Ramblings

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Missing the News

Me and my husband on our camels, Cappuccino and Tarzan

Me and my husband on our camels for the day, Cappuccino and Tarzan

My husband and I had a holiday in Essaouira, Morocco recently. Essaouira is a wonderful bustling place, with a colourful old Medina lined with tiny shops overflowing with goods of all sorts.  It also boasts a long, golden, sandy beach, where local boys practice football and gymnastics, girls paddle, tourists lie prone soaking up the sun for hours (yep, that was me), or take to the water on boards of all shapes and sizes. At the far end, away from the town, camels and horses line up awaiting their next riders, while their owners sit and chat and smoke.

There are hawkers patrolling the beach selling all sorts of tat, but also brandishing trays of cakes. One particular gappy-toothed chap was certain I knew him and every day approached my sunbed with

‘hello ma’am, you remember me? You want happy cake today?’

and when I refused offered me

‘just weed?’.

I still don’t know who he mistook me for, I can only assume I look like an ageing hippy!

The tiny Riad where we stayed was right in the Medina and looked very unprepossessing from the outside, but inside, it was a glorious gem, with all the luxurious trappings you could imagine, even a Jacuzzi.

Anyway, it was all very lovely, we did the touristy things; had a hammam (owww..), rode a camel, saw the sights (including where they filmed a bit of Game of Thrones) and took full advantage of the lovely restaurants and beach.

But all this aside, one thing that made this holiday very special was our complete separation from technology and the outside world for a whole week.

I did take my phone with me for emergencies, but it remained switched off for the entire time.  My laptops and ipad stayed home alone. For once there was no TV in the room, and we couldn’t read the headlines on the newspaper stands. So for a whole week, we were cocooned in our own little world of eating, sleeping and having fun.

Naturally, while we were there we witnessed some poverty and were reminded of really how privileged we are, but generally Essaouira is less down at heel than other places we have visited. So all in all, it was a treat to have a break from the daily bombardment of misery, suffering, and arguments that is fed to us daily through newspapers, TV, and websites.

Nonetheless, I believe that it is absolutely right and proper that we should all take an interest in the world and it’s complex problems. Ok, it’s often distressing, and worrying, and I don’t necessarily understand it all, but it wouldn’t do at all if we all buried our heads in the sand and said

‘it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t affect me’.

Of course, it matters. It will affect me. History teaches us that ripples, from whichever corner of the world they originate, will eventually reach us. Whether it be close-to-home decisions in parliament about taxes and austerity, or news from the faraway places where injustice and horror reign, we can be sure that there will be an impact, one way or another, on our lives.

So yes, a break from all that is brilliant, but I don’t understand those who can live their entire lives unconcerned and disassociated from society. After all, we are all global citizens these days.

Surely a world in which we were all blithely going about our own business without a care would soon founder? And wouldn’t those self-absorbed individuals be a bit of a bore?

I should mention that I always take the news with a pinch of salt. We are all aware of how stories differ from one media outlet to another, so what is factual and accurate often takes a bit of unravelling. But by being engaged and interested we can form our own opinions and take our own paths accordingly, perhaps add to voices to improve conditions for everyone, and maybe even throw our own stones:

‘I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the waters to create many ripples.’ – Mother Teresa

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Little irritations

I’ve been writing a list of things I hate, which indicates what kind of mood I’m in today!   Now hate is a strong ‘ol word.  I truly hate injustice and poverty.  I truly hate smoking too (just don’t get me started..) so this is really a list of things that just plain irritate me.  Things that should be banned immediately as far as I’m concerned.  I’m sure you all have lists too, though probably not the same.  I wonder if there are things that are universally cringe worthy.

In no particular order, these are ten things that I really, no really, don’t like at all…..

  1. Public consumption of pies – Look, just sit in a corner and stuff your face if you really have to, don’t walk along the street talking and spitting crumbs everywhere.
  2.  Impersonators – Sorry, I know I’m probably in the minority here, but it seems to me that making other people sound stupid is not clever nor funny.
  3.  Spiders – Fine when they’re in their own domain, but just stop coming into my house would you.
  4. Spray tans/false eyelashes/too much make up/drawn on caterpillar eyebrows – Usually young women and girls. You don’t need all that.  Be beautiful in your own skin you nincompoops.
  5. Dog walkers who assume your dog is ok just cos theirs is – My dog doesn’t like to be approached by other dogs. She can’t help it, she’s had a few dodgy encounters.  I keep her under control (well, fairly) on her lead when I see you coming.  Take that as a sign why don’t you?
  6. The black mould in the shower – Where does it come from? Why won’t it go? Need I say more?
  7. Water in the bottom of the fridge – Why?? How??
  8. Topless men in shops – And none of them are buff are they? All big fat bloaters.
  9. Swearing as part of a sentence – Totally, totally unnecessary. Learn to be eloquent. A well expressed turn of phrase is worth ten profanities!
  10. Teeth/body design faults – Who doesn’t have problems with their teeth from time to time? Where should we put our arms when we’re laying on our sides? Colds… what’s with the colds??

It’s not a comprehensive list, just a starter (to be honest, I had trouble keeping it to ten things – I am officially a grumpy old woman), please feel free to let me know your own gripes and grumbles!

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Don’t blink…

Posted in response to the Daily Post weekly photo challenge.  This weeks theme ‘Creepy’.

DSC_0150One for any fellow Dr Who fans!

I’ve been watching Dr Who since it began in 1963 (good grief, am I old or what…).  I’ve seen all the various incarnations of the Dr, liked some, haven’t liked others (most recently loved both David Tennant, and Matt Smith’s versions). Been irritated by pretty much all of his companions (except perhaps Jamie (played by Frazer Hines) who I had a bit of a crush on when I was thirteen, despite him being a bit thick). I’ve been freaked out by many of the baddies, and amused by some of the more rickety others – particularly by the Cybermen when they were updated and had quite groovy bell bottom legs.

Of course, the Daleks , are the most iconic of the Dr’s foes, with their beady eyes,robotic voices, sink plungers and egg whisks (that’s me in the picture having a bit of a moment with one of the ol’ fellers), but honestly, they are cutie pies compared to the ‘Weeping Angels’.

If you’ve not come across them, beware!  When observed they stand still and rigid, much like any beautiful stone angel you might come across, but blink, just once, just for a millisecond, and they will lunge toward you. One touch of their icy finger can send you back in time, while they feast on your energy…. brrr….. sends shivers down my spine just thinking about them.

I guess on paper they don’t sound that terrifying, but trust me, watch them on TV on Saturday evening, and they’ll freeze your blood.

I came across this one at the Dr Who exhibition in Cardiff a couple of years ago. I don’t think I blinked, and I don’t think it touched me, but looking at this photo I’m not so sure.  Perhaps I was hurtled back in time.  Perhaps I’m really from the future. Would I know… Oh crikey, it’s messin’ with me mind!! 😉

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Reasons to be Cheerful

Well, they were playing this on the radio this morning, and while I was dancing around my bedroom I thought about all the reasons I have to be cheerful on this sunny Monday.  Here is a selection. Not necessarily my top 20 but up there somewhere:

In no particular order…:

  1. my family is healthy
  2. It’s sunny even thought it’s August in England 😉 – we must be due for a storm…
  3. I went to bed later than I should so I’m still sleepy, but I was lucky enough to be able to get a good night’s rest in a comfortable bed with a soft pillow
  4. I had an invigorating shower with as much hot water as I cared to use
  5. Despite ‘never having anything to wear’ I do actually have a huge selection of clean clothes to choose from
  6. I still have my own teeth, and hair
  7. I can still dance – after a fashion 🙂
  8. none of the people I love smoke. This is something I am grateful for every single day (I have very strong opinions on smoking…don’t get me started!)
  9. I have a very daft dog
  10. I’ll be eating vegetables today that I have grown and picked myself
  11. If I didn’t have my own veggies to eat, I could go to the supermarket and buy as many as I like
  12. I have perfume to make me smell nice
  13. Even though I know and appreciate that there are terrible, horrible, disgraceful, unfathomably nasty things going on in the world, I can still listen to jolly music on the radio in the mornings.
  14. I am retired, though I don’t feel old enough to be
  15. I have nice feet, and shoes to put on them
  16. I know how to bake a cake and make wine….really, that’s all you need 🙂
  17. I haven’t seen a spider in my house for several days
  18. I can go out for a spin in Mavis, my new little red car, if I fancy it today
  19. I can count at least five different species of birds in my garden right now… as I type..
  20. I’ll get to have another session learning Japanese today

I’m wondering what your list might look like. I guess that one or two of your’s would match mine, but I’d love to hear what other’s you have. For inspiration here’s Ian Drury and the Blockheads for you:

Have a magical Monday x

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Loving it

Hmm…I’m not sure what to write today. I feel as if I haven’t written anything ‘proper’ on here for ages, so guess I should try and come up with something.

I could talk about the weather.  It’s unusually hot here in England at the mo’.  In fact, it was reported that yesterday was the hottest July day ever recorded, and yes, it was a scorcher. You’d think the end had come the way it’s all over the news and media. Personally, I like a bit of hot weather, and know it will be short lived and we’ll suffer for it with full on thunder storms and rain for at least a week afterwards, so not getting over-excited. Nuff said.

I’m stuck at home at the moment, ‘cos my husband’s car is in ‘hospital’ having broken down on his way to work on Monday, and he’s had to pinch my car this week.  In some ways it’s been good. For instance, I haven’t been able to get to the gym (hooray, at last an excuse!!), I’ve been able to spend time watering the thirsty garden (ooh…it’s thirsty Thursday.. perhaps I should have written about my trials and tribulations with the hose….) and enjoy the sun, and best of all, I’ve been able to spend more hours than I should watching the tennis from Wimbledon on my TV.

As you know, I’m not what you might call sporty, but I do love Wimbledon fortnight.

When I was young I always thought it was very staid and a bit, well, anal – stuck in the mud, old-fashioned even. Not to mention it’s stupid scoring (I know, that’s just tennis, but I wanted to make a nod to my heading…see I thought about it!) But then I watched the likes of Nastase and McEnroe ruffle Wimbledon’s grass, and shake it all up a bit.  Lots of people may say that they ruined the game with their outbursts, and I would agree the outbursts were rude and unsportsmanlike, but oh, it was great to see sportsmen with such emotional commitment, and humanity. It raised the crowd to a jeering mass, instead of the usual polite clapometers. It injected life into the prim and dusty arena.

Now, the partisan crowd can be embarrassing – OMG… do you remember all the sad old years and pitiful cries of ‘Come on Tim’, but at least they’re fully engaged. And on the whole they will cheer on the underdog from whatever corner of the globe they come from. They recognise the good, and encourage the erm, less good.

Personally, I really enjoyed watching Hewitts ‘Fanatics’ and they’re choreographed chanting the other day. Amazingly they managed to get the majority of the rest of the spectators chanting along with them as if the whole court was filled with Aussies!  Sadly, despite that noisy backing, Hewitt was knocked out and we won’t be seeing him at Wimbledon ever again.

Of course, the first week is full of one-sided mismatches, and you have to feel sorry for some of the players, like poor old Thomaz Bellucci from Brazil, who has come up against top ten players in the first round for the last three years (he was knocked out by Nadal on Tuesday). But nonetheless I’ll watch as many matches as I can spare the time for (but goodness me, don’t they go on forever sometimes – one match = another three hours of my life gone!).

Even the women’s matches are more exciting these days.  I remember when the commentary on women’s matches consisted mainly of which designer they were wearing (‘Miss Jean-King is wearing a dress and matching frilly knickers by Ted Tingling‘). But these days, the clothes barely get a mention whichever beautiful, strong, fierce player is on court.

I have to be honest here too… I do enjoy some of it’s uptightness.  I like the all whites rule, it is very peculiar to me to watch other tournaments where that doesn’t apply, they all look a bit scruffy! I like seeing the sharp eyed linespeople squeezed into those horrible prissy outfits, and the sweet ball folk scuttling around or standing statue still in military order even while holding an umbrella over a sweaty player’s head for five minutes. Bless!  And the strawberries and pimms, that, well obvs, I have to join in with at home.

So I’m looking forward to next week, when it will really get gladiatorial, with the big guns battling it out. I’ll be glued.

But wait…oh no… I’ll have my car back. Eeek…I’m going to have to start living real life again. Shopping, gyming, IT grouping, housework (noooooo, I know I do not need a car to do housework, but it just puts me out of sorts. OK?).

Oh well, I suppose Wimbledon will be rained off by then 😉

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12 reasons I practice yoga…(ok, it’s a bit of ego…)

It strikes me that I haven’t written anything about my yoga practice lately.  This has been brought to my attention because I wanted to brag about my latest achievement. Yes folks, I’ve managed to achieve a headstand without the security of a wall behind me.

Now, this may seem very little to you, but it’s taken me bloomin’ months of effort.  I’d have a practice most days.  At first I’d heave my feet upwards and they’d bash against the wall, my shoulders would sink under the weight, and generally I’d topple sideways in an ungainly sack of potatoes way.  Slowly things improved until my toes would just touch lightly on the wall, I’d hold myself straight and drift my legs featherlike to the floor.  I’ve been at that stage for months.  But yesterday…yay… I took a deep breath, held on to my tummy muscles for grim death, and pulled my legs over my head.  It wasn’t easy peasy getting there, but the sense of achievement was stupidly immense.

A couple of weeks ago my yoga teacher gave a lesson in which she asked us to look at ‘letting go of the ego’.  Amongst other things, she asked us to question why we were pushing ourselves to achieve poses and positions that we found difficult.  Did we push ourselves harder than we should to impress?

I’ve mulled over this question quite a lot recently, and I’m not sure I know the definitive answer for me.  In truth, there are many reasons why I practice yoga regularly.  Here’s my top twelve (in no particular order):

  1. To gain muscle tone
  2. To improve balance
  3. To improve flexibility
  4. Escape – there’s no room for other thoughts when you are trying to hold every bit of your body in the correct position whilst concentrating on your breath too.
  5. Getting to know my body – what are ‘normal’ aches and pains, where the tight bits are, which bits need a bit more work
  6. Mindfulness – being aware
  7. Age is no barrier (or size for that matter) – yoga is progressive whatever stage you are at in both your practice and in life
  8. Power – All that balancing, bending, stretching and breathing leaves me feeling like I could do anything. I am woman. I am powerful woman! (in contrast the gym leaves me feeling like I could keel over at any moment).
  9. Strength – Unlike many women in their 60’s I know I can hold my own weight on my hands without too much trouble. This is probably not something many women want to do, but hey, it makes me feel good to know it!  My core is getting stronger too – I’ve moved on from just being able to hold plank pose for a second or two, to hanging on in there for over a minute!
  10. Relaxation – Many people would think they don’t need to ‘learn’ how to relax, but having learnt a few techniques I am quite capable of relaxing my body and brain enough to drift into sleep whenever I want, or need to. Hell, if I work through my relaxation drill I can even manage to nod off in the discomfort of a plane seat!
  11. Exercise – contrary to common belief, yoga is dynamic. Every muscle should be engaged, and it’s not unusual to get hot and a bit puffy after maintaining a pose for a couple of minutes.  It is indeed proper exercise!
  12. Posture – sad to say I’ve always had dodgy posture, but since regular yoga practice I am constantly reminded to stand tall, shoulders back and down, tummy engaged….. I recognise when I’m slumped and slouchy and it’s become (becoming) instinctive to straighten up.

Add to that the friends I’ve made in class you will see that there are plenty of positives.  In fact I’m pretty sure I’ll think of even more as soon as I press ‘post’.  I can’t think of any negatives at all.

I’m aware that not everyone wants to push so hard in their practice, but basically I push myself because I like to and it feels like it’s good for me. I can see the progress. It’s only a little bit about boasting…honestly! 🙂

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It’s not my birthday

Seeing double_1It was my daughters’ birthday yesterday.  I always think it should be the parents who should celebrate birthdays, after all, it’s me who remembers it.  In fact I remember it in crisp and clear detail.

I remember being cheered and clapped by the nursing staff as I managed to waddle up the stairs to the operating theatre under my own steam.  I remember being told to curl up into a tight ball and not move as the epidural was given, although curling up into a tight ball and not moving was pretty unachievable given the size of my twin-filled tummy.  I remember the lights, the smell, the team behind the screen that had been put up to stop me seeing the caesarean incision, and my husband beside me, his anxious eyes peering over the top of his surgical mask.

I remember getting the collywobbles in my top half, due, I was told, to the effect of the drugs, and no doubt exacerbated by feeling so excited I could burst.

I remember the first babies cry, and the ‘baby one is a little girl’

‘Helen’ my husband said

Then just two minutes later the second baby’s prostestations ‘Another little girl’

‘Corinne’

I remember when they put them in my still wobbly arms, one at a time because I couldn’t really move what with all the lines attached, and I remember saying ‘Happy Birthday’ to each of them and kissing them on the forehead.

I remember that instant surge of overwhelming love.  I loved the whole world in that moment.  In fact, they were my whole world.

They had to go off to the Special Baby Unit for a couple of days as Corinne just teetered on the edge of acceptable weight (5lb) and they wanted to keep them together.  They were nestled in a single cot like a couple of sardines in a tin.  Tiny knitted bonnets on their tiny blonde heads.

Oh yes, I remember it.  And all the other birthdays and parties.  The naff magician when they were three, the bouncy castle, the bowling party, the big girls disco when they were ten, the marquee at eighteen with drunken boyfriends in attendance (boo drunken boyfriend…you know who you are…).

These days it is rare for us to be together for their birthday, in fact, this year Helen worked a 12 hour shift (although she tells me that one of her colleagues did make her a very nice cake!) and Corinne was at a wedding, so we only just about managed to have a very brief phone call with each of them.

Never mind, we’re planning to celebrate together in June, and maybe I’ll get all the baby pictures out and remind them that, although it’s their birthday, for me, it was the most exciting and wonderful day of my life!

P.S.  Reminiscing brought me to jot this down….

box hill Sepia

I remember two small girls
skipping along the hill
in the summer of their
cherry cheeked childhood

studying sticks and stones
amongst red-gold leaves
whilst clouds cast faint shadows
foretelling futures
of long-legged beauty.

Then, in the chill of evening sun
Tramping down the slope,
homeward
for warm-up tea and
chocolate cake comfort.

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What’s it mean? Wednesday

Magniloquent – speaking or expressed in a lofty or grandiose style; pompous; bombastic; boastful.*

What a great yummy word!

Say it out loud – it starts with that hard ‘g’ at the back of your throat, then a roll of the tongue, and ‘oh’ and then softens off at the end with a gentle ‘t’.

Mind you, you’d probably be guilty of that very thing if you threw it into a conversation or bit of writing.  I must say, I hope I’m not magniloquent.  I like to think that anything I write is fairly simple, readable, and concise, and I do tend to use pretty basic language (let’s be honest here, I’m not actually sure I could use anything but simple words even if I wanted to).  Sadly though, even simple words can easily be misenterpreted, or not interpreted at all, and as bloggers, of course, we should be very considerate of that.

I often write verses the meaning of which is perfectly clear to me. Yes, of course I use metaphors and similies and all that stuff, but I always think they’re obvious not just to me, but to any other readers too. Clearly they are not. Well, not to everyone.  Our minds work in different ways.

For instance, I changed the name of a recent poem I posted.  The original name was ‘Suicide Son’ which is kinda what came to mind as I was writing it, but I thought it was a bit of a horrible title, both shocking and unpleasant, so I changed it to ‘Why?’ (you can read it here).  From the comments I’ve had both on the blog and from family and friends, it is obvious that this has several completely different interpretations to the one in my head when I wrote it.

Not that I mind. Perhaps the original title would have made the intention clearer, but I think poetry should be open to interpretation, and it’s just as well that not everyone has a macabre mind like mine. And after all, I can console myself with the fact that I find even the most famous poets work pretty mystifyi ng sometimes.

Anyhow, I guess making things a bit ambiguous isn’t quite the same as being magniloquent, so I’ll just keep on keeping on for now.

Toodle-ooo!  🙂

*definition courtesy of Dictionary.com

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Thirsty Thursday

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For anyone who hasn’t yet visited Marrakech, Morocco, you must.  Jemaa El-Fna is the huge square in the centre.  Scooters and motorbikes go in all directions as do pony and traps, there are entertainers dancing, gymnasts flick flacking and climbing on each other to make pyramids (ta da!) hawkers selling, well everything – we even found a stall selling second hand false teeth (where did he get those from I wonder?), people with performing monkeys, musicians, people telling stories, people grabbing your hands to try and paint henna on them, it’s colourful, noisy and mad, in the best possible way.  In fact you can just sit in a cafe sipping your tea and watch it all for hours.

I’ve always liked a refreshing glass of mint tea, it’s good for the digestion you know, and can help if you’ve got tummy upsets or the like.  However, I’d never tasted mint tea as good as the brew they deliver in Marrakech.

They pop freshly picked mint and a dollop of honey into a silver tea pot, bung in some boiling water and serve (from a height to cool it) into wee little glasses.  Perfect on a scorching hot Marrakech morning (or afternoon).. (or evening)…

‘We can’t make it this good at home’ we thought ‘the little teapot must be the key’

We set off to the souk to buy one, and while we were at it, thought we’d get some for our daughters too, as a souvenir  So we needed three topnotch teapots.  Surely there would be a deal to be done.

The souks run off of the square and are narrow covered lanes with market stalls or tiny shops on either side. They are normally packed with people, animals pulling carts, and mad motorcyclists trying to run you down. It’s steamily hot,and there are some interesting smells. But I absolutely love them.  The atmosphere is like nowhere else. Mostly jovial, but you have to beware of anyone trying to fleece you, or pick your pockets.  Probably no worse than any other tourist ridden place though.

It didn’t take us long to find a small shop whose shelves were overloaded with gleaming teapots of all different designs and sizes.  We pondered long and hard over which three to choose while the owner of the shop stood courteously to one side watching us diligently.  As soon as we picked a couple up, he swooped and gave us an outrageously high price which he swore was a bargain for these authentic Moroccon items. Now, anyone who has ever been to Morocco must know that the rule of thumb is to seriously haggle over the price. When he found out we were buying three, he did drop it a bit, and after haggling good naturedly for a good half an hour, we got him to a more reasonable sum which was about a quarter of the original price he’d suggested.

Letting us know that he wouldn’t be able to feed his family of ten for a week because we had struck such a hard bargain (hmm….) he wrapped up our lovely bona fide Marrakechian pots and we went off to find a cool spot to have another cup of tea.

When we got back to our room in our little Riad, we were eager to inspect our purchases. Polished and shiny, prettily patterned, they would be a perfect reminder of our short holiday in Morocco.

Though we did see the funny side when we turned them over and found ‘Made In Manchester’ stamped brazenly on the bottom!!

Tea in a Marrakech cafe

Cooling off with a cuppa in a Marrakech cafe