Tag Archives: 2017

A True-ish Story

20 Mar

A Cup of Flour

They say truth is stranger than fiction; sometimes, it’s on par.

I laughed when I saw this cartoon, for something similar once happened to my mother.

Forty years ago, we had just moved to Runcorn and Mum had met our new next door neighbours but no one else.  She answered the door one morning and there stood a strange woman, holding a plate containing an egg and two bacon rashers.

Stranger: Can you please help me?  I’m a bit short for my breakfast; have you got a sausage to lend me?

[Bemused] Mum: Um, erm, sure, yes, hold on a sec.

Later that day, Mum saw our next door neighbour and told her all about the strange Image result for full english breakfastbreakfast-begging woman.

[Laughing] Neighbour: Oh, that was Irene*.  Don’t worry about it: she came to me for the beans!

Irene and her family eventually moved to a better part of town, into a large, posh house.  I wonder how many neighbours’ sausages helped to pay for it?Overnight Blueberry French Toast Recipe : so easy to make the night before and pop in the oven the next morning. A delicious breakfast casserole recipe with the surprise of blueberries and cream cheese and a lovely blueberry sauce topping. Perfect brunch recipe for a special occasion.

*Names changed to preserve privacy: ‘Irene’ is still alive; no doubt living on the neighbours’ Overnight Blueberry French Toast (breakfast has changed a lot in forty years).

SElf-Explanatory

13 Mar

Here are some videos of Alex performing.  The first is from The Boy Next Door, a concert of the music of Hugh Martin.  There are more videos if you let it play out; and The Mamas & The Papas fans might enjoy a new girl group’s rendition of one song in particular:

The second is a compilation of snippets from a show he did last year, The Colla Voce Theatre Cabaret, made up of songs from modern musicals:

This weekend Alex was involved in several events at Sheffield University’s Platform festival, in aid of Cavendish Cancer Care.   On Friday he sang in the SUPAS Showcase, playing George III in Hamilton, singing You’ll Be Back:

 

Thursday to Saturday he’s performing in Miscast, again with Colla Voce Theatre:  

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Hit the link to buy tickets if you happen to be in the Sheffield area.

If you haven’t heard of Miscast, it’s ‘an annual benefit in which Broadway stars perform songs from musical roles which they would be very unlikely to land in…’ [Playbill].

And finally, I have a belated Christmas gift for you: I don’t think I’ve mentioned that he had his first paid acting gig at Christmas…playing one of Santa’s Experience Elves at the Trafford Centre.  I love that he did that as it gives me another opportunity to poke fun at him; I don’t even need to say anything – just put the pic out there:

 

 

 

March Repeats

6 Mar

Here are some bits ‘n’ pieces from March 2010, because nothing says ‘tired blogger’ like recycled writing.

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On a Broken PS3

Sony, intimidated by my threat to mobilise the world, have fixed the problem. Or, to be strictly accurate, the PS3 has fixed the problem itself. Just what we need: intelligent computers. A few tiny steps from sentience and then we’ll have Arnold Schwarzenneggers all over the place.

Let me terminate this topic by telling you that Spud is at this very moment catching up on last night’s playing; I can hear him muttering parent-approved swear words under his breath (blast/fart/crap).

He reminds me of his father, who would come home from work in the early days of our marriage and play games on his monochrome screened, 20 megabyte hard driven computer, and scream the foulest language at it. When I asked him why he played them when they had such a deleterious effect on his mood, he replied, ‘Because it relaxes me.’

Proving that even back in the Eighties computers were already smarter than some people.

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On a Horse

I read this years ago and I have always wanted to share it.  It is supposed to be a true story;  you’ll have to decide for yourself.  I soooo hope it is.

The Queen was entertaining a visiting head of state; they were parading down the Mall in a horse-drawn carriage, chatting nicely, when one of the horses made what can only be described as a rude noise.

QEII: I’m so sorry about that.

HoS: Please don’t apologise; if you hadn’t said anything, I’d have assumed it was the horse.

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On Exercise

I was cheered by a report in the Telegraph* that says dog owners get more exercise than non-dog-owning, gym-going folk. 

*Yes, I know the report appeared months ago but give me a break; I’m exhausted from all the walking.

This is true (it says so in the papers so it must be).  My dog has short legs – shorter even than mine – and it was recommended that he get half-an-hour’s walking a day, which means that I get half-an-hour’s walking a day.  He often gets more, of course, but only if it’s not cold, not wet, not dark, not boring and I’m annoyed with the Hub.  If I’m being honest, if it was just the last qualification we would have daily three-hour walks.  

Toby also runs around a lot in the house – she’s standing up: there must be food!  He sneezed; I wonder if there’s any food?  The big one’s home; I bet she makes food.  He likes to play tug with his gezillion toys, which means that we play tug with his gezillion toys as well.   He’s very demanding; maybe we should have had another kid instead; at least they grow up and leave you: we’re stuck with this fella until he departs for that great park in the sky.  Hope there’s less poo up there.

I was also chuffed to notice a related article which claims that playing Sudoku burns off more calories than is contained in a Hobnob.  Me, I am liking this newspaper.  When I spotted that ‘Comfort eating does work’ and that superdiets are ‘based on myths’, I had to roll around in a box of Maltesers to celebrate.
*

I am a little surprised, given this rigorous exercise & diet regime, that I don’t look like Posh Spice**.  Next time I am exercising the dog  I will put away my Sudoku puzzle as I sit virtuously on my park bench, and exercise the little grey cells instead: I’m sure M. Poirot will be able to help me.

After all, we look so alike.

**I first typed, ’I am a little surprised that I don’t like Posh Spice’.***  Think it was a Freudian slip?  I don’t; I rather like her, but why does she never smile with all that she’s got to be happy about?  I bet she’s hungry.  She should follow my diet then she could look terrific and be cheerful.

***Then I corrected it and accidentally wrote, ‘I am a little surprised that I don’t loo like Posh Spice’.  Don’t think we’ll go there.

February Repeats

13 Feb

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I’ve been wanting to tell you about my kitchen cupboards since before Christmas (yes, my life really is that dull) but I haven’t had time to write the post (dull but busy), so here’s a random selection of bits of old posts from February 2010.

Enjoy!

***

I always bin chain letters but this one really scared me; I don’t know where it came from:

This letter was started by a woman like yourself in the hope of bringing relief to tired and discontented women.  Just send a copy of this letter to five of your friends who are equally tired and discontented.  Then bundle up your husband or boyfriend and send him to the woman whose name appears at the top of the list.  When your name comes to the top of the list you will receive 16,337 men and one of them is bound to be better than the one you already have.

DO NOT BREAK THE CHAIN.  ONE WOMAN WHO DID THAT GOT HER OWN MAN BACK.

***

H.L. Mencken:

Journalism is to politician as dog is to lamp-post.

***

The Hub:

The bloke in the car behind me had his finger so far up his nose he scraped the dandruff off his scalp.

***

Jason Manford in The Sun:

Dear Cat,

If your idea of a gift is a dead mouse at the foot of my stairs then please leave me off your gift list or get me some HMV vouchers.

Your Human

Dear Human,

It’s not a gift, it’s a warning.

Regards,

Your cat

***

On Siblings

Tilly Bud: I asked you to buy the toilet rolls; now please let me pay for them.

Little Brother: Get lost, knobhead.

TB: Oh, come on; please.

LB: Just think of me every time you wipe your bum.

TB: I already do.

TB&LB: Raucous laughter

 

Nicola Hulme Author

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