Captain Sir Tom Moore

In a rare serious moment I have resurrected my blog. I have been thinking a lot about Captain Tom, rarely has the death of someone I never knew had such an impact on me. The phrase 'National Treasure' is used far too often for people who don't deserve it. Captain Tom is a true example of a national treasure, to me he represents not just the best of our country but the best of humanity. It reminds me that there ARE truly good people out there.

In the middle of turmoil, this lovely, brave, humble, and beautiful soul was a symbol of hope. I remember my own loved ones when I look up to the stars, now I will always think about Captain Tom as well.

I have few heroes, my dad, Harry Patch, Morecambe and Wise (don't laugh, I adore them and they seemed such lovely and genuine people as well), and now I have one more.

Captain Tom, I'm sure you're not resting in peace, which would be terribly boring, you will be living a wonderful forever life with your wife (and maybe dropping in on my mum and my aunt for a cup of tea).

just when you thought it was safe to read this blog...

...I'm back! Hoping to write a long post soon, but briefly, I've discovered I have ADD, which explains most of the problems I've had throughout my life. I started feeling bitter that no one ever picked up on it before, then I read by chance 'sleeping beauty was nearly 50 when she woke up'. I guess it's never too late. I've been referred for an 'official' diagnosis, hopefully followed by treatment, meanwhile I've found that taking 15 mg of prescription dexedrine in one go seems to help. I'm only on 20mg a day so I guess they will either give me a higher dose or try me on ritalin.
HNM is history. Actually, scrub that, he was present during history. OK we all lie about our ages sometimes, but by TWENTY YEARS!!! Just as well I never had my wicked way! OK he's only 18 months older than my first love, but that's different, I've known my first love on and off since I was nearly 19 and he was 32.
Meanwhile, I have a toyboy!!!! To be referred to as the TD (Turkish delight) or the Ferret (long story). And yes I'm afraid I lied about my age, but not by anything like 20 years! The full story coming in another post.
With everything going on healthwise my creative life has taken a backseat and its driving me crazy. I have a constant battle (which I am usually losing) to stop the house looking like something out of 'How Clean is your House', caused, I have now found, by the ADD. It got out of control and I'm desperately trying to keep on top of it. But I think I've reached the stage where I desperately need to concentrate on doing the spare room which is going to be for my writing, scrapbooking, and art journaling when I get round to it. Meanwhile, if I remember how, I will post a pic of me and the TD.

Warning-Flashing images!

I am never forgetting a change of clothes again!
Wednesday night I went out with hot new man to a tapas bar the other side of town. If I had any chance of getting home I would have had to leave before I got there. I already established that HNM is not a serial killer, wasn't 100% sure whether or not he is a s*x fiend but hey I can always hope! So it was fine to crash at his place.

The tapas bar just happened to do my favourite Cava, (Castellblanch semi seco in case the producers are reading this and feel the urgent need to send me a lifetimes free supply in return for gratuous free advertising). In the supermarkets in Spain it is about £3. In the wine bar it was £18.50 a bottle.

Anyway, I arranged for them to hook me up via IV to a magnum sized bottle, at least that's what it felt like when I emerged from under a quilt sometime the next afternoon wearing a pair of hold ups and a necklace.

I made suitably pathetic noises until HNM appeared and asked me how i wanted it. (Disappointingly he had just put the kettle on for a cuppa!) I like my tea and my men hot, strong and exotic, but in my current ensemble of panda eyes and wraparound quilt I was not exactly alluring so I just muttered strong, not much milk and one sugar (why do men never have sweeteners?)

As I got ready to leave I realised there was a bit of a problem. HNM may have a few bizarre objects in his flat (including, rather worryingly, a tennis racquet and a hoover attachment placed next to each other), but one thing he does not possess (thank GOD, although I did not see it that way at the time) is a new pair of ladies undergarments (or an old pair come to that, thank god times infinity!!!).

So, as it was a warm day, I decided to go commando-ess. Unfortunately, it was rather breezy outside, and HNM (and his neighbours) were very nearly treated to an impromptu view of my...er...Lady Garden.

Negotiating the tube and its sudden gusts of wind (not from me, I hasten to add), was even worse. If you're female or a cross dresser, have you ever tried walking down an escalator carrying a large handbag, a bag full of mags and munchies for the tube, and a coat whilst holding your dress so tightly round you as to be practically mummified from waist to knees?

Well neither had I, and I honestly don't recommend it, but I eventually arrived home with my modesty (what there is of it) preserved.

On a positive note, I have a further date with HNM, despite him seeing me in the the panda eyes/quilt get up. Or, remebering the tennis racquet and hoover attachment, maybe BECAUSE of it???

perils of online chat

You would think that if you chat to a group of female friends who you made online through a common interest, that you would avoid any embarrassing experiences? (well, depending on what the common interest is of course).

Wrong! A few weeks ago I unwittingly confessed to giving birth to six children whilst on a trampoline.

It all began after I lost my furbaby Sam last year, and decided I would like to make a memorial book or something like that. I am from an artistic family on both sides (my mum and aunt on one side, my grandmother on the other), however I have about as much artistic talent as a meerkat on acid (everyone knows they are pants at art). There is a valid reason for this, which I'll go into later but at the moment I feel like Ronnie Corbett going off on a tangent.

I trawled the internet for inspiration and got sidetracked into the world of scrapbooking/art journals. I got hooked. Suddenly I discovered a way even I could create art, although my efforts so far haven't exactly been impressive. I joined an online site (UK Scrappers) and a 'team', luckily for me you get points just for doing a layout, however bad it is. The other week it was our 'team's first anniversary so we decided to have an online chat. There were quite a few of us talking, and amongst the topics of conversation were how glad we were that we weren't cats as multiple births can't be much fun, and injuring ourselves on the trampoline whilst showing off to our kids/friends kids. I posted a reply to the trampoline thread, but Sarah had posted a comment a second earlier, so this is how the coversation appeared.

SARAH: Ive had 6 children but luckily not all at once

ME: I did the same thing when my godson got a trampoline.

ugh I hate thinking of titles

I thought it would be so simple. Then I saw this blank space telling me I should name my blog. Just as well I decided never to have kids, as about 3 days later I was still staring into space. (strangely, it was easy to name my cats, the only worry was other people's reactions as they have more exotic names than Fluffykins and Stripes.)

I looked round my chaotic room for inspiration. A hoover (reminding me the rug needs hoovering AGAIN....whatever possessed me to buy a black rug when I had 6 cats at the time), a radiator (oh no, who's been sick on it?) a pile of ironing that has been waiting so long it is probably dusty and needs washing again....naaah

Then I hear the dreaded SCRAPE....SCRAPE...SCRAPE from under the stairs, alerting me to the fact that either Lianna or Cera has just left me a nice little present. If it's Cera I need a gas mask. Oh well, at least it inspired my title.