Mother says that we now have something called ‘a Hive’. I was really looking forward to a dollop of fresh honey, until she dropped the bombshell that it’s something to do with the heating. Nothing to do with the little buzzy things who live in a fructose factory…..
She says that we can now control our central heating remotely. Big deal. I have nowhere to keep a smart phone whilst I’m out and about, so it never was going to apply to me
On another topic, reporter on the TV speaking about the rationing of operations. ‘Hernias are going to be reduced’.
Ain’t that the point?…..
Hello and best wishes to all our Scottish cousins from the Sassenachs who live below Hadrian’s Wall. For tonight is Burns Night….
Yes Burns. He who wrote about a mousie. A small timorous beastie. Or dinner as I like to call it.
Across the border they will be toasting the haggis tonight. Bit like us toasting a sausage. But we’d try to do that on a barbecue rather than by knocking back the single malt. The other thing about haggis is that its packed to the gunnels with bits of sheep that are left over after you’ve eaten the chops and the shank. Mother says that this may be why there’s so much whisky flowing about – you’d need to be halfway pished before you could be persuaded to eat it. Me, on the other hand. I’d give it a good go……….
So in honour of my kilted friends…….
Some have meat and cannot eat,
Some cannot eat that want it;
But we have meat, and we can eat,
Sae let the Lord be thankit
(I have no idea what any of that means, but have a great time if you’re celebrating tonight).
Yet again, food is on the Government bandwagon as they try to dictate what’s bad for you. This time it’s burnt toast.
Some clever clogs has worked out that you would need to eat 320 slices of burnt toast a day in order to succumb to the carcinogenic effects of Warburtons (other bread is available).
Mother would have a struggle to eat 320 slices in a decade. She likes her toast the same as her tea – borderline anaemic with a tenuous relationship with the grill/teabag. We have to stop her using the same teabag for a week.
So fret not my friends. Eat what you like. Brown food is here to stay.
Especially Kit Kats. Mother says they’re just the right shade…..
Apparently, the Royal College of Nursing has flagged up that some nurses work 12 hour shifts without a single break. This isn’t new, it just seems to be getting a lot worse.
Back when she was a lad, Mother regularly ate her tea on the way from patient to patient. Under cover of darkness, eating your cheese sarnie is not likely to attract the attention of the Plod, who we know will slap a fine on you for driving without due care. They think a cheese sarnie is bad, but God knows what they’d have done if they caught Mother eating a yoghurt.
Since retirement, Mother says she still has a struggle to stop herself eating her chicken dinner in the car……..
Further to my adventures with half a dead bird, I have landed myself in the doghouse again. I have pilfered Mother’s lunch from the kitchen worktop. Two beautifully formed oatcakes just waiting for a smattering of cheese and a minute in the microwave.
To be clear. Oatcakes round here aren’t the biscuit type thingies so beloved by our Scottish cousins. They are flat , round thingies a bit like a limp frisbee. Which you have with bacon, tomato, sausage, egg, black pudding, jam – whatever floats your boat really. Mother is a traditionalist and prefers just plain cheese.
I am not going to tell her that I don’t really like them. Wouldn’t want to make a bad situation worse now, would we?……
Mother has been out for a lovely lunch today with two of her old friends from work. Or two of her friends from old work. This will probably keep the pair of them happier as it doesn’t infer that they’re past it……
She has also been to deliver the proof that she isn’t a master criminal to the people who have offered her a job. It’s called a Disclosure Barring Check. It’s a really brilliant way of finding out if people have been naughty. And of course it’s valid for precisely 30 seconds, or for the time it takes for the person sitting in front of a computer to review the current records……
Yesterday, Mother received the settlement from United Airlines for the flight delay on the way to New York. £506. Which considering the flight only cost £250 is a bit of a result.
Rumours abound relating to the reason for the delay. The first was ‘staffing problems’, leading Mother to suggest that if they could provide the pilot, she would serve her own dinner. Then it was ‘mechanical problems ‘ before the plane even left Newark airport en route to Birmingham. Here, Mother admitted defeat. The Atlantic is cold at this time of year and a flight aborting into the waves is something to be avoided. Especially if you can’t swim……
And don’t forget to mention the ‘is anyone on the flight medically qualified?’ episode. In a crisis, it seems a retired nurse will do. And it was only a vaso-vagal attack (or glorified faint for the uninitiated) which was resolved by lying down. And which got Mother into First Class for the first and probably only time in her life.
It was not a full blown cardiac arrest which unfortunately befell Carrie Fisher at 30,000 feet.
And which would have produced quite a different effect on Mother’s own vagal nerve……