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Cold wind blows...

'I'll walk the dogs in the morning, if you fancy doing the afternoon one'.  
These were the husband's last words as he dropped off to sleep last night.  How lovely of him.  This would mean that I could head off to the normal Saturday ritual of 'breakfast in the pub' looking fairly grown-up rather than disheveled and slightly bag-lady like.  Picking the Mother up en-route, I mentioned to her that it was a tad fresh.  This has to be the understatement of the week as I lost all feeling in my fingers getting from the front door to my Mini this morning.  Her response? 'Well, it's going to get a lot worse this afternoon'.
Brushing this comment off thinking that the weather couldn't make such a drastic change in just a few hours, we met the husband, Miss R and the Father in the pub where coffees were drunk, waffles eaten and fried bread stared at in a jealous fashion (me - I love fried bread).  Leaving the pub a couple of hours later, the weather had cha…
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Pictures of you...

Bloody hell, I hate technology...
When I was younger, if you wanted to put some photographs together, you simply rifled through the albums/cardboard box/suitcase took out the ones you wanted and did what you needed to do.
Today I have spent almost three hours trying to get a bit of film footage off my computer.  Amidst the tearing out of hair and foul language, I managed to download something I didn't need, buy an app and upgrade my storage space...twice.  I now have enough space on my laptop to list the entire population of China with their full addresses, but the piece of film?  No chance.
Back to the drawing board on that present then...
You'll be relieved to hear (but not as relieved as I was) that the audit was cancelled at Binland today.  This gave me free rein with the box of Celebrations in the Transport office which some kind soul had given them.  Sticking my beak in the tin, I noticed that there were a lot of Bounty ones languishing in the bottom.  'Don't any of …

Rapper's delight...

There's nothing I like better than being goosed by a wet-nosed Rottweiler...
Such was my Wednesday afternoon, when I got together with three other middle aged harridans to celebrate Christmas with a cup of tea and our body weight in cupcakes.  The trouble is that Neville (Reg's best friend) knows me well, but I would guess that he'd like to get to know me a little better judging by his behaviour.  He'd been banished to the hall but managed to get back into the bosom of the the family lounge by doing a commando crawl down the hall.  Eventually, when it became apparent that he wasn't going to be deterred he was hauled out by his dog mum (Mrs P), deposited in the hall, and the door was firmly closed.  No one ever said that love was easy, even for a Rottweiler.
Christmas is making itself felt at home, with the 14' Christmas tree up, battery powered candles dotted everywhere and stuffed penguins making an appearance round the fireplace.  I also seem to have developed …

Welcome home...

Thank goodness it's Monday.  I can sit quietly at my desk with a lovely cup of tea talking rubbish (literally) with the good folk of the Home Counties while I desperately try to remember what the hell happened over the weekend.
It all kicked off on Friday afternoon with an invite to a neighbour's for mulled wine and mince pies.  This started at 4.00, and if I had been sensible like all the other ladies, I would have headed back home around 6.00.  But instead, like a complete numpty, I carried on knocking back the mulled wine for another three hours, and it was a very wobbly Bird who sheepishly walked through the front door on Friday night to be met with a most disapproving look from the husband.
Of course I had a hangover on Saturday morning.  It goes without saying that I was still in bed at 8.30 sporting a headache which rendered me useless for most of the day and drew even more disapproving looks from the saintly husband.  This was not good news as we had to catch a train at …

Get the party started...

It's the Binland Christmas party tonight, and much of this week has been spent wondering what to wear.
Stupidly, I involved the husband in this discussion, and his only input was, 'Well, I have every confidence that you will find something in that clothes cave of yours'.  Clothes cave?  I think he turned right instead of left, and caught a glimpse of his side of the wardrobe, where floor hanging is obligatory and nothing makes sense.  Unlike my wardrobe which is arranged according to type of clothing, and then further whittled down to colour.  
Anyway, I thought long and hard as to what would be appropriate for our night out.  All I know is that there is food, alcohol and music involved, so it had to be something which would travel down the early evening to midnight road without causing too much trouble.  But as is always the case, there are roadblocks on the way, and Things To Avoid.
First question was trousers or dress?  Because of the nature of my work, I tend to wear a lo…

Little bird...

Well ladies, I have my turkey.  Admittedly, it's a legless bird, but based on Christmas' past, I'm sure it will fit in just fine with my family.
For too many years, I went to a rather expensive butcher and paid a small ransom for a turkey which had been spoon fed Scottish porridge whilst lying on a memory foam mattress with Debussy playing softly in the background.  And then last year Mrs S (Binland Mrs S) introduced me to the merits of Bob the Butcher and his cut price crowns.  I admit I was a bit dubious, and handing over £30 instead of £130 last year, I wondered whether I was doing the right thing.
I treated my bargain bird like it was made of gold, rubbing butter into the skin, and lovingly wrapping it in foil before putting it into the oven.  I'd been brave and didn't have a Plan B (a packet of Turkey Twizzlers in the freezer) so it was an anxious Bird who unwrapped the cooked one a couple of hours later.
Well it looked alright.
It carved beautifully.
And as to its…

I'll be seeing you...

I am slowly but surely falling apart...
Once I reached my half century some years ago, everyone warned me what was in store with ominous warnings of  'it's all downhill from here', and my own personal favourite, 'what doesn't wear out or drop off will simply stop working'.  
And they were right.
The last five years have been spent trying to hold back the tide of the now called 'upper' middle age.  Imagine if you will, King Canute standing resolutely in the sea trying to stop the tide of old age as it runs faster and faster towards me, a maniacal grin on its face as it gets closer and closer.  
So I eventually made an appointment to go to the opticians, having bought the equivalent of around fifty pairs of 'ready readers' from Boots over the past few years.  My opening comment to the lovely optician was that I 'wanted something a little more grown up' now I was fifty five. Now if she'd had any sense, she might have made some comment about…