoy themselves, if they are off their heads. Dancing drunks, who have no idea of boundaries. They may have been on other substances too, who knows today. It seems, anything goes, in the quest for happiness...were they really happy? It didn't look happy to me. But then, thank god, I wasn't in their heads, or bodies. Ugl now that's a nasty thought.

          Some were already there, front row, almost falling down, comatose drunk when we arrived. Blokes who should be old enough to know better. Except they don't. They stare, and leer, and act inaproprietly. Putting you off the whole idea of being out at all. Why can't they have a room for the drunks, and one for the people just out to have fun with the music, and their friends. Keep the staggerers away from the band, and the real dancers. 

           I was official Vidio film maker of the night. That went down like a lead balloon with one of them. Who took great exception to me standing near him. It wasn't by choice I assure you. I thought he might fall on me. It was the only place I could get a good view of the band. I was careful not to block his view too. Still, he was not happy. I could feel the vibes, but ignored them. I am, after all, a professional, ha ha. For the night anyway. Later in the evening, he came to whisper in my ear. 'I didn't like you!' 'Oh dear, why not?' I replied. Not really giving a flying f...   'Cause of....' he said gesturing with his fingers, making a square. Not the iPad surely? It appears so. He really did not like the fact that I had shared his general area. "But," he said, "I like you now....." Stroking my arm, as I continued filming. Oh lucky me. "That's nice, pleased to hear it" I said. Wishing he would go away. He continued stroking my arm for a bit, half way through filming a number, I ignored him. Eventually he went off, but not far enough, unfortunately. He stayed within smelling distance. You knw that strong, booze smell, that comes through the pores. Illustrating this is not his first big booze of the last few days.

       We, my friends, and I did out best to enjoy the music, the dancing, and the company. As the evening went on, the crowd got bigger, but the drunks remained pretty much as they were. Or, at least, where they were. Of course, their dancing elongated. The steps becoming bigger, as the job of balancing became harder. This of course, meant they lurched into all sorts of other dancers. Who luckily for them were a cheerful crowd. Eventually, the worst drunk dancer? landing on the microphone stand, and keyboard. In an almost, full fall. The keyboard player barely caught the top as it spun sideways. All sorts of innefectual hand gestures, and garbled words ensued, as everything was righted.

        Disaster averted, we all continued 'doing out thing', as they say now. At that point, I decided not to chance my luck by filming any more. I was drinking myself, by the time he fell, and missed the worst.       The rest of the crowd, were merry by this time. Perhaps the secret is, not to start drinking before the band get into their sets.

         As is the way with many gigs, that go on into midnight, the  crown disperses suddenly. Half way through the last set, all but we diehards left for home, or other places. We real followers of the bad, had the room to ourselves. 

          OK. Enough, enough I thought. I have filmed about eight, or nine numbers. That's enough to mull over tomorrow. These films, being just the thing to check out your progress as a band. Which, the next day, is exactly what we did. My brother, and I. Of course he will have download them, and show the rest of the guys, but  he says they help a lot.

          Oh, but next time, I hope they play somewhere other than the serious drinkers, local watering  hole. Because, if I have both hands free, or even one, no drunk b.......  better try touching me anywhere!

       

Music, music everywhere.....or, it's only rock n roll

        As a music fan from way back, I have seen some changes. Even though now, I am not such an avid follower of bands as I once was, I still love all kinds of music. I mean all kinds, from classical, to country, and western, to heavy rock, and easy listening. There are even bits of rap, I can listen to. Way back, I began by being a fan of Praying Mantis, and the Troy brothers, Tino, and Cris, along with my brother Pete Moore, who, together, started the band. It was when they went to Furniture college in London, not far from the City. Those long haired teenagers, were full of enthusiasm, and energy. It was the seventies, and an exciting time.

         I was so lucky to have a younger brother who was, and still is a musician. I loved the fact that they practiced at the hall, at my Dads work, and often came to sit at my place. Strumming away, with me pretending to learn the notes, and chords. No, honestly, I did fancy I could learn to play like him. I never did master the guitar, but I loved music! The excitement, the energy. I never much Iiked to listen to droopy music. I liked it upbeat, and going somewhere, you know. As for being a musician, well, I hated the piano, and the guitar defeated me, or maybe I surrendered. I should have gone into singing perhaps. Except by then I already had a family, and needed to earn a living. I stayed, as I had to, firmly on the sidelines. My other brother wished he was musical too, instead, he became a part time roadie, for a band, when we all lived in the country.

         Of course, I loved all the bands of the times, the Stones, the Beatles, the Beach boys, the Eagles, even Elvis. There were so many, the Mammas, and the Papas, Bruce Springfield, Rod Stewart, Bryan Ferry, I could go on. You see many of them around, even today. It's an era that lasted, and lasted. It was something special. The Music scene began every week with The Top of the Pops. Keeping you up to date with all the latest music. I remember vowing then, never to let my need, and love for music fade from my life. But, of course I did. I had family to feed, and, a busy life, paying the bills.

           My daughter is the same now, so sure she will be bopping around for ever. Like all  the wise old mothers in the world, I smile, and think, we'll see. Oh it doesn't go away, it just changes. I still love live music, and have learned a fair bit over the the years. Enough, to spot something in the wrong key, or a bum note. I am the top judge on all the talent shows! Not that my criticisms over the years are always welcome....but I can appreciate a great singer. Take Andrea Bocelli, or Rufus Wainwright, even Gin, has the elusive quality of tone, and voice. That something different, with perfect pitch, and magic. Just like the latest young singer out, barely started, but he has it too...watch out for, James Arthur.

          I followed my brothers band in their early days. They played at The Marque in London, a happening music venu of the day. They did student gigs, and all sorts, got a manager, and were doing well. They played with the heavy rock band, Status Quo, and were definitely heavy metal. But it was a crazy time for them... .studying, playing, getting girlfriends. Ahh it gets complicated. I still think they could have made it. They had the usual change of singer, change of manager, but were keeping it together. A few new songs, and they would have been away, says the faithful sister. 

         I even got them a backing gig, with Dire Straits. Through the lead, Mark Knopfler. I knew Mark in a roundabout way, on the education scene. When he taught at Barnett college, and lived not far from me in London. I was in London Bridge, he in Deptford. They were great guys too. They had a weekly gig in Covent Garden, London, which I never missed. I, and a boyfriend at the time, we met mark for a drink, the night he signed his first big recording contract. I remember he was very pleased with the terms, but then, he was an intelligent guy, he knew what he was doing.

          It didn't happen for my bro though. He got married, moved to New Zealand, and, of course, set up another band,as he says now, Mark Four. He is still an excellent guitarist, and writing songs again too. He is a muso, and no mistake, thats who he is.

         We are late starters in our family, in almost every department. With the magic of the Internet, who's to say what may still happen. Even though we are both a bit long in the tooth.

          I guess I will never be a singer, but I am a writer..

           As long as you guys keep reading...

           

Nowt so queer as folk...

         For those of you not of English extraction, it just means nothing, 'nothing is as strange a people.' Certainly, nothing at all to do with the word, 'queer', in today's connotations. As far as I'm concerned, the world is made richer, by the gays, or the queers. Call them what you will, regardless, they are alright by me! A tremendous number of whom are artistic, a double whammy as far as I can see. It's far better than everyone being the same, isn't it. I myself, and me, we enjoy being a little bit interesting. Perhaps a little bit off the wall strange, at times. It keeps me amused, wards off boredom, and I hope, it keeps others amused too. But, I digress, getting right off the subject here, let's get back on track. Language, and how it's meaning changes, is another blog, altogether.

        Looking around this morning I was struck by the great diversity of people around me. This, follows on from the discussion of races, and how they evolve, settle in to new countries, or not, of yesterday's blog. It is fascinating, as an artist, and a people watcher, to see such faces. Just the way these people look, you can see just how the characters in Harry Potter came to be. I know that J. K. Rowling wrote at least some of the stories sitting in a cafe. Basing some of the characters on the people she saw. She liked to sit amongst the public, just as I am doing today. I do it because I like noise, and bustle about me as I write. I don't know why she wrote in such locations, and it's immaterial really. The more I look, the more I see to fascinate. Some people out here, are so interesting. The character, race, mood, all sorts, shows on their faces. They really do come in every shape, and colour. The complexity of faces, and figures are just amazing. Perhaps not nice of me to say either, but the majority of them are ugly, or should I say 'have interesting faces', lived in faces, far more of those, than the beautiful, or even the attractive. To be honest, only a few in the streets, have regular, or classical features. You can also see that most people do the best they can to present themselves as attractive, or even just clean. I think we all like to look as smart as possible. To present ourselves as well as possible. As for the many unusual appearances around me, it's quite thought provoking, in all sorts of directions.

          I don't mind that they are not at all good looking, because it brings you back to the real world. You know, it's so easy to get the impression that the whole world is ultra beautiful. You tend to see photos of people at their most glamorous, especially, the rich, and famous. In magazines, in films, on tv. Even the ordinary person, can photo shop, or pose endlessly on Facebook or somewhere. Then, you go to a little town cafe, and begin to see that's not the case at all. You know, most, are the kind of faces that would lend themselves easily to caricatures. They are more than half way there already. It would take very little imagination, to make them into all sorts of scary, and unusual characters. OK I know, it's been done already. The possibilies are still endless, still out there.

           Which, brings me to youngsters, and their vision of themselves. Their vision of the world, as we are presenting it to them perhaps. With the trends today, it's bound to somewhat warped, isn't it. I think a lot about the young, perhaps just as Mother, and as an X teacher, it is a subject that interests me. How best, we might do things. How best, to help the young survive in this world. To survive with sometimes, such a skewed vision of life, and ambitions presented to them through the media. The world moves so quickly, everyone is so rushed. From the traffic, to the pace of change with communications, especially. On top of that, theirs is the vision of a world full of beautiful people. People they are bound to aspire to, and how can they do it? Most of us, are a part of the great mass of ordinary people I saw today. It's bound to leave many youngsters, without enough life experience, feeling less than worthy. Where do they fit in, how do they aspire to these paragons of beauty. Where do they find their sense of self. How can they measure up.

            Teenagers, the young, even children as young as nine, or ten today have such sophisticated visions of how they should appear. How they should look, act, react, or aim for. With short skirts, gleaming hair, perfectly presented faces, straight teeth, the lot. I must admit, it shocks me, to see how some work on their appearance to go out. When I was their age, I was sitting up a tree, or running with the dog, or perhaps making hides. I may have been just as aware, perhaps. I just didn't have the clothes, or the makeup, or the places to go. Nor all of the beautiful people before my eyes. 

            My father went mad when I tried to wear makeup at fifteen. His comment was "take that muck off your face". OK, perhaps not the most enlightened response, but I got the idea quickly enough that it wasn't acceptable, or necessary. He was quite clever too. He said, "It will give you spots, and bad skin like your Auntie." Well, no one wants that...do they? Whether because of that, or not, I never did develop a love affaire with makeup. Only with mascara, as with fair lashes, a girl has to do something to show she has some. I still won't appear without mascara, bit sad, hey.

             There needs to something for the youngsters, to redress the balance. Something other than the dreadful soaps, I mean. My other bug bear, is the dreadfully common people shown on soaps. The way they talk, the way they dress, how they scream, and fight, and cheat, lie, and even murder. It seems to an obsession with too many people. It's not the way, you want to see your children behave, or your neighbours act. We need something to foster, good aims. Pure living, without getting evangelical, or sect like about it.

             We need to return to being good to each other, to being honest, and reliable. We need the children, and young adults to see it tool show the, the virtue of being faithful, and trustworthy. How to be ordinary, good hearted, ordinary looking people. Just like 90+% of the population already are. Not fashion plates, with empty heads, andscheming, cheating, lives.

               Bring back normality..... 

               Please..

            

              

Losing days..

         This week, I lost a day. What a muddle it caused. Sounds ridiculous doesn't it, but it's the truth. A task supposed to be done on Sunday, had to be cancelled until Monday. making Sunday, a bit of a wasted day. Then, on the Monday, had to fit in swimming early, instead of later. This was the only way not to miss it completely. Early rather goes against the grain with me, I am not a good, morning person. My aches, and pains, and often disturbed sleep means I am often tired. Feeling rather 'hung over', without the benefit of the booze that normally accompanies such a feeling. A slower, gentler start to the day, works much better for me. Therefore, I was not best pleased.

         After, my preferred exercise of swimming, down at the local leisure centre, I finally, got into the car, and went off to see to the job in hand. This, unfortunately involved quite a drive. Going there, and back, took the greater part of the day. Finally, returning home late, having bought take away at mothers, and prepared for bed. Except by then, I wasn't feeling too well. I had called in on my Mothers earlier, on the way home. Where, she really put the pressure on me to stay the night. This, on the best of days, is very headache inducing, but was just too much for me that day.  I really couldn't stay, just like that. I had no nightclothes, no meds, none of things that gets me through the often, difficult night. 

           However, as she still sees me as the, I suppose, 'much younger daughter,' it never occurs to her, that there might be something wrong with me. That I may be anything other, than in rude health. It does not matter how often I try to explain to her. I only get a look of great surprise, and you must be kidding me expression. Sometimes, a 'well they must be able to do something about it' comment. She assumes, I am always capable of running around, and filling in all the gaps for her....if only it were true.      

           Of course, instead of what she expects of me, I am often not as fit as I would like.This tussle, between my plans, and her plans that night, was a added strain. This week is really being difficult! Never mind, I stopped with her øas long as I could, until almost her bedtime.

         At home, I began to feel queasy, and hot, overall, a bit shaky. Once in bed, I hoped it would pass, but no. I felt really sick, as if was coming down with food poisoning, a familiar, and unpleasant symptom of M.E. These bouts always hit fast, and knock me out of action for a couple of days. I did not sleep well, although, a full blown attack did not happen.  It was a long, and uncomfortable night, nauseous, and restless. The next day, I struggled through, doing my planned Monday things ( but of course, it was already tuesday). Again, after eating something that night, the nausea began again. This time, it hit me hard, and I crawled into bed early. Vowing never to eat again, I went through the whole gamut of the shakes, sweats, toilet, bucket by the bed for hour, after hour. As usual, it felt as if I were dying. By early hours of the morning it abated a little, and I had to sit up for a while. I finally dozed for an hour or two, about five o clock.

         The next morning, obviously, I did not want to get up at all. But I had promised mother to drop in before Wednesday. Regardless, you must keep your routine running, or days turn into night before you know it.  Wednesday, was the night I promised her I would stay again. So popping in that afternoon, I kept talking at cross purposes with her, I didn't understand her references, she kept shaking her head at me. I was too tired to work it out. Just focus, I though, you can get through this.  In between lying down, I made her cups of tea, whist she blasted me with the tv. She is very deaf. I then saw an ad for a series I was trying to watch." It's ok she said, you can see it here," I was confused. I am staying at a variety of homes this last few months, I thought. Jeez, they have changed the night. Now what, does she want me to stay tonight as well? Then the light began to filter through my numb brain, it's Wednesday, is it really Wednesday? Really not Tuesday?

            Oh yes, not Tuesday as I thought all day, but Wednesday. Stuff I planned to do today, will now have to be done tomorrow. I had to return to my temporary home, pack my stuff, and come back to sleep the night. Oh no, how did I lose day? I felt quite discombobulated, and a bit dumb.

          Now, I have two conflicting places to be tomorrow, plus I cancelled mums afternoon lady, promising to take her out, that's three jobs all at the same time. Rather defeated, thinking how I can reorganise tomorrow, I finally go to bed. Still feeling rather delicate, but so much better than the previous night. I can only sigh with relief. One good thing about being ill, you are really grateful for the days you feel well. 

          I should be grateful for small mercies. But, how on earth I can sort out tomorrow's mess, I do not know. I shall have to be on the phone early, trying to reorganise something. Because come a week tomorrow, there is a vital plane I must be on. Come hell, or high water! So much to do before then.

             I tell you, losing a day, is not a clever idea.....

              Oh no! I was supposed to swim on Wednesday too, O.K. that's well, and truly gone, I can't possibly fit that in tomorrow as well. This whole week is just getting away with me...

              What a mess, losing track of the days is....

Black integration in England, as opposed to American history

         After watching 'the butler', the new film with some fine actors, Oprah Winfrey, forest Whitaker, and Cuba Gooding Jun. it began me thinking about something I saw last year. Now you can call me racist, which I am not, or you may be interested in this.            

         I was thinking about some of the reactions to American history I have witnessed by English/British youngsters. Who, learning of slavery for the first time, and hearing of the cotton fields, and the various plantations, of 'strange fruit' (black people hanged on trees for looking at, or in some way upsetting  their white masters) are justifiably shocked. Alongside the cruelty, and the hardships suffered there, for some two hundred years. Including the persecution by 'klu klux klan', that dreadful vigilante group. These English kids, mistakenly often believe it's their history. Which, in regards to black people, England was quite different.

          In fact in all of Europe, any black people, no matter how they travelled here, and few if any would have come by British slave ships. Any immigrants, were in the main, treated fairly. Of the slavers themselves, it was viewed as a profitable cargo. This does not mean that the British were innocent in the trade, far from it. They profited by collected slaves from Africa, most sold to them after being captured by neighbouring tribes. It was commonplace for black tribes, to sell other black tribes. Or, the Arabs to make forays into the interior, and collect them.The ships involved, took many to the Americas, or to the Caribbean. There they worked on tobacco, or sugar plantations, as well as cotton.

           Of course back then in the U.K. the poor, white or black, were victimised for being poor. For centuries in. Britain, wealthy land owners owned slaves. Of their own people, people belonging, to their land. Born on it, to work for them. These people were commonly called surfs. They could scratch a living off their homestead, but had to work for free for so many months of each year. They had no rights, nor could they marry without their masters permission. So, slavery has existed there virtually for ever. These uneducated people were penalised for being ignorant, sick, whatever. It was quoted many were too stupid to make good money if sold on the slave market. If course, no one bothered to educate them, it was survival.

             As in many developing countries, the gap between the wealthy, and the poor was vast. For centuries, there were workhouses, and cruelty, and slave like wages, and work loads. Whatever they suffered, it was the same for all, at that level in society. You suffered, and died, or you pulled yourself up, and survived. Many died in dreadful conditions, for generations.

            Britons were enslaved by foreign usurpers over the centuries too. The invasion by Rome, bought the first black people here, as part of their army, and took the English as slaves. The Vikings on their raids of the coastline did the same. People were spoils of war, and for trade, in less enlightened times. In history, the strong have always used the weak. It happened all around the world, and was not only the black who were victims. The Portuguese took many slaves, as did the Muslims. They were shipped to various places where they needed as a workforce. Brazil, being one. England also led the fight to stop slavery, which they did in the eighteenth century, taking their fight to the Americas too.

             Yet, despite this flourishing worldwide trade, slavery just did not exist here! in the UK as it did in the USA. All over Europe, the black had the same rights, as the poor whites. They had the same chances as any immigrant. Look at the English who were sent to Australia, or who went to Amercia. They fought for what they wanted, or, they sunk into poverty, disease, and death. It was survival of the fittest. As it has ever been throughout history. The difference being, in America, during that two hundred period, they were also prisoners. The English, have been slaves many times, it would have been the same. Captured, taken across the sea, by the Vikings and other marauders of our coast. 

          I know it's not politically correct to say any of this today. Nothing in the slightest bit racist, but we must be honest. We should not forget that USA history, as we do not forget the world wars, but we should not make a platform from it. On which we build modern society. Surely the modern black person is too big for that, should be beyond that. I know there are  racsists out there, narrow minded, frightened people. I have seen it, as over half of my grandchildren are half black. I see, and feel the animosity, but seldom. I also see how the black race call them niggers, and ignore their white blood. Scooping all half, and quarter peoples up, claiming them as part of the 'brothers.' That, in my eyes, is just as rascist. We should be amalgamating, not breaking into races. As for any animosity, or rascism, they have to learn to deal with it, like I deal with  sexism as a woman, or fatism if you're overweight. There will always be people who act so. It is fear, of the unknown, and of the balance of power shifting, or, of basic bullying. 

           My grandchildren  are West Indian black, and Brazilian black. I have six dearly loved family members of mixed race. They are not ashamed of my white face, or to call me grandmother, and I am not ashamed to call them grandchildren. I love them, and they know it. They love me, and it feel it. I would do anything for them, as I would by other grandchildren. No I do not parcel them into colour, but into ages, and personalities. Surely, this is how true integration works. By joining the races, and avoiding deliberate separatism. Yes, there are significant differences, if we dwell on them. But also far more, significant similarities. we are all people, with hearts,and souls, and minds. We, all people, have our own harsh histories, it's no good keep dragging them up.

          The film then, was well acted, well written an important historical era In the American fight for equality. But in the UK we did not have separate schools, buses, wages. The black were not singled out or, victimised. Not shot with no recourse to justice. I found it interesting that the country who shouts the loudest about 'land of the free', and racial equality, still appear to staff the White House with  black servants. Is it really not a mixture of all people's still? Or, did I get that wrong, has it changed.

           This is my memory. Where I grew up, there were no black people, Indian people and little else. We saw our fist real black skins, in the fifties when a few adoptions of mixed races took place, we were spellbound, and fascinated. Not angry, or defensive. In the towns it was a different matter, more immigrants of all kinds. There were black successes way back, there were the barristers, the actors, the occasional wealthy man, or sportsman. More of a mix, in the ports, where people arrive. It may not be what the history books say, but what I remember.  I gradually saw West Indians appear in london, true they took the lower paid jobs, but had the same rights as we all did, they came from a much worse economy, and wanted a better life in England. England needed a work force, again. As did many other countries. Holland encouraged Indonesians to go settle. But they were treated well, with all the rights of the indigenous population.Their children can be whatever they want, they can go to college, or work in a shop. They will have to work no harder, or no less than I did. In fact with equality today, and ratios of all races demanded, there are sometimes advantages to be had. Jobs kept for particular races,  or disabilities. Even that, I am uncomfortable with. Such a fine line must be drawn, or it is counter productive I feel. Although, changes are always imperfect, gradually we find a way for fairness.

            What I don't understand, is when my half West Indian granddaughter went to college. The all black cast portrayed how persecuted the black was. American history again, presented, as  something quite incorrect. It was a festival of cruelty, and persecution. Portrayed by youngsters who all happily mix, white, black, yellow, and in between. I found it annoying, and I must admit subversive. Why do they want to give these youngsters a twisted version of what happened. Are they trying to promote racsimn? I am a little afraid, the film will do this too. My other grandaughter, Caucasian, of the same age was outraged, that we had treated black people, her family, that way. Those things stick, or they foster disbelief in other facts told them, as truths. If they are scewed to show persecution that did not exist. Not in the UK it didn't.

         In Britain today, with the common market, we have a massive influx of Eastern Europeans. Who stick together, get each other jobs in the same place, speak their own language, don't really mix.They have flooded our streets, in too greater numbers. We seldom hear English as we walk the towns. These people are whiter than most if the locals.yet, they are stirring up strong feeling, akin to rascism. It has little to do with colour, only with fear, of being overrun. Fear of being forced into a lesser position. Perhaps that's what the American black person(some of them) are afraid of today.

          I don't have all the answers, I only know how things effect me. I want to live peacefully. For my children, and grandchildren to live in safety, without suspicion, and hate.

          Please let's not go so far, that we worsen the situation, instead of improve it. That's all I ask.

Garden diggings, and digging at the gardener

         Visiting my mother, over here in NZ. As she was ill a couple of months ago. She is much better now, thank goodness. Looking remarkably bright eyed, and bushy tailed. Yet, still poor at getting about, and her balance isn't good. Which means she can't do her own garden. She would be likely to end up with her head in the weeds, as I almost did this afternoon. Isn't gardening such great fun! What I am trying to say, is that she has a weekly gardener. He was ok a few years back, I suppose. Except in the interim, the years have passed, his health has deteriorated, he needs a new knee too. So together, they chatter, eat fish and chips once a week, share the lotto costs, and probably, complain about each other. At least, she complains about him.

           Well, he does still turn up in the guise of the gardener. Looks at the state of it, sometimes cuts the grass, when pushed, and takes the money. I put it to you, he has only himself to blame. The lines between them, their respective positions, and their ages, have become blurred. He chats more than works, and although he charges less than half the money of a real gardener, he is not worth any of it.

A scathing assessment, but true. I know, I spent an hour in there this afternoon, and its borderline jungle. So, the gardening, has become a problem, a bone of contention.

          I know, they need to reset the boundaries, or he needs to retire gracefully. Just become a friend maybe, except he seems to need the twenty dollars, or so she pays him. The saga continues, with my mother resenting paying him, and the garden getting worse. In the meantime, she complains vociverously to us, the family. Me, who leaves on 'the big white bird' in less than two weeks, for the other side of the world. Or, to my brother, who is a choked with jobs of his own, and family. A situation not unlike the garden, threatening to get out of hand. As responsibilities do, when families expand, and the breadwinner tires. I know, I have been there, I'm older than he. Been there, done that, got the tee shirt, as they say. Anyway, the upshot of it is, he cannot possibly take on the gardening, he does enough there already, with me not here.

          The weeds, meanwhile, are spreading. The new plants, planted by me on my visits, dying. Soon the rest will die too, choked by bindweed, covered by dandelions, or foot high clover. Or, even worse I think, parched, and dying of thirst. I noticed today, when I was out there. Valiantly, trying to plant a few brightly coloured plants, that I thought she might enjoy seeing. That there are even cleverly shaped bunches of weeds along the border. I guess he thinks they are green, and healthy, so acceptable. Except for when they seed, the whole garden will be swamped. Even more than it is at present.

            There is one section with the clever weed arrangements, one left as a riot of weeds, one in which it appears an elephant has taken a sand bath, and assorted semi derelict areas, somewhere between all of those afore mentioned states. Before I left last time, I planted lots of succulents. These are of the cacti family. They come in a variety of greens, greys, and yellows, shapes, and sizes. They are very hardy, and require no maintainance, and little water. They have spread, and flourished, thank goodness. Or the garden would be virtually bare. 

            Except for the roses of course. I always bought my mother rose bushes as presents. They are such good value, as far as growth, beauty, scent, and long life are concerned. Two in particular, flourish. A white climber called iceberg, and a wonderful dark lipstick pink rose, I don't know the name of. All the roses are magnificent. I know this garden sounds massive, but it really is very small. There is a small strip around most of the house, a mere pathway. Then, a handkerchief of lawn to the rear. Around the lawn are the weed beds...I mean flower beds. Only, about a foot wide.

             I wish I could solve this problem for her, but have not decided how to, as yet. Also, how much do I interfere. He is a visitor, someone else to talk to, and he cuts the grass. He has some good points in his favour. Except, he is upsetting Mother, taking money under false pretences, and letting the garden go to rack, and ruin. Things are only going to get worse, on every front. I don't want Mother getting so mad at him, for wasting her money, that she spears him, on his own fork. Or, he might simply get lost in the weeds one day, and never be seen again.

              Dilemma, do I let him cut the grass, for less money. Or, maybe he wouldn't? Or, do I get a lawn mower man in, and a proper gardener, and pay for it myself. Which I know, she would resist. The thing is, how much would she resist? We could engage the new man. We could absolve her of any blame in his eyes. They could then, commiserate with each other on the subject of bossy daughters. I know he has one too.

              Mmm, have I solved it? I must hatch a plan with my brother, I am sure we could organise something between us. Whatever it is, it must be quick. I am off soon, I cannot delay much longer.

              In the meantime, I will continue to weed what I can. Try to get it in some sort of order for the new man, ahh see, already my sub conscious has made the decision.

             Yippee, for the sub conscious, and for passing the buck,

              Which my mother always seems to do with me....

              Ah well, that's life, as long as she's happy.

          

Friends with benifits: or, Will you be my friend.....

              Will you be my friend? Remember saying that at school? I do. Being a bit of a sad case, a small girl without friends, (at school anyhow). I don't think I asked it often, too afraid of being given the wrong answer. You wouldn't think to look at me now, but I was always quite shy, and I still am, underneath. Over the years you learn to project another personality over the top don't you. It's a survival mechanism. Or, perhaps that's just me...oops!

            The thing is, we were a large family, with innumerable cousins, aunties and that sort of thing, so I did have kids to play with. The family got together every Sunday, for afternoon games, and a big family 'high tea'. All sitting around my grandmothers big walnut dining table. She could seat twenty people easily around that table, more, with chairs squeezed in. The spread she put on was something special too. In her youth, before marriage she was a cook in a big house. I mean a big house, in Norfolk, England. She was the epitome of a grandmother, round, and happy. Her little self, always  wrapped in an apron, constantly busy. My grandfather was a smallholder. Which means he had land of his own, and he leased more. In effect, he was a farmer. The combination of owning their own cow, chickens, pigs, and fruit trees, and my grandmother being magic in the kitchen, resulted in some unique feasts. The spread was enormous, and she did the whole thing herself. A lord could have dropped in, and been well fed. 

           My mother, who was the daughter of the house, was one of eight. There were three sons first, then five daughters. My mother being the middle one of the girls. My grandmothers child bearing years went on until her mid forties, which makes it at least twenty five years of having babies. With no birth control to speak of. I think she did well to have only eight. She lost only one set of twins. As you can imagine, some grandchildren were grown up, before we were born. Many of the other grandchildren, were quite a bit older, than us too.

           I say us, because I had a brother less than eighteen months younger than me. We were joined at the hip until school came along, then we were split into different classes, supposed to stay with boys, or girls respectively. It sounds like the ark now, but never the twain did mix back then, in that small backwater of a country place where we lived. Until then, I had been as bad as my brother, I could climb as high, or higher, run, or explore just as much. Pretend to be pilots, or explorers. Build dens, fish with rod, and line, paddle along the stream, catching tidlers in jam jars. Once we even scrumped fruit from the isolated orchard out the back. I wasn't a girlie girl, I was a tomboy, and no mistake. Fearless, was my middle name, I remember being at my happiest aloft in the top of the tallest tree. Perhaps, because I was supposed to take care of my brother, I was to be the responsible one. I was that too, I took my duties very seriously during those early years. It was just he, and I until school. There were 'almost grown up' boys about, but none our age. We had few neighbours nearby, and none with children. Except for those visiting my grandparents, who were a five or ten minute walk away. We actually lived with my grand parents for the first four years, my father being away in the army.

            The only grandchild near our age, was an only child, and difficult. For some years, my best friend, and worst enemy. Looking back, I can see why, she had everything, she liked things done her way. What is it they say now, 'my way, or the highway!', yes, that was her. Of course I had my faults, being almost exactly one year older than she, I made sure she knew that, and reminded her often. For one week, once a year she had a birthday, and was the same age as I. She made the most of that too. Ahh the ways of children. When nine, or ten, and a quarter, was so much more important, and older, than those without the quarter. 

            School though, that was something else. It was a couple of miles away, and we had to walk it. Talk about excercise, we sure had plenty. That was the best part of the day though, that walk. So much to see, and do. I can't imagine how, or what time we got to school. The school itself though, was a lonely nightmare. I screamed, and cried so much that first day, they had to bring my older cousin in to hold me. She was fifteen, and I remember clinging on to her, like a monkey. I knew everyone there, their families knew my family. Yet no one wanted to be my friend. I don't know, perhaps we were the local Adams family, who knows. I was in an isolated nightmare for years. Dyslexic, thought stupid, and friendless. Not a happy state of affairs for anyone.

          Life goes on, eventually I made one friend, when I was about eight. Another, when I was twelve, and went to the big school. I am still close to that girl, even though she stayed in Norfolk, and I moved around the world. We still communicate regularly. That's what real friends are like. They stick, no matter what, no matter how many years in between. Most important they don't judge. Not you, or your actions. Yes, I was a slow started with making freinds, but now, I have the best friends anyone could ever wish for. 

          Ahhh, there is so much more that I could say about friends. This could be another story, for another day, or a continuation. Ha ha. As for freinds with benifits, they seem to be all the thing today with the youngsters. But then what would I know, I read about these things. 

         What ever works, and if you trust someone to be a friend, with benifits, then that sounds like a real friend to me.

          Power to you, and your real friends, may you have at least one, in every country in which you live, or visit regularly.

            To friends! I salute you!

My love affaire with the lucky country, Australia. Part three

        The days began to drift by, and then the weeks. The routine we first established became easier, as we, my daughter, and I, became more familiar with everything. I am sure you are all know about culture shock, perhaps not so much with the idea that somewhere like Australia could be so different, for us, as to feel a culture shock, but it was. I thought about this a lot over the years, and I am convinced it has a lot to do with it being a 'new' country. i.e. one not established for centuries, like England, or Scotland, or other parts of Europe. Although countries like Australia, and America were original settled by a great many Europeans, there was a lively mix from the rest of the world too.

          I think we should remember that they were, in the main, the more adventurous characters. Those who, for what ever reason, left their homes, and travelled into the unknown, finding, and settling these new countries. Unless, they were either prisoners, sent over on prison ships from England, or slaves. Or, even the indigenous people of the country, the Aborigines, the red Indians, or Maori's. Again, all of these had to be survivors, at the least they must survive the influx of so many strange cultures. They had it rough, they fought for what they wanted, or they died. They also had to be able to get on with each other, to find their own place in the mix, to adjust. I think it has made them resilient people, who take things as they find them, the "no worries" attitude, I love so much. Only my theory, but as I said before, I like to make sense of things, try to understand why things are as they are.

         Meanwhile, in Northern Territory, my mother was still not well, not wanting to get well, was my opinion. Something more than an operation gone wrong. I know she was not a fan of the heat, or the country yet, perhaps never. But, for goodness sakes, she has her beloved eldest son close by. I would have thought she would be ecstatic, but she wasn't. My father was, he got to go a few places with my brother, an auction, or the local farmers market. He always loved markets. Althought there is nothing here as he was used to in london. Nothing at all was the same. In fact, I found you had to stop looking for the familiar, keep an open mind. Assessing new things as you went along. Taking them at face value, and seeing what you could do with it. English ways, and even values did not work here. It was the way to drive yourself crazy. It occurred to me, perhaps my mother could not acclimatise to the changes. Although they had now lived here for two years. Every time my father took off, spending some time with his son, my mother said, "you see" as if to say, thats it, that's the problem. He couldn't live as she was living though, it did not even work for her, for goodness sakes.

           I couldn't see her problem with him. He was fitting in, she was digging in her heels, hating everything different. It was vexing to see, and we were unable to change her outlook. Oh, lighten up I thought of myself. She's ill! Of course she was ill. not eating anything with any texture. Eating only mush like a baby, and not much of that. My daughter, and I kept up a cheerful front to Dad, saying.."she'll be right" another lively Aussie saying. Whilst exchanging worried looks, and comments between ourselves.The days passed, and she hardly improved at all. We all wished we could solve the problem for her. All. We could really do, was keep the house running, and care for her.

            We girls were acclimatising, gradually learning how to deal with the heat. How to rise early, do all the physical stuff, housework, washing etc. Before the heat built up, or after it faded again. Otherwise, despite wearing only a cotton wrap, with hair pinned up off our necks. We found if we exerted ourselves, we would run with water, as if we had just stepped out if the shower. The shower, which we used several times a day, ran with warm water, straight out of the cold tap, due to the miles of overland pipes standing in the scorching sun. Oh but it was bliss to get into, to stand under running water. For a few minutes, you were wet, and cool. Food, was another thing we had to change. Despite my parents demanding English food, hot, and traditional, we, especially I, began to crave cold food, lighter dishes. We began to enjoy the sun, getting a tan, excercising more, filling our days. Then, everything we did, was like a workout, because of the heat. Mainly because everything was so different there, we had to find different things to do. A different way to live. But I was discovering, it was a way of life I liked.

             I remember the first time my brother came home from one of his trips. He took one look at my overweight body, and red face, because of the heat, despite just having stepped out if the shower. "Wow, girl" he said, "you better be careful, you will have a stroke" well, I didn't. After a couple of months, I wasn't so red any more. I wasn't so overweight anymore either. Ok, it wasn't as if I hadn't been slim before, I had, just not for a year or two. Partly because I had been through an illness, and major life changes too, at home in the UK. In Australia, I had found a place that suited me. I knew that, I understood it on every level. I wanted to make the most of it. My children were all grown with their own lives, I was freer than I had even been.

            As well as that, I began to see the beauty in the differences of the bush around me. The red earth, was the perfect foil for the grey trees, the very starkness, was beautiful. The bouquet of flowers in the tops of the trees, the kaleidoscope of colourful birds was right. They were so joyous, they are party birds, I decided. The strange lizards, that froze when you were near, one leg in the air. Giving you chance to look carefully, before it moved again. The songbirds sitting close to where you sit. The bright green tree frogs, that appeared in their hundreds, hanging by their little round, flat, sucker feet. The geckos, hanging upside down on the walls, and the ceiling, transparent and fearless. Losing their tails if you tried to catch them. We did not like them in the house, but they liked to be there. We had fun catching them with large drinking glasses, and putting them outside, unhurt. Although they scurried back in, the first chance they got. They thought the houses, were theirs, not ours.

            As we found out way into Darwin, we found modern malls, and cafes, beaches, and swimming pools. All around the area was busy, and bustling. Ultimately, my daughter went home, back to England, missing her life, and friends. Instead I made new friends, and saw more of the surrounding area. Watched the herds of wild horses, the buffalo, the kankaroos on visits to the pearl farms my brother managed. Learn how to avoid snakes, and watch for crocks, swam in deep waterholes, drove across the vast desert to Alice springs. Attuned to the spiritual, around me,a nod inside me. Took on work, and got to know something of the real aboriginal. I worked, and played, explored, and for to know the country, and it's people . Above all, I got to spend valuable time with my brother, who left us earlier than he should have. My over two years there was invaluable, irreplaceable. Australia to this day, remains my favourite place in the world.

             My mother, never attuned to it. She, and my father soon moved to New Zealand to be near my other brother. Magically, her health suddenly improved once there. She got off the plane, in a wheelchair, and within the day, was eating normally. So, perhaps my feelings were correct, it was too alien for her. My father, never liked NZ as much as she, but settled, and discovered garage sales. He, and my brother in Australia, died within two years of each other, a few years later. Leaving a gap, we can never fill. My mother, is still going strong, many years later. I sometimes think, she could outlive me too.

             As for me, after eventually returning to England, I too, ended up living in New Zealand. Always planning to return to Australia, to make it the ultimate move. Fitting in holidays, and travel there in the interim. Always planning, and meaning to stay permanently, but it still hasn't happened.

              One day, it will happen, but we can never recreate the time we all spent there together, back when. The time when I fell in love with the lucky country, Australia......

             To this day, it calls me, to visit there, is to feel completely at home, to be surrounded by the  energetic cries of the birds, by the heat, or the rain, by the positive people, is to feel...complete.

             One day, it  will happen, one day......

The pool, and the willow.

         The day was bright, sunny, a perfect summer day. The only sounds breaking the tranquility of the pond, and the lane leading to it, were insects. The hum of dragonflies, flitting erratically  over the surface of the water, and the drone of fat bees, busy in the undergrowth. Where, a wealth of flowering weeds, and foliage offered nectar to all who knew where to look. Overhanging the back of the large pond, was an old, and partially broken willow tree. At some point, it must have been struck by lighting, it's substantial trunk, now split in two.The trunk, at least four metres in circumference, only unbroken for the last half a metre. As if the earth, was the only thing holding the two ragged, uneven, parts together. By the time the tree was about two metres from the ground, the split was so wide, a person could have stood, easily inside the hole, completely hidden.

           Except for the fact, that the gap, over it's many decades of damage, had filled up. The hole, filled with broken twigs, fallen leaves, soil, and assorted natural debris. It made a stout fill. This meant that the tree, had created its own platform. A solid, fairly flat base, such as might be built deliberately, for a tree house. From that point, the branches multiplied, and spread out, as trees do. Giving the platform a degree of secrecy, and as the branches rose, spread, and flushed with leaves. This gave shelter from the weather. Be it rain, or sun, the platform remained a natural arbour, sheltered, and secret.

           Of course, as is the way with children, two who lived nearby, discover the tree house, and make it theirs. From the time, they could first reach high enough to climb it, they used it for their games. This was several years ago, but still they used it. They were Tarzan in the jungle, or a submarine, ready to dive into the pool below. They were an aeroplane flying over the sea, looking for survivors. They played house, and had adventures, they spotted planes from the higher branches. Or watched for, or hid from pretend lions on the platform. They picnicked there, and shared secrets, but never did they share it with any of their freinds. No one else lived close anyhow. So it did not arise, it remained their secret.

           It became a refuge too. At times, when the grownups were busy, or hard to understand, they hid there. Whispering, and playing their imaginary games. They watched the water, a lot. It fascinated them, the way the water rippled with small insects, and the swallows swooping low, over its surface to feed. Sometimes, it was water hens buildings nests, sometimes ducks came to swim. These, ducking down, with heads underwater, and tails wiggling in the air. Baby birds were born, moorhens, ducklings, took their turn swimming around the pool. Once they saw a rat, slithering through the mud at the edge of the pond, before disappearing in the direction of the nearby stream.That had been nasty, if fascinating. Mostly, they liked to see the life on, and around the water. They imagined something mysterious, lived deep down inside, where it was darkest. People said the pond had no bottom, it went on for ever.

           One day, when it was cooler, and the wind blew, the younger child, a girl, balancing on a branch, fell. Her agile body, suddenly ungainly, splashed into the water. Immediately, the dark water closed over her head, cutting off the sharp, scared cry. The older child, a boy, slid down the tree, and balancing on the edge of the pond, calling for the missing child. Nothing stirred, only after what seemed a long time, did the small head break the surface of the water again. Hair, an arm, a pale frightened face, mouth open, sank again like a stone. The boy made an involuntary move towards her, calling her name. Feet now wet, slipping on the wet mud, realising he could not reach so far. The child had fallen far out into the pond. All that was left, was bubbles, breaking the surface. No further glimpse of head, or limbs. It was as if the water, had swallowed the small body completely.

           Neither the small boy, nor his sister could swim, and did not know what to do. No grownups were close that day, nor did they know where the two children were. Not realising, that when they went to play outside, they went so far. For, it had been their closely gaurded secret. The little boy was terrified, and shivering, crying with fright. In shock already, with the surge of adrenaline the fright released inside him, causing his body to shake, and tremble. With no further sign of either body, or bubbles, the boy hunched down, hugging his knees oblivious of the wet mud underneath his hips. So scared, and shocked he could not frame a coherent thought of what to do next. Could not think where to run, who to tell, or what he could do now. He knew, with the certainly of all children, what trouble he would be in, returning without his sister. He waited, for what, he did not know.

            After a while, so unbelievable was the whole incident, that he climbed the tree, to the platform, half expecting to see the girl still there. Except she wasn't, the tree was empty, and as still as the pond beneath. He did not know how long he sat there, but the light was changing, evening was approaching. What was he to do? He could not return home without her. He was meant to be her guardian, something he realised he failed to do. As she was now lost to him, but where was she? In all tales about people falling in the water, they had splashed, and fought to float, to be rescued.

           As the dusk drew in, he still sat, soggy, and dirty from the mud, on the edge of the pool. Not knowing what else to do. His frightened brain, numb, and confused. Staring, at the spot in the centre of the pond, where he had last seen her. Suddenly, he saw first one bubble, then two, then a group,  breaking the surface, bursting as they did so. As it did when a large fish was near the surface. He jumped to his feet, hope springing into his heart. Hair, there was hair on the water again, and the same small, wet head. Mouth closed this time, no terror in the face. As more of her body came into view, shoulders, an arm, pink tee shirt, he saw she was supported. Other arms were holding her, sliding her toward the edge of the water, over to where he now stood. Pale arms, long hair, small sweet face, another girl? How is that possible, neither of them could have breathed under water for so long, could they?

           Nearing the edge now, he could see more of the strange girl, she was shiny, like a fish. Her hair was slick, and colourless, her eyes two deep, pale green pools in her face. The skin, was pale too, like the underbelly of a snake. He wondered if it were dry, or wet to the touch. He did not understand what it was that held his sister, but he felt no danger, to either of them. His sister was wet, water dripping from her hair, her eyes, and her clothes. She was not dead, not lost, she was smiling, and...breathing.    

          The boy was standing, by now, although it was hard to balance. Slowly, the pale girl, placed his sister at his feet, where he helped her stand. He grasped her hard, she was really there, really alive. The smaller girl protested at his tight hold, trying to turn towards the larger, pale girl still in the water. Reluctant to leave her, or maybe, for her to go. She was not speaking to her, it was as if they communicated some other way. Both girls smiled, as friends will, when they like each other. When they understand each other.

           It was only now, the boy noticed the pale girl had stayed, half submerged in the water. Without him having the wits to say anything, his sister stood, and waved, as the larger girl turned away. With a splash, and a flick of her iridescent tail, she was gone.

           A tail, she had a tail, like a fish, but different. She was a mermaid! Suddenly, the boy was sitting again, his legs unable to support him. He felt as if he were like his grandfather, who wobbled, and had to sit suddenly, sometimes, unexpectedly. He understood now, how he felt. As all the strength went from his legs, and his back. It was a strange sensation, in one always so full of energy. His sister was looking sad, staring at the water, musingly. 

            "Was that a mermaid", he said, "did a mermaid come out of the pond?" his eyes trying to bore into her brian, for the answer. "Was it!" he almost barked. The little girl, in her dripping clothes, looked at him in some surpise. "Of course it was, I know you saw her tail. She said she would show it to you"

The boy had so many questions, and suspicions, that only a splutter came out. How could it be, what he thought he saw. How did his sister survive under water all that time? Was she really here, or did he imagine it, as he was very afraid of going home without her.

           Still, his mouth would not form all the words he wanted to say. "She taught me to swim" the girls said, very excited. "I can swim now, she's said I must teach you. Water is dangerous if you can't swim" Her brother held up his hand, palm towards her, a sign to stop talking. "Where did you go, why didn't you drown?" He said. "How did you breathe?". His sister, with a big sigh, because she was tired, said, "The mermaid caught me, when I fell into the water. She dived with me, really deep, into a cave, and I could breathe there. She said it's all a big, big secret, we must tell no one".

            As they walked home, gradually, the small girl told him everything. How the mermaid watched them when they played there, she liked to see them happy together, as her own brother lived far away. Now, because the girlf fell, she knew she must show her how to swim. "It was easy", she told him, very proudly. "Tomorrow I will show you how to swim too." Continuing, telling him the whole story. She said all children, should learn how to swim when they were small. That way, she wouldn't have to worry about little children falling in, and drowning. Because she wasn't always close enough to save them, and she hated that.

             "Will you let me teach you" the girl asked her brother. "Of course" he said, "it was scary thinking you were drowned" the girl squeezed his hand, pleased with his answer. As they slipped into their house, and quickly Into the bathroom to change for bed. They didn't want to lie to their parents, ano knew they must not speak of the mermaid. They were lucky, to slip in without being seen. Perhaps the mermaid was doing more of her magic.

             During the next few days, she taught her brother to swim. Then, they both promised the middle of the dark pool, that they would teach as many children as they could, to swim. They knew the mermaid was watching them, and listening. Aftert that, they were safe near water, and neither of them ever forgot the mermaid, or how important it is for children to be able to swim.

             Are there small children in your family who can't swim? Remember the mermaid, and teach them now.

Girl shopping:...the pits

         Here I am, definitely a girl.  I have had children, so that proves that. Yet, I hate shopping. Everywhere you look, everyone you ask over the course of years, and years.....and years. Will tell you:       

         Girls, and shopping, a match made in heaven.

         You can't have one, without the other.

         Let a girl go where she will, and she'll shop.

         They can't help themselves, they have to shop, they LOVE to shop.

         It's always been a mystifying statement to me, one I just cannot get my head around. I can honestly think of at least a dozen things, right off the top of my head, that I would rather do, than shop. Housework being one, and I hate housework! It's work, that even if you do it every day,  the next day, it needs doing again. It's the original 'never ending story.'

          Perhaps woman, or girls got that reputation because they like clothes. I don't think I can honestly dispute that. I, too, like clothes. I absolutely love new clothes. Things you have never worn before, something, brand new. It's got that mystique, that never seen before, feel, and look. In some way, it gives you a boost. Particularly if it makes you look good. Even if it doesn't, it's still great. ITS NEW!

          Colours, well, as an artist, it's always the colour that attracts me. I have colours that stick around for a while. During that period, everything I am attracted to, is in that colour, or tones of it. No matter how I try, I keep getting drawn back to it. It was purple, or purply blue, a few weeks back, then khaki, before that, it was lime green. Yum, is the only word for colours.

           Grocery shopping is another pain. The thing is, if you don't do. It, you don't eat. Or,  clean, or wear deodorant, or wash your hair, or wash clothes, or anything else involved in modern life. Everyone must shop, for something. If your partner does not do the household shop with you, or better yet, for you, it's not on is it. I have had partners who think, and often say, "we have run out of....", or more likely, "I can't find any...." Well, no beloved, you have to go shop for it first. 

           Oh really?

           Why yes... Did you think it walked here by itself?

          "But you love shopping, you can get it."

           Oh...I can, can I? I don't think so! 

           what, see what we need, run down to the supermarket, trog around all the aisle, looking for the best bargain, stack it all up in the trolley, make sure you don't miss anything.  Buy something nice too. To eat when we fancy something tasty, or sweet, or snacky...for later. Then que at the checkout, put it all through, bag it up, pay for it. After that, troll outside with it, stack it in the car, drive home, or bus, carry it into the house, put it all away. Then, get something ready for me ( the man of the house, or your partner) to eat.

            Yes, dear. You don't like shopping, a waste of time.....is it?....

             I like it though? No sweet one, I don't like it!

             So, in my house, those that want to eat, have to shop. After all, it's only fair isn't it. It is a pain to me, not a pleasure. It's a chore that must be done. End of story. So, NO, women, and shopping do not automatically go together.

             Of course, following on from my blog earlier in the week, we do have Internet shopping. We could give that a go, I suppose. Although, someone still has to do it, check through the lists, adding them to the basket. Naturally, be there for a delivery, and put it away of course, so it's not completely painless. Mmmm, you can get clothes on line too. Can't you? Maybe that's the answer. Only it isn't really, is it. I just don't  want to have to find something I like, in the material, and style I like. In my size, at the right price, it takes absolutely hours, to flick through all those pages, and websites. Then, you must pay on line, ( are you sure it's not a risk?) then, of course you have the same delivery problems. Who's going to be there, and will it come when they say? I suppose, I can starve, and keep wearing the same old clothes. That's always an option. Isn't it girls, and boys?

               In the past, I think as far as clothes are concerned, impulse shopping is the best way. Keep your eyes peeled, and buy the second you spot something. That goes for clothes, home wear, and even groceries, to some extent. You just have to be careful with your money. To make sure you have a bit of extra cash should you need some, urgently. Anything is better than planned shopping expeditions. They, are soul destroying!

                What can I say, except 

                HAPPY SHOPPING 

          

My love affair with the lucky country.....Australia. part two

         Our emergency trip to Australia, was necessary because of the illness of my mother. This need, eventually deposited both my daughter, and myself here, in Northern Terrritory, near Darwin. Our arrival, to me, felt like something out of time. Especially, as my parents had recreated their typical. London home, here in the heat, and the barrenness of the bush. Inside the strange bungalow, it was thick rugs, heavy drapes, and stuffed furniture. Whilst out side, the landscape looked blasted, by both heat, and occasional fire. Arriving in the dark, we had slept, exhausted, seeing nothing much of our surroundings.

        The next day dawns, too early. We were woken by the light, and the heat, already building. Most of all though, by the dratted peacocks sliding, and clacking over the tin roof (a TIN roof?) making their unholy, raucous noise. I can tell you, the noise, does not, in any way, make up for how beautiful they are. What's a beautiful, spread, fan of a tail, in iridescent colours. If, the next morning at dawn, it's replaced by a rude, and noisy, aggressive awaking. Not to me, it's a no contest. I would have got rid of every one of them before the end of the first week. The presence of the peacocks, however, was non negotiable. Like so many other differences we would have to deal with over the months.

          We stumbled out of bed, still in out P.J s, night dresses whatever they were, I can't remember. Finding our way outside, and onto the large veranda, something we did not see last night. Having entered the house through the kitchen door. This large deck, is festooned with unfamiliar, climbing flowers. Mainly hibiscus, in vibrant reds, and is directly out from the living area. From there we could see accross lawns, again overgrown, but not as badly  as the long burnt grass, at the side of the house. I discovered later, my brother is away, working, a lot. My dad, of course, had his hands full this last three months with looking after himself, and my mum in hospital. He wasn't used to being alone, and I don't suppose it was easy.

          My father sat there, like a king, in his castle, proudly surveying his land. Land he would not ever have imagined owning in England. A full twenty five acres, as were most of the blocks of land along this area, of Berry Springs. Of course this belonged  primarilly to my brother, but he shared it now. He took great pride pointing out its boundary, just visible in the distance. My mother was sleeping in. She is so relieved you're here, he said. I, in turn, was relieved she was sleeping. It's always the best thing if you're poorly, healing whilst you sleep. Our brief sight of her last night, was worrying, she looked very poorly, pale, and low.

         We three, sat on chairs around the large plastic table, of a sturdy design, unfamiliar to us. It had large tubular arms, and we lounged comfortably. It was then, we began to see, and hear the wealth of other birds around the place. There were great flocks of parrots. Wheeling, and screeching overhead, natures painted, in a range of colours. There were large white parrots, with yellow crests, and combs, large black ones, with red decoration, and even more of a smaller type, green, red, multi coloured, parakeets. These are the cheeky, Rainbow parakeets, we were told. It was better than the circus, as they swooped, one colour after another accross to the front, or the side, from treetop to treetop, creating their own magical patterns. Each group, seemingly oblivious of the others. Squabbling, squawking, and tussling for spaces.

           Looking for food, said my father. I noticed then, that in the crest of the larger trees, of which there were quite a few around the house, had flowers, in perfect circles. "Yes," the oracle of all things Australian said, "every tree has a centre of flowers". All very brightly coloured, reds, orange, some white." It's these,"(their necter, I assumed) "the birds live on, and fruit. Lots of the trees have small fruits. As well as the mango, and plum trees we try to grow. Not that we have had any fruit to pick yet. If the birds don't get them, the fruit bats do." You have fruit bats?" I asked. Bats that fly at night! I am glad I didn't know that when I was breasting through the long grass in the dark, last night. 

          There were bats in Norfolk, where I grew up. My grandmother, who I lived with most of the time, always said, "shut the bedroom window, if they get in your hair, it will be nasty!" Telling me all sorts of horror stories about bats,a bd unwary girls. Sometimes, if I, in my usual defiant way, wasn't quick enough, one might get in. Then, it was all hands to the window, with something over your head. It left me with a healthy regard for their swiftness. I certainly had no wish to see any here. As we were to discover, the whole place was stuffed with life we had never seen before. My daughter, who had a fear of all creepy crawlies when we arrived, had a baptisms of fire in Northern Territory. By the time she left, she had found ways to cope, as she must. It was either acclimatise, or go crazy, poor girl.

           In the distance, were the usual spindly assortment of trees. Such as we had seen last night, on the journey from the airport. The soil between these, was the most unusual red, a really strong rustly red. The black soil of Norfolk, I was accustomed to seeing, even though it was years since I last lived there. This though, is something else entirely. Black soli, is peat laden, from forest laid down millennia ago. Red soil, I can only assume, is iron, of the sort that stains a bath, under the metal taps. The trees, were mostly grey, and with pale greeny/blue leaves. Far sparser than I am accustomed to, in a sort of eucalyptus green. At least, the foliage is nothing like the types of  English oaks, ash, and beech I grew up with, in England. One, or two in particular, larger ones, my father warned us of. "Those are widow makers" he said. "Known for dropping large limbs for no reason, so watch out, they will kill you", he se, the title. Although why it should be always the man walking underneath, I do not know.

            As the day progressed, we helped Mother to a comfortable seat on the sofa, she didn't like it outside. We found her breakfast, which she did not eat. Got ourselves organised, putting our luggage, and bedroom to some sort of order. Knowing we were there for some time. We did not know if my Mother would improve, or deteriorate. She was already discharged from hospital, but not recovering as she should. The doctors said, there was no physical reason for it. She, rather emotionally, had said to me, on the phone, "if you want to see me before I die, you better come quick." Hense, our rather impromptus journey to the other side of the world.

              We, my daughter, and I, along with my parents, soon got into some sort of a routine. Broken only by my Mothers lack of appetite, or interest in anything. Along with my teenage daughters screams at every new insect, or strange creature. Believe me, there were many. We enjoyed seeing the wallabies come down to the small pond to drink, and the magnificent crested dragon lizard, that was a big as a small cat, and lived in the trees. As well as that, there were flies, cockroaches, spiders (the huntsman, that jumps aggressively at you, as I found out) geckos, green frogs, lizards, ants, and in all sizes. I was always having to rescue her from some hazard. In the end though, as I said, she grew accustomed to most of them. The birds were many, and fearless, cookaburra, ibis, the parrots, as well as assorted small birds, like starlings, butcher birds, and such. 

           The life there, was something akin to being locked inside a zoo. You were in there with everything. You had to allow for everything, and it's own lifestyle. That's without talking about jelly fish, sharks, and  crocodiles. 

             I know, so far, I have told you all sorts of scary, uncomfortable stuff. What's to like? What's to like, is that it's so amazing, it opens your mind, and stretches your boundaries. So far I have not started ok  the shopping centres, the natural springs, the outback, or the rest of Australia.

Well, just study a map some time, the country is vast, it s a big job to say why I like it, and where. Northern Territory was just the start.

              Looks like a part three is coming up......

Www. Internet crazy: or crazies, electronic utopia?

        This interest, if it can be called that, this invention, or rather, this obsession known as the Internet, with its electronic counterpart, has changed all of our lives. Even those people who have tried to avoid having anything to do with it. I myself, know a few of those people, as I am sure we all do. As, no matter what you try to do, or organise, the Internet, and its long fingers have got there first. As I discover only this week, that something a basic as cinema times, has to be accessed on line. It's amazing to think, everyone is supposed to have access to this facility, and to understand it. Every week, there are more, and more things no longer advertised in conventional ways. Not printed in the newspaper, or accessible information at the end of a phone line. No, now it's necessary to go to a web site. Assuming you know what one may be. It is often the only way to discover the information you want, is to go on line, to search the ether. If you can't do this, then you must hope you will encounter a helpful person, who will help you out. Or, more often than not, you are screwed. Up the creek, without a paddle. Left hanging, as the youngsters say today.

          Someone who is not Internet savvy, is a dinosaur. They are out of step, out of time. The scary thing is, it was almost me!  I resisted so hard, I didn't want to know, I refused to take it seriously. Yet still, it has happened so fast, and is still constantly changing, that I cannot help but feel sorry for those you ignored it, or the old. Or those people not yet invested any time, or money in discovering how it works. The future for such people, can only become more difficult. As the Internet, in all it's complexity, swallows up more, and more of the everyday tasks. Those formally seen to by real people.

            Of course, it's the wider picture, of the massive computerisations that have taken place. We have computerised reply phone links, universally hated, I think it safe to say. With their interminable questions, and steps to follow. 'If you want so, and so, press 1. If you want .....press 2,' or the 'I'm sorry, I did not understand you'. Then, there are computerised car engines, or for any manufacturing, of merchandise. Even in bycycles, there are no longer cables for gear change, but electronic change of gears. How weird is that. Cafes have keypad ordering systems, straight from waitress, to the kitchen. Along with almost everything else you could mention. Where would we be without satilight navigation? Why, there are even inroads into farming, with all kinds of remote control, from ploughing straight farrows to temperature control in every area. Lasers in the military, remote control air planes, et al.It has   spread to just about every area of life. I wish I could say wars will end, they should. Except whilst the armament  manufactures want to sell more weapons, and have the ear of governments, as they do, nothing will change. That's greed, no cure for that yet.

             How many changes, large, and small is that? It's unimaginable, even twenty years ago, perhaps even ten. From when I was child, nothing, except what you read in comics then, is recognisable. However, my freinds, I am not complaining. Viva le difference I say. I can't wait for the next wave of inventions. Cars that park themselves, already here, you say! Yes, but it will improve much more. Driving themselves, repairing themselves, fillings up with fuel, should we need it, or downloading  the suns power. Windows already are self cleaning, as are robotic vacuum systems, how about houses, that clean themselves, washing done automatically. Buying groceries, they are already on line, that will improve too. Long flights made short, by entering space, making the world a smaller place yet again, excellent. Health improvements, are on line, the first electronic spine publicised. So many advances in genetics, to help us all. Soon to be growing new livers, eyes, limbs maybe. The world really is our oyster.

            Communication, back to the Internet, the World Wide Web. These have all helped to give us Vidio links, audio links, smart phones, laptops, 3D. TV, notebooks, iPads, all of our toys. Our daily links to each other, the world, and to commerce. I for one, love my iPad. There are so many indispensable tasks I do on it. It is educational, mind expanding both socially, and politically, if that's what you want. It can be commercial, used in employment, inventive, almost anything you want from it, it can supply.       

            Perverts like everyone else have found ways to make it work for them, one can only hope, their activities are on the brink of being shut down for good. How difficult can it be? 

            Otherwise, it is fun, and entertaining. In my life, a daily must. Love my iPad.

            Bring it on, bring on the next wave of inventions....

            What an exciting era we live in.....

             

My love affair with.....The lucky country...part one

          Australia, land of red sand, grey gum trees, abundant natural resources, kangaroos, crocks, parakeets, and wondeful people. As a person not born to the country, all of those things mean something to me. They conjure a picture, of how I feel, and remember the lucky country. If I were to ask a dozen other people, what it means to them, the list could be very different. In fact, the more I consider my answer, the more alternatives I begin to see. But for now, I will stick with that. I do know that my overall impression, after the first few days, and now, many years later, was how unique it is. I was stunned, amazed, and ultimately happy at what I found. A happiness welling up that was, and is, inexplicable. It was a love affair, of sorts, from the first. My spiritual home. One I seem destined, to keep leaving.

          My first view of the place was getting off the plane in Darwin. Straight from the U.K. and the cold of a typical winter, it was a bit of a culture shock to say the least. I knew little about the place to which we were headed. After an endless flight in cattle class, squashed into seats, far too small, with little leg room I was tired, and stiff. Shell shocked, by  being surrounded by screaming children, too many people, in a small environment. It's not an easy trip, to be confined for so many un remitting hours. Or, should I say, not for me, as slightly claustrophobic. In all, a journey of about twenty five hours, I seem to remember. By the time we finally arrived, I was so excited at the thought of getting off the plane, seeing my brother, and my parents, I did not care about any of it. That part of my family, had emigrated a few years previously. Although, as my trip was because of a family emergency, my mothers illness, it was with mixed feelings I embarked. 

             By the time we arrived, and the plane landed, I was a mass of emotions. Not least of which, was tiredness, worry over what I would find, and excitement. As people began to move, and gather their belongings from overhead lockers, I, and my teenage daughter, gathered our stuff together, ready to make a much needed move. Putting on our coats, both thick, fluffy affairs, and headed down the aisle. By the time we stood at the door, the air hostess, smiled at the weight draped about us, saying "I don't think you will need those coats out there". Surprised, I, and my daughter looked at each other,  I thought,'why not? It's seldom too warm for some kind of coat, and it night. Even if you don't keep it on for long. How warm could it be?

            Then, as we reached the door, leading into the twilight of the night, we realized why. Standing at the top of the steps, with the lights of the airport lounge across the tarmac, we paused. As we did, we were hit in the face with such a blast of heat, it was like walking into a pre heated oven. Enough to singe your eyebrows. It was something beyond out comprehension, and we advanced down the dozen steps with some apprehension. Feeling the hot air batter around our tired bodies. Unable to make out what was happening, we had never felt a heat like it. As the plane was parked away from the buildings, we had to walk a couple of hundred yards to reach the passport control, and duty free. Such as it was, the whole airport, in those days, was little more than a collection of huts. We both looked around, with interest. It felt as if we were abandoned in the middle of nowhere, and we wondered what came next. It was certainly nothing like London, Heathrow. Can it really be a big place? Where are all the towns, the cities, the houses?

           Passing through customs, we were met by my Father, our bags loaded into his car, and we were off, down the road. Ahhh, the road, it was again very different to everything we knew. Once out of   the airport, with its collection of Palm trees, parked vehicles, and officials. The road was so straight, it was unnatural, no roundabouts, or traffic lights. Only sparse trees, and red earth. Whilst along the left side of the verge, a metal pipe of large dimensions stretched endlessly in both directions. Sitting up on little metal legs, looking neglected, and antiquated. We discovered later, it was the mains water supply. Erected during the war, a task undertaken by the American forces billeted there. As usual, the Americans, not good at going without all mod cons, designed it. As cheaply, and easily as possible, I think, but it's still in use, sixty plus years later. It was their custom, to fill any shortfall in the countries infrastructure, that way. Set the troops, and their engineers to sorting out the problem. Which, is exactly what they did here.

          We continued in his car, with very cold air conditioning blasting away. A fact we were very relieved about, as we were both shiny with perspiration by that time. Or, was it sweating like pigs, and this was night time, unbelievable. Either way, we were hotter than we had ever been. With my father trying to tell us everything at once. He loved it there, needing to outpour information about the differences he found between Australia, and England. About how, he could not find a place to buy tobacco, or newspapers, there were no tobacconists. It was so strange, he said, but so interesting. He was living on a block of land with his son, and was very happy. In his own very London, English way, he was quite the adventurer. He tried to stuff our travel, jet lagged heads with too much information, impossible to take on board. We managed to mutely nod now, and again, he probably did not notice anyway. He was far too busy telling us everything he was sure we would need to know, in order to survive there. I think he was very relieved to see us.

            Later, I suspected, his attempt at filling in the gaps with mindless chat, was an avoidance technique. Anything, rather than talk about my Mothers illness, the reason we were there. As we drove along, a distance of about forty k's, the countryside remained much the same. Stunted trees, no vegetation, lots of red, red, sandy soil. Many of the trees were blackened to a hight of perhaps five, or six feet, they had few leaves. My father  said it was due to the annual burnings. Regularly held by the fire service, to clear the undergrowth. At other times of the year, by spontaneous fires, which often roared through the bush, threatening everything. To me, it was like driving through a riven land, as if after 'the haulocaust'. It seemd impossible anyone could live in such a country. My eyes could not adjust to the differences, or make sense of what I was seeing.

           We did see a few single level bungalow type, wooden houses in some places. They were scattered intermittently between the trees, hardly close enough to see any neighbours at all. Most of them, on twenty five acre blocks. Unheard of, in my home country, where gardens were often the size of a large handkerchief. A few houses were built on stilts, and looking very strange to us. None of them looked substantial enough to survive well. However, all the houses were few, and far between. We saw no animals at that point either, not even birds, although my father assured us there were plenty.

          Reaching their house, almost hidden in the long grass, surrounded by more thin trees, I thought it was a large shed. No wonder my mother is ill, I thought, whatever had they come to? To me, it looked more like Africa, than anything else. How could my father like anything about it? Exchanging glances, with my daughter, we grabbed our own luggage, and followed my father through a flimsy looking door. Then, there it was, my parents English home. Everything as it was before. Carpets, heavy curtains, stuffed furniture, full bookshelves, and ornaments. In the middle of which, sat my Mother, looking pale, and wan, unable to stand.

             That night was spent catching up, on the news. In general, and the illness. It appeared things were not good Mother could not cope with any of it. Which I soon discovered, as she kept whispering, "I don't like it here, that surgeon made a mess of me". As a result of not settling, she, I believe, had become ill, had a op, which had gone wrong, and here we are were. Sitting together again, in this stuffy little house, with long grass almost up to the roof line.

              Nothing I saw, or heard that night gave me much hope. My mother wasn't coping, my father was lost trying to know what to do as she did not improve. Everything around the place was becoming neglected, there seemed many tasks we were needed for. Not least being chief nurse, and bottle washer. I, and my daughter eventually went to bed, tired out. With me thinking, whatever can I do to help, in this strange, and dreadful place. Both of us freaking out at the funny little bald looking lizards, scooting all over the walls, and ceilings. Geckos, we were told, they won't hurt you. Nooo, I thought, but where might they run, once I am asleep?

            The next day, waking to the familiar belongings, but very different house was just as strange.   The house was stuffy, overfull, and kind of out of time. Even though it was strangely comforting to see it all again, it didn't jell. It was like being in a time warp. Finding my parents little English home, or at least it's contents, here, in this barren, baking hot country, full of strange noises. Cycadas humming away like a mini road trains. Something else I was to become very familiar with, the insects, and the lorries.

              What would the tomorrow's  bring, and how could I cope. Sorting this out was obviously going to be down to me. As my brother was away up country somewhere, and would be for the week. Last night, we eventually slept the sleep of exhaustion, dreading this next few weeks

               However, this morning would not bring anything as I thought it would: I was in for more surprises than I realised.......

               More later