Random Distractions

As a child, I spent several long periods in hospital. In those days (the late 1940s and early 50s), children's wards were not the bright, friendly places that they are today. There was a rigorous discipline; we were not allowed to get out of bed, even when feeling well, books were allowed but no toys and smacks were administered by the stern ward sister if we dared to untidy our beds. I grew to understand that some of the less pleasant procedures were actually intended for my benefit and not my torment but not all of the scars left by those hospital experiences are physical.

One aftereffect, which will probably sound trivial to many, was an aversion to porridge. I think I would go so far as to say an abhorrance of porridge. In hospitals today, even child  patients are given a menu to choose from but we were given a plate of food and told to eat it and there was no question of leaving a scrap. We were not fussy children; it was, after all, a time of food rationing and we were all used to plain fare. I have no memory of any meals other than breakfast so the rest must have been acceptable. The breakfast trolley, however, brought dread! The nurse took a thick,white cup, the kind that used to be used in railway refreshment rooms
dipped it into a large bowl and drew out a portion of a brown, lumpy, glutinous mess. I can see it now, dripping down the sides of the  cup as she poured it into my bowl. No jam, sugar, honey or fruit, not even a little salt to add flavour. Having to get through this every day was undoubtedly good training for convent school dinners, where the same discipline was applied. But, from the last day of my stay in hospital as a seven year old until yesterday, porridge has never passed my lips. When my children were babies, I had to put a peg on my nose and close my eyes while I was making their far lovelier porridge. The smell and sight of porridge, even the sight of an innocent thick, white cup could set my stomach churning.



I went to the supermarket on Saturday and, as I reached for my usual pack of cereal, I thought how foolish it was to be controlled by a memory. I have avoided eating a nutritious food for sixty years, was I to be a wimp forever? With a very deep breath, I reached for a pack of fruity porridge, plain oats was a step too far. I ate my first bowl of porridge yesterday and I had another this morning. Yes, I have to steel mysef to make it but today was easier than yesterday and, who knows, tomorrow I might even enjoy it!

This picture is from an article that tells how porridge changed mankind. I don't like to think of what I might have missed out on all those years.
What irrational aversions do you have?

I am feeling just a tad negative at the moment. I have just cancelled the long-planned holiday in Austria that we should be flying out for in a few days time. I can't direct any grumbles at the cause of the cancellation because that would be adding insult to the injury my husband has suffered to his back but we are both very disappointed and that makes other things seem more irritating than they would normally appear.

Therefore, I'm going to do a 'grumpy old woman' moan about something other than cancelled flights, travel insurance that isn't worth the paper it is printed on and the lost delights of visiting my brother and walking in the Alps. I turn my attention instead to Amazon and the Royal Mail.
My electric toothbrush died and I saw a really good offer on Amazon and ordered one. An email told me that it would be sent by Royal Mail's tracking service and would arrive on Saturday 23 May. Fine. Saturday passed with no delivery but it was the May Bank Holiday so I thought it was not unreasonable for it to be delayed until Tuesday 28th. As Tuesday wore on with no delivery, I checked the tracking status on my Amazon account and saw that the package had supposedly been delivered on Saturday. Here is where my grumble begins.

The Amazon Help page told me that if a package has not arrived but shows as having been delivered then it is up to the customer to contact the carrier. Why, I ask? Amazon took my money, surely Amazon should ensure the goods are delivered. At this point, I was just a little miffed.

The Royal Mail website had my package registered as having been delivered and signed for on Saturday 23 May at 1.30pm. (A time when both I and my incapacitated husband were at home). The Royal Mail Help page informed me that I should check with my neighbours to see if one of them had taken in the package. Miffedness grew as I trudged around the neighbours in the pouring rain and found no-one had taken in the package. Back to the website help page to find out what to do next: check with the person who signed for the package. Ha, ha. No helpful information on how to find out who had signed for it and no card left by the postman to say where he had left the parcel.


Tetchiness setting in now as I try to locate a phone number for Royal Mail and then spend 45 minutes working my way through their lists of options and recorded messages telling me how wonderful  their service is and how I could find all the help I needed on their website. Eventually, I arrived at a human voice, the very carefully chosen voice of Royal Mail's Complaints Department. A voice that undoubtedly belongs to the most handsome, caring and charming young man in the world. How could one possibly feel aggrieved or angry or even the teeniest bit annoyed? Well done, Royal Mail; you should be put in charge of peace negotiations around the world!
Handsome Young Voice apologised profusely and assured me that all would be sorted. And lo, it came to pass that a Royal Mail van arrived this morning, with a Royal Mail postman bearing my package. Would you believe it (well, would you?), it had been delivered to a house in a completely different street on Saturday, the homeowner had signed for it, presumably she had been expecting a parcel from Amazon, had the same name as me and didn't notice the wrong address on the label. Then, this morning she rushed out of her house, hailed the passing post van and handed in the parcel. And here it was, better late than never! Oops.

Displaced frustration, I know. But little things niggle when you are feeling out of sorts. And anyway, shouldn't we expect more than and inefficiency and blustering excuses from the Royal Mail and shouldn't Amazon have chased up that non-delivery?

Everything today seems to be high speed, top volume and low maintenance.  I admit that I was glad of many modern conveniences when I was a busy, working mother. Retirement means I have time to make real bread, real coffee, real porridge, to hang the washing on the line instead of putting it in the tumble dryer, to pick flowers for the house and generally surround myself with lovely tastes and smells. It really is worth the time and effort!

However busy I used to be, I would always lay the dining room table properly for our evening meal. Sitting down to eat together has always been an essential feature of our family life, a time to catch up on news, to sort out problems and to add to the repertoire of family jokes. The children have left home but they come to visit and the table has had to grow to accommodate the new family members but we can't imagine life without it.


My work used to take me into the homes of many young parents and I was at first surprised and then saddened to find that few of them owned a table. Lots of modern first-time houses are too small to have a separate dining room or even a kitchen/diner. People seem to eat from trays in front of the television - not a good scenario for encouraging language development in the deaf children I worked with! Deaf or hearing, children learn an enormous amount from the interaction of families and sitting in a row in front of a TV does not provide that. My husband, a maths teacher, wants a campaign to bring back multiplication tables; I want a campaign to bring back dinner tables!

My online friend, Dewena, takes great care over her table settings. Go over and see the lovely china and table linen she uses. We both think that it is worth the effort, even when we are left with only two at the table. I haven't asked, but I imagine she must have lots of cupboards to store all her china, something that I am sadly lacking. Our house is crammed with books and bookshelves and a china collection would be difficult to accommodate. 

I inherited an Edwardian teaset from my mother-in-law and it is still in a box, almost two years on. Inspired by Dewena, I took it out and washed it a few days ago. It is fine bone china, hand painted and heavily decorated:
There are 34 pieces altogether: 12 teaplates, 9 cups and saucers, 2 cake plates, a milk jug and a bowl. Mother-in-law, who inherited the set from her mother, kept it in a display cabinet and never used it. Afternoon tea parties went out of fashion in the 1940s and I don't have a display cabinet to show off that Edwardian splendour; what to do with it? I took the photographs to the local antique shop, which specialises in fine china, to get some idea of the value. I thought I might sell it and buy something I would like to use instead. I am glad that I took photos and not the box of china as I might have dropped it when I heard the valuation! £20 is the current value of this 110 year old set. There is no market for fine china.

What will I do? I will establish a new fashion for afternoon tea. I'll bake cakes and scones and make dainty cucumber sandwiches and lay the table with my best cloth and napkins and my fine china. You're invited!

I watched a news item about the omnipresent US elections this morning showing interviews with members of the public. It seemed  that everyone was either bored or angered by the campaign and couldn't wait for it to be over. It made me wonder how the candidates could spend so  many months and  billions of dollars on a campaign that does nothing but irritate or disaffect the public.

In sharp contrast, the UK will be electing Police and Crime Commissioners for the first time on 15 November. That is just 9 days away and yet not a single leaflet has dropped onto our mat from any of the candidates. I wonder what the turnout will be? Will the overkill in US leave a bored or annoyed public at home, while the underkill in England have the same effect? Just wondering.

I was wondering about a few other things this morning: why do things go wrong just when you need them most? A vital piece of my sewing machine flew off just as I was putting the finishing touches to a Christmas present I'm making. I spent thirty minutes or so trying to put it back but could not find a way; I called my husband to have a look and he fixed it in thirty seconds! Why is that? I also wondered why I never seem to have time to sit at my desk these days and when I do get an opportunity, why is that I can't think of anything to write about?

Now for some wondering of a different kind. We spent last week visiting our children and grandchildren. We were with my daughter for Halloween and here you can see the wonder she inspired with her telling of a spooky tale at the children's party. (I wonder who she gets that from?)

Next day, we went to Harcourt Arboretum which is just a short drive from my daughter's house. The children are frequent visitors there and each season fills them with awe and wonder at the changes in the trees and wildlife:

Ben likes to use his "innoclers"

Millie gets close up with the magnifying glass

 Here are some of the trees taking on their autumn splendour:

A Grumpy up a tree? How did he get in here?

Isn't it all just wonderful?

Why didn't they leave it alone? It was slow but it was steady. Over the last six weeks or so, we have had hours, days and even 2 full weeks without internet connection. But can we get any information from BT? Ring the helpline and you find yourself in a queue with a recorded message telling you they are unusually busy (not that unusual!) and you should try again later. You could, the pleasant voice tells you, find the help you need by clicking on to their website. I know...... yelling at a recorded message that you haven't got internet access and that's why you are calling does no good but it can't really be resisted. By the fourth day of trying to get through the yelling gets louder and more colourful.

Eventually, during one of the brief periods when the broadband came back to life, I had an email from BT explaining that we have now been upgraded to superfast broadband and that, after a period of ten days when we might experience some loss of connection, the new system would stabilise and our broadband experience would be wonderful.

We had no connection today between 10.00am and 11.00pm. I'm writing this hurriedly before going to sleepor getting cut off again. I was supposed to be writing a post about food for Blog Action Day tomorrow but I may not get it posted. Lots of other people around the world will be writing about food  so I hope you will all be reading what they have to say, even if I can't.

Ho hum!

I have lived in Devon for 22 years and I am still, and probably always will be, regarded as an "incomer."  I have spent many hundreds of pounds in the local grocery store but have not yet received even a hint of recognition by the owner, who is likely to keep me waiting for ten minutes while he chats to real villagers. I don't worry about it, I know that things  could be much worse: I could be treated like a grockle! A grockle is a holiday maker, someone to be overcharged for goods and sent in completely the wrong direction when lost.

Some recent events, though, have made me a little more sympathetic to local attitudes. A few weeks ago,  a certain Mr Copp, on holiday with his family, went for a walk around the small harbour in Ilfracombe.
It is quite a pretty place and it is always interesting to see the fishing boats landing their catch or preparing to sail. Unfortunately, Mr Copp did not find it to his taste.. In fact, he was so incensed at seeing crates of dead fish waiting to be loaded onto a fishing boat to be used as bait  that he went to complain to the Harbour Master.  According to Mr Copp, his children had been left quite distressed by the ordeal. Somehow the harbourmaster managed not to laugh as he explained to Mr Copp that this was a working harbour and that the sight and smell of fish was quite commonplace on the quay.

Mr Copp was not to be placated. He contacted our local newspaper:  "It's not the sort of thing you want to see on holiday, he said. "My children were quite distressed. These people should be a bit more considerate to the holidaymakers."

The people of Ilfracombe and around are still laughing at the goings on of "thikky grockle".  The outcome of another incident a few years ago was not so amusing. A townie moved into a village and objected to being woken early in the morning by a neighbour's cock crowing. He took the matter to court and a judge (another townie?) found in his favour and granted an injunction against the poor owner of the cock  to keep it quiet until after 7am every morning and to pay £5000 in costs.

 I'm thinking of buying a house alongside Heathrow airport and then suing the aviation authorities for disturbing my peace!

We played a lot of board games and card games when I was small. There was no television to interrupt our fun. One of my favourites was Happy Families with Mr Dose the doctor, Mr Bun the baker, Mr Bone the butcher and so on. Ever since then, I have been on the lookout for people who have names appropriate for their employment. I give a whoop of joy when I come across an electrician called Mr Spark or a teacher called Mrs Chalk.

I have been looking for a local chiropodist/podiatrist to look after the ageing feet and today I couldn't believe my luck when I found Miss Ambler. Her clinic is within easy ambling distance so I have booked an appointment for tomorrow afternoon.

Close scrutiny of the newspapers last week found two tiny articles that were not related to either the phone hacking scandal or the Murdoch Empire. The first stated quite boldly, backed by evidence from some doubtless extensive research study, that no one uses table napkins any more. Apparently everyone uses kitchen towel. Not so! I always use cotton or linen napkins, or lapskins as my little son named them long ago. Here are some of my everyday ones but I have a good selection of finer ones for special occasions:

I'm sure I can't be the only person left in England who likes to set the table properly after taking the trouble to cook a meal? And guess what? I still use napkin rings so that everyone can recognise their own napkin!

The second article related to research done into the use of handkerchiefs. Again, the researchers found that no-one uses them any more; everyone now uses paper tissues. I can't agree. I only use tissues when I have a head  cold. I like nothing better than a crisp cotton handkersniff, as Beatrix Potter might say.
I'm not sure what this research tells us. That it was limited in its scope? That those of us who still use table napkins and handkerchiefs are anachronisms? Or, maybe, there is an awful lot of time and money being wasted on research to provide third rate students with codswallop doctorates to accompany their Mickey Mouse degrees?  I suppose it is better than phone hacking.

The last time that I used my camera was on the day after my mother-in-law's funeral.We went to the beach with the grandchildren and the camera was passed around to record the fun. It was a few days before I tried to use it again and woe and alas, it wouldn't work! It was pretty obvious that there was sand inside the lens.

I went off to the camera shop to see if it could be repaired. The shop was staffed by two very young men who were Ant and Dec dopplegangers.  I failed to get their names so I'll call them A and D for the sake of simplicity. This is how it went:

A:      And what can we do for you, madam?
M:     I hope you can repair my camera. I think it has sand in it.
A:      Sand in it, you say? Oh, and it's a Sony.
D:      Sand in a Sony, did you say?
A:      Sand in a Sony!
D: (looking at said Sony) I can see grains of sand in it.
M:      Yes, that's what I said. I had it on the beach.
A & D in unison: Sand in a Sony!

     Pause for a little dance around the store - no, I made that up but I was expecting it!

D:     Do you want the bad news?
M:     I think you have already given it.
D:     Well, sand is a Bad Thing and Sony cameras can only be repaired by Sony. There is not much               hope for it and it would certainly cost at least £180. You see what I'm saying?
A:      Yes, it is an old camera.
M:     Yes, I suppose four years is old. Although my father's box Brownie is still going strong after             80 years.            

A:      You could put the money towards a new sand proof camera.
M:     Indeed I could. Thanks for your help. I'll go and see what Amazon has to offer.
D:      Well you could always try an old sock.
M:     ????????
D:      Take your vacuum cleaner and fit an old sock over the nozzle, then gently run it over the         
           camera. It might work.

While criminals cannot plead ignorance of the law as a defence, I wonder what the position of their lawyers is? Here are some snippets from a book available in US but not here in UK,Disorder in the Court: Great Fractured Moments in Courtroom History, sent to my brother by a Greek friend currently visiting Australia. I am sure the appeal is equally universal.


ATTORNEY: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
WITNESS: Gucci sweats and Reeboks.
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
WITNESS: I forget.
ATTORNEY: You forget? Can you give us an example of something you forgot?
___________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in voodoo?
WITNESS: We both do.
ATTORNEY: Voodoo?
WITNESS: We do.
ATTORNEY: You do?
WITNESS: Yes, voodoo.
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Now doctor, isn't it true that when a person dies in his sleep, he doesn't know about it until the next morning?
WITNESS: Did you actually pass the bar exam?
____________________________________

ATTORNEY: The youngest son, the 20-year-old, how old is he?
WITNESS: He's 20, much like your IQ.
___________________________________________

ATTORNEY: She had three children, right?
WITNESS: Yes.
ATTORNEY: How many were boys?
WITNESS: None.
ATTORNEY: Were there any girls?
WITNESS: Your Honor, I think I need a different attorney. Can I get a new attorney?
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: How was your first marriage terminated?
WITNESS: By death.
ATTORNEY: And by whose death was it terminated?
WITNESS: Take a guess.
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Can you describe the individual?
WITNESS: He was about medium height and had a beard.
ATTORNEY: Was this a male or a female?
WITNESS: Unless the Circus was in town I'm going with male.
_____________________________________

ATTORNEY: Is your appearance here this morning pursuant to a deposition notice which I sent to your attorney?
WITNESS: No, this is how I dress when I go to work.
______________________________________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, how many of your autopsies have you performed on dead people?
WITNESS: All of them. The live ones put up too much of a fight.
_________________________________________

ATTORNEY: ALL your responses MUST be oral, OK? What school did you go to?
WITNESS: Oral.
_________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Do you recall the time that you examined the body?
WITNESS: The autopsy started around 8:30 PM.
ATTORNEY: And Mr. Denton was dead at the time?
WITNESS: If not, he was by the time I finished.
____________________________________________

ATTORNEY: Are you qualified to give a urine sample?
WITNESS: Are you qualified to ask that question?
______________________________________

ATTORNEY: Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for blood pressure?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: Did you check for breathing?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?
WITNESS: No.
ATTORNEY: How can you be so sure, Doctor?
WITNESS: Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar.
ATTORNEY: I see, but could the patient have still been alive, nevertheless?
WITNESS: Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law.

I hope these have cheered you a little amid all the gloomy and troubling news.

Does anyone remember this ad from 1961?


I am seriously considering forgetting about washday despite all my previous posts about washing lines. Today we got our water bill for the next 12 months and it is a staggering 1,080GBP or 1,762USD or 1,271euros. However I say it, it sounds a lot!

Here in the South West of England we have the highest water rates in Britain. They (South West Water) blame it on the holiday makers and the beaches. I blame it on the greedy directors. I think this year we will be mostly smelling.......

Last week I resolved to get back into blogging mode. That promise to myself lasted  for precisely two days before domestic issues intervened but here I am at the start of a new week and we'll see how things go.

The 'unwanted gifts' part of the heading sounds rather churlish but it refers to a situation that is the cause of great mirth in the Random household. We are blessed with really good neighbours, whose properties once formed part of ours - in the days before we moved here.  We live in the original farmhouse with a large portion  of the farmyard and the kitchen garden, while our neighbours on one side live in a converted linhay (barn) and on the other side, a bungalow built on what used to be an orchard. We are all very friendly and helpful but can go for quite long periods without seeing one another.

The neighbours in the bungalow run an excellent nursery for children from a few months to 4 years and on Friday the husband, John, came round to tell us that they were refurbishing the nursery and he had a baby's highchair he wanted us to have. I explained that we already had one but he insisted that with three grandchildren another  chair was sure to come in handy and before I could blink I was the grateful, if reluctant owner of two highchairs.

On Saturday, John was at the door again. "I'm sure you could use a storage unit for books and toys, it is in excellent condition but we don't need it any more." So here we are in our overfurnished, cluttered house with two highchairs and a storage unit.

On Sunday my husband went to the door, he was going to be much firmer than I had been. Now we have two highchairs, a storage unit and a child's desk!

This morning we have been waiting nervously for the knock on the door, expecting to see John with two infants under his arms - in great condition but surplus to requirements! I think we need a bigger shoe!

One of the most thumbed books on our shelves is this:
As a family of avid readers and crossword puzzlers, we have frequent recourse to dictionaries and this one has provided the solution to many a disagreement. When son and daughter were young, we had a weekly exercise where each of us chose a word from the Dictionary of Difficult Words to learn and use as often as possible during the week. I have to admit that we seldom recalled the words beyond a day or two; the only one that entered our family vocabulary was olid, meaning evil-smelling. You can imagine how frequently that was used in a household of teenagers and their friends!

I was reminded of this pastime by blogging friend erp*, who sent me a link to Save the Words. It is a wonderful website with an enormous collection of archaic and obscure words; you can even "adopt" a word, pledging to use it as frequently as possible in conversation and correspondence. Take a look, it is great fun. I thought I might adopt senticous, meaning prickly or thorny; it sounds far more interesting than grumpy, doesn't it? From now on I shall be signing any letters of complaint from "a senticous old woman."

*erp has asked me to credit the the Volokh Conspiracy with providing her with this link

This morning's mail included an invitation to test drive a mobility scooter. It was a personal invitation, not just a mailshot, so now I'm wondering who among my family and friends would think this funny? I may have the bus pass but I could still walk to the bus stop should I ever decide to use it!

A few years ago, on a Sunday evening, I answered the phone to hear a screech of surprise followed by sobbing and inarticulate mumblings. Eventually, I was able to establish that it was my friend Elspeth calling from Portsmouth to offer her condolences to my husband and children: my death had just been announced in the cathedral. It was a terrible shock for her when I picked up the phone and, I must say, I found it a bit unnerving too.

At the time of that incident I was undergoing chemotherapy and the death announcement, which I later saw in a copy of the cathedral bulletin, spurred me on to recovery. The offer of a mobility scooter will spur me on to increased activity. I wonder if I can make it to next year's London marathon?

I'm back on-line thanks to the newest acquisition, a laptop to replace my dearly departed PC. Now I need a crash course in Windows 7 and I'll be off. Unfortunately this is a short visit as I'll be heading off again tomorrow for granddaughter Charlotte's first birthday celebrations and then to Oxfordshire for a few days with Millie and co.


Those of you who read my son's blog will be familiar with his series on the Chief Trading Post in Bristol - a garden centre with a difference. Well, at long last I got to see it for myself last weekend when he took me there for lunch. Here are just a few of the things I might have bought to add interest to my garden. Fortunately I had travelled by train and couldn't carry anything extra!

a boat to go with the MM's anchor

a Spirit House for the quiet corner

a child-eating crab (we saw only the remains of the chair!)

a garden bench that might possibly squeeze you to death

an elephant to hide in the bushes

or perhaps a tiger?

We had lunch among some unusual characters:

Charlotte was not put off by the Blues Brother

each dining area had its own interest

inside and out!

They do sell a wide range of plants as well. I particularly liked this section
with its appropriate statuary
It is the most interesting garden centre I have ever visited and just in case you are wondering if these items really are for sale, here are someof their price tags;

£704.17 for a giant crab (minus child and chair)

And who wouldn't want this handsome fellow
for a mere

£2,028.93

All of the price tags are as quirky as the goods. It is a great place to go for lunch with a difference.

Jodi, of Curious Acorn, has a most fascinating job as a living historian and today she has posted about the cookery demonstrations she gives in the kitchen of 1790. There are photos of the simple utensils that were used and lots of information about how people lived then. I love to visit this kind of museum and always head for the kitchen because it gives a clear insight into the daily lives of people of all classes.

In the days before mechanical and electronic labour-saving devices were available, the kitchens of rich and poor were probably similarly equipped, differing only in the size of room, the quantity of spoons, bowls and pots and, more significantly, the distribution of labour! The farm labourer's wife with a brood of 8 children to feed and clothe would have spent all of her waking hours in the kitchen, while the farmer's wife would have had a couple of girls to help her and the squire's wife probably had a housekeeper, cook and a host of servants.

How different today's kitchens:  light, airy and clean and crammed with utensils, gadgets and machines. My cottage is about 350 years old and I've been looking around the kitchen to see what would have to go if I were to try to live like the original inhabitant. Goodbye Aga and gas hob; farewell washing machine, tumble dryer and dishwasher; out with the steam iron, food processor, Kenwood Chef, microwave oven, centrifugal juicer, citrus juicer, electric toaster; then we have the cupboards and drawers filled with smaller gadgets: whisks, apple corers, peelers, presses and all manner of handy little tools that would have mystified my grandmother.

These are some of the things I found in a drawer. They have probably been there for years, I can't remember how they got there. Can you guess what they are?  One is a Tea Drip Catcher, one a SqueezeEase 'ideal for most types of tube' and I had to open the other item to discover its purpose:
But I could probably get by without most of things I currently think of as essential. How about you? What is your most treasured or essential gadget and what is the most useless or trivial thing in your kitchen?

Over the weekend, I tried out a new (to me) knitting technique: a yoke for a little jacket. It looked tricky but turned out to be much easier than I expected:
I'll be posting it off to Millie today, together with a little summer dress. I hope the sunshine returns soon so that she can wear them!
As I was working on the yoke, I couldn't help thinking of a certain lace collar in Cranford. Thank goodness I have no cat!

I planned to cook a quick stir fry lunch today. I had plenty of vegetables and noodles to hand but the local grocer only had plain tofu - not very exciting -  so I decided to marinate it. This bottle of sauce has been waiting for just such an opportunity ever since my son brought it back from the Caribbean two years ago.

 After an hour of marinading, I added the tofu to the stir-fried vegetables, added some hoisin sauce and noodles and sat down to enjoy my "fusion" of Chinese and Caribbean flavours.

Lips fused to teeth, tongue to the roof of the mouth, throat constricted, eyes watered! The MM bravely finished his bowl with nothing more than a glass of water to help. (He hasn't spoken to me since leaving the table but I think that is because he can't!) I struggled to the fridge for the Greek yoghurt and a spoonful eased the painful mouth. Then I spotted some Italian tomato and olive sauce; I added this to my bowl and was able to eat the rest of the meal.
My fusion dish turned into a confusion of Chinese, Caribbean, Greek and Italian; not my greatest culinary triumph I must admit but my sinuses have never felt so clear, so I should be in good voice for tonight's Easter vigil.

A neighbour asked my husband if he would help his 10 year old daughter who was struggling with maths, in particular with subtraction. After a brief lesson, she was able to tackle her homework with confidence but yesterday she came back to ask for more help. Her teacher had refused to give her a mark for the homework because the answers were correct but she had not used his "correct" method to arrive at them.

My husband uses the same method that I was taught in school in the 1950s - equal addition. He asked the little girl to use that method on this question 8157 - 379. It took her 25 seconds to produce the correct answer: