I’m So000oo Unstressed

I had a great week!

*

Monday

A stressbuster workshop.  Ommmmmmmm…

We were given a lesson in basic meditation.  Not sure it’s for me because the only people I know with third eyes appeared in Total Recall, but the deep breathing tip really helped:

Nasty bus driver?  Breathe in…breathe out…

Unexpected bill?    Breathe in…breathe out…

Hub wants his dinner?  Breathe in…hit out…

*

Tuesday

A.M.  Seven poetry books arrived from Amazon, thanks to my lovely friend Early Bird, who sent me a gift voucher.  I was able to buy collections from poets I love but can’t usually afford.  Thank you, EB!

Seven books for one reader!

P.M.  The dentist.  Ummmm…not what I’d usually consider a pleasant experience, especially when x-rayed teeth are involved, but I was so relieved to learn there is no infection in my mouth that I count the visit as the highlight of my day.

Every student bar needs the perfect setting.

Wednesday

A trip to Sheffield.  Ecky thump!  No one told me how pretty a city it is:

Such a pretty view…

A third of it is under the Peak District National Park and there are four trees to every person.  Spud loved it.

We toured the campus… i.e. the city centre.  Also one of the two student villages – there was a sports bar with a huge TV, which Spud took as a good omen.  We had our picnic lunch in the Students’ Union (voted No. 1 in the UK).  Everyone was lovely, friendly, helpful.  I loved it.

We had time to kill between events so we visited the museum:

The highlight of Spud’s day was the visit to the Psychology lecture theatre.   There were about fifty people in the room, half of them prospective students; Spud was one of just three males.  Apparently, it’s more popular with girls than boys; though all of the top Psychology people cited by the (female) lecturer were men.   The professor gave a fascinating talk, which left me half-inclined to enrol myself.

Spud came out of the room with a huge grin on his face.

Mum: Did you enjoy that?  I think you’re really going to love it here.  The course sounds so good.

Spud: Did you see the ratio of girls to boys??

*

Thursday

A.M. To the doctor, to discuss test results and why I’m chronically knackered this year.

Doctor: menopause menopause menopause

P.M.

Earl Grey Tea in a fancy place in Manchester, with the stickiest, ickiest table I’ve ever been adhered to.

 

Click photos to see original links

That was followed by Seven Brides For Seven Brothers and a funny, rip-roarin’ romp of an afternoon.  Sam Attwater, former soap star, a winner of Dancing On Ice, can act, sing, dance and ice skate.  I’d never have married the Hub if I’d known the perfect man was out there.  I just needed to wait fifteen years.

Dinner at Café Rouge.  Yum, yum and triple-yum is all I can say.  Oh, and hic.

Who’d believe that between us we’re a hundred years old?

French Onion Soup, not made in Belgium

Champagne toast! (There was toast? Darn, I missed it)

A steak dinner, a bit of bubbly and the best company

Pudding. Why I’ll never be truly slim again

Thanks go to my lovely friend Louise, whose birthday treat for me it was; and who was also fifty this year, so it was a double celebration.

Thank you, Louise, for the wonderful, wonderful day.

*

Friday

Ender’s Game experience (Photo credit: Todd Awbrey)

Ender’s Game opened.  At last at last at last!  How have I managed to go twenty years without a movie of my favourite book?

Contrary to expectations, I didn’t hate it.  I enjoyed it.  I’d have liked a lot more Battle Room scenes but there wasn’t the time.  The Battle Room itself was fabulous.  Asa Butterfield was good.  Harrison Ford almost made me believe he can act.  Great stuff all round.

There were some changes, naturally, but they worked, for the most part, so I won’t complain; but I did agree with this critic that the

overly dry script feels like it’s trying too hard to cram everything in, yet still feels insubstantial. The key character beats are all there, but because you move from one to the next in the blink of an eye, there’s no sense of character evolution – one minute Ender’s a raw rookie, the next he’s an accomplished leader and saviour-of-humanity elect.

Richard Edwards, SFX

By the way, if you think you’re going to see Harry Potter meets Star Wars, you’re not.  Read the book.

*

After the cinema, I shared my final birthday gift with Spud and Hub: a £20 Nando’s voucher from my good friend Alison (who also bought me flowers on the day; as well as a meal and a trip to see Ghost the Musical).

*

In conclusion:

A great week; a great summer; a great way to turn fifty.  Thank you to everyone who made it happen.  Old people don’t come more blessed than me 🙂

Happy Birthday, Hub!

The Hub is 49 today.  As he is no longer two years younger than me (which he is for ten days every year, and you can bet he makes the most of it…), he is no longer my Toy Boy (you can’t have it both ways, Hub).

As it’s his birthday, I intend to spoil him: I will refrain from snarky comments; and give him the biggest portion of dinner.  

Happy birthday, my darling.

Here’s what you have to look forward to:

Don’t be afraid, my dear…

 

Sit There For The Presents

In all the excitement of Monday’s Big Birthday, I forgot to nag the Hub into taking photos.  He did take one of me at the end of the day, exhausted, on the couch; but that’s still in his camera and I’m not allowed to touch his camera because pictures have a habit of disappearing forever (and not just the fat ones).

As I don’t have photos of the Great Present Opening Ceremony (Subtitle: Gimme Gimme Gimme), I took a collective photo of all the gifts I had to hand.  I don’t know how to do that clever thing with lines and numbers and writing to show who bought what, so you’ll have to do without, I’m afraid.

The Birthday Morning Bundle

In case you were thinking, ‘At last!  The birthday madness is over!’ I’d better explain that at the bottom of the picture is a laminated note from my friend, Louise, which promises me an afternoon at the theatre, watching Seven Brides For Seven Brothers; followed by food. She also supplied that rather large box of Maltesers.  Have I mentioned I have the best friends?

Here’s a list of the pressies, in the order in which they appear:

• Flowers
• Almost all of the Dr Who series
• Notebook & Pen
• One of those Halogen Oven thingies
• Silver Celtic Cross
• Hot Chocolate Maltesers, thoughtfully provided by Spud; who knows how much I miss the real thing and who thought they might be a good substitute
• Fart Machine Mug, thoughtfully provided by Tory Boy, my ex-son
• Large Box of Maltesers
• Spare Ring
• Empty Box, home of my new Eternity Ring, which was at the jewellers, being re-sized
• £30 Amazon Gift Voucher
• Theatre Details
• £20 Nando’s Gift Card

Didn’t I do well?  This lot was on top of all the other generous gifts I’ve enjoyed in the run up to my birthday.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE
who so generously donated to the cause, making fifty a big deal in the best possible way.

So, to recap: my birthday celebrations began in July and will cease at the end of October.  So much for all those celebrities with their week-long trips to exotic isles!  Four trips to the theatre and corresponding meals out over a period of four months is waaaaaaaay better.  I LOVE turning fifty!

Viv’s gift. I was wearing it when I took the photo and I forgot to include it.

Good news!  Looking for the photos of my gifts, I came across the pic the Hub took; he loaded it onto the computer in a pre-emptive strike against the nagging he knew was coming his way.  Good ol’ Hub.  Though not as ol’ as me.

I cain’t party hearty no more; I’m OLD.

In case you were wondering: This post’s title is a slight re-write of the only thing I remember from reading Laurie Lee’s Cider With Rosie when I was at school.  Laurie starts school aged five and the teacher tells him to ‘Sit there for the present.’  Laurie waited all day but no present ever came; he was gutted; I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever read (Twilight hadn’t been written yet).

 

Diary Of A Fifty-Year Old (3)

12:30

Lunch.  A girl may be old, but she’s gotta eat.

14:00

Into Stockport.  The Hub wanted me to have something to open on my birthday because I couldn’t open London, so he bought me a beautiful eternity ring. Because of my weight loss, however, it was too large for my finger and needs to be re-sized.  While I was chatting to the jeweller the Hub spotted a pretty little ring, gold with pink sapphires…and now I have two new rings!

But I only got one writing magazine.  He’s so mean.

15:30

Collected Tory Boy from the station and cooed and fussed enough to make him want to get straight back on the train to Peterborough.

Highlights coming up: 

• Chinese for dinner
• Creative Writing class
• Take out my contact lenses

 

Diary Of A Fifty-Year Old (2)

11:03

wobble jelly wobble (Photo credit: bluebakeblog)

Weighed myself.

Jumped out in front of the Hub in my birthday suit, giving him the fright of his life.

Correction: Jumped out in front of the Hub in my birthday suit with no jellywobbles, giving him the fright of his life.

Shouted, Tah-dah!  64kilos!  I’ve lost ten kilos! You have to buy me two writing magazines!

Took a shower.

Hub took a cold shower (it’s my birthday; not his).

 

Diary Of A Fifty-Year Old (1)

50–50 (game show) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In case I haven’t mentioned it, today is my birthday.  Yes, fifty years ago today, my Mother stood up and said to my Dad, ‘I don’t remember coughing,’ and three hours later I was born.

The celebrations started last night (if we don’t count the last three months), when Spud came into my room just after midnight to wish me a happy birthday. He’s so sweet.  But really…awake so late on a school night?  I’ll have to have words with that boy.

06:30

Spud insisted I have a lie-in today (I deserve one every fifty years) but old habits die hard and I was awake before him.  I crossed my legs as long as I could (not long at all, as it happened; this old bladder is just like my mother’s in pregnancy) and then sneaked to the bathroom before he awoke.

I had to lie there for thirty minutes while he got up, showered, dressed, blah-blah-blah…I think he forgot it was my birthday because he just left me there, sleeping (he thought).

When I heard him coming with my tea, I hid under the covers:

Spud [stage whisper]: Wake up, Mum.

Me: [stage yell, muffled]: Go away!

[Puzzled pause]

Spud [indoor voice]: Wake up, Mum, it’s your birthday.  Happy birthday!

Me: [under the quilt voice]: Go away!  I don’t want to be fifty!  I’m not fifty until I get up.  I’m not getting up.

Spud [Panicked – Mum’s having a mid-life crisis]: Umm..

Me [Gleeful]: Heeheeheeheeheehee…

I had first considered moving round so he found my feet on the pillow but then I thought, Nah, I’m fifty now; time to grow up.  Besides, these old bones would have taken too long to make the move.

07:20

Opened my cards.  I decided yesterday to save the presents until this afternoon, when Tory Boy arrives.

07:30

The Hub suggested I open just one present, because everyone should open a present on their birthday morning; I chose Viv’s, whose interesting M&S parcel has been sitting there, tormenting me for the past two weeks.

07:31

Opened the rest of my presents.

If Tory Boy wants to be part of this family, he’d better move back to Stockport.

08:00

Saw Spud off to school (late).

Fed the dogs: Toby’s breakfast waits for no fifty-year old.

Read all of my birthday messages via email, Facebook, text, etc.  Thank you, all!

08:25

Got my breakfast.  Had a packet of crisps for pudding, to celebrate (diets are forbidden on birthdays).

08: 50

Stopped eating long enough to answer a couple of calls, wishing me a happy birthday.

09:10

Played Spider Solitaire on my computer.  Just because it’s my birthday.

And because it’s my birthday, I opted not to feel guilty about wasting time.

Happy birthday, me!

*

Expect a lot of posts today; or, as the media puts it when there are important events taking place, Look out for live updates throughout the day.

 

Joke 921

Guess what day it is…finally?

• Fifty is a powerful age for women. You can set off sprinkler systems with your hot flushes.
• By fifty, you’ve figured out that time is a great healer and a not-so-hot beautician.
• At 50 years old, life seems shorter. No point in spending it trying to make yourself disappear by dieting.
• 50 years old: you finally get your head together, but your body has other ideas.
• 50 years old. In Led Zeppelin terms, that’s halfway up the stairway to heaven.
• You’ve got four sizes of clothes in your closet, three of which you’ll never wear again.
• You spend more time trimming your nose hair than head hair.
• You realize with some irritation that your parents were right about nearly everything.
• The street vendor says “Yes, Ma’am” instead of “You got it, Darlin’.”
• Your high school yearbook is mouldy enough to support a thriving colony of algae.
• When you look in a full-length mirror, you can see your butt from the front.
• You’re still hot, but only in flashes.
• 50 years old means no more wearing speedos on the beach. This is a rule.   Greg Tamblyn
• At 50, you’ve entered the stone age: gall, kidney, and bladder.
• 50 years old? Look on the bright side. The older you get, the more likely you are to outlive your child support payments.   Melanie White
• The years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. You are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.   T. S. Eliot
• Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself.     Tom Wilson
• The cardiologist’s diet: if it tastes good, spit it out.    Paulina Borsook
• A man has reached middle age when he is warned to slow down by his doctor instead of the police.   Henny Youngman
• Happy 20th anniversary of your 30th Birthday.
• Happy 50th Birthday!!! Let’s crack open a bottle of prune juice.
• At age 50, everyone has the face he deserves.   George Orwell

• At fifty you’ve accumulated the knowledge and wisdom of half a century. This would be a tremendous asset if only darned senility hadn’t wiped your memory bank.
• You can finally sell those dreadful diet and exercise books that have sat unopened on the bookshelf for years.
• The best form of birth control for people over 50: nudity.
• I’m getting to an age when I can only enjoy the last sport left. It is called hunting for my spectacles.
• I’ve got everything I always had. Only it’s six inches lower.
• Now I’m over 50 my doctor says I should go out and get more fresh air and exercise. I said, ‘All right, I’ll drive with the car window open.’
• You’re getting past it when you invite women to spend a moderately grubby weekend with you.
• You know you’re getting older when a fortune teller offers to read your face.

• When you’re over 50 you can still do all the things you did when you were 17, that’s if you don’t mind making a complete prat of yourself.

• You can only hold your stomach in for so many years.

• You’re getting past it when you look forward to a dull evening in.

• Are you going to have candles on your birthday cake? “No, it’s a birthday party, not a torchlight procession.”

For Women

You know you’re 50 when…

• Your face has more wrinkles than an elephant’s backside.
• You can look back on your 40th birthday and wonder what all the drama was about.
• You’re thankful when someone tells you that you have lipstick on your teeth because it means you still have teeth.
• You purchase your moisturizer by the case instead of by the jar.
• Hair dye goes on your shopping list under “essentials” instead of “luxuries.”
• That come hither look you used to have in your eyes just doesn’t look as enticing through your bifocals.
• Your once fabulous behind now looks more like a set of mud flaps.
• Your hot flashes result in savings on your heating bill.
• You finally understand that being over the hill beats being planted under it.

For Men

You know you’re 50 when…

• You now have more hair on your knuckles than you do on your head.
• Your idea of getting lucky is being able to find your car in Walmart’s parking lot on the first try.
• You have to use your GPS to locate your feet because you can’t see over your belly.
• Your trick knee goes out more than you do.
• Your idea of a hot time is putting a heating pad on your bad back.
• You want your kids to think you’re cool, so you ask them to help set up your own page on MyFace and you can’t understand what they’re giggling about.
• Getting some action means all those prunes your doctor is making you eat are doing their job.
• You and your teeth have decided that a separation is the best thing for your relationship.
• Getting high means it’s time to take your blood pressure medication.

Happy birthday to someone else who’s turning fifty this year…

Jokes from:

http://www.funny-jokes-quotes-sayings.com/funny-50th-birthday-sayings.html

http://seniors.lovetoknow.com/Turning_50_Jokes

http://www.buzzle.com/articles/50th-birthday-jokes.html

http://www.wherewhywhen.com/turning-50-jokes-over-50-jokes/

Click on the images to see where they come from.

 

The Seven Stages Of Hair

I have to say, I love turning fifty!  I’ve been celebrating since July and it’s not over yet – it’s the birthday that keeps on giving.

My lovely friend Christine told me to keep last Saturday morning free.  She collected me at 8:30 and walked me up to her hairdresser’s, Hair @ 42 on Bloom Street in Edgeley, where I had a cut and blow and a manicure!  How annoying that I had showered in honour of our date.

Right now, Christine is on a cruise, celebrating her own birthday.  As she won’t be here for my birthday, spoiling me was the least she could do, I’m sure you’ll agree.  Christine knows I haven’t been to a hairdresser for about six years; and I’ve never had a manicure.  I have the best friends!

The idea was that we do the whole thing together – me for my birthday; Christine for her cruise – but she couldn’t get matching appointments.  She waited in the salon, however, denying boredom and taking barked-out camera direction from me, for your delectation.

Janet the Hairdresser was lovely but I’m not sure she was a real hairdresser because she wasn’t at all intimidating and she seemed genuinely interested in what I wanted done to my hair.  She was most obliging, as well, stopping to allow Christine to take a picture whenever I gave the word.  When it’s time for my next hair cut in six years’ time, that’s where I’ll be going.

The hair part was fun but the manicure was funner.  Christine knows Alison the manicurist well and we had a girly, giggly session, the likes of which I haven’t had since my teens.  I can’t tell you what was said because what happens in the nail room stays in the nail room; but I can tell you that I went to the toilet before we started (just as well, with all the giggling that followed) and I was so enthralled with my hair, admiring it in the mirror, wondering if I could ever reproduce the style, that I forgot to wash my hands.  Fortunately, I realised before I touched anything, and went back to do it.  I don’t think that has happened since I was a toddler.

Bet you wish that information had stayed in the nail room, don’t you?

*

Disgust

(On my part, when I worked it out and then had to say it out loud)

You’ll have to lose 2 1/2 inches if you want it in good condition.
Six years! Tch!

Resolution

Just do it!

Anxiety

Will the Hub ever speak to me again?

Acceptance

Take the picture, Christine: I don’t mind looking stupid.

Delight

I’m being pampered! I LOVE going to the hairdresser’s!

Vanity

Get me, all posh!

Gratitude

Christine&Tilly
Friends 4EVR

 

Surprise, Surprise!

A parcel arrived in the post from Australia:

The parcel was expected; the contents were not.  

That’s not as daft as it sounds – the lovely Blubee read my South African poetry collection via email; and was kind enough to print it out and send it back to me in the UK, with her annotations.  She also sent Maltesers, poetry, dogs, pens, napkins, Earl Grey, notebooks…she is clearly an avid reader/stalker.  She knows me well.  

I confess, I wouldn’t have opened the parcel until next week if I had known it was for my birthday; but I’m not sorry.

If you would like to learn more about Blubee, you can find her here.

As delighted as I was with everything, however (especially the book of poems written by dogs; so close to the truth, I suspect my own dogs may have submitted to publishers and not told me because they have greater success than I do), as lovely as it all was, what really touched me was the beautiful note Blubee wrote about my poetry and how it affected her.

Thank you so much, Blubee; you made my year.

London Day 1: Afternoon Delight

Spud getting our bearings in the map.

11:43 Board train to London.

11:45 Bored on train to London.

13:55 Train arrives in London.  Tilly and Spud hit the ground running.  Ow.

14:00 First things first – decide where we’re going to go.  The Tower of London it is!  Hub has pre-paid the Tube tickets so we just have to ask for directions.   Begin serious hammering of the Hub’s credit card by buying entrance tickets to Tower of London at Euston railway station.  What a strange world this is.

Some time after 14:00 (Tilly giddy with excitement; doesn’t look at her watch or remember to phone the Hub to tell him ‘Arrived safely’: Take Yellow Line* to Tower Hill from Euston Square Tube station, carefully holding tight to belongings as per Hub’s instruction not to get mugged.  Stand facing each other as directed so that we can see each other’s backpacks; realise we will have to walk like inverted pushmi-pullyu and decide to risk attack from larcenous Londoners in order to perambulate like sensible human beings.

*Not the official name; just the colour on the Tube map.

Slight moment of panic: Tube crowded – people piling off and on in free-for-all – Spud climbs on – doors begin to close while Tilly still on platform – Tube virgin mother (me) acts on instinct – reaches in to closing Tube and yanks son out with supermother strength – exasperated Spud scolds unrepentant mother – laughs – notice a notice on boarding next Tube that doors will not close if teenager trapped in them.

Q: Where did Beefeaters get their name?
A: Nobody knows (straight from the horse’s mouth)

Later: Dismount at Tower Hill; make way to Tower.  Just in time for Beefeater* guided tour.  Laugh at all his jokes because he is a retired soldier with lots of ribbons and missed his calling as an actor.  Funny, too.  I checked his name tag: Simon Dodd.

*Officially known as Yo! Man of the Guard.

Later still: Marvel at standing on the very spot where a young Princess Elizabeth (the I) entered the Tower at Traitor’s Gate.

‘Much suspected of me. Nothing proved can be. Quoth Elizabeth, prisoner.’
Etched into a window in the Tower by QEI

Marvel at viewing the very window where the young Princes are said to have last been sighted before their murder.

Marvel at Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn and Jane Grey and a couple of others were beheaded.

Marvel at the houses they stayed in; and where our present Queen occasionally stays*, the Tower being the Crown’s oldest residence.

*Accidentally typed ‘strays’.  I’m sure there’s never been any of that sort of business by our very moral monarch. 

Marvel to be in the very chapel where Katherine of Aragon and many another prayed; and where six people are interred, including Sir (now St) Thomas More.

Marvel at…well, you get the idea.  The whole visit was marvellous.

Later than that: The one thing I have ALWAYS wanted to do is see the Crown Jewels.  The queue was roughly twenty minutes’ long.  I’d have waited all afternoon.  The jewels were fabulous, of course; but what took my breath away were the swords: jewel-encrusted and simply beautiful.  The crowns were amazing.  Charles II’s maces were amacing (give me a break – I’m exhausted; you’ve seen my schedule).

Even later than that: Return to the use of present tense.  Visit the Line of Kings which is the oldest organised visitor attraction in the world and comprised of a bunch of old armour on wooden horses, representing the armour worn by kings; but not the actual armour worn by kings; but historical because old in its own right.  Only in Britain….

Take call from frantic Hub, wondering if we’re still alive.  See off his outrage by whining, ‘Don’t be angry – it’s my birthday.’  Birthday not for another seven weeks.  Can’t believe it works.

Finally: Get chucked out of Tower (how ironic) and regret not arriving in London at the crack of dawn and spending all day there.

Last finally: Visit gift shop.  Buy tacky souvenirs for Hub.  That’s how much I love him for sending me on this birthday trip.

Happy Birthday, Aquatom

The Laughing Housewife Goes To Tellyland is taking a short season break and will be back tomorrow.

In the meantime, it’s somebody’s birthday…you may remember this banner:

Aquatom created it for me; now it’s my turn to create something for him.

His birthday poem has chops and changes in the rhythm: that’s my homage to his ever-changing blog look and not an indication that I might have struggled writing this one.  

• Read it out loud to a rapping rhythm
• Take a breath after the first stanza, to allow for the change in rhythm
• Rush through ‘dotwordpress’ on the last line, or it won’t sound right.

Well, here goes:

For You!You!You! youyou!

His name is Tom with the prefix ‘Aqua’
Read his blog; you’ll enjoy some laughter
You won’t need gin or wine or vodka

He’s a really nice bloke
And he likes to make a joke
But he also does bespoke

Christmas headers for this Tilly
In return I give this silly
Rhyme from a grateful filly

His name is Aqua with the suffix ‘Tom’
If you’d like to give him a birthday balm
See wellheregoesdotwordpressdotcom

Happy Birthday, Tom!

*

If you would like a nonsense birthday poem, leave your details in the comments section or email me at thelaughinghousewife@gmail.com

Spud Is Miffed

I am a bad mother.  I know this because my youngest son told me so.  He told me while avoiding eye contact because he can’t bear to look at me at the moment.

My heinous crime?  I didn’t write a birthday post for him.

Whoops.

*

Spud turned seventeen twelve days ago.  He loved his Vivquilt (it went straight on the bed, as you can see).  He liked his other presents (especially the money). He enjoyed his brother’s homemade birthday cake (coming in another post).  He snaffled the bulk of the cakes he took into school to celebrate.  He had a great day.

Great.  That’s what I want for him.  

Moving on…

Five days later:

Spud:  Hey, Mum…where’s my birthday post?

Mum:  I didn’t do one this year; you don’t read my blog any more.

Spud [indignant]: Yes I do!

Mum:  No you don’t.  Whenever I ask you, you say you haven’t read it.

Spud [patient]:  I’ve told you – I read it in clumps.  I expected a birthday post.

Mum:  Sorry, sweetie.

Six days after that:

Spud [indignant]:  Hey, Mum…where’s my birthday post?

Mum:  I didn’t do one this year; you don’t read my blog any more.

Spud [irritated]: Yes I do!

Mum:  No you don’t.  Whenever I ask you, you say you haven’t read it.

Spud [impatient]:  I’ve told you – I read it in clumps.  I expected a birthday post.

Mum:  Sorry, sweetie.

Spud: [hurt]:  Call yourself a mother!  I want a birthday post.

Mum [scrambling]:  I’ve got one planned – the Weekly Photo Challenge is ‘Love’ and I’m going to feature the cake your brother made for you.

Spud [outraged]:  That’s about Tory Boy!  I want my own post!

Mum:  But you never read my… [a scuffle breaks out]

Consider me chastened.

Happy Birthday, Spud.  I may be a neglectful mother but I do love you.

*~

 

 

A Belated Happy Birthday, Janet!

I feel terrible.*  Janet’s birthday was on 12/12/12.  She mentioned it on her blog and in my comments but I didn’t read either in time to respond.

I am quite literal: because Janet is too polite to say, Oi!  I want a poem! I didn’t write a poem for her birthday.  Remember, if you want a nonsense birthday poem, you must tell me in the comments or via email.  Maybe I need to set up a separate page.

Fortunately, Janet got over her politeness to demand, Oi!  Where’s my poem?

I first met Janet when she emailed me out of the blue to tell me that my gravatar was not linked to my blog.  We’ve been firm friends ever since.

Janet’s first language is Chinese but you’d think it was English.  She has a lovely, clever son of twelve, called Ben, who has his own rather impressive blog.  He could teach us all a thing or two about history.  Janet is sweet and kind and well worth a visit.

Happy Birthday JANET (Photo credit: ali eminov) You can find anything on the internet – even virtual cakes for friends!

A Birthday Apology To Janet Williams

Not elated
I’m belated
She’s deflated

On her birthday that’s not good
I’d time travel if I could
I know she’d understood

Battling with my tenses
This poem is nonsens-
ical’s my consensus

The kindest girl on the planet
is my dear, sweet Janet
whose name rhymes with ‘pomegranate’  

Umm, one more thing, chum:
you are a great mum
I mean it, by gum!

Happy birthday, Janet.  You have the honour of receiving my most nonsensical poem yet. 😀

*Don’t worry: I can assure you that Janet will assure me that I have nothing to feel terrible about.  She’s that kind of person: kind.

Happy Birthday, Janie Jones!

There sure are a lot of birthdays in December.   I guess we know what bloggers’ parents like to do in March.

 

 

This is Rosie the Riveter.  In America, she’s a famous World War II icon.

 

My friend Janie Jones, who has a birthday today, is not really called Janie Jones; it’s a pseudonym.  She uses Rosie the Riveter’s picture, sort of: it’s a facsimile she drew to make sure the nasty SOPA people (remember them?) can’t lock her up:

 

 

I can see her building planes and munitions because she’s tough, after the things life has thrown at her; though she’d rather tell a joke – usually dreadful, and therefore hilarious to me.

 

I have always liked her blog but I liked it even more way back when I was awarding Cowabungers (remember them?) for the blogger who left the best comment of the week in here.  To stay clear of the SOPA police (you must remember them), she didn’t use the image that was her award which I had stolen from elsewhere on the internet; instead, she drew another facsimile:

 

 

Janie put it in her sidebar and gave it the title:

 

Winner of the Coveted CoWAbunger Award, October 10, 2011

 

See that?  COVETED.

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.

 

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I Like Janie Jones A Lot: A Birthday Poem

 

I like Janie Jones a lot.
Of plenty she’s not got.
She works real hard
though it be ard
uous to raise alone a tot.
Dedicated parents are scarce
in this selfish universe,
but selfish she is not.

 

I like Janie Jones a bunch.
One day I’ll buy her lunch.
I might even tease her
with a single Malteser
she won’t be allowed to munch.
Dedicated poems can be ard
uous to write but not hard
this time.  This line is the punch.

 

Sorry for the weak ending, Janie.
I know it’s kind of lamey.

 

Happy birthday, Janie Jones.  I hope the future’s rosy.

 

Happy Birthday Single 7″ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

Happy Birthday, Viv!

Our lovely Viv is 75 today!

Happy Birthday! (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Viv is still in hospital but on the mend and desperate to access the internet.

To celebrate her birthday, I have written a simple senryu, to complement the one she wrote yesterday, in her hospital bed, on the spot and over the phone to her daughter, who posted it on Viv’s blog.

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Viv has been alive
for seventy-five years.  I
am glad she is here.

Visit her blog and
push her numbers up to
80k.  Make her day.

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Happy Birthday, Viv!  We miss you.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

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