The seven deadly sins I am confessing to this month have got nothing to do with coveting my neighbours Mercedes or spouse . I don't even have a proper neighbour . Nor is it anything to do with killing as in thou shalt not murder ( except for mosquitoes, not that there any in the shivery North of England in December. While I am on the subject, can anyone come up with some really strong reason why one shouldn't whack them or zap them ? I think, with all due respect to God, that perhaps he was exhausted after Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden and wasn't thinking clearly the day he was finishing off the last of the Creation . And did Noah really take two of them, Mr and Mrs Mossie onto the Ark? So that the species would be saved forever? Why would he ! I think not...... but that whole Ark thing is a bigger issue to discuss than my December sins.
Dirty, nasty vindictive little creatures they are . Sorry to harp ! But I so loathe mossies and think they are useless and not even pretty. Even flies shine blue and green if you look at them properly. Mosquito's are small and deadly , giving too many children in third world countries Malaria. Knowing that children suffer and die puts everything into proportion so of course one doesn't wish to whinge. But one looks forward to holidays so much and what happens ? You go to bed covered in After Sun looking forward to another day in Paradise when ssuddenly there is a horrid whining sound in your room and you have to hide under the sheet even if you are absolutely sweating because you don't want the air con on ( makes a racket and you wake up with a sore throat ) But hide all you want and the little blighters get you anyway and your holiday becomes one long itch.
I once went on a long walk in a Nature Reserve in South Africa, a place called Oomshlanga Rocks ( isn't that a GREAT name) . It was raining, fine soaking warm drizzle.
We stayed out through the dusk and I returned with approximately 7000 bites give or take on my legs. More bite than legs and feet. To cut a long story short ( which one should always do when it comes to health stories and also in reply to " how are you " ! ) I spent the entire night in a bath of freezing cold water , sobbing. And the next day the Hotel got me a doctor who decreed that I had to stay put in Oomshlanga for several days and have adrenaline shots and shots of something else twice every day till the reaction was better.
So back to the sins. I am not about to murder , steal or dishonour my Mum and Dad. I never would. But that doesn't mean I go without sinning. They say confession is good for the soul and here we are near to new Year and that means Resolutions.....
So here goes. In no particular order !
Number 1 Sin - PJ's
I have spent way too many days this last few weeks dressed in pyjamas. All day. Day after day. I shower and think , Hmm, what shall I wear. And then put PJ's back on . It has an effect on one's behaviour , this constant wearing of PJ's. As you will see if you read on. Hugh Hefner famously does it too but his are navy blue silk and he stays in his mansion and plays with his bunnies all day so that's fine. I have spent days on end not getting dressed . And to make matters worse, I bought new ones from Sainsbury to loll in. They are a sin in themselves ! Perhaps they should be number 2 ?
Number 2 Sin - Supermarket Pyjamas.
I succumbed to the sin of Temptation. They were 25% off. So only £9 instead of £12. And who can resist a bargain. They are fleecy . I touched them and they were so soft and cosy and I could imagine my body nestled in them ( my cottage is freezing ) so I popped them in my trolley along with the Daily Mail, Lurpack spreadable butter and two packs of blueberries for the price of one . The top is bubblegum pink and a tad shapeless but there is a sweet little bow at the neck and long sleeves. And the bottoms are ( here comes the sin ! ) pink and grey leopard skin ! I have turned into Bet Lynch at Bedtime ! Seeeexxxy !
Not.
I LOVE them ! I am going to sin again next time I go to the supermarket and get the red and black ones with reindeer's on the legs.
Number 3 - Very Strange Animals
This is a biggie. I am a Sloth. There are two kinds , one has 3 toes and the other 2 toes, on each foot. So I am going to be a 2 toe variety and save on pedicures ! That is a really silly joke and this is a really serious sin. Sloths live in trees and move so slowly that they grow algae on their coats. They sleep upside down in their tree for up to 18 hours a time. They look sweet though. They feed on fruit and buds and leaves and young twigs. I miss out the twigs and have ten toes but otherwise.... I am a Sloth.
Yes, I had the itis's for weeks and then I had The Accident and injured my ass ( Coccyx which is another fabulous word ! ) and it HURT but even I can see that I have developed a condition called Bone Idle. Algae could be next.
My new Dyson has not seen the carpets for two weeks. Some days the dishes have piled up all day because I was Slothing and didn't empty the dishwasher. I spotted a cobweb this morning on the chandelier in my bedroom which is mostly where I do the Slothing, dressed in fuzzy pink leopard skin.
I have now confessed and am suitably contrite and very ashamed so probably before too long. I will recover and become once again the semi OCD person who plumps and tidies and dusts way too much.
I am thinking of it like an experiment. How long will it be before it becomes unbearable ? Its good for me not to be too clean perhaps ? One doesn't want to be Howard Hughes. Or Hugh Hefner. Normally I quite enjoy cleaning things ( poor sad lady ) and even more so since my Buddhist nuns told me what fun it is to purify things!
There is a Mantra one can recite when cleaning and if you recite the Mantra over and over, you yourself are being purified at the same time as your house is getting spick and spam. Span or spam ? Never mind, you will know what I mean. And then it gets even better , because after you have done cleaning and chanting, you can dedicate the merits you have earned ( like a prayer that is kind of paid for by doing virtuous deeds ) to anyone you want !
So cool.
Number 4 Sin - Treacle Toffees
OH NO !!! This one is my sister's fault entirely. I stole this one from her a few weeks ago, between the itis's and before the Ass Incident. I went to her for dinner and since she doesn't like wine and does love toffees I took her some bags of sweeties and after dinner tried a treacle toffee. And now there is a permanent bag of them on my bedside table , next to the permanent bag of Pontefract cakes. I eat them pretty much all day and evening while Slothing. I will be fat and very sorry soon.
Number 5 Sin - Wine.
Sauvignon Blanc if I want white but now its winter, a nice Rioja or Merlot. This sin is not too bad. I still stick to the 6pm start time and have just one glass . Or occasionally two . It is not the amount that makes it a sin. It is the amount of pleasure ! Mmmmm, I think at 10 to 6. Its wine time and a bag of Walkers. Me and Gary Lineker are twin souls ! Plain only. Prawn Cocktail would be another sin!
Number 6 Sin - Tea
This time it is not the substance , it is the quantity. I am single handedly keeping Sri Lanka's economy afloat. Because of the Ass Incident ( it is not fun climbing stairs at the moment ) my cute little travel kettle has come to live upstairs in my bathroom. Along with a mug that says " I love sex and chocolate " on it and a spoon and a little Tupperware box of tea bags ( decaf and Peppermint and Green ) and some little packets of 40 cal instant hot chocolate. So now you are getting the picture of how I turned into a creature that doesn't move far from her tree for 18 hours a day !
Number 7 Sin - Daytime television
GMTV is back in favour in Car Park Cottage, now that dreadful grumpy Adrian Chiles and Giggling Christine Bleakley with all her teeth , have got the chop. I contributed to their dismissal by switching to the BBC when they pushed lovely Kate Garroway off the sofa to make way for them. Now Kate is back so I have returned to ITV.
Oh the Power ! After GMTV comes Lorraine. How can one start the day without Lorraine and her cleavage and och ayes ! In her segment there is the latest news direct from Hollywood , an interesting guest with a book or album to plug and then a delicious recipe ! Sometimes Mark who is gay has a fashion segment which is excellent as they use side 16 models. This might come in useful if I don't curb the treacle toffees.
Jeremy Kyle comes next but he is never allowed to bring his horrible energy into my home ! All that shouting and DNA tests and lie detector tests. Huge fat unhealthy looking girls who think that there might be one of four possible fathers for their poor little baby. And the fathers ! Puny youths with tattoos and earrings and trainers. Never a shoe to be seen. And Jeremy yells at them WHY DIDN'T YOU PUT SOMETHING ON IT THEN
Oh no, I would never watch Jeremy Kyle.
And so it goes on. This Morning at 11am with pretty Holly and prematurely grey Phillip and then the Loose Ladies. I adore them, especially Janet Street Porter. I admire her so much ! So opinionated and informed and so intelligent and unafraid and honest ! I love naughty Denise Welch too, such fun! She loves what she calls rumpy pumpy ( sex to you and me ) and is so open and candid about her life. Carol is great too with her toy boy fiance . Hurrah for her and for Joan Collins !
I want to be a Loose Woman almost as much as I want to partner Artem on Strictly Come Dancing.
ps I want to also confess to the 8 chocolate eclairs filled with fresh whipped cream and coated with milk chocolate. They are nearly all gone now.
Thursday, 15 December 2011
Saturday, 3 December 2011
Old Ladies and Bingo
Every Friday I volunteer at my local old age home and sometimes go out as a wheelchair pusher on their outings.
I love it ! It confirms the theory that the more one gives and the less one concentrates on oneself, the happier you will be .
I run the bingo session for them on Fridays. My Mum loved her Bingo. After she died and we went through her things, every handbag had about 5 big fat coloured pens in it. Along with numerous tab ends as she was a Secret Smoker. She could mark 6 cards at once and never miss a number . So when a vacancy occurred at the home , I kind of volunteered for her. I had the idea that she would have approved whole heartedly and had she ever have got to be a very old lady herself, and lived in Donnie , she would have been at every single session, pen poised and enjoying the bingo and the company hugely.
I have grown to love all my old ladies and worry if one of them isn't there. If I am not there, they worry about me too ! Because I was in the bed with the itis-es last week, I missed going and yesterday when I arrived they were so gratifyingly sweet and concerned and glad to have me back .... I felt...... humble. But sometimes, when one of my regulars is missing, it is because they have died and this was the case recently with Kath who I really loved . She was 96 and incredibly thin in her motorised wheelchair but she was still every inch the glamour puss. She wore tons of jangly jewellery carefully matched to her outfit, huge swinging chandelier earrings and she adorned herself with flowing scarves and bits of lace and her trademark slash of red lipstick.
Never give up being who you are and don't let your standards fall was my lesson from Kath. Glamour is ageless. She had such sensitivity and compassion. Some time ago I was busy being heartbroken and Bingo was pretty much the only thing I could face for some weeks. Even golf had lost its allure. But because its the highlight of my week ( which sounds so sad, bordering on tragic but really isn't at all ! ) I go, and I make the effort to look nice as they all inspect me and comment . A sort of peasant white top with lace and tiny sparkles won admiring comments from pretty much all of them and they don't like me in black !
I digress .... so there I was, calling out my numbers and pretending that this line was to win a diamond necklace and that full house was to win a world cruise and I was doing what I thought was an excellent job of being "normal ". Same smiles, same patter. Same pleasure in being there but inside I was wretched.
Lovely Kathleen, at the end of the session didn't go zooming off ( she could really drive that thing ! ) but stayed at the end till we were alone. She caught my hand and held it and said, " don't be sad , I love you , remember how loved you are , whatever it is will pass "
She made me cry. Some more ! But in a better way.
I had another sweet lady called Eileen who had never married and seemed to have no family at all. She was bald, just a few wispy grey hairs and had very noisy raspy breathing and some kind of disability of hands and feet. Almost from one week to the next she became sleepy and would nod off in the sessions and not mark her cards so I started to put her next to me so that I could help her a little. Then a day came when she was back to her usual alert and happy self and she won 3 times. They play for bars of chocolate which most of them save for grandchildren or their carers. I wheeled her back to her room that day and she thanked me very much for a wonderful time. My pleasure I said, I am so glad you enjoyed it. Oh I do , she said, I have had such a lovely, lovely time today , and she thanked me again.
And that afternoon she died.
But its not depressing AT ALL. Oh I wouldn't want you to think that! Its humorous and uplifting and fun !
I have a laugh and a joke with them all the time and I seek their advice and wisdom sometimes and they are interested in my doings. One of my ladies has an eye for the gentlemen and she positions herself in reception so that the one she fancies will be sure to see her when he goes by. She says, why not. Why not indeed !
Rita is a newer inmate and had a host of new friends within days of her arrival. I noticed and remarked that it was lovely she had settled in so well and made friends so easily and she said that she had always made friends readily all her life. I asked how did she do that, and she said , " well people are lovely aren't they and so interesting "
So there is another lesson. One day I was wheeling her somewhere she wanted to be and she said exactly this , " I am so happy here and if I could just walk a few steps, I would be the luckiest woman in the world "
I happen to know she suffers greatly and is in constant pain . So that is why Rita is one of the inspirational women in my life.
They are all such characters ! I think that whatever your essence is, your true nature, that is the one that will become most evident in extreme old age. And that painful , blood curdling honesty that only tiny children and very old people have is very evident.
They don't hesitate to say exactly what they think to each other ! One of them constantly asks " has the line gone " about every 3 minutes and one of the less patient ones remarks loudly, " I wish she would shut up she is getting on my nerves" ! I was afraid a war would break out but no, they are fine together, just clear about how they feel !
On a trip out to Asda ( a lot of them love supermarkets ) I was wheeling Irene who's goal was to buy some moisturiser and a lipstick. We spent a full two hours together whilst I read every word on every jar of skin cream to her . And worked out which one was the best value. And tried every single lip colour on her hand and mine. And bought nothing !
That week my Buddhist teaching and meditation had been on patience so I figured that Buddha had decided I should be tested as soon as possible ! Especially as Irene tends to complain and not appear to enjoy anything very much.
Some of their stories are heart breaking and I wonder how they had the will to reach old age. Edith was a refugee from Austria and lost her entire family in the Holocaust and everything she owned, fleeing the Nazis. She settled in Leeds eventually and married the first man who asked her , she told me her Mother's last advice had been to tell her to find a man and be safe as soon as possible and so she did and they had one daughter who was the sun, moon and stars to her. The marriage was not happy, he was a womaniser but it was a long marriage . The daughter became a doctor and she too married and was madly in love with her husband, so much so that Edith said they had decided not to have children as they loved being just them and they had their careers. So, 20 years ago , Edith's husband died and within weeks her son in law got cancer and he too died 6 weeks later. And 3 weeks after that, her precious only child took her life. So Edith lost her entire family , again, in less than three months.
I found her in reception one day and asked if she wanted to come and play Bingo and she was mortally offended ! I play Bridge only she said. She is a very clever, educated woman, one can tell. So I asked if she had found people to play with yet because some of my Bingo ladies who are lovely , play all the time. But she was determined to be the unhappiest woman in the home and refused but asked if I would visit her. So I did and that is when she told me her story. And now she tips up for Bingo every week and loves winning and complains constantly about the pilfering of her knickers ! She seems a little happier lately.
I think of my troubles and they pale into insignificance and I realise that life does indeed go on.
I think I have learned to be more patient and tolerant because of them. And to know that it is never over till the fat lady sings ! And that old people are as precious and valuable as children and deserve our respect and care and for us to listen to them.
I hope that I have learned but I still sometimes fail with my own old person, my Uncle who has only my sister and me and yet is SO annoying and usually so ungrateful ( I do sometimes do things that are beyond the call of the duty such as put his socks on ! ) that I feel so much remorse for not being better with him and not doing more... and then he is impossible all over again ( I mean impossible ! ) and so it goes on. He thinks he should be Prime Minister , that aid to India is bloody disgusting and like Jeremy Clarkson, thinks a lot of people should be shot !
I think that shooting anyone is definitely not the answer to anything !
I love it ! It confirms the theory that the more one gives and the less one concentrates on oneself, the happier you will be .
I run the bingo session for them on Fridays. My Mum loved her Bingo. After she died and we went through her things, every handbag had about 5 big fat coloured pens in it. Along with numerous tab ends as she was a Secret Smoker. She could mark 6 cards at once and never miss a number . So when a vacancy occurred at the home , I kind of volunteered for her. I had the idea that she would have approved whole heartedly and had she ever have got to be a very old lady herself, and lived in Donnie , she would have been at every single session, pen poised and enjoying the bingo and the company hugely.
I have grown to love all my old ladies and worry if one of them isn't there. If I am not there, they worry about me too ! Because I was in the bed with the itis-es last week, I missed going and yesterday when I arrived they were so gratifyingly sweet and concerned and glad to have me back .... I felt...... humble. But sometimes, when one of my regulars is missing, it is because they have died and this was the case recently with Kath who I really loved . She was 96 and incredibly thin in her motorised wheelchair but she was still every inch the glamour puss. She wore tons of jangly jewellery carefully matched to her outfit, huge swinging chandelier earrings and she adorned herself with flowing scarves and bits of lace and her trademark slash of red lipstick.
Never give up being who you are and don't let your standards fall was my lesson from Kath. Glamour is ageless. She had such sensitivity and compassion. Some time ago I was busy being heartbroken and Bingo was pretty much the only thing I could face for some weeks. Even golf had lost its allure. But because its the highlight of my week ( which sounds so sad, bordering on tragic but really isn't at all ! ) I go, and I make the effort to look nice as they all inspect me and comment . A sort of peasant white top with lace and tiny sparkles won admiring comments from pretty much all of them and they don't like me in black !
I digress .... so there I was, calling out my numbers and pretending that this line was to win a diamond necklace and that full house was to win a world cruise and I was doing what I thought was an excellent job of being "normal ". Same smiles, same patter. Same pleasure in being there but inside I was wretched.
Lovely Kathleen, at the end of the session didn't go zooming off ( she could really drive that thing ! ) but stayed at the end till we were alone. She caught my hand and held it and said, " don't be sad , I love you , remember how loved you are , whatever it is will pass "
She made me cry. Some more ! But in a better way.
I had another sweet lady called Eileen who had never married and seemed to have no family at all. She was bald, just a few wispy grey hairs and had very noisy raspy breathing and some kind of disability of hands and feet. Almost from one week to the next she became sleepy and would nod off in the sessions and not mark her cards so I started to put her next to me so that I could help her a little. Then a day came when she was back to her usual alert and happy self and she won 3 times. They play for bars of chocolate which most of them save for grandchildren or their carers. I wheeled her back to her room that day and she thanked me very much for a wonderful time. My pleasure I said, I am so glad you enjoyed it. Oh I do , she said, I have had such a lovely, lovely time today , and she thanked me again.
And that afternoon she died.
But its not depressing AT ALL. Oh I wouldn't want you to think that! Its humorous and uplifting and fun !
I have a laugh and a joke with them all the time and I seek their advice and wisdom sometimes and they are interested in my doings. One of my ladies has an eye for the gentlemen and she positions herself in reception so that the one she fancies will be sure to see her when he goes by. She says, why not. Why not indeed !
Rita is a newer inmate and had a host of new friends within days of her arrival. I noticed and remarked that it was lovely she had settled in so well and made friends so easily and she said that she had always made friends readily all her life. I asked how did she do that, and she said , " well people are lovely aren't they and so interesting "
So there is another lesson. One day I was wheeling her somewhere she wanted to be and she said exactly this , " I am so happy here and if I could just walk a few steps, I would be the luckiest woman in the world "
I happen to know she suffers greatly and is in constant pain . So that is why Rita is one of the inspirational women in my life.
They are all such characters ! I think that whatever your essence is, your true nature, that is the one that will become most evident in extreme old age. And that painful , blood curdling honesty that only tiny children and very old people have is very evident.
They don't hesitate to say exactly what they think to each other ! One of them constantly asks " has the line gone " about every 3 minutes and one of the less patient ones remarks loudly, " I wish she would shut up she is getting on my nerves" ! I was afraid a war would break out but no, they are fine together, just clear about how they feel !
On a trip out to Asda ( a lot of them love supermarkets ) I was wheeling Irene who's goal was to buy some moisturiser and a lipstick. We spent a full two hours together whilst I read every word on every jar of skin cream to her . And worked out which one was the best value. And tried every single lip colour on her hand and mine. And bought nothing !
That week my Buddhist teaching and meditation had been on patience so I figured that Buddha had decided I should be tested as soon as possible ! Especially as Irene tends to complain and not appear to enjoy anything very much.
Some of their stories are heart breaking and I wonder how they had the will to reach old age. Edith was a refugee from Austria and lost her entire family in the Holocaust and everything she owned, fleeing the Nazis. She settled in Leeds eventually and married the first man who asked her , she told me her Mother's last advice had been to tell her to find a man and be safe as soon as possible and so she did and they had one daughter who was the sun, moon and stars to her. The marriage was not happy, he was a womaniser but it was a long marriage . The daughter became a doctor and she too married and was madly in love with her husband, so much so that Edith said they had decided not to have children as they loved being just them and they had their careers. So, 20 years ago , Edith's husband died and within weeks her son in law got cancer and he too died 6 weeks later. And 3 weeks after that, her precious only child took her life. So Edith lost her entire family , again, in less than three months.
I found her in reception one day and asked if she wanted to come and play Bingo and she was mortally offended ! I play Bridge only she said. She is a very clever, educated woman, one can tell. So I asked if she had found people to play with yet because some of my Bingo ladies who are lovely , play all the time. But she was determined to be the unhappiest woman in the home and refused but asked if I would visit her. So I did and that is when she told me her story. And now she tips up for Bingo every week and loves winning and complains constantly about the pilfering of her knickers ! She seems a little happier lately.
I think of my troubles and they pale into insignificance and I realise that life does indeed go on.
I think I have learned to be more patient and tolerant because of them. And to know that it is never over till the fat lady sings ! And that old people are as precious and valuable as children and deserve our respect and care and for us to listen to them.
I hope that I have learned but I still sometimes fail with my own old person, my Uncle who has only my sister and me and yet is SO annoying and usually so ungrateful ( I do sometimes do things that are beyond the call of the duty such as put his socks on ! ) that I feel so much remorse for not being better with him and not doing more... and then he is impossible all over again ( I mean impossible ! ) and so it goes on. He thinks he should be Prime Minister , that aid to India is bloody disgusting and like Jeremy Clarkson, thinks a lot of people should be shot !
I think that shooting anyone is definitely not the answer to anything !
Friday, 2 December 2011
Golf and Tattoos
Still not quite recovered from all the itis-es, specifically, the one which robs you of your voice . Some people, those few , who do not wait with bated breath for my every nugget of wit and wisdom might be pleased !
But cough, snot , sore throat or not , I had to get out of the house after a week in bed watching Loose Ladies and Whose House is Best..... and see some real live 3D people or go so mad that I end up prematurely in a Home For The Bewildered!
So I went to play golf to get some fresh air, walk a couple of miles and socialise with the other lady golfers at my club. That is is two sports in one. You have to have your wits about you for both and metaphorically speaking, keep your eye on the ball for both!
Some people think that golf ( and by definition ) golfers , are boring. Nothing could be further from the truth. As is that old chestnut that golf is a great way of ruining a good walk or that watching golf is about as exciting as watching paint dry.
Many moons ago, when I was a new Mum and married to my first husband, I lived " darn sarf " on the outer fringes of London in a very pretty house which backed onto Stanmore Golf Club . The first green ( the bit which has a flag ! ) was literally at the end of my garden and I had a good close up view of the second tee.
I used to sit in my garden with my new baby in his pram and watch the ladies ( and men but it was the ladies who most interested me ) play golf. I thought then that they were another species of life, come from Planet Zog, with their own fashions and their own language . At that point in my eventful life , I was fully occupied being Earth Mother with a baby on my hip and a J cloth in my hand.
They were all terribly old, the golfers ( I was 22 ) and wore Rupert Bear outfits with loud tartan trousers or even worse, some strange piece of apparel, never seen in my world, called plus 4's. With long socks and white shoes. Whoa ! They all pushed little trolleys or carried bags on their backs, stuffed full of long sticks and some sticks wore little woolly hats, or even big novelty animal hats . These, I now know are called head covers.
Very strangely, pre Michael Jackson's Thriller video , male and females alike all wore just one glove on their left hand. Stranger and stranger !
I listened to them whilst I rocked my baby to sleep. " Good shot Daphne ! or Wilfred or Mavis " they cried. And " good putt " although this last quite often used to sound as if it came through gritted teeth !
This after they had rolled their little white ball in to a little hole using a stick called a putter ( I recognised this particular stick from family jolidays in Blackpool as a child when we used to play crazy golf on the prom, then go on the North Pier and put pennies in slots and then go for fish and chips for tea, AH ! precious memories) then after replacing the flag , they, Daphne and co. would move over to the raised mound just a garden along from mine , and there they would take the hat off a bigger stick and stand swishing it through the air at nothing, until they finally settled down and hit the ball again, a long way down the field, and moved off after it . Ten minutes later another group arrived.
Even stranger than all this was that when it was wet or windy or freezing cold outside and my only reason to go into the back garden was to hurry to the dustbin , the aliens were still there, wearing funny hats now , or if it were wet, waterproof suits and extremely unflattering rain hats. There they were, with giant umbrellas, still standing patiently holding the flag while one of their number crouched and walked back and forth and looked up and down several times before trying to get their ball in the hole. In the p....ing rain. Mad , mad people!
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would join this strange and mysterious sect, learn their language , wear the t shirt ( I too have owned many Rupert Bear outfits ) and go out in wind rain or even fog and in my more obsessive years even play in light snow !
I will tell you how it all began for me and then you will understand how even someone as sane as I could get addicted to this maddening sport.
The baby years and the first husband and the pretty house on the golf course were long gone and I was now living "oop North " , and married to hubby number two who was very much a member of the golfing sect. For the first few years of our marriage it was something that he did on Sunday mornings and took very seriously indeed. I ignored it. I stayed in bed late and ate bagels and smoked salmon with the Sunday Times, The Mail on Sunday and a very occasional cheeky News Of The World.
One day he told me that he was helping to run and play in a Celebrity Am Am competition in Scotland that was going to be televised and that I was invited too, to stay at a mega posh Hotel and hang out with some famous people. Great, who doesn't love a 5 star mini break .
I stayed in the posh Hotel all the first day and chatted with some other wives who didn't play golf either , but that night the husband casually said that he had a great game tomorrow and that he would be playing with ( drum roll ! ) SEAN CONNERY ! And Jimmy Tarbuck and another not famous man.
Right I said, I will come and help you. Err no, said he, I will have a caddy but you can come and watch but you must not make a sound and stand still when we are taking shots and don't walk on the greens and don't and don't and don't.
Fine, I said. What time and what shall I wear.
And that is how my long love affair with golf began. With 007 himself who was devastatingly attractive by the way, even more than on screen and flirted harmlessly with me all day and at dinner that night ( I barely batted an eye lash myself ) and showed me his tattoos ( at the dinner table so it was all lovely clean fun but his tiny wife who had her big husband firmly under her thumb did not like it one bit ! )
I told him that I had always wanted to have a tiny tattoo of a rose on my bum and he uttered , in that inimitable voice in his sexy Scottish accent " Ya could have had the whole fuckin bouquet on yer ass Jacqui ! "
Husband loved that comment and repeated it endlessly ad nauseum for years !
Please do not think that I have a huge ass. I didn't then and I don't now ! But as an introduction to golf , it was quite something ! And in between the jokes and the strange alien language and on this occasion , a lot of cursing, I became interested in the game. And enjoyed the walk ( in my flimsy, unsuitable shoes ) loved the scenery and that day I made up my mind that I would become a lady golfer and have people say admiringly to me too, " GREAT shot Jac " .
So I did. And that was then, the beginning and here I am now, over 20 years later, an alien myself , who knows all manner of funny rules and customs , got the t shirt and the video and LOVE it !
Golf courses are wonderful huge playgrounds and every one is different. Some are links course by the sea, some are parkland weaving their way through groves of lovely trees and undulating landscapes. There are courses on moors full of heather to trap one's ball and courses with lakes and mountains ! My particular one was designed by a sadist called Robert Trent Jones but I have grown very fond of it. A golf course is also a refuge. A place to go to forget one's worries, to meet people, somewhere that grown ups can play out with a bat and ball !
As a game it is endlessly challenging. You can never say "I got it, nothing more to learn or practise." Not even the Gods of the Game , can ever say that. It comes and it goes and one has to learn humility and patience because it is a great leveller and no place for a big ego.
What is very interesting to me, with my background in personal development , is that golf is almost an analogy for life and tells so much about character.
Play a round ( I mean a round of golf, not play AROUND ! ) and you get to see parts of a person's character which are often carefully hidden from the world at large.
Watch and see if your partner or opponent is careful about the line of your putt and is still and quiet whilst you takes your shot. In other words, is he conscious, aware and considerate? Or so absorbed in his game that he ignores yours.
Does he replace his divots and repair his pitch marks and rake the bunkers properly or at all ? This tells us a lot about respect and thoughtfulness and laxness too.
Is he really sincere when he says "well done "when you hole the winning putt or is it said grudgingly or not at all. That leads us to ask if he generous or a little mean spirited.
And is he accountable or a victim ? My ball is buried, did you see my terrible luck, that tree wasn't there when I took my shot, WHO MOVED THE TREE !!!
Of course , if you are an aware kind of person, here is another opportunity to learn about yourself. As Socrates said, " an unexamined life is a life not worth living "
Golf is a game which requires endless practise and patience and a willingness to be a little humiliated. Not for the faint hearted. Just as in life it is often the smallest decision or choice which affects the outcome and without accountability, one will just carry on making the same old mistakes over and over. And if you are prepared to stay calm, follow the rules, take the occasional measured risk, the more chance you have of being a winner ! And of course you have to learn to be gracious in victory - and defeat . Nothing is quite so bad as a sore loser or a crowing victor .......
So one of the best parts of the game is the people you meet. And one of the worst parts of the game is the people you meet!
I am not a man so I can't speak for them, but ladies in a group situation can, on occasion, be....... how can I put this nicely?
Mmmmm..........
I can't put it nicely.....
Witches !
Well that is nicer than bitches !
Not many thankfully, but enough, and I understand that there is a coven at every golf club in the land !
Anyway, now you know something about the subject at large, this Tuesday ( Ladies Day ) was what is called a fun comp. That means it isn't serious . We can get very serious on occasion even though we constantly remind our self and each other " its only a game , not a matter of life and death " I am convinced that some people think it is ! Or more important than that ( another old chestnut ! ) Anyway, I had a very nice game. We don't get to choose who we play with on Tuesdays, it is drawn , so this week I played in the mud , lots of mud, on a very grey day, with our new Madam Captain , ( Queen of the Ladies Section for a year ! ) and two other ladies, all of us as different in every way as could be but united in our love of this fascinating and maddening game.
We didn't win. Hey ho. But I had a very nice time and a cheese toastie and a good old goss after!
Being a golfer is fabulous ! I feel sorry for everyone who doesn't know the thrill of connecting club to little white ball and watch it going straight down the middle of a lush green fairway. The excitement of coming in under par and the orgasmic pleasure of " chipping in! "
And the camaraderie with one's fellow fanatics draws us together in a very special way . It really is a great game.
But cough, snot , sore throat or not , I had to get out of the house after a week in bed watching Loose Ladies and Whose House is Best..... and see some real live 3D people or go so mad that I end up prematurely in a Home For The Bewildered!
So I went to play golf to get some fresh air, walk a couple of miles and socialise with the other lady golfers at my club. That is is two sports in one. You have to have your wits about you for both and metaphorically speaking, keep your eye on the ball for both!
Some people think that golf ( and by definition ) golfers , are boring. Nothing could be further from the truth. As is that old chestnut that golf is a great way of ruining a good walk or that watching golf is about as exciting as watching paint dry.
Many moons ago, when I was a new Mum and married to my first husband, I lived " darn sarf " on the outer fringes of London in a very pretty house which backed onto Stanmore Golf Club . The first green ( the bit which has a flag ! ) was literally at the end of my garden and I had a good close up view of the second tee.
I used to sit in my garden with my new baby in his pram and watch the ladies ( and men but it was the ladies who most interested me ) play golf. I thought then that they were another species of life, come from Planet Zog, with their own fashions and their own language . At that point in my eventful life , I was fully occupied being Earth Mother with a baby on my hip and a J cloth in my hand.
They were all terribly old, the golfers ( I was 22 ) and wore Rupert Bear outfits with loud tartan trousers or even worse, some strange piece of apparel, never seen in my world, called plus 4's. With long socks and white shoes. Whoa ! They all pushed little trolleys or carried bags on their backs, stuffed full of long sticks and some sticks wore little woolly hats, or even big novelty animal hats . These, I now know are called head covers.
Very strangely, pre Michael Jackson's Thriller video , male and females alike all wore just one glove on their left hand. Stranger and stranger !
I listened to them whilst I rocked my baby to sleep. " Good shot Daphne ! or Wilfred or Mavis " they cried. And " good putt " although this last quite often used to sound as if it came through gritted teeth !
This after they had rolled their little white ball in to a little hole using a stick called a putter ( I recognised this particular stick from family jolidays in Blackpool as a child when we used to play crazy golf on the prom, then go on the North Pier and put pennies in slots and then go for fish and chips for tea, AH ! precious memories) then after replacing the flag , they, Daphne and co. would move over to the raised mound just a garden along from mine , and there they would take the hat off a bigger stick and stand swishing it through the air at nothing, until they finally settled down and hit the ball again, a long way down the field, and moved off after it . Ten minutes later another group arrived.
Even stranger than all this was that when it was wet or windy or freezing cold outside and my only reason to go into the back garden was to hurry to the dustbin , the aliens were still there, wearing funny hats now , or if it were wet, waterproof suits and extremely unflattering rain hats. There they were, with giant umbrellas, still standing patiently holding the flag while one of their number crouched and walked back and forth and looked up and down several times before trying to get their ball in the hole. In the p....ing rain. Mad , mad people!
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that I would join this strange and mysterious sect, learn their language , wear the t shirt ( I too have owned many Rupert Bear outfits ) and go out in wind rain or even fog and in my more obsessive years even play in light snow !
I will tell you how it all began for me and then you will understand how even someone as sane as I could get addicted to this maddening sport.
The baby years and the first husband and the pretty house on the golf course were long gone and I was now living "oop North " , and married to hubby number two who was very much a member of the golfing sect. For the first few years of our marriage it was something that he did on Sunday mornings and took very seriously indeed. I ignored it. I stayed in bed late and ate bagels and smoked salmon with the Sunday Times, The Mail on Sunday and a very occasional cheeky News Of The World.
One day he told me that he was helping to run and play in a Celebrity Am Am competition in Scotland that was going to be televised and that I was invited too, to stay at a mega posh Hotel and hang out with some famous people. Great, who doesn't love a 5 star mini break .
I stayed in the posh Hotel all the first day and chatted with some other wives who didn't play golf either , but that night the husband casually said that he had a great game tomorrow and that he would be playing with ( drum roll ! ) SEAN CONNERY ! And Jimmy Tarbuck and another not famous man.
Right I said, I will come and help you. Err no, said he, I will have a caddy but you can come and watch but you must not make a sound and stand still when we are taking shots and don't walk on the greens and don't and don't and don't.
Fine, I said. What time and what shall I wear.
And that is how my long love affair with golf began. With 007 himself who was devastatingly attractive by the way, even more than on screen and flirted harmlessly with me all day and at dinner that night ( I barely batted an eye lash myself ) and showed me his tattoos ( at the dinner table so it was all lovely clean fun but his tiny wife who had her big husband firmly under her thumb did not like it one bit ! )
I told him that I had always wanted to have a tiny tattoo of a rose on my bum and he uttered , in that inimitable voice in his sexy Scottish accent " Ya could have had the whole fuckin bouquet on yer ass Jacqui ! "
Husband loved that comment and repeated it endlessly ad nauseum for years !
Please do not think that I have a huge ass. I didn't then and I don't now ! But as an introduction to golf , it was quite something ! And in between the jokes and the strange alien language and on this occasion , a lot of cursing, I became interested in the game. And enjoyed the walk ( in my flimsy, unsuitable shoes ) loved the scenery and that day I made up my mind that I would become a lady golfer and have people say admiringly to me too, " GREAT shot Jac " .
So I did. And that was then, the beginning and here I am now, over 20 years later, an alien myself , who knows all manner of funny rules and customs , got the t shirt and the video and LOVE it !
Golf courses are wonderful huge playgrounds and every one is different. Some are links course by the sea, some are parkland weaving their way through groves of lovely trees and undulating landscapes. There are courses on moors full of heather to trap one's ball and courses with lakes and mountains ! My particular one was designed by a sadist called Robert Trent Jones but I have grown very fond of it. A golf course is also a refuge. A place to go to forget one's worries, to meet people, somewhere that grown ups can play out with a bat and ball !
As a game it is endlessly challenging. You can never say "I got it, nothing more to learn or practise." Not even the Gods of the Game , can ever say that. It comes and it goes and one has to learn humility and patience because it is a great leveller and no place for a big ego.
What is very interesting to me, with my background in personal development , is that golf is almost an analogy for life and tells so much about character.
Play a round ( I mean a round of golf, not play AROUND ! ) and you get to see parts of a person's character which are often carefully hidden from the world at large.
Watch and see if your partner or opponent is careful about the line of your putt and is still and quiet whilst you takes your shot. In other words, is he conscious, aware and considerate? Or so absorbed in his game that he ignores yours.
Does he replace his divots and repair his pitch marks and rake the bunkers properly or at all ? This tells us a lot about respect and thoughtfulness and laxness too.
Is he really sincere when he says "well done "when you hole the winning putt or is it said grudgingly or not at all. That leads us to ask if he generous or a little mean spirited.
And is he accountable or a victim ? My ball is buried, did you see my terrible luck, that tree wasn't there when I took my shot, WHO MOVED THE TREE !!!
Of course , if you are an aware kind of person, here is another opportunity to learn about yourself. As Socrates said, " an unexamined life is a life not worth living "
Golf is a game which requires endless practise and patience and a willingness to be a little humiliated. Not for the faint hearted. Just as in life it is often the smallest decision or choice which affects the outcome and without accountability, one will just carry on making the same old mistakes over and over. And if you are prepared to stay calm, follow the rules, take the occasional measured risk, the more chance you have of being a winner ! And of course you have to learn to be gracious in victory - and defeat . Nothing is quite so bad as a sore loser or a crowing victor .......
So one of the best parts of the game is the people you meet. And one of the worst parts of the game is the people you meet!
I am not a man so I can't speak for them, but ladies in a group situation can, on occasion, be....... how can I put this nicely?
Mmmmm..........
I can't put it nicely.....
Witches !
Well that is nicer than bitches !
Not many thankfully, but enough, and I understand that there is a coven at every golf club in the land !
Anyway, now you know something about the subject at large, this Tuesday ( Ladies Day ) was what is called a fun comp. That means it isn't serious . We can get very serious on occasion even though we constantly remind our self and each other " its only a game , not a matter of life and death " I am convinced that some people think it is ! Or more important than that ( another old chestnut ! ) Anyway, I had a very nice game. We don't get to choose who we play with on Tuesdays, it is drawn , so this week I played in the mud , lots of mud, on a very grey day, with our new Madam Captain , ( Queen of the Ladies Section for a year ! ) and two other ladies, all of us as different in every way as could be but united in our love of this fascinating and maddening game.
We didn't win. Hey ho. But I had a very nice time and a cheese toastie and a good old goss after!
Being a golfer is fabulous ! I feel sorry for everyone who doesn't know the thrill of connecting club to little white ball and watch it going straight down the middle of a lush green fairway. The excitement of coming in under par and the orgasmic pleasure of " chipping in! "
And the camaraderie with one's fellow fanatics draws us together in a very special way . It really is a great game.
Monday, 28 November 2011
Bread and The Truth
I'm a blogger ! Well I will be when I submit this first post . And hopefully this will be the start of something BIG !!
Its been surprisingly easy so far. Although I know anything could happen ( and probably will ) I am not exactly a computer whizz kid !
Its been surprisingly easy so far. Although I know anything could happen ( and probably will ) I am not exactly a computer whizz kid !
I hope I don't write a masterpiece ( I know I am unlikely to, at least not tonight ! ) and then lose the whole thing in cyber space. OMG that would be awful ! Even if its just stuff like this , I am actually quite protective about my little musings .
Well that last was a little aha moment..... amazing what comes out of your mind when writing. Perhaps that is why I tend to keep my stuff private ( not exactly a helpful attitude for someone with aspirations of fame is it ! ) But I guess inviting judgements is part of the territory.
Maybe this will be a great exercise for me. If anyone actually ever reads it .
But if it all does disappear I shall resist saying just my luck since I understand the concept of cause and effect perfectly !
Anyway, I have a question , what I would like to know is this , when does a blogger become an author ?
I can't wait for replies that may never come so I just looked it up on my I Phone dictionary . The answer , as interpreted by moi is that, in one sense, I am an author now.
Hooray! Here is what it says , "noun- someone who originates , causes or initiates something "
Well, I have.
Well, I have.
Haven't I?
This, this blog, is definitely something! Everything is something. Except maybe not. Mmm.... this is a bigger concept than is a blogger an author and one that I am trying to understand at the moment . And I don't think the answer can be found on my I phone !
This, this blog, is definitely something! Everything is something. Except maybe not. Mmm.... this is a bigger concept than is a blogger an author and one that I am trying to understand at the moment . And I don't think the answer can be found on my I phone !
Another time.....
Then it ( the i phone dictionary ) goes on and pricks my tiny bubble by saying " writes ( books, stories, articles or the like ) professionally (for pay )
That's the idea !That is what I want ! To get paid for something . Anything !
This morning I got a phone call from one of the market research companies I get an occasional little job from. I used to think it was money for old rope but actually its usually not. They want their pound of flesh like anyone.
That's the idea !That is what I want ! To get paid for something . Anything !
This morning I got a phone call from one of the market research companies I get an occasional little job from. I used to think it was money for old rope but actually its usually not. They want their pound of flesh like anyone.
So the interviewer marketing lady heard my croaky voice and nearly hung up straight away since the job ( such as it is ) requires a fair bit of talking. Then she said, would you like to do bread on Wednesday,( not make bread, just answer questions about my bread habit ) £50 for 2 hours. So I said yes please but I perked up from my snotty lethargy a little bit, thinking yeah , maybe things are looking up !
Right she said, do you eat bread every day? Pretty much I said. Right answer. And where do you buy it ? Supermarket said I .Right answer again. What kind of bread ? My mind scanned my bread bin over the last week or two and I answered " seeded "
WRONG . No job.No fifty quid for old rope.
BUGGER.
They wanted any other kind of bread EXCEPT seeded !
What a bummer. And its not even completely true ! I have pitta bread all the time and challa on Fridays and bagels on Sundays and horrible unhealthy sliced white occasionally when I fancy a specific sandwich. Specifically - Bacon. Which is quite an admission since I am a Jewish Buddhist Pescacarian ! Bacon is Forbidden by all of them . But I am working on giving up . And it is really, really occasional.
Right she said, do you eat bread every day? Pretty much I said. Right answer. And where do you buy it ? Supermarket said I .Right answer again. What kind of bread ? My mind scanned my bread bin over the last week or two and I answered " seeded "
WRONG . No job.No fifty quid for old rope.
BUGGER.
They wanted any other kind of bread EXCEPT seeded !
What a bummer. And its not even completely true ! I have pitta bread all the time and challa on Fridays and bagels on Sundays and horrible unhealthy sliced white occasionally when I fancy a specific sandwich. Specifically - Bacon. Which is quite an admission since I am a Jewish Buddhist Pescacarian ! Bacon is Forbidden by all of them . But I am working on giving up . And it is really, really occasional.
I am trying to think of this lost opportunity as just another of life's lessons . Far less painful than my past lessons that's for sure ! They usually involve men and huge issues such is trust. They would have provided some REALLY interesting blogs ! I am hoping that I am now older and wiser but I wouldn't bet on it. I have this very nice quality that tends to only see the good in people. Until they do something so utterly diabolical that I have to face the fact that I kissed another frog.
Anyway, back to sliced loaves. So, this particular lesson, lest I forget is : Do not be specific. Answer vaguely. Or answer questions with a question till I am completely sure I know what they want to hear. Tell small ( minute , teeny ) white lie only if absolutely necessary as fifty quids do not grow on trees . And even though I try never to tell even a tiny lie ( other than the ones we all know we have to , such as do I really look alright in this hideous dress ) I ask you would Warburton's or Sunblest give a FF that I am going through a little patch of seeded batch at the moment ? I can be fickle. About bread. And I could have answered questions that would be really helpful to them about rye or granary or thick sliced toaster, anything. I even know about home made bread, such as the loaf my daughter in law Nina made for me recently in her huge, new, wedding present, a bread maker that still lives in its box and makes the kitchen smell like Greggs. I am pretty much a bread expert now I come to think about it. And yet I was rejected !
Oh well.
I have been pondering if I can afford New Year retreat ( another blog subject to come, I will never run out of subjects ) and that would have been my excuse as then I would only have to justify the remaining £210 of the cost.
Did you hear what I just said ? ANOTHER BLOG!!
That means that I will have to do this again and that means I might be making a tiny step towards being a Famous Author.
Did you hear what I just said ? ANOTHER BLOG!!
That means that I will have to do this again and that means I might be making a tiny step towards being a Famous Author.
Is this enough for a first time ? Am I excused more on the grounds that I have been poorly in bed with all kinds of itis-es . As in Laryngitis, Pharyngitis, Tonsillitis. I think this is more than enough so see you another day .
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