Being Me

Things I have thought today: 1. Why did I ask the lady whose house I was in for a writers' meeting if she would 'kindly direct me to her facility' rather than just asking where the toilet was?  Since when did I get so euphemistic about my bladder? 2. When a very old lady staggers onto the bus, shuffles down the aisle and plumps down next to you with an audible 'Phew' of relief, what's the best way of saying, 'Excuse me, please.  Could you get up again and let me through?   I need to get off at the next stop.'? 3. Why have I never realised how grim Grimm's Fairy Tales were?  I'm reading them at the moment.  Were these written for CHILDREN? 4. The first Pimms of the year, even if you don't have any lemon, any cucumber, or any ice to put into it, and even if the sun went in just as you were mixing the drink, is still a wondrous thing. 5. I get very, very excited about being on a new bus.  The G1 is my regular bus, and sometimes I go on...

Once upon a time, there were three little pigs.  They lived with their parents, Mr and Mrs Pig, and they were all sitting in the living room one evening watching Masterchef and hoping for beef and lamb recipes rather than anything uncomfortably closer to home.  The three little pigs were intending to venture off the next day to seek their fortunes.  Their knapsacks were hung on the banisters in the hall. There was a knock at the front door.  This is always a sign in a story of something dramatic about to happen, unless it's a very poor story and it turns out to be only a double-glazing salesman or a Liberal Democrat councillor. Mother answered the door, and in came a beautiful young girl called Cinderella, wearing a sparkling ball gown which shimmered in the evening lamplight of the pigs' living room.  'I'm so sorry,' the girl said, wringing delicate hands.  'It's just that I'm trying to find my way to the palace, but we've got lost.  Does anyone...

Just a quick visit to provide a link to my-daughter-who-was-on-Masterchef's cooking blog.  It's funny as well as foody. You will get hungry reading this. And you will laugh.

So, it's Leonhard Euler's 306th birthday, is it?  This is what Google is telling me when I go onto its Search page.  He's today's Google Doodle. What I REALLY want to know is, how many people say, 'Oh yes, Euler!  I was only thinking about his amazing work in the fields of mechanics, optics and astronomy just yesterday!   306th?  No, surely he wouldn't be a day over 285!' While we're on useless pieces of information, I thought I'd better tell you about the scaffolding near Tesco which I mentioned in yesterday's dose of triviality   We went to Tenby in Wales at Easter and took my daughter Sarah and her partner John.  By the way, Sarah was on Masterchef last week.  You can catch the episode on iplayer  right here  for a few more days.  She didn't get through to the next round, but she proved she knows what a proper fish chowder is, and how many of us can claim that?  I, for one, can do cod, haddock and the odd prawn, but I'...

When I'm out and about and see something I think could one day form the basis of an original and transfixing piece of writing that could change the world, I write it down in a notebook.   This is how world-class writing gets produced and I'm sure I'm only one in a long line of creative artists keeping notes of this kind.  Steinbeck probably wrote in his notebook, 'Two itinerant workers; Great Depression; tragedy; could be a great GCSE text'.  Austen, I'm sure, had a little notebook in the pocket of her apron in which she jotted down 'Two sisters; one sensible; one romantic' or 'Damp man emerges from lake; myriad BBC adaptations?' ready for when she'd finished her Bible verse cross-stitch. Here's the list that's in my notebook, just as I've written it.  Don't be tempted to steal my ideas, mind.  I am putting my trust in you here. Square cows with corners in field The swinging coat hanger - creak, creak, creak Sign outsi...

Last night, I bit the head off a chocolate Easter bunny and then, because I couldn't bear to see it sitting there, deformed, I had to eat the rest.  Eating bunny-shaped chocolate is not easy, and bits went down my tee-shirt and all over my jeans so that I had a big sponging-off job to do before I went to bed. Sigh. Life is so complicated. Anyway, the whole incident reminded me of a post I wrote years ago about eating a chocolate penguin someone gave me when I'd been in hospital.  I thought I'd offer it again to the world. I think Stephen King would have been proud of me. You may have seen this picture on the Internet.  It makes me laugh.  

Two thoughts I have had today. Thought 1: What a nice man that waiter is! We went out to Strada in Leamington Spa tonight to celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary.  Old or what?   Tesco took us c/o some loyalty vouchers - we know how to do romance.  We did the 'shall we just have starters and mains and no pudding?' conversation and nodded wisely and agreed it was a sensible plan, and you all know how THAT story ends.  The pistachio icecream and tiramisu were delicious as was the bottle of wine we shared. Then, a bonus.  We'd just asked for the bill and the waiter came back and asked if we'd like to try a free lemon and lime liqueur.  I leaped up and kissed him on the neck and all over his cute little waiter waistcoat in gratitude and despite this he still brought us the liqueur which was delicious.  We stumbled out of the restaurant happy and all liqueured-up and sank onto nearby benches in the high street where we were promptly arrested and acc...