Yes, I'm one of those people who like to list things, especially jobs that I have to do. I find that every now and then there are so many things I either want to do, have simply got to do or ought to do that the only way of clearing my mind is to make a list. If I don't, I flutter around like a butterfly, starting a new job before finishing another and never really getting anything done. With a list I can sort out the urgent from the important, the must-dos from the when-I-get-the-times, and decide what really is both urgent and important. There is great satisfaction to be had by crossing out the jobs that have been done, gradually working down the list until all that is left are the things I would like to do if only I had the time. Ha! Fat chance of that ever happening! One of the problems associated with list-making, in particular lists of jobs to be done, is that the list grows faster than it shrinks. I always found this when I was working. Just before I left the office each afternoon I would make a list of the things I had to do the following day. Doing this achieved two things: it meant that I didn't spend half the evening trying to work out what I had to do when I arrived at the office in the morning, and it meant that when I did arrive I could get straight into things. I knew what was both urgent and important. Of course, there were always little surprises, the things that cropped up during the day that simply had to be dealt with there and then, and by the end of the day there were always new tasks to be added to my list. But doing that gave me some little peace of mind.
At the moment I have so many jobs jostling for attention that I am not really sure quite where to start. Just making a list will help me sort them into order of priority - but the list must be hand-written. It doesn't work if I type it into the computer even if I print it out afterwards.
Now there must be a piece of paper around here somewhere.
Monday, 7 March 2011
Sunday, 6 March 2011
Ton up!
I wonder, is the word "ton" used as slang for a hundred in other (so-called) English-speaking parts of the world? No matter, it is here in Britain. But, speaking of other parts of the world, that is where my "ton" comes in. I have managed to collect 100 flags from different countries on that widget in the sidebar. The ton actually came up on Friday, I think. Knowing what my reaction is when I click on the "next blog" link at the top and land on a blog in a foreign language, I have to wonder how many of visitors from those countries stay tuned for more than a second or two. Mind you, according to the statistics produced by said widget (and I always treat such statistics with a healthy dose of scepticism) there are several people who return to this blog. Maybe not every day - I couldn't expect anyone to think my drivelling nonsense worth checking on a daily basis - and maybe it's just a matter of the "next blog" link throwing up this blog several times for the same poor unfortunate.
Not only have I collected 100 different countries' flags, but I see that I have also had visitors from every state in the USA. Wonders will never cease.
Not only have I collected 100 different countries' flags, but I see that I have also had visitors from every state in the USA. Wonders will never cease.
Saturday, 5 March 2011
Scenic Saturday - Shropshire
No 31 in the series.
Shropshire claims to be the birthplace of the industrial revolution, specifically the Ironbridge Gorge. It was here that the world's first cast iron bridge was built over the River Severn at Coalbrookdale in 1779. The bridge still attracts many visitors. But despite its industrial past, Shropshire is no longer an industrial county. There are towns with delightful names like Cleobury Mortimer, medieval towns bursting with black and white buildings. There are hills such as Wenlock edge and the Wrekin. And part of the beauty of Shropshire is that it attracts comparatively few tourists.
The county town is Shrewsbury. Nobody seems quite sure how to pronounce that. The first syllable is sometimes rhymed with ‘shows' and sometimes with ‘cruise', but however it is pronounced, the town is certainly worth a visit. I have borrowed the picture of Shrewsbury from the town's tourist information office.
Shropshire claims to be the birthplace of the industrial revolution, specifically the Ironbridge Gorge. It was here that the world's first cast iron bridge was built over the River Severn at Coalbrookdale in 1779. The bridge still attracts many visitors. But despite its industrial past, Shropshire is no longer an industrial county. There are towns with delightful names like Cleobury Mortimer, medieval towns bursting with black and white buildings. There are hills such as Wenlock edge and the Wrekin. And part of the beauty of Shropshire is that it attracts comparatively few tourists.
The county town is Shrewsbury. Nobody seems quite sure how to pronounce that. The first syllable is sometimes rhymed with ‘shows' and sometimes with ‘cruise', but however it is pronounced, the town is certainly worth a visit. I have borrowed the picture of Shrewsbury from the town's tourist information office.
Friday, 4 March 2011
Play time!
I don't know what games children play nowadays during their breaks from lessons but I do remember what we played 60 years ago when I was a pupil at junior school.
My school was a Victorian building on (I think) three floors. We had no grassy playing fields and our playground was surfaced in asphalt with iron railings to prevent us children escaping. Education in those days was a single-sex affair, except for the very youngest, so there were on girls at my school: the girls' school was a separate part of the same building and had a separate playground. What games they played I have no idea, but our boys' games depended in part on the season of the year. In the autumn we would gather conkers and would try all sorts of tricks like baking them or soaking in vinegar to harden them before playing with them. Any reader unfamiliar with the game of conkers can find a description here.
Other games were less dependent on the season of the year. There was one we played with cigarette cards. Many cigarette manufacturers distributed small cards inside their packs. These depicted all sorts of things: footballers, cricketers, army regimental badges, steam locomotives - the list was virtually endless - usually in a series of fifty cards. Some boys collected them in the same was as they collected stamps but others used them to play a game. The cards were smaller than playing cards and slightly thinner, but one could be held between the index and fore fingers and then flicked through the air. The game we played involved propping one card against the school wall as a target and then taking it in turns to flick other cards at the target. Whoever managed to knock the target card down won all the other cards lying around that had been unsuccessfully flicked.
Another popular game involved marbles. This was usually played between just two boys although on occasion there would be more involved. The first to play would flick his marble away. The other then had to flick his marble in an attempt to hit the first one. The players took turns until one had succeeded in hitting the other's marble, which he had then won. The only other rule (as far as I can remember) was about how the marble had to be flicked. The index finger had to be curled over the thumb and the marble balanced on the thumb.
Fivestones was popular for a while. The game is sometimes called jacks, but we knew it as fivestones. There is a description in Wikipedia but the picture they show is not of the five stones we used. Our five stones were small cubes of wood, each painted a different colour.
Then there was car racing. Our cars were Dinky toys, the first mass-produced model cars (I think) made from metal and with wheels that worked. The playground had a slight slope and we would push our Dinky toys down the slope to see whose car would run the furthest. We got up to all sorts of tricks to improve our cars' performance like greasing the axles with Vaseline.
It will probably not have escaped your notice that most of our games were fairly sedentary: at least, we didn't have to move about much while playing them, except, perhaps, for marbles, which could go a fair distance across the playground albeit not at a very fast rate. "It" was different. "It", as we called the game, was what most people would know as tag. One person started as "it" and it was his job to chase after the other players in an effort to make contact with one. That person then became "it" and so the game went on. Players could rest and catch their breath by jumping onto the low wall into which the railings were mounted and hang on to the railings, thereby claiming sanctuary. But woe betide the player who clung on too long!
My school was a Victorian building on (I think) three floors. We had no grassy playing fields and our playground was surfaced in asphalt with iron railings to prevent us children escaping. Education in those days was a single-sex affair, except for the very youngest, so there were on girls at my school: the girls' school was a separate part of the same building and had a separate playground. What games they played I have no idea, but our boys' games depended in part on the season of the year. In the autumn we would gather conkers and would try all sorts of tricks like baking them or soaking in vinegar to harden them before playing with them. Any reader unfamiliar with the game of conkers can find a description here.
Other games were less dependent on the season of the year. There was one we played with cigarette cards. Many cigarette manufacturers distributed small cards inside their packs. These depicted all sorts of things: footballers, cricketers, army regimental badges, steam locomotives - the list was virtually endless - usually in a series of fifty cards. Some boys collected them in the same was as they collected stamps but others used them to play a game. The cards were smaller than playing cards and slightly thinner, but one could be held between the index and fore fingers and then flicked through the air. The game we played involved propping one card against the school wall as a target and then taking it in turns to flick other cards at the target. Whoever managed to knock the target card down won all the other cards lying around that had been unsuccessfully flicked.
Another popular game involved marbles. This was usually played between just two boys although on occasion there would be more involved. The first to play would flick his marble away. The other then had to flick his marble in an attempt to hit the first one. The players took turns until one had succeeded in hitting the other's marble, which he had then won. The only other rule (as far as I can remember) was about how the marble had to be flicked. The index finger had to be curled over the thumb and the marble balanced on the thumb.
Fivestones was popular for a while. The game is sometimes called jacks, but we knew it as fivestones. There is a description in Wikipedia but the picture they show is not of the five stones we used. Our five stones were small cubes of wood, each painted a different colour.
Then there was car racing. Our cars were Dinky toys, the first mass-produced model cars (I think) made from metal and with wheels that worked. The playground had a slight slope and we would push our Dinky toys down the slope to see whose car would run the furthest. We got up to all sorts of tricks to improve our cars' performance like greasing the axles with Vaseline.
(I had a Dinky toy racing car just like this one.)
It will probably not have escaped your notice that most of our games were fairly sedentary: at least, we didn't have to move about much while playing them, except, perhaps, for marbles, which could go a fair distance across the playground albeit not at a very fast rate. "It" was different. "It", as we called the game, was what most people would know as tag. One person started as "it" and it was his job to chase after the other players in an effort to make contact with one. That person then became "it" and so the game went on. Players could rest and catch their breath by jumping onto the low wall into which the railings were mounted and hang on to the railings, thereby claiming sanctuary. But woe betide the player who clung on too long!
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Daphne odora
For many years now the Old Bat and I - together with the children when they were children - have spent Easter on my cousin's farm a few miles from Bristol. One year we commented on the delightful perfume coming from a plant near the front door and were told the plant was daphne odora. With the moving around of the Easter holiday we did not get to enjoy this scent every year but, after we had done so on several occasions, I determined to track down a plant for our own garden. I discovered that daphne is not always tolerant of a chalky soil - which we certainly have - but reckoned that a large tub filled with ericaceous compost would probably suit - if I could find the plant to out in it. I scoured every garden centre and nursery for miles around and ordered all the catalogues I saw advertised but to no avail. Nobody seemed to have even heard of the wonderfully perfumed plant. Then I heard of a small nursery in Scotland (they decided to place an ad in the newspaper I worked for) which actually had them. I ordered a plant, which failed to arrive. When I advised the grower of the non-delivery, he sent two. One of these has since given up the ghost, but the other is still going strong. Every year, at about this time, I cut two or three sprigs which sit in a small jug on the kitchen table. Opening the kitchen door first thing in the morning releases not only the dog but also the heady scent of the the daphne whose pale pink flowers have come out in the warmth.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
Old Poodle
A wealthy old lady decides to go on a safari in Africa, taking her faithful aged poodle named Cuddles along for company.
One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.
The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!" Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?"'
Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!", says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"
Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.
The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here, monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"
Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says: "Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"
Moral of this story...
Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill! Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience!
One day the poodle starts chasing butterflies and before long, Cuddles discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a leopard heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.
The old poodle thinks, "Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!" Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the leopard is about to leap the old poodle exclaims loudly, "Boy, that was one delicious leopard! I wonder if there are any more around here?"'
Hearing this, the young leopard halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. "Whew!", says the leopard, "That was close! That old poodle nearly had me!"
Meanwhile, a monkey who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the leopard. So off he goes, but the old poodle sees him heading after the leopard with great speed, and figures that something must be up. The monkey soon catches up with the leopard, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the leopard.
The young leopard is furious at being made a fool of and says, "Here, monkey, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!"
Now, the old poodle sees the leopard coming with the monkey on his back and thinks, "What am I going to do now?", but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old poodle says: "Where's that damn monkey? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another leopard!"
Moral of this story...
Don't mess with old farts...age and treachery will always overcome youth and skill! Bullshit and brilliance only come with age and experience!
Tuesday, 1 March 2011
Marching on
It seems like only last week that everyone was blogging about New Year resolutions and all that and here we are, into March already. 2011 is certainly on the march!
So, has the month come in like a lion or a lamb? According to folk lore, if March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb. And vice versa, of course. Well, we still have 10/10 cloud cover this morning but there has been no more rain overnight and the wind is less fierce than it has often been during the last few weeks, although what breeze there is feels very cold. Certainly not lamb-like weather, but hardly lion-like either. I'm not sure that country lore covers a situation like this so we shall just have to wait to see what the next few weeks bring us in terms of weather.
Today, 1st March, is the first anniversary of the most popular post on this blog. But perhaps 'popular' is not quite the best word. My post about St David's Day last year is certainly the most read post on this blog. Since Blogger started providing statistics that post has been seen (maybe 'read' was not the best word either) more than 2,600 times. The next most seen is Stories from Childhood with some 300+ viewings. So what makes St David's Day so popular? Looking at the traffic sources section of the stats I see that in the search keywords 'daffodil' crops up more than any other, especially 'daffodil picture' and variants. I did include a picture of a vase of daffodils last year - you can still see it in the sidebar on the right further down the page where that post features at the top of the popular posts widget thingy.
Talking of daffodils, we have none in bloom in the garden as yet although the first few are struggling into flower in Withdean Park and there are other early varieties in bloom elsewhere. In a couple of weeks, providing we get some sun and it gets a bit warmer, there will be masses of these flowers everywhere. I think just about every house in England has them in the garden.
Just to make things seem a little more cheerful, I'll post that picture again. That should confuse the stats!
So, has the month come in like a lion or a lamb? According to folk lore, if March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb. And vice versa, of course. Well, we still have 10/10 cloud cover this morning but there has been no more rain overnight and the wind is less fierce than it has often been during the last few weeks, although what breeze there is feels very cold. Certainly not lamb-like weather, but hardly lion-like either. I'm not sure that country lore covers a situation like this so we shall just have to wait to see what the next few weeks bring us in terms of weather.
Today, 1st March, is the first anniversary of the most popular post on this blog. But perhaps 'popular' is not quite the best word. My post about St David's Day last year is certainly the most read post on this blog. Since Blogger started providing statistics that post has been seen (maybe 'read' was not the best word either) more than 2,600 times. The next most seen is Stories from Childhood with some 300+ viewings. So what makes St David's Day so popular? Looking at the traffic sources section of the stats I see that in the search keywords 'daffodil' crops up more than any other, especially 'daffodil picture' and variants. I did include a picture of a vase of daffodils last year - you can still see it in the sidebar on the right further down the page where that post features at the top of the popular posts widget thingy.
Talking of daffodils, we have none in bloom in the garden as yet although the first few are struggling into flower in Withdean Park and there are other early varieties in bloom elsewhere. In a couple of weeks, providing we get some sun and it gets a bit warmer, there will be masses of these flowers everywhere. I think just about every house in England has them in the garden.
Just to make things seem a little more cheerful, I'll post that picture again. That should confuse the stats!
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