Saturday, June 09, 2012
Frame - Day 15
This is one for those who say Vincent has only one expression. Not that they have enough taste to read this blog...
Friday, June 08, 2012
Fuck the world, I want to get off
Excited to receive my new Sat Nav this morning, I tried to download into it from the manufacturer's site. Now I have a fucked computer sitting at the menders because some hideous bastard thinks it's fun - and maybe profitable - to pretend that his invention is a police lock on your computer because of an illegal download.
PC World is trying to get rid of an ultra elusive virus, but I might yet lose everything on there. Meanwhile my old laptops are terminally slow. I already tried twice to post about this on my blog, to no avail. It's nearly an hour since I switched the latest one on, and twenty minutes since I told it to shut down when I realised it was getting nowhere, and it's still not there.
The iPad is all I have left.
Frame - Day 13
The combination of the grey jacket and the dark shirt on those huge shoulders is so sexy.
Thursday, June 07, 2012
Wednesday, June 06, 2012
Jubilend
I'm not a royalist. I believe inequality. I really resent that I am not a British citizen, but a British subject.
I was once at an opera gala that the Queen Mother attended, and I didn't stand up for the national anthem. When asked why, I replied that I would stand up for the old lady on a bus, but not as a mark of deference.
On another occasion I was in the front row of the stalls for an opera performance that the Duke and Duchess of Kent were attending. They kept us all waiting, then we were expected to stand for the anthem. As usual I stayed seated. A woman behind me jabbed me on the shoulder and did a "stand up" gesture with her thumb, saying "Up". For once, the correct response came to me in good time. "Up yours," I replied.
So I have not strung out any Union Jack bunting - I've actually seen hardly any. There have been no street parties. I have watched almost nothing on TV. As for going up there, well, apart from the cold and rain, and the standing round that I can no longer do, I need a toilet every few minutes (OK, not quite) so I wouldn't have considered that. But there were a couple of things I wanted to see.
The first was Paul McCartney's contribution.
The second was the firework display at the end of the concert.
These I enjoyed less. I can't help thinking about the disturbance to the local wildlife, especially the birds, when we disrupt their sleep with our bangs and flashes.
Finally there was the flypast. Mostly I was hoping that after their trip along The Mall (pronounced to rhyme with "pal", not "fall") they might go home via my house. Concorde used to go over regularly, and the Red Arrows have been known to come this way during the Biggin Hill Air Show. But no such luck.
So I have still never seen a Spitfire, Hurricane or Lancaster Bomber fly in real life.
I was once at an opera gala that the Queen Mother attended, and I didn't stand up for the national anthem. When asked why, I replied that I would stand up for the old lady on a bus, but not as a mark of deference.
On another occasion I was in the front row of the stalls for an opera performance that the Duke and Duchess of Kent were attending. They kept us all waiting, then we were expected to stand for the anthem. As usual I stayed seated. A woman behind me jabbed me on the shoulder and did a "stand up" gesture with her thumb, saying "Up". For once, the correct response came to me in good time. "Up yours," I replied.
So I have not strung out any Union Jack bunting - I've actually seen hardly any. There have been no street parties. I have watched almost nothing on TV. As for going up there, well, apart from the cold and rain, and the standing round that I can no longer do, I need a toilet every few minutes (OK, not quite) so I wouldn't have considered that. But there were a couple of things I wanted to see.
The first was Paul McCartney's contribution.
The second was the firework display at the end of the concert.
These I enjoyed less. I can't help thinking about the disturbance to the local wildlife, especially the birds, when we disrupt their sleep with our bangs and flashes.
Finally there was the flypast. Mostly I was hoping that after their trip along The Mall (pronounced to rhyme with "pal", not "fall") they might go home via my house. Concorde used to go over regularly, and the Red Arrows have been known to come this way during the Biggin Hill Air Show. But no such luck.
So I have still never seen a Spitfire, Hurricane or Lancaster Bomber fly in real life.
Tuesday, June 05, 2012
Strasberry, anybody?
I came across some of these little beauties in the supermarket today:
They are strasberries. The name and the appearance are misleading. They are not a hybrid between strawberries and raspberries. Genetically they are strawberries. They are sharper than ordinary strawberries, but not acid. They taste fragrant, but don't really smell it. They are softer than the regular ones, so they just melt away from the stalks and dissolve in your mouth, no biting or chewing necessary.
All in all a pleasant experience that I will repeat if I ever find them again.
All in all a pleasant experience that I will repeat if I ever find them again.
Monday, June 04, 2012
Remembering Puddy
In the spring of 1974, my then husband and I decided that the cat that was climbing our legs for food at our new flat must be a stray. We soon discovered that she was a pregnant stray. As students we didn't think we should let her have her kittens, so the vet gave her an abortion. We had lots of ambitious for names for our new cat, but by now she answered to Puddy (as in I tought I taw a Puddy Tat) so Puddy it was. She was probably about 2 years old. She was a pretty semi-longhaired tabby with a gingery tinge, huge eyes and a fluffy tail.
Puddy was the start of my cat collection. Two years later Biggles arrived, and since then, except for a few weeks after Biggles' death at the age of almost 15, I have never had fewer than 2 cats. In total, since 1974 - 38 years - I've had 10 cats, and still have 6 of them.
Puddy must have been nearly 20 when she died on 4th June 1992, and to this day I cannot talk about the tragic accident that led to her lonely, frightened death. She was such a beauty.
Puddy was the start of my cat collection. Two years later Biggles arrived, and since then, except for a few weeks after Biggles' death at the age of almost 15, I have never had fewer than 2 cats. In total, since 1974 - 38 years - I've had 10 cats, and still have 6 of them.
Puddy must have been nearly 20 when she died on 4th June 1992, and to this day I cannot talk about the tragic accident that led to her lonely, frightened death. She was such a beauty.
