Words from a Bird

My lovely sister in law, Mrs H, on reading about my search for the illusive Warm Coat, said that I could borrow hers for the impending trip to Prague. This is incredibly kind of her, as it's a very expensive coat, and I will be taking very good care of it (I promise!)  Because yesterday morning was so cold when I walked the dogs before work, I decided to give the coat a trial run.  It's a very thick coat, as befitting something which claims to be able to withstand temperatures of -15, and putting it on I felt like I was slipping into a double duvet.  The husband had to help zip it up, as I'd made the schoolgirl error of putting my gloves on first, and once ensconced in the coat, I headed out to the frozen tundra of my lawn. Boy it was warm.  From neck to bottom, I was as warm as toast, but my extremities didn't fare so well.  Looking in the mirror when I got back home, my nose was glowing red a la Rudolph and my legs were a gorgeous mottled blue under my black

I had my flu jab last week. I probably don't fit into the usual criteria of vaccine invitees, but as I am asthmatic, it's a sensible precaution, and I have been having the annual jab for the last ten years with great success.  Having had a bout of real bona fide flu (none of this man flu nonsense) about twenty years ago, I will do anything to avoid a repeat of that twelve days of hell. Mind you, the twenty pound weight loss was a bit of a silver lining, but even that wouldn't make me want to get it again. Sitting in the waiting area outside the nurse's surgery for my 4.53pm appointment (they are very precise at my surgery) I was joined by an elderly lady and gentleman.  We all made the appropriate small talk, eventually settling down to a copy of Best (the lady), Sailing Today (the chap, although what use that is in the Home Counties is beyond me) and my phone (playing crib is my new favourite time waster). Then the door opened. 'Mrs Green?'

Sometime, I wonder where I get my energy from.  Having woken up at 4.52am for the fourth day running, I did a mental list of what needed doing on this 'day of rest' (who am I kidding, I am female, the 'day of rest' has yet to be invented for us).  Because a trip to Prague is on the horizons, the ironing needed doing, so I did all that after I'd published Sunday's meanderings.  I then loaded the washing machine, did a little more internet Christmas shopping, emptied the dishwasher, unloaded the washing machine (hung a few bits on the radiators so that I could iron them after twenty minutes or so) and made a fresh fruit salad for my breakfast for the next few days. And then the husband materialised. 'What do you want to do today?' he asked me as I put the ironing board away. Do?  Well actually, I didn't really want to DO anything as I had already DONE it....while he was still snoring his head off DOING sod all. But I reined in my snipp

Just one month today and Christmas Day will be upon us. Having spent most of Friday juggling between various internet pages, by 7.00pm I had managed to find and buy around 75% of the presents on my list.  This is quite an achievement, as I don't think I have ever managed to do this before December has actually started.  Mind you, the ones I've got are all the easy ones, lovingly put down by the kids (with a useful internet link) and sent over via email earlier this week. I know that this sounds terribly practical and boring, but years of Christmas present purchasing have taught me many lessons, with the most important being that you don't buy anything which might constitute a return or credit note.   But I do have a concern... As you know, none of the children are living at home now, and despite some serious calendar negotiations, we haven't been able to pin any of them down on a weekend so that we can put the Christmas tree up together.  Somehow, they

I have a theory... I should say that if you're about to eat your breakfast, it might be an idea to push me to one side until you're finished, such is the topic I am about to dive into. So, back to my theory.   As a responsible and considerate dog walker, I always pick up after my dogs after their comfort breaks.  Walking across the fields by the river yesterday afternoon, I was desperately trying to dodge the cowpats and sheep droppings, and the duck and goose poop, and I realised that these animals and birds were allowed to abandon their throughput on the grass because (wait for it) they didn't have anyone who was prepared to pick it up after them .  Therefore, they get away with it, pooping willy-nilly while the poop bag police completely ignore them, instead glaring at every dog walker with suspicion. Of course, once you have accepted that you pick up your dogs' poop, then the question arises as to who is actually in charge.  I mean, these four legg

On Tuesday night, I took the Mother to see Bohemian Rhapsody.  As you know, this is the second time I would have seen this in less than ninety six hours which is a little extreme by anyone's standards, but I knew she'd enjoy it so I was willing to make the sacrifice of sitting through it all again.  (Who am I kidding?  I was as excited as she was). Instead of my usual cinema, we went to her local one in High Wycombe, which turned out to be a complete revelation.  When I booked it on line, there was a choice of standard chair, sofa or recliner, and I pondered which would suit the Mother best.  Obviously a sofa was no good - you need your own chair arms at the cinema, and just having one each wouldn't have worked for me.  So I picked the recliners, thinking that they would be rather special for a Tuesday jolly. And they were.... There was a bit of a kerfuffle as the Mother and I tried to work out which way to push the buttons to recline the chairs (I did say to h

Bloomin' 'eck, it's parky... Armed with my warm coat, scarf, bobble hat and gloves, I set out to brave the elephants (not a typo. I always say this) with the woofers yesterday afternoon.  They gave me that look which says something along the lines of 'you have got to be kidding', but undeterred, I dragged them out of the front door into the brisk wind. It was a really average walk.  I'd brought different leads so had no treats on me, so by the first gate, my name was mud, and the two dogs were looking rather mutinous.  The heavens played its usual trick, opening just as I reached the half way point, and as the rain lashed down Reg did what he always does when faced with the wet stuff, and huddled under a gorse bush.  Unfortunately, this is not an option for a lady of generous proportions and I miserably carried on walking, feeling my legs getting wetter and wetter through my leggings, and hoping that my elastic was robust enough to keep my dignity intac

In a couple of weeks time, I am off for a few days away in Prague with Miss R and the husband.  Based on historical trips away with these two in the run up to Christmas, there will be a list made of places of interest which will get longer and longer the closer we get to taking off.  However, once there, you are less likely to find us strolling over Charles Bridge, as much of the time will be spent in a bar drinking cheap beer and complaining about the cold. This was what happened on one of our trips to Poland a couple of years ago.  Stupidly, I thought my expensive waterproof dog walking coat would be more than adequate, but having walked around for three days with my own personal coat hooks (!) I decided that a warmer coat would be needed for the next pre-Christmas trip.   Well you know what happened?  Over the following eighteen months, I forgot all about needing a warm coat instead relying on thermal vests and a an extra woolly. It wasn't till a few months ago that I r

After a stunning walk along the river yesterday morning with the two dogs and Long John Silver (yes, he's still limping) the husband and I stopped at a new cafe for an edible reward after the four mile meander.  Sitting outside with our coffees and spectacular sandwiches (www.cartshed.co.uk if you're interested), we decided that this was to be one of our new favourite places for a walking pit stop. Mind you, I'm not too sure that my jeans would be too happy about me being a regular visitor, as the flapjack was by far the best I have ever had (and I'm not backward at coming forward at every flapjack opportunity).   So it was two sleepy woofers and two knackered owners who did the short drive home.  I hadn't said anything to the husband, but the sofa had been calling for me for at least an hour by that time, so when he suggested that it would be a good day to sort the garden out, I nearly thumped him.  But of course, he was right.  It was beautiful yesterday, and

Bohemian Rhapsody was every I hoped it would be.  Big teeth, a larger than life moustache, a lot, and I mean a lot, of black leather, and some cracking music.  Oh, and a few tears (I don't think I have ruined it for anyone have I?) The husband had sulked for most of the journey to the cinema, as I had made the fatal error of booking the cinema which wasn't the one which sold rum and raisin ice cream smoothies.  Placating him with a hot dog and some nachos, we settled down in our (pre-booked) seats and waited for the Freddie-Fest to start. As the trailers came to an end, all hell broke out in the row in front of us.  The couple who had simply plonked themselves down 'wherever' had already been moved on twice by people who had booked the seats they were in, but the third attempt simply pushed them over the edge.  When faced with a very quiet couple who asked them very pleasantly if they would mind vacating their seats, a full blown argument started, with the squa

Watching old 'Tresemme' at her press conference yesterday afternoon (get me being topical) I decided that she wasn't the only one having to make monumental decisions yesterday. As you all know by now (if you don't, where have you been for the last three years?) I have two dogs who drag me around various parts of the countryside in pursuit of the perfect woofer walk.  Sometimes, these walks can start from my front door, but on many occasions a drive in my car is needed if we fancy going further afield.  This means having the two dogs on the back seat of my car, as funnily enough, my Mini has no boot. Now the weather over the last few weeks has been the stuff of Noah, and subsequently the inside of my car had taken on the appearance of a grubby skip.  There was so much mud on the back seat that it looked like I'd had a particularly high tide and the floor mats had long given up any resemblance to luxury, instead looking like the floor of the hippos' enclo

The Tasmanian Devil (aka the whirlwind which is son number two) and Goldilocks left again yesterday afternoon, eager to get back to the cheap beer and food of the North.  This trip was unlike any other mid university visit from the other three children, in that there was no washing.  A miracle of mammoth proportions for which I am ever grateful.  The two of them had been to Oxford for the day and had bought me a small present to say thank you for putting them up so beautifully. It was a lovely gift, a patchouli reed diffuser, and it smelt gorgeous.  Placing it reverently above the fireplace, I felt very grateful to have such a thoughtful son (although it was Goldilock's idea I would imagine) and I sniffed it appreciatively. And then a thought hit me... Does my house smell?  I mean, you have to ask yourself whether I've gone nose blind to the aromas of wet dog and building site husband.  It's a bit like buying deodorant for a colleague who is knocking them dead

Son number two took Goldilocks to London yesterday.  I realised yesterday that I hadn't really explained why she's been give this name.  It's not that she loves porridge, or even hairy bear faces (mind you, I'd understand if that was the case   having seen the state of son number two's face on Sunday - I reckon he has a family of starlings living in his facial furniture). No, I have named her Goldilocks because she has beautiful blonde hair (not that I'm jealous...says she as she plucks out another crop of grey imposters) so the name is fitting. Goldilocks was very keen to go on the open top bus tour around London.  Son number two was a little reticent (not cool apparently) and I impressed on him how important it was to put your girlfriend first.  Actually, this lesson can be applied to wives and mums too I think. Now I know my son really well, and I know that he could sell ice to a polar bear. Likewise, if he doesn't want to do something, he's

All of the children came back home for an early pre-Christmas dinner last night.  Now that they all have serious other halves (more of this later) it was a chance to all get together before the family tug of wars start.  I'm sure that any of you with older children will understand where I'm coming from with this.  Pressure, however well intended, comes from all quarters, so nipping in early in November was a good call. There were nods to Christmas with Christmas crackers and extremely early Advent calendars (probably ripped to shreds and eaten in the car on the way home) and we all had a fantastic time, with bad jokes, silly hats, crunchy roasties and some rather disappointing copy cat After Eights (that will teach me not to scrip where they are concerned). There was a mountain of washing up to do after the kids left.  I think that they had been watching the husband stack the plates and saucepans up, and as he almost disappeared out of sight behind the gravy jug there

Some days just don't go to plan.... Yesterday should have gone something like this... Get up at reasonable time Do ironing Visit poorly Step Daddy Dick in hospital Drive home Walk dogs while husband mows lawn and cleans Wobble Box Go to cinema to see Queen movie with the husband Bed Unfortunately, between 6.00pm and midnight on Friday, I was necking gin like there was no tomorrow with several neighbours brave enough to chance a Charlie Friday. Waking up on Saturday morning, each side of my head was hurling abuse at the other, and I resigned myself to the husband doing all the dog walking while I laid in bed feeling sorry for myself.  Mind you, he wasn't in a much better state than I was, so I accepted that I may have a fight on my hands. And then the phone rang... It was Jolly Sock Man, daughter number two's other half.  Did the husband want to go and watch the rugby?  Well he was out of that bloody bed like his pyjamas were on fire, and

In all the time I have been with my husband, my night attire has been the target of much derision from him. I like to wear a sensible pyjama you see.  This is for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, I love to feel snug, and there's nothing like a bit of brushed nylon to achieve that.  Actually, they're cotton - the sparks my brushed nylon pyjamas used to give off were enough to light up half of Buckinghamshire, and as a child, I always worried that I'd set my bed alight.  The second reason is for dignity.  I have a lifelong fear of being carried over a fireman's shoulder down a ladder.  The pyjamas would ensure significant coverage in my descent. Over the years, on the nights when the husband has complained of being cold in bed, I have always been able to say that I'm lovely and warm.  The husband's retort to this has always been the same... 'Well you would be warm.  You wear trousers and a jacket to bed every night'. So you can imagine my sh

Poor old Reg. Just when he thought that the embarrassment of wearing a navy blue onesie wasn't enough, the vet went and slapped an inflatable cone of shame on him on Tuesday afternoon.  It was his own fault really, as he wouldn't stop licking his undercarriage (I am talking about Reg now before you start thinking that I have a strange if not talented vet).  I said to the husband on Tuesday night that it looked a bit like one of those ruffs that Queen Elizabeth I used to wear.  From this comment, we decided that we would call it a ruff, but in a barky kind of way.  Sorry, I'm not explaining this well, but I hope you get my drift. After the ruff went on, Reg took himself off to the hall, where he sat facing the front door for half an hour.  Now I know that dogs don't understand that whole mickey-taking thing which we humans do, but I did wonder whether Percy was whispering some snide comments from behind his magnificent whiskers.  And to be honest, who would blam

Bloomin' 'eck, it's dark. Torches are out, both for me and dogs.  This is great, because as well as poop bags, two leads, treats and harnesses, I now have something else to carry.  If it gets any worse, I run the risk of looking like that poor donkey in Buckaroo.... Having had a sporadic appearance at my twice weekly Pilates class (let's face it, it's been more like once every two months) I financially committed to two sessions a week on Monday night, in the hope that by Christmas I might have a washboard stomach.  That would be great, but I can't say it'll go too well with my flabby thighs, sagging derriere and flat chest.  Looking on the bright side though, a crop top might be in...coupled with support tights and a push up, padded bra. Talking of the dark, I helped the Pilates teacher out to her car on Monday evening (she has a lot of props, most of which hurt in some shape or form) and as we walked through the carpark we were talking about ho

Another step towards normality yesterday as I took Percy and Reg back to the woods for a walk on my own.  There were a couple of close shaves with an elderly Jack Russell and a rather rotund male runner who was taking a breather on the path.  With his back to us, and his derriere facing north, it was too tempting for Percy who managed to make him jump with a wet nose.   That will teach the runner to remove his earphones when he makes an emergency stop. But I was ok, and the dogs were ok, so it was a small victory. The husband and I decided that a day indoors was on the cards yesterday.  He had announced in the morning that he was going to clean his motorbike and the Wobble Box and also mow the lawn.  For the first time in our marriage, I told him that he was doing nothing of the sort, and that he had to have a day of rest with his ankle in the air.  And do you know what?  For the first time in our marriage, he actually did as he was told, sitting quietly at his desk and ca

'Now you come to mention it, I've never seen a chubby schnauzer'... Such was the reassurance from the vet when I asked him about possible side effects of Reg's castration at his post op check up on Saturday afternoon.  The thing is, Reg has always been as thin as thin could be, so if he starts to put on a bit of extra lumber, it won't be so terrible. Perhaps this is what puts me off encouraging the husband to have the same procedure... After three days of wear, the onesie has started to look like it's seen better days, so I decided to give it a wash on Saturday after our last walk of the day.  Stupidly, instead of sticking it on a twenty minute quick wash, I managed to press the button for those clothes which, 'need beating within an inch of their life to get the filth out'.   This meant that most of Saturday evening was spent shouting, 'Stop licking your balls, Reg!'.  Of course, because everything was on show, Percy started taking

The wincing and mincing has continued (this from the husband who is still completely standing firm with his male counterpart in the house) but I am pleased to say that Reg seems to have suffered little inconvenience where his procedure is concerned. Of course, there is the total embarrassment of having to wear a navy blue onesie at all times for the next week until he's completely healed (Reg, not the husband).  This has M.P.S. scrawled across the top of it and after much thought on yesterday's walk, I decided that this probably stands for 'My Poor Scrotum'.   I have to unpopper the onesie and clip it together over his shoulders when we're out and about, and the husband, having been keeping a careful eye on his partner in crime, suggested that the operation had left Reg extremely traumatised as he seemed to have developed a tic. This involves walking ten steps and then whipping round to glare at his tail before wandering off again.  If he's still doing