Fence, sanding & painting, BEGIN!

The Bank Holiday DIY bug bit me yesterday M. decreed that the back fence, unpainted for 18 years, was " a disgrace"| I concurred, but citing badly back, and the fact that we can't see the rear face of the fence as it faces the public footpath behind the line of houses, it did not have a great deal of priority in my book. Well, those arguments were promptly shot down in flames, and yesterday saw me with a Bosch belt sander on full throttle attacking 18 years growth of moss, lichen, and weathered timber.

In the style of Tom Sawyer, painting his fence in far off Mississippi, I gathered an audience of passers by, mostly urchins from the nearby estate, some of them asking... "Gizza go mistah!" Altho' tempted (just to ease my aching back, you understand) sanity prevailed, and urchins moved on. A Bosch sander is quite a lively tool to control and without the necessary muscle to stop it, it will suddenly take off, and I didn't want to become the centre of attraction for all the wrong reasons.

Any road up, the fence was three quarters finished when the dark shower clouds gathered from the North West and with me working with a power tool at the end of a long extension lead I thought it prudent to finish off until the showers eased. Well that temporary break lasted till this morning and after I've posted here I'm off again to do battle with the remaining 10 foot or so of fence. The painting will probably start around midday, and M. is claiming that this is where she comes in (or goes out if you understand).... ::)

Much later.... A fair division of labour resulted in a well painted back fence, ready to withstand the icy blasts for the next 18 years.

Marjorie being a right hander worked from the left hand edge towards the middle and I, being a 'south paw' with all tools and brushes, started at the righthand edge. Meeting in the middle we celebrated by a quick check on the missed bits left behind on each other's portion. Honours even, we stood back and surveyed our masterpiece feeling like Michelangelo and the unknown urchin or who ever it was who held the Maestro's paint bucket!

As access to our back fence was gained after a 200 yards walk around the block ( we could have shinned over it but didn't want to provide the neighbours with any more free entertainment(!) when all of the tools, ladders paint pots etc., were handed back over the fence from me to M. in our back garden, the job was done!

Wilf R. RIP,

Today I attended the funeral of a good friend of mine whom I'd known for more that 45 years..

I've put together a little obituary for him and his widow Carol, whom I first met when I was about 18, ( and that's a long time ago!)


1957, was the year we moved as a family to live in a pub at the centre of a mining village near Crook, in Co Durham

A youth club had started in a neighbouring village and it was there I met this tall, slim redhead with a ready smile and a friendly disposition. There was never anything romantic about our friendship, just good fun and happy times with her and her 2 brothers, joining in the dances and other quite innocent social activities of a group of 'Fifties' teenagers.

2 years later I was in the Army and receiving a regular weekly letter from Carol, full of news and chat from our village. I married and returned to the UK but it was only this morning that I learned that during that time she was also writing to another squaddy, this time in Hong Kong, and when his Regiment returned they met and married. I was pleased for Carol when I met Wilf , who when rigged out in his dashing Cavalry Regiment's No 1 dress uniform with its ceremonial chain mail over one shoulder, was, in the Army vernacular of the time, "As Smart as a Carrot!"

The second son of a family of 13, Wilf was the "strong silent type" and a complete opposite and perfect foil to Carol who was described by none other than my first wife as "La Mariposa" ( The Butterfly ) . My late father called her "as dizzy as a spinning top", but Carol and Wilf confounded them all by staying madly in love for over 46 years.

They set about raising a family and I was next to meet them in a really surprising way.

Late summer of '64, I was sat sitting in the middle a hillside above the Pied Piper town of Hameln ( Hamelin). I was attached to the advance party of my regiment ,which was tasked to erect the 250 x 6 man tents in preparation for the arrival a the main body of the Engineer Regiment and then join in the annual fun and games of a 6 week "Bridging Camp"

A field telephone connected by a long cable to the Bridging camp's tiny admin office shrilled around noon on that brilliantly sunny Sunday and jerked me from my day dreaming siesta. " A personal call for Sapper Cunningham"! was the terse message from the "Orderly Scorpion" about half a mile away.

Thoroughly mystified I waited until the telephone shrilled again and a strange male voice with a familiar North east accent sounded in my ear... it was Wilf, telling me that Carol was in the local 'Frauenklinik'( German Maternity hospital) in Paderborn after having delivered their first born, Simon, a full 2 months prematurely.

As my duty was just about to end, I was into civvies and heading for the Hauptbahnhof ( Main Railway station, in just a few minutes. The German 'Personenzug' (passenger train) got me to the centre of Paderborn 50 or so miles away to the West in about an hour and at 3 pm I met Wilf outside the Maternity ward and in we trooped to see Carol. Young Simon was in an incubator and looked to be about the size of a 2 lb of sugar bag. Tubes entered his tiny body at one end and left at the other and leads and connectors covered it seemed every available square inch of what was left! But he proved to be a fighter and was soon back home to Carol and Wilf's MSQ near Paderborn .

That was all 44 years ago and today Simon's a tall slim young man looking every inch his father's double. and ready to take over the role of head of the family

The funeral service was taken by a Methodist Minister who gave a great eulogy for Wilf. Speaking in a strong yet sympathetic voice he outlined Wilf's adult life in front of a packed chapel before sending the coffin behind the curtains to the strains of of Elgar's 'Nimrod'.. And so back to the little village tucked away in the foothills of the Pennines for the traditional 'cuppa' and buffet lunch for all family and friends

RIP Wilf . A good life, well lived, by a man who was truly loved by his wife and all of his children

Paris 2010

That's the title I gave to a Savings Account set up last year specifically for that purpose.. to pay for a 4 day trip to Paris in late October this year. Almost exactly a year since it started, the account has accumulated sufficient funds plus a little bit over and the balance was sent off in good time to meet the deadline of the end of this month. This is probably the very first time that we have taken holiday after having saved up for it first, and I have to say that now that the main expense is paid I feel quite virtuous! Nowadays when we're on two fixed incomes, our days of running up a Credit Card bill with nary a thought on repayment are long gone ( TG)

We, all good people from M.'s parish Church, are to travel overland and then under the land / sea by Eurostar with the Gare du Nord as our ultimate rail destination. Then on to the hotel belonging to the Ibis chain, named 'Paris Alésia' in Montparnasse. Looking at the Travel Company's glossy brochure, I see that the 4 days are packed with tours, trips, visits, and there's even an evening at a Cabaret with 3 course meal for good measure.

Last year we had a great trip to Bruges and were looked after in grand style by the same tour Company, Riviera. So it is with high hopes that we'll set off in a couple of month's time for what will be my first real stay in Paris. Much more later. If anyone reading this is more of a Francophile, and has any tips or even dire warnings, on the Big City, please feel free to post in here.

Monty Solves the IT problems

Assuming his usual pose after grappling with a rather complicated file search on Marjorie's PC.

Home Alone

That's a full week, well 6 days actually, that I've been at home,alone, in sole charge of house, cat, and TV zapper!

This is a regular feature of our year, when Marjorie visits her sister and her family in the Midlands. When the children were young, ( wasn't that just yesterday?) M,'s visit was ostensibly to give the hard pressed parents, both in full time employment, a bit of a break. These days with both children well able to fend for themselves, I think that Great Aunt Marjorie enjoys her time to herself, just as much as I enjoy the experience of just being by myself. I think it has something to do with the fact that we know that the separation will end and we'll pick up our joint lives again quite soon.

The week has just flown by. Three golf matches, a planned visit to the car dealers to get t'buggy MOT'd** ( passed with flying colours!), a re-start to this blog, and generally keeping myself to a normal routine. Although I can cook a simple meal ( meat,& veg,) I soon get tired of the same old, same old, and last evening decided to ring the changes and visit a local restaurant which specialises in 'Mediterranean' cuisine.

It was 'party night' last night, and a noisy 'hen party' was in full swing. Apart from the noise, the rest of the diners were well entertained by some of the antics of the assembled guests. The fashion these days seems to centre on all the female guests of the bride to be, dressing up in some outlandish 'Themed' fancy dress. Last night was 'Cowboy' (or cowgirl) theme, and the sight of several very well endowed young ladies in brief skirts, high heeled boots and 'weskits' which revealed more than they covered, was a fascinating glimpse of "how the other half live!".

I had just done justice to the starters,( calamares, whitebait, and 'pulpo' (octopus), served 'Tapas' style), when the room was literally taken over by a tall young man dressed in a fire fighters' outfit and wielding a large fire hose nozzle. This was of course the male stripper whose manly physique did not a lot for me but sent the already high decibel level from the 'ladies' up to stratospheric altitudes. There are times when it's handy being deaf, and last night was one of them, for with a touch on the "off" button on my hearing aids, all the noise went quiet and I was left to 'enjoy' the rest of the proceedings in utter peace!

Back home to be greeted by 'Monty' our new cat, provided by the Cats Protection people to replace our beloved 'Oscar' after his tragic death last March.

Monty is a dark tabby with green eyes which regard us at times with barely concealed disdain.
He's a silent animal, lithe and very active, with lightning reactions to all stimuli, both real and imagined.

"**MOT'd" for my readers outside the UK ( at last count there was only you Charlie!) ::) refers to the annual roadworthyness test compulsory for all UK cars over 3 years old.

A re-start to blogging

Over a year has gone by and my blog just sat there, waiting like a faithful hound for my return. Well, now I'm back, a bit older but it would seem no wiser or in any way better looking!

A year of highs and lows, all unreported, except to a select company of people on a web forum. The highs included a visit to my family in Spain where my granddaughter is growing rapidly into a beautiful young lady.

Elaine at 13 years

The lowest part of the year had to be that dreadful day, March 4th, when I reversed my car over our pet cat, Oscar, killing him instantly.





I don't want to dwell on that for obvious reasons, suffice to say that the phrase "If only" was getting to be used an awful lot across the weeks that followed.

Those two extremes apart, my 14 months of blog abstinence has passed very quickly, and life continues to treat me well.





Oscar.