Tag Archives: Six Word Saturday

It’s All Geek To Me

12 Jan

A message for my regular readers: Sorry to give you a new post when I promised you a week of old posts.  I wrote and scheduled this post last Saturday, before my back problem kicked in.

I’m a bit of a nerd.

I realised it last week, when I read your Six Word Saturdays.  I caught myself counting them, checking that everyone had used only six words.  

It occurred to me that I do it every time.

I’m not sure what would happen if somebody dared to use five or seven words instead of six.  

I’d probably have to expel them from the collective.


NERD. (Photo credit: lippert61)

For more Six Word Saturdays go here.

Six Word Saturday

5 Jan

I’m watching

The Big Bang Theory

The complete box set was my Christmas present from Tory Boy (excellent child!).

The show is about a socially inept group of nerds, some of whom live together.

They love Star Trek, Doctor Who, Harry Potter and gaming.  

They spend most of their time on computers and/or eating.

They are awkward and demanding know-it-alls.

They have peculiar rules and rituals which baffle outsiders.

I think it’s based on my family.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

Now That The Festive Season Is Over…

29 Dec

…I am enjoying the restive season

My middle-aged bones are not what they were.  I could once prepare for Christmas throughout the whole of December, look after a big house and a small family, host as many as twenty-two people for Christmas Dinner and four grandparents for a week, throw in a New Year’s Eve party with guests sleeping in the lounge, bakkie and their own tent in our large garden, manage the cooking, cleaning and washing, and still wear make up and a big smile at the end of it.

Now, five of us for Christmas Dinner and my legs ache, my back creaks, my tired body slept until nine this morning and make up?  Forget it.  The Hub knows what I look like with a naked face.  If he doesn’t like it, he can hobble through the door.

Roll on grandkids, when my sons can start hosting Christmas.

PS That NYE party when guests camped in our garden?  They woke on New Year’s Day to find their tent smothering them.  Our Doberman had chewed through the ropes in the night.

English: Christmas is over 2 It must have been...

English: Christmas is over 2 It must have been some kind of party in Gillingham around New Year’s Eve 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For more Six Word Saturdays go here.

Rain, Rain, Nothing But Rain

22 Dec

The dog is going stir crazy.


Just the one dog: Toby loves his walks but not in the rain.  He’s a Yorkshire Terrier and terriers believe in sniffing their way around a walk.  You can’t sniff anything in a puddle so what’s the point in going?  If it’s raining, he won’t go out and that’s that.

Unfortunately, it has done nothing but rain for a week.  There were at least two days when we didn’t get out, and on other days we managed ten-minute walks in the hiatus between one lot of clouds moving on and the next lot of clouds rolling in, but it’s not enough for a Squirrel Chaser (First Class) such as Toby.  

He’s driving me mad with his incessant nagging.  I have to open the front door every time he starts, letting the rain soak the carpet because the wind is always blowing in this direction.  

The problem is, dogs don’t think in the abstract; they live in the now as in:

I want a walk now, I want a walk now, I want a walk now!  Good, she’s putting on my coat, my harness, my lead, her coat, her scarf, her gloves, her shoes, what’s that big stick that opens up?  At last, I’m having my walk at last, at last – I’m not going out in that!  It’s filthy and I can’t smell anything.  Heels in; I like a good tug of war.  Let her get wet if she likes; I’m not that daft.

And then we have to take off the coat, the harness, the lead, the coat, the scarf, the gloves, the shoes.  I’m never sure which one of us is most disgruntled but I know who sulks the most.

Molly is a different kettle of dog:

It’s past September?  No thanks; I’ll walk in April.  



Go here to join in the Six Word Saturday fun.

My True Love Is An Idiot

8 Dec
Love ? I love love love you.

Love ? I love love love you. (Photo credit: @Doug88888)


Dear Judge,


I know I killed my True Love in a fit of rage but I think, once you hear my tale, you will have to acknowledge that I was provoked beyond what any reasonable person could stand.


Things started off well.  On the first day of Christmas, my True Love sent me a partridge in a pear tree.  A little weird, I thought, but I let that pass.  To be honest, as the first day of Christmas is Christmas Day, I’d have preferred a turkey.


On the second day he sent me two turtle doves.  Romantic, because I believe they mate for life, so I could see the symbolism.  But he also sent me another partridge in a pear tree.  Why?


Next day it was three French hens (or should I say, trois French hens?  My little joke, Judge.  I still had a sense of humour at that point) – plus two more doves and another partridge in a pear tree.


twelve days of christmas

twelve days of christmas (Photo credit: wiccked)


On the fourth day I was afraid to open the door to the postman.  I was right to be afraid: ten birds arrived that morning, four of which were colly birds.  Is there anyone on the planet who knows what a colly  bird is?  I think my True Love made that one up, or he meant calling birds and the shop saw a chance to finally offload the 36 colly birds they had lying around in the storeroom which they had ordered by accident.


Probably guessing from my enraged texts and emails that by now I was a little miffed, he had the good sense to send me five gold rings on day five of Christmasgate.  I was mollified enough to think it would be okay to accept day six’s gift.  Boy, was I ever wrong!  Six – count them: one-two-three-four-five-SIX – geese-a-laying.  The eggs would have been acceptable but I couldn’t get near them.  Do you know how protective geese are of their eggs?  I still have the bill marks on my legs.  And it’s not nice to be hissed at by 42 geese (yes, 42; because he sent me six more geese who wouldn’t share every day for the next six days); it’s like being in a really bad pantomime in the comfort of my own home, though there’s not much comfort with 184 birds running around, making a racket and pooping like there’s no tomorrow.  Which there wasn’t for those I managed to store in my freezer…  Not to mention the 42 goslings under my feet, imprinting on me.  It made shopping impossible.


You did read that right, Judge: 184 birds is what my True Love sent to me.  226, if you count the babies.


But he saved the best for last, which I’ll call Day Seven, because it was.  I may have been a little unhinged by this point.  I refused to open the door so the delivery truck left my idiot boyfriend’s ridiculous idea of a love token in my tiny back garden: seven swans-a-swimming.  Seven swans-a-swimming!  You know what that means, don’t you?  An inflatable pool!  In my pocket garden! And not just one inflatable pool, oh no!  SIX inflatable pools, because he sent me the same gift for the next five days, along with eight maids-a-milking, nine ladies dancing (I don’t even watch Strictly), ten lords-a-leaping (I’m interested in politics, yes, but not to the point of inviting the second chamber into my home – and the ornaments those old codgers broke…), eleven pipers piping and twelve drummers drumming, right through my skull.


1st Day of Christmas Partridge in A Pear Tree

1st Day of Christmas Partridge in A Pear Tree (Photo credit: Cindy97007)


By the time I got the injunction against my True Love, it was too late – the neighbours had complained about the smell, the music played at full volume at all hours of the day and night, and the illegal poultry farm I had set up, and I was evicted by the council through the Anti-Social Behavioural law.  I was homeless, penniless (I had spent all my money on bird seed and feeding my guests) and furious – mostly because all swans are owned by the Crown, so my True Love had scuppered the chance of me being on any future Honours List.


I admit to seeking out my True Love who, while big on romantic gestures, was a slacker when it came to paying for the upkeep of all those birds or feeding 140 people – though the poultry and the eighty buckets of milk did come in handy there, I’ll accept.


I also admit to pelting him with rock hard pears (they were out of season; what was the silly beggar thinking?) and, when that didn’t work, belting him with as many pipes, drums and drumsticks as I could lay my hands on.  But the death stroke was, I’m convinced, administered by the swans, who didn’t like it when, weighed down by 40 gold rings, I fell into one of their pools and almost drowned.


So, dear Judge, I think you can see that I acted under extreme provocation while the balance of my mind was disturbed and my feet were in three tons of guano.


If you let me off, I will be free to marry one of the drummers, Bill, who has promised to give me only chocolates, toiletries and DVDs as Christmas presents.


I throw myself on the mercy of the court.


Signed, The Moulting Housewife



I’m Making A List; I’m Re-blogging It Twice

1 Dec
Christmas in the post-War United States

Christmas in the post-War United States (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It’s the first of December so I thought I would start as I mean to go on: blogging about Christmas.  Or, to be accurate, re-blogging about Christmas.  This is the third time this post has been posted on December 1st.  I have to re-post it – it’s on the list.

Don’t judge me – I bet there isn’t one of you who hasn’t ‘re-gifted’ in your time. Besides, I’ve had lots of new readers this year who haven’t seen it before. You know I’m not one to waste a good post; or even a bad one.

Because we are big on tradition, our Christmases tend to be the same; only the presents change.

January 2

Take down the tatty remains of the Christmas decorations. Store in Christmas boxes, Christmas sacks, Christmas bags and Christmas suitcase for easy identification in the loft next December.

January 3

Hit the sales (only 356 shopping days left to Christmas). Queue for two hours to get into car park. Buy nothing except the one available unbroken half-price tree decoration.

February 3

Christmas credit card statement arrives.  Read it and weep.

March 13

Tilly Bud’s nagging finally coincides with the Hub’s first good day of the year and Christmas decorations are returned to the loft after standing in the upstairs hallway for two months.

NB Now that we have had loft ladders fitted, the nagging is reversed and the Hub insists I drag my lazy backside up there and put away the decorations that I wanted down in the first place.

September Onwards

Christmas adverts start on telly. Ignore them while applying sun block for Indian summer. Ignore the Hub growling, ‘I hate Christmas, I do.’ Complain to everyone we know about how Christmas comes earlier each year but don’t mention the suitcase full of presents we already have stashed away.  

At some point in November see Coca-Cola ad; immediately share on Facebook that Christmas is now officially coming.


Fourth Saturday Before Christmas

Begin watching Christmas movies on Saturday afternoons to get in the festive mood: It’s A Wonderful Life; While You Were Sleeping; Sleepless In Seattle; Terminator 2 (if you’ve been present at some of our Christmas Dinners you’ll get the connection); save the greatest Christmas movie ever made, A Muppet Christmas Carol, until beloved first fruit of my loins comes home for Christmas. Begin boasting to harassed friends about the suitcase full of presents we have stashed away that means our Christmas shopping is complete before anyone else has even started.

NB Didn’t happen this year.  Begin hating the better organised people in the world and waste good shopping time on fuming.

December 1

Make list of Christmas cleaning jobs. Stretch out on couch to recover, watching naff Christmas movie on tv.  Weep at the wonderful Christmas message about families and being grateful for what we have it contains.  Start hinting to the Hub and Spud that we must get the tree and decorations down from loft.

Change blog background to cheesy Christmas theme. Add snow. Refuse to apologise to readers.

Re-post Christmas list post with apologies for re-posting.  It can’t be helped; it’s a Christmas tradition; it must be, it’s on the list.

December 9

Search for tree and decorations in loft.

December 10

Search for tree and decorations in loft.

December 11

Find tree and decorations in loft.  Get down tree and decorations from loft. Put on cheesy Christmas music to get everyone in the mood. Argue about cheesy Christmas music. Erect tree. Argue. Dress tree with lights and tinsel with boys. Take boys off tinsel. Take lights and tinsel off tree.

Watch the Hub dress tree with lights and tinsel in the correct manner. Sulk.

Share decorations equally between family. Spend ages arguing about who has the most/least/best/yuckiest decorations.

Collapse exhausted into bed.

December 12

Revise December 11′s activities on blog post: since Tory Boy left home, Spud became a teenager and the Hub insisted on being a Christmas Curmudgeon, Tilly puts up the tree by herself, over three days, listening to cheesy Christmas music without male moaning in the background.  

Also manages to get tree up by December 11th and clear up the mess. Accidentally vacuums half the tinsel left dangling from the tree since the Hub abdicated responsibility.

December 14

Christmas grocery shopping.

What happened in the supermarket stays in the supermarket.

December 15

Stop shaking.

December 16

Attend carol service with brass band and remember what Christmas is all about: carol singing and brass bands.

Christmas Eve

Lunch time: Take flowers to Dad’s grave (he died Christmas Eve 2000). Miss him.

Ten minutes after lunchtime: Open first bottle of wine/tin of chocolates/box of biscuits.

Afternoon: Throw ecstatic arms around returning first fruit of my loins.

Four p.m.: Attend Christingle at church.  Stick sweets and candles in oranges and remember what Christmas is all about.

A picture of a christingle, picture taken by m...

A picture of a christingle, picture taken by myself. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Dinner Time: Welcome beloved nephew into the fold.

Send excited children to bed on the one night of the year they want to go at six p.m. Spend next eight hours telling them, ‘Santa won’t come until you go to sleep, darlings.’ (Translation: ‘Get to sleep now, you little brats; we’re knackered!’)  What?  Just because they’re sixteen and twenty-two, doesn’t mean they don’t get excited about getting free stuff.

Cook turkey, gammon, quail (possibly) and chicken; prepare vegetables. Stay up till two a.m. to welcome Santa. Go to bed, leaving on all lights to deter burglars with no Christmas spirit.

Christmas Day

Six-O-Three: Woken by excited chatter of two children raiding their stockings.
Six-O-Five: Recover from winding caused by excited dogs jumping onto bed, excited by excited children.

Six-O-Seven: Set up video camera to tape every magical moment as children wait excitedly in the hall.

Seven-O-Seven: Finally accede to the Hub’s assertion that it might be Tilly Bud’s camera, which he knows because he bought it for her, but trust him, he knows what he’s doing and can set it up perfectly well, thank you very much; and stop that sulking, you misery, to which children add, Yeah, Mum.

Seven-O-Eight: Film delight on boys’ faces as they enter Santa’s grotto (temporarily set up in living room).

Seven-Fifteen: Start unwrapping presents, taking turns so that everyone sees what everyone else has got and thanks can be given and received.

Ten-Fifteen: Finish unwrapping presents. Make traditional Christmas breakfast of toast so that everyone has a stomach lining before inevitable munching of Christmas goodies begins.

Ten-Sixteen: Send exhausted Hub to bed for a few hours.

Ten-Thirty:  Everyone not sleeping, dresses. Boys disappear to their rooms to play with their new toys, leaving Tilly to clean up. Tilly stretches out on empty couch with Maltesers and one of her new DVDs  ignoring mess. Thinks about starting dinner. Snores.

Two-Fifteen: Wake Hub to give his stomach time to prepare to eat large Christmas dinner.

Four-Fifteen: Eat large Christmas dinner.

Rest of day: Rest.

December 29

Discover unticked list of Christmas cleaning jobs tucked down back of couch. Discard.

January 2

Take down the tatty remains of the Christmas decorations. Store in Christmas boxes, Christmas sacks, Christmas bags and Christmas suitcase for easy identification in the loft next December.

January 3

Hit the sales (only 356 shopping days left to Christmas). Queue for two hours to get into car park. Buy nothing except the one available unbroken half-price tree decoration.

For more Six Word Saturdays go here.

Happy Birthday, Viv!

1 Dec

Our lovely Viv is 75 today!

Happy Birthday!

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.


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.


Happy Birthday, Viv!  We miss you.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.




Get Well Soon, Viv!

24 Nov

6WS friend Viv is in hospital

I know a lot of you visit Viv through Six Word Saturday, so I thought you’d like to know she’s in hospital.

The phone rang yesterday:

TB: Hello?  Whoisitwhaddyawantstopbotheringmewiththesestupidcoldcalls!

Viv: It’s Viv.

TB: Bev?

Viv: Viv!

TB: Bev who?

Viv: I’m going to climb out of this hospital bed and onto a plane and knock the dumb out of you if you don’t open your ears.  Viv!

Okay, I might have made that last bit up, which you all know because you know how lovely and sweet and generous and kind and caring Viv is; but I don’t do mushy, so I make stuff up to mask my anxiety.

Viv’s main problem is that she’s been unhooked from wi-fi.  The only cure for that is to get out of hospital ASAP and come home.

Get well soon, my lovely Viv.


A Small Celebration

17 Nov

I hit a blog milestone yesterday:

Only 3/4 of a million to go!

For more Six Word Saturdays go here.

Beauty Tip: Moisturise Your Eyebrows

3 Nov

There’s no denying it: my eyebrows have dandruff.  I won’t post a photo of it because, eurgh.

Blogging curse:

self-conscious about my eyebrows.  

Frida Kahlo

Frida Kahlo (Photo credit: Travis S.)

I post a lot of photos of myself on my blog (and yet I am not at all vain; aren’t I lovely?).  I began to notice a while back that my eyebrows look massive in photographs.  They are not massive, but they look it.  

I keep my eyebrows trim with Spud’s nose hair clippers* but, despite being quite narrow, they look bushy.  It may be my glasses making them look like an old man’s because, when I take off the glasses and look at my eyebrows in the mirror, they are definitely not bushy.  Not now I have had at them with my Mum’s old tweezers.

*The clippers he gave to me one Christmas, not any clippers he might use on his own nose. Eurgh again.  What’s wrong with you people?

Impressive Eyebrows

Impressive Eyebrows (Photo credit: Mickie Quick)

I have pared them back to look almost pencilled in but now I am afraid to take a photograph because what if I’m wrong and they are still as bushy as a squirrel’s tail?

Also, I noticed something when I was de-hairing myself: the skin on my eyebrows is really dry.   I moisturise regularly so I don’t understand it.  I slather that stuff on my face every day, as my mother taught me (I wish I had listened to her when she said slap it on your chin to keep it from doubling and your neck to keep it from wrinkling but you know what teenage daughters are like).  I always have cream in the house because I have a friend who is allergic to everything and she always gives me her handcream gift sets after Christmas (do I own nothing in my beauty regimen that I bought for myself?).  

I don’t understand it.  

Ah well.  Time to trim my moustache.  Where are the Hub’s clippers?

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

This Is Getting Ridiculous

13 Oct

Infested Congested

Requested (Stay Away)


At least my family love me.

From a distance.

Virus Infected Cells

Virus Infected Cells (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Or, put another way: I’m milking a mild head cold for all its blogging worth…

Go here for more Six Word Saturdays.


Weekly Photo Challenge: Happy

6 Oct


[Writing a renga with Viv]

Six Word Saturday

(also includes Friday)

in which Tilly

thinks she’s died and gone heavenwards

[Poetry reading at Bramhall Hall]

Yesterday afternoon I was at a poetry reading by Suzanne Batty, in Stockport Central Library, which was followed by a workshop.

This morning I am at a different poetry workshop.

What a great week I’m having!

Details to follow.

I am never happier than when I’m writing or doing writing-related activities.

[Promoting my writing group]

This week’s response to the photo challenge is supposed to include a new gallery feature that WordPress have introduced – they are as happy with that as I am with my workshops – but I only have 11% space left and all of these pictures have been on my blog before, so I have copied and pasted these photos instead of uploading.

To compensate, and to keep to the spirit of the exercise – which I am happy to do – here is a photo of me, happy (ecstatic, actually) in a gallery:

[Standing with a piece of art work inspired by a poem of mine]

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.


A Frosty Reception

22 Sep


First, no summer;

now autumn’s disappeared.

I’m not complaining or anything, but why do we have frost in September when it’s supposed to be autumn?  To be fair, which I don’t feel like doing, we kind of had autumn in summer, so I suppose an early winter was inevitable. 

Nature better get her act together or somebody’s going to get a kicking (there’s a reason I hold on to the Hub, and it’s none of that soppy love note business).

Yes, I’m still in a bad mood; I woke up at five, then watched Beckett pretend not to love Castle.  Of course I’m in a bad mood.

a question

a question (Photo credit: the|G|™)

A sleep-deprived Tilly is not a pretty sight.  Somebody pass me the duvet; I think I hid the funny there.

Go here for more Six Word Saturdays.


You’ve Got Lots Of Mail

8 Sep

This is my

two thousandth post!

Who knew there was that much daftness in the world?

Happy milestone to me!

According to ahajokes, these are some of the signs that we live in the 2000s:

  • Before you criticise someone, walk a mile in their shoes.  That way if they get angry they’ll be a mile away and barefoot.
  • A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory.
  • My idea of housework is to sweep the room with a glance.
  • Not one shred of evidence supports the notion that life is serious.
  • I have found at my age going bra-less pulls all the wrinkles out of my face.
  • For every action there is an equal and opposite government programme.
  • A closed mouth gathers no foot.
  • If you look like your passport picture, you probably need the trip.
  • Bills travel through the mail at twice the speed of cheques.
  • Eat well – stay fit – die anyway.
  • Men are from earth.  Women are from earth.  Deal with it.
  • No husband has ever been shot while washing the dishes.
  • Junk is something you throw away three weeks before you need it.
  • There is always one more imbecile than you counted on.
  • Artificial intelligence is no match for natural stupidity.
  • Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than going to a garage makes you a mechanic.
  • Experience is a wonderful thing.  It enables you to recognise a mistake when you make it again.
  • Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.
  • Someone who thinks logically provides a nice contrast to the real world.
  • I believe the only time the world beats a path to my door is when I’m in the bathroom.
  • Blessed are they who can laugh at themselves for they shall never cease to be amused.

For more Six Word Saturdays, go here.

Break’s Over

18 Aug

I’m back!  I camped.  I’m damp.

North Wales: torrential rain.  

Need I say more?

No, but I will.  Why else have a blog?

Thanks for all of your visits and comments while I was away.  

Read more Six Word Saturdays here.


Get loose. Try something different.


A frustrated writer, who is her own worst enemy

Edwina Currie Made Me Start This Blog

Don't get mad; get writing

this fragile tent

a blog about small beautiful things


The last word on celebrities

Gethsemane Seeds

Learning the way of Christ


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,062 other followers

%d bloggers like this: