Well Preserved

Note to self :- if I really have to chop 16 oz / 450 g of medium chilli's for part of this Christmas's batch of chilli jellys, chutneys and chilli sauce /preserve, I must wear something a little more substantial than surgical gloves. That chilli juice gets everywhere. Ow, ow, ow :)

'Orders' are rolling in - a bit late this year, but it's up to the recipients if they want to wait - most of the recipes I've used over the years benefit for being left to mature. Unless asked now, I make (quite a lot really) for family use. We've started on a piccalilli that's just over a year old, which is fine, but to be on the safe side, I'm uncomfortable giving something that mature to anyone else.

If the requests pile up any more, I'm going to have to think about charging or barter. That sounds cool, but at this time of year I'm not in the mood for one of those "Is there anything we can do to help sir?" letters from the tax-man.

Siggy

Not too well at the mo. Not that I'm complaining - I get to hog the really comfy couch, and the TV remote, and get mollycoddled. More than usual, that it :)

Bizarre. Basically, Bear and I were dog sitting Marco, who is a year older than our woofler, Sigma, 9 months, but has the same mother . They get on wonderfully, and Sigma loves Marco's visits.

Like all mammalian brothers, they love a to play fight, their favourite game being to drag each other around by their collars. So when they started skittering around the living room, as usual, I chucked them out into the back garden while I got on making some Chilli Jelly.

A few minutes later, I heard the most unholy yelping. Not the usual play-growling.

I dunno. Instinct just took over. One minute, I was in the kitchen, the next I found myself next to two dogs in the snow. Marco the elder was yelping and panicking, and Sigma was prostrate, eyes closed.

Marco's bottom jaw canine teeth were hooked underneath Sigma's collar, and couldn't get free. How the heck he'd managed that, I've no idea, it was so unbelievably tight. So tight, that Sigma was being chocked. I tried my darnest to free the collar from the teeth, but had no success.

Meanwhile, my hands were slick with blood from Marco's gums, and I couldn't get a grip on Sigma's collar to undo it. Meanwhile, poor Sigma was breathing, eyes closed and unconscious, and the only way I could even hope to undo the buckle was to pull even tighter.

I shouted The Bear, and for what seemed an age, we alternated between one of us trying to free the thick leather from Marco's canines, and undoing the buckle on Sigma's collar. In reality, it couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes. Somehow, we managed it.

Marco ran into the house, and poor Sigma was laid lifeless in the snow. Poor Bear was absolutely distraught. Crying and shaking "I've lost my dog, I've lost my dog" :(

It seems in our attempts to get him free, I'd had to pull it even tighter to get the peg out of the buckle.
I checked his breathing and heartbeat, and it was zero. bear was right.

So I thought, it's worked with people (other stories for another time) so I asked Bear to tuck his tongue in, hold his mouth shut, and blow through his nose when I asked, while I pumped on his rib-cage like crazy.

Within gods only know how long, he coughed, was sick, so I scooped him up, carried him indoors, rubbed him with a towel, and wrapped him in one of Bears jumpers and a blanket , and bless him, he slept on the couch with Bear by his side for 12 hours. He's back to his demanding yappy old self.

Me? It would seem I was bitten and scratched during our endeavours, and lost a few fingernails. Which means I've got some unwelcome 'bugs' in my system. Meh.

The moral of this story is? The skills that we pick up as parents never, ever, let you down.

Reform.

May I direct your attention to This Blog that discusses the changes the ConLib Coalition has planned for disability benefits.

It's worth noting the author is disabled, employed, and receives Disability Living Allowance, as DLA, unlike Employment & Support Allowance (ESA - the new name for Incapacity Benefit) is not means tested.

I know I keep repeating this, but DLA isn't granted for specific medical conditions. It's a support to enable those with disabilities to live a normal life as possible. I'll resist rattling on, because Bendy Girl describes the forthcoming changes much more eloquently than I can. It's a bit of a worry - not because of the money, which is sadly inadequate anyway, but the money is an enabler.

~~~~~~

Apparently, I'm a Grandad again. Twice in a year. Blimey. Another girl. This one is in Chicago, US of A. Won't get to see my Grand daughter for a long while, because of UK border immigration controls :(

I'm too young to be a Grandad. Honest.

Cloned.

After a sudden flash of inspiration, a little part of some of the odd happenings may be close to being solved.

To recap, since the 1st November,

1) Mystery doctor's appointment being made in my name.
2) Mystery nutcase shouting at me at me on my doorstep.
3) Mystery woman telephoning about 'disability allowance' - and the DWP denying it.
4) Autograph hunter.
5) Lots of number-withheld hang-ups.

It seemed logical that the GP Surgery covers the local area.

It's my experience that people share a forename within a generation. My surname is reasonably common, (though thankfully, not Smith. That would broaden the data range far too much).

My forename is very common, though my middle name isn't in the least :) I'm normally known by a variation of my middle name, particularly by my GP Practice, which covers roughly 3,000 people.

Conclusion? That there was someone out there with a similar name to me at the same GP, in the same area.

So I've asked. They told me that they aren't really allowed to say, due to patient confidentiality and data protection laws. However, they could say that it wouldn't be a surprise if a Couple with remarkably similar names wasn't on their list, though perhaps older, considering the size of their list.

A Couple? That'll do me :)

Doesn't resolve everything. We don't know of a couple of similar names, and we are ex-directory. But I intend to find out. And I intend to find out where Mr. Shouty got our address from, as I can guarantee that unlike most people in the universe, we aren't on any commercial databases. I don't want or need Credit.

I opted out of the electoral roll years ago.

Wimmin'

"Take yer eye out, that will"

"Huh?"

Miles away I was. In a revere, as they say. I was busy trying to think of caption to a quick 'toon I'd just done of Bear shovelling 6" of ice off the front path. Love to see a good strong Yorkshire woman wield a shovel. Nowt better. Ahum.

She'd gone bonkers because I'd had a 'hello floor' moment on the path while trying to get Siggy The Idiot Dog in. Shovel, ripple, chuck, curse. Shovel, ripple, chuck, curse.

Ye small gods, she ain't 'alf sexy when she's mad......"I SAID, TAKE YER EYE OUT"

Ouch. Errrr.. Tried the 'puppy eyes'. Well, as close as you can when your in your fifties. I probably looked like I was about to have a nasty personal accident.

It works for the dog, dammit. "Yes dear?"

I realised why it was so cold. The front door was open. Its minus 2 C. She was in next doors garden. From their eves, 20 feet up, hangs a gynourmous 6 foot icicle. Underneath, was an indignant Bear, Paddington hat on, hands on hips, glaring upwards.

"Er, well, sweets, darlin', petal, do you think it's a good idea to, um...." She ignored me. "That's bloody dangerous that is. That could come crashing down at any time, that could."

"Yeah" I said. "Do you think standing there is, um.."

Nope. Not interested. "I mean, if someone should walk into Christine's garden, and just happened to be standing underneath it, I mean, it would go straight through them, wunnit?"

"Ah, na'then, Bear now you menti...."

"What are you lookin' at me like that for? They should do something about that, they should. Can you reach it?"

It's Twenty.
Feet.
Up.

"No petal". "Well, don't stand their looking like an idiot, put the kettle on. Some people."

Wimmin.

A wise man has only one answer in circumstances like this. It's (but not aloud).

Yes miss.

:)

Bit of a mixed bag...

A dear friend had a tiny kitten, a little ball of fluff, that she doted on. She'd spent a small fortune on cat beds, climbing poles, toys.

She stacked her dryer, and left the door open.... upshot is, she was distracted by one of her children. Just for a couple of mins. Came back, shut the door, started the dryer, and a couple of mins later realised she couldn't find the kitten.... too late :(

Distraught, she phoned the RSPCA immediately for advice to revive it. They talked her through to no avail. Apparently, it's quite common. Poor little mite was just looking for somewhere warm, as kitty's do.

She isn't in any trouble, and she did all the right things, but the poor lass is utterly inconsolable. She keeps crying her heart out. Having two cats and a woofler myself, I can understand how she feels.

It's a sort of mark of respect for how well regarded she is that, because she's not really wanting to talk to anyone at the moment, that I've had 8 offers so far (word leaks out, I guess) of kittens, puppies to replace the kitty. I've said no, not yet. Bless her. Accidents happen.

~~~~~

I'm a bit fed up. I've had three guys I've kept in touch with since my churchy days some 13/14 years ago die this year. All lived alone. All smoked 'blow'. To explain. 'blow' is a generic name for cannabis.

20 years ago, it referred, in the UK, to an illegal, cheap oxo cube style mild stuff that left them a bit spaced out. Heck, often it was an oxo! Over the years, it became an insidiously cheap mix of a twenty times more powerful grass looking stuff called 'skank' or 'skunk' that they smoked mix with tobacco.

Don't give a cuss about the pro's and con's of legalisation. It kills. All the chaps were in their mid-forties.

~~~~~

Bear and Tots are off helping a neighbour put up their 8 foot Christmas tree. Ye small gods, where do you put a tree that size? And wow, how many ornaments does that take?

Chuckle! The important thing is that they've got together as a community - heart warming.

Catchya :

Warning. Not for the sensitive. Time limited post :)

As you may know, I do a little fund raising for the Stroke Association.

This time of year, I get a bunch of Raffle Tickets. Which leaves me right open to blackmail.

A so-called friend has offered to buy £20 worth if I post somewhere on the net a couple of the most awful photos of myself. I'm notorious for hating having my photo taken.

Here seems to a good a place as any :)

A bit of haggling later, he lifted his stipulation that they should be recent, and paid up in advance.

Here goes - for 24 hours only (shudder !!)


And that's yer lot.

..............and there it is, gone. D'yknow, it's only just occurred to me, if I'd had thought on, I'd have charged per photo, darn it. Still, early doors yet :)

So far, £120 raised. To quote the bard - "'tis not as deep as well, or as wide as a church door, but 'tis enough".. ... Thank you to Dave for his contribution. You , you, person, you :)


Psst. 'tween you and me, I look exactly the same now. Which I'm not sure is a good thing :)

Dog-cicle !

It's totally crazy here on the Seven Hills. It's minus 2, a blizzard outside, and away from the shelter of my doorway, there's at least 18" of snow. The schools are shut, no buses are running, and the roads are deserted. It's so bad the gritters are having real problems getting out and about.

Despite that, Bear is battling down to the shops, normally 10 mins away, and she's arranged over Facebook with the local ladies to go sledging at a nearby steep field, known locally as 'Maggies'. It's a little unclear whether they intend to take the kids with them :)

Apparently it's the worse snow at this time of year for at least 17 years, and the snow and low temperatures are set to get much worse.

I love it :)


Ah, here we go.

Bear Feet !

~~~~~