On my high horse
And while I’m on my high horse, I may as well just carry on!
OK – folks. Can you explain it to me? How does this kind of thinking work?
China has been praised from all corners of the world for organizing a great Olympics. “Well done!” “That was well organized!” “Oh, and thanks for making the smog lift for a few weeks!”
You get the picture.
It’s great that people have discovered China – and the wonderful people that live there. And I mean that: after all, I spent three years as a volunteer teacher there.
I digress… Anyway, China has now sent up its very own spacecraft and a Chinese astronaut has just taken a walk in space. A step forward for Chinese space exploration.
But isn’t it time to get your head down out of the clouds? To plant your feet firmly back on the ground?
I mean: how is the government going to explain that it can organize a global event and put a man into space yet it still can’t protect the lives of its youngest and most vulnerable inhabitants?
Now… if you could just pass that ladder, I’ll try and get off my high horse with a little grace.
Grumpy old bags
Yesterday. A glorious late summer afternoon. The sun was shining. The children singing. All in all – a perfect day. Until… well, we met her… the grumpy old bag.
It all started off so well. Karriärmamman and I had collected the kids from school and nursery and were now wandering our way home with five kids, a laden pram, a variety of assorted rucksacks, a big plastic boat, a noisy sword and two dogs. In other words, an almost normal convoy of mothers and children on their way home in the blazing sunshine of a Friday afternoon.
Suddenly, the kids spy their favourite tree, the one that has shed hundreds of leaves in the riotous colours of autumn. Like lemmings they make a beeline (yes, I’m the master of mixed metaphors!) for the blaze of leaves on the grass and start gathering them up in a huge golden heap. They jump in them, bathe in them, hide under them.
The tree is located on a green verge outside a block of low-rise flats. And there, raking up some leaves on her tiny handkerchief of a garden (facing the green verge) is the bag. You know her – every neighbourhood has one: an old lady or man who hates the sound of children’s laughter, who takes it as a personal affront when others are happy. Someone, who quite simply, hates everyone and everything and wants the whole world to be as grumpy and miserable as they are.
“Move the children away! They can’t play here and be happy!” she screeches.
“Why? What harm are they doing?”
“That’s the trouble with the world today!” she replies. “People like you raise kids!”
I know I shouldn’t have replied, but I just couldn’t help myself. “You know nothing about me or how I bring up my kids…” I stutter.
“Oh I know exactly!” comes the reply. “I can tell by just looking at you!” (Aha – so she really was a witch with magical powers!)
“You’re the kind of mother who doesn’t teach her kids any manners!”
We deliberately let the kids carry on with their play and happy laughter before wending our way homewards.
I could hear Karriärmamman muttering under her breath, “And you’re the kind of old bag who needs to learn some manners!”
Promise me one thing, dear readers! Promise me that when you grow old, you will still delight in the laugher of children and the joy of living. Promise you won’t turn into an old bag!
The new Palin Disney film
And no – I’m not referring to the wonderfully funny Michael Palin either, but Vice-Presidential candidate, Sarah.
Unfortunately, YouTube were forced to remove the film trailer from their site, but if you’re quick, you can still see it here!
After all, with the global economy going down the tubes and a major US election to look forward, it’s pretty important to keep a sense of humour.
At least, I think so!
The birds and the bees
Shock horror! Nicole Kidman claims: “It was the fertile water that got me pregnant!”
Er… the 41-year-old actress has just given birth, for goodness sake! And yet she still thinks that it was ‘fertile water’ that made her pregnant?
Wonder what her husband has to say about that?
Might be time for a little talk about the birds and the bees….
Crying over spilt milk
I am on the warpath – ready to cut down corrupt officials with a few withering looks. *In fact, when Lady Fi is angry, she resembles a demented Rottweiler (no offence meant, oh rottweilers) – claims Sir Pe. OK – that last part is not really true. I put in that comment for extra drama…
Still, there is no doubt about it. I’m angry, furious, in a rage and hopping mad.
Why? Because of the toxic milk scandal in China that is rocking the world right now. You know the scandal I mean: the one about milk powder used in baby formula containing melamine (a banned toxic chemical used in making plastics and fertilizers). About liquid milk and other dairy products that also contain contaminated milk.
It seems that the Chinese dairy industry is hard to control: it consists of many small farms with only a few cows each that sell their raw milk to collecting stations. These stations then sell the milk to the big dairy producers. The farmers want more money for their milk and the dairy producers want to keep prices down, so the middlemen – in this case, the milk collectors – came up with the brilliant solution of watering down the milk and then putting in the magic ingredient melamine so that – in tests – the watered down milk appears to have a higher protein content than it actually contains. Why? Because the milk collectors get more money for this ‘better’ quality milk!
Now, that’s a wonderful idea, isn’t it? Let’s poison the milk used to make baby formula, sweets, buns, yoghurt and ice-cream. Let’s make a few bucks and damn the human suffering….
OK. It’s not only the middlemen that are to blame. Apparently, tampering with milk in China is widely used and it is no secret that it occurs. The laws to prevent this kind of thing seem to have more loopholes than your average Swiss cheese.
And then there is the question of covering up the scandal because of the Olympics. The first reports of sick children started coming in at the end of 2007. And yet – nothing was done! What was the government doing during all this?
And the worst part of it all is that the victims are the poor: those Chinese that could not afford foreign milk formula because it is so much more expensive than the Chinese counterparts.
And why is it that about 90% of all Chinese mothers do not breastfeed? Well, the world’s largest companies are already in there – at the hospitals – telling them to give their babies milk formula because it is so much more nutritious than breast milk.
You guessed it: the milk formula market is a billion dollar industry!
Does any of this ring a bell?
Flashback to the late 1970s and all the way through the 80s. People around the world boycotted Nestlé because of their aggressive sales campaigns to promote bottle feeding in developing countries. And, as a result, mothers mixed the milk powder with contaminated water (the only water available) with disastrous results.
In fact, as late as 2005, Nestlé’s milk products in China were found to contain iodine…
Mmm… could it be time for another boycott of dairy products?
No matter what: we should certainly be crying over spilt milk. In fact, we should be raging!
Promises promises!
The global economic crisis has even affected this sleepy corner of the world.
Today’s headlines scream out:
FEWER JOBS AND LESS ECONOMIC GROWTH
Sir Pe looks up from his coffee and says:
“At last! A promise the government can keep.”
A pat on the back
It’s been two weeks now and I really don’t have any more excuses for not saying a big thank you to the two people who awarded me an I love your blog award.
So, here goes: THANKS! It’s great to know that I have at least two readers outside my immediate family.
Naturally, with glory comes responsibility: and I’m supposed to nominate a few other blogs that I love. I know, I know – it’s getting to sound like a chain letter – but it isn’t. There’s no threat of bad luck or unhappiness if you do not comply, but I suspect that it’s bad netiquette not to at least mention a few blogs that you know and like. There are a whole bunch of ‘rules’, but I’ll put them right at the end of this post, so that you can ignore them if you like. OK?
I read every comment I get and visit your sites too. Now, I can’t include everybody, so I will mention just a few that I read – most of whom do not even know that I exist.
My nominations:
First off, I’d like to mention the two people who nominated me and say – here’s an I love your blog mention coming right back at you, guys!
From Gothenburg, Sweden, we have Blue: she hates autumn, loves cats and dogs, boots, blue and sunshades. If you understand Swedish, then go here for your daily dose of complaining and fun. She is a lady after my own heart as she can go into a supermarket with a shopping list and still come out with only several packets of chocolate!
Also in Swedish, my good friend Karriärmamman, whose hilarious posts about her life brighten up my day. Three kids and a confused husband add to the total chaos of her life. Read – and enjoy!
And while we’re talking about blogs in Swedish:
I’d like to mention Listoplisto, who deals with every subject under the sun on many blogs. Nothing escapes her scathing wit.
Still, in Sweden, but writing in English is PaddyK: he’s an Irishman so he can talk the hind leg off a donkey. He rants about most things, in a very amusing way.
For sheer quirkiness and a good sense of humour, I nominate Country Mouse. If you want to read about Wacko Jacko the dog, breastmilk ice cream or the hot dog that escaped, then read her!
For making me cry with laughter and giving me the new expression: ‘tooting your goofy hooter’, I just have to mention CDW – or The Country Doctor’s Wife. There’s never a dull moment in that household!
For sheer originality, and for making me laugh, I just have to mention a new favourite I stumbled upon: It’s Lovely! I’ll take it! Property descriptions and photos take on a whole new meaning.
Now, I could go on and on and on about lots of great blogs I read and enjoy. Just visit the site of anyone leaving a comment here, and you’ll see what I mean…
Luckily for you, I feel a nap coming on, so I will stop here.
Oh yes – if you feel like passing the I love your blog thingy on to others, then here are some guidelines as to what to do or not, depending on your mood:
- You can use the I love your blog photo. (Obviously – otherwise what’s the point?)
- Link to the person that nominated you. (That would be me.)
- Tell us about other blogs you enjoy (remembering to link to them so that we too can laugh at your taste in reading…)
- Umm… there are probably a few things I’ve forgotten.
- Oh yes – remember to tell the people you have nominated that they have been nominated. (If you want them to know about it, that is.)
Serenity
Autumn is just around the corner, and it is one of my favourite times for walking in the woods.
Just me, the dog and the trees.
Solitude.
A woodpecker hammering at a tree in the distance. The warbling of birds.
Peace.
It is a cherished part of my weekend routine. A chance to be on my own, away from the morning of chaos of hungry, tired children.
My chance to re-charge my serenity levels.
When I get back to the car after an hour’s walk, I realize that I have had two phone calls – and four text messages.
Yes…
It really is lovely to get away from it all!
A little bit of fluff
What is it with food manufacturers these days? Marshmallows are being marketed as some kind of …
… diet food?!
Here is picture of a packet of the little fluffy pillows that we bought yesterday.
Can you see what it says there? “Hospitality Marshmallows – a fat free food.”
What it doesn’t say is that these bite-sized delights of fat-free tastiness are, in fact, packed to the brim with sugar! Or ‘empty calories’ as our teachers at school taught us. They have no fat and no protein but they certainly pack a sugary punch!
Sugars include corn syrup (oh, the horror!), sugar, starch (don’t they use that to make collars stiff?), a bit of tetrasodium and some blue colouring (BLUE? Is that how they make these things so sparkly white?) to top the whole thing off.
Mmm… so that’s what makes them so inflammable, and so delicious, when you roast them over a fire….
Now – if you’re not looking – I think I’ll just have another one.
Phallic symbol is just the tip of the iceberg
Good heavens! Global warming is having some unexpected effects on icebergs.
Not only do they seem to float like clouds above the sea, but they lie in wait for unsuspecting boats, pretending to be lamb chops:
As if that weren’t enough, they have sharp teeth. Watch out for those fangs!
Perhaps they belong to this melting face. And – oh goodness! – is that his torso there too, or just an arm waving good-bye as he slowly and majestically disappears into the sea?
And finally … OMG! Can this really be a floating phallus? A penice, if you like? Looks like you’ve got a bit of frostbite there, buddy!
Apparently, this iceberg was snapped by professional photographer Andy Rouse in the Bransfield Strait.
I don’t know about you – but I think Mother Nature is trying to tell us something!
A coffee and a snooze, please!
In my last post (you have read it, haven’t you?) I mention some of the policies that Murky Coffee has: no iced espresso, no espresso to go and no sleeping (for customers).
It’s that last policy that has been bugging me. A lot.
After all, it seems to be a contradiction in terms. The whole point of caffeine is that it keeps you awake. It is a stimulant that fights off those feelings of drowsiness and keeps you alert – for a while, at least.
And yet – here is a coffee shop who has to ban a customer because of his chronic napping. Which means he must have made it a regular habit to go to the coffee shop, order a coffee and then promptly drop off to sleep!
My hat goes off to you, whoever you are.
This leads me to another question: was it really necessary to ban this customer because he enjoyed snoozing? After all, what harm was he doing? Setting a bad example to all the other jittery caffeine fans? Ruining the decor with his body slumped over the table? What?
So, whoever you are: I hope that you have managed to find a more accommodating coffee shop that allows you to order a coffee with a snooze on the side.
Quirky tale of coffee and passion
A few weeks ago, I came across a story about the Murky Coffee shop on Capitol Hill that had many Americans in a maelstrom of passion and opinions when one of the baristas at Murky Coffee refused to serve a guy (who just happened to be a journalist for The Washington Post) a triple espresso on ice.
“It’s against company policy,” he explained. It was a boiling hot day and the journalist’s temper was also at boiling point. He ended up ordering a triple espresso and some ice cubes on the side. That was not against company policy. Then – of course – he ended up pouring his coffee over the ice cubes in order to make his own iced espresso.
The journalist was so incensed that he wrote an article about his experience in the paper – and the rest, as they say, is history. The owner of Murky Coffee replied, explaining that the coffee shop had several policies: no sleeping (for the customers), no espresso to go, and no espresso over ice.
Why? Because they take great pride in their coffee and in keeping the highest possible quality for their customers. Coffee is so much more than we think it is.
Yes – I could appreciate this reasoning. Pride in work. Great coffee. Unbeatable drinking coffee experience for me, the customer.
That is – until today! After lunch, and before returning to work (which has the worst coffee in the world, I might add), I desperately needed a cappuccino. So, I went down to the local bakery where I have been buying cappuccinos to go for years. Years, I tell you!
This is an Austrian bakery famous for its pastries (NOT its coffee) and run by a very strict Austrian matriarch. “A cappuccino to go, please!” I say sweetly.
“No. We only serve cappuccino in cups.”
“Since when?” I gasp. “Since last week?”
“Cappuccino in cups. You can have a latte to go.”
“I don’t like latte,” I reply.
“Cappuccino in cups.” (It was getting a bit repetitive.) OK – time to get creative, I thought to myself!
“OK. Can you make me a latte but with half the milk?” I suggest.
“No.”
“What about if I promise not to drink the coffee until I get back to work and then pour it into a proper cup?” I say in my desperate I-need-caffeine voice.
“No. No cappuccino to go. No espresso to go.”
“No.” I declare. “You have now lost a faithful customer. And anyway, you’re not a coffee shop. You’re a bakery!”
I go up a flight of steps and get a really good cappuccino to go in another store.
It’s one thing for a coffee shop who does nothing all day but serve coffee to refuse to serve an iced espresso … maybe. But it’s quite another thing for a bakery to refuse me, Lady Fi, a cappuccino to go.
Doesn’t the customer have any rights left? Can we not decide how we want to drink our coffee? Do we not have freedom of choice?
My dad refuses to drink his tea in anything but a china cup. So, I’m sure he would appreciate all this coffee refusal. But not me – I’m still quivering with righteous indignation.
Oh yes – and one more thing! Remember that the only right way to drink tea from a china cup is to hold the handle delicately with your fingers and thumb – but with your little finger sticking out at an angle!
Challenged!
The lovely Blue has challenged me to see what secrets my mobile phone can reveal!
1. Have you kissed contact number 7?
No. She’s a colleague at work and not into that kind of thing (as far as I know). But we have hugged.
2. Have you seen number 9 this week?
Unfortunately not. An old friend that I have sort of lost touch with. You know – I ought to give her a ring!
3. Do you love number 10?
Well, that would be pushing the boundaries of neighbourly love too far!
4. Is number 11 a cutie pie?
Not too bad – for a boss!
5. Is number 15 one of your best friends?
No. But she is a colleague that inspires me with her creativity.
6. Did you go to school with number 16?
Er.. no! In fact, I don’t even know who this person is! Mmmm…. wonder how he got there?!
7. Do you hang out with number 19?
No, but she hangs out with our dog! She’s our dog walker when we need one.
8. Is number 20 a good person?
I thought so once, but am not sure anymore. Unfortunately.
9. Do you like number 26?
Yes – she’s wonderful! It’s none other than Karriärmamman (Career Mom).
10. Is number 31 in a relationship?
Yes – my bank is having a relationship with my money.
11. How did you get to know number 38?
I met her out in South Africa.
12. Are you interested in number 42?
Yes, she’s so beautiful, intelligent and smart. Modest too! This is the number to my work cell phone! 
And finally -
13. How long have you known number 49?
We’re not in contact anymore, but I knew her well when the kids went to her kindergarten. So, all in all, I knew her for about three years until we switched.
So, are you any wiser now? Have my phone contacts revealed my innermost secrets?
What do YOU think?
Lowering the bar
Found something grey huddling in the corner, so re-attached my brain, and set out to get back into ‘normal’ (yeah – what is normal?) life.
As we didn’t get to sleep until about 2.30 in the morning, the day started off with a large cup of coffee.
I let the kids watch TV in the morning. Without brushing their teeth. In their pajamas. Time went into frozen suspension because the next time I looked at the watch, it was lunchtime. Lunchtime!
I let them eat pancakes. I mean, that’s a dessert, right? Not a main meal!
I emptied all the clothes onto the floor so that I could put the suitcase away. Somehow, this didn’t make the living room any tidier.
I made some more food for the kids. Still in their pajamas.
I let them watch another film.
I let them eat more food.
And then I finally brushed their teeth and gave them clean pajamas as it was already night-time.
Then I came to my senses! That wasn’t my brain. Oh no – it just couldn’t be! I’m not a mother who lets their kids wear pajamas all day, watch endless films and doesn’t brush their teeth.
No – that would be someone else. I have higher standards.
Don’t I?
There is only one answer: that is definitely not my brain that I found in the corner.
Too tired
Came home to Sweden (where I live) from a five-day visit back home (England). The plane was delayed, so we found ourselves landing at the ungodly hour of 1 am. My seven-year-old was exhausted. Red-eyed. It was gone two in the morning when we finally got home. Nearly 3 am when we tumbled into bed.
After five hours, it was time to get up again.
My brain is still curled up in a corner and sleeping. I’ll get back to you when it has woken up (could be a while). The rest of me is barely functioning.
But happy to be home and re-united with husband and son – and the dog, of course.
By the way, if you see some little grey cells snoozing or on the run – please let me know!
LNPC
Back home in the UK, I am learning new skills at the newly founded LNPC: that is, the Late Night Pyjama Club. Founded by my daughter and her cousins, it consists of many life enhancing moments.
The most important ingredient is … you guessed it … getting into your pyjamas. Usually at night, but meetings can be called at any time of day according to mood and weather.
But I digress. My first session consisted of me learning the following:
- How to make my bed properly. Turn down the duvet cover just so. Then plump up the pillow. Twice. And then smooth it down.
- The correct way to jump into bed. Go to the doorway, take a flying leap and hurl yourself into the bed with your feet under the covers. Pull up the cover in one smooth movement. Oh / and make sure you do not bump your head on the wall. Me practising this move was … apparently … hilarious to the cousins and daughter.
In the second session, I received a massage. Yes, a massage. And I learnt how to breathe in and out deeply. This was called: How to relax before going to bed. (The relaxing effect was somewhat diluted by the jumping into bed technique that followed it.)
The best bit was lying on the mattresses on the floor in between daughter and biggest cousin and being hugged from both sides. There is no better remedy for a cold, stormy summer night.
Going blighty
Quick greetings from Blighty! Mmm.. I wonder why England is sometimes called that? Anyone know?
The rain that was promised is here … with a vengeance. In fact, severe rains and storms are battering Wales and parts of England, people have been seen floating off in their cars waiting to be rescued and our landing at Gatwick Airport yesterday resembled vigorous jumping on a trampoline. I realize that my thin raincoat is useless – full diving gear would be more suitable.
High tea is on the menu tomorrow … if we can get through the streams that were once roads.
But right now / the kids are calling me to join them in a late/night pyjama party!
Popping out to tea
Well, folks, I hate to leave you – but I am popping over to England today and will be away until the middle of next week.
As you know, we British are famous for our high teas. That means eating dainty little finger sandwiches – usually cucumber or egg and cress – with the crusts cut off. They look good but are hardly enough to fill even a sparrow’s belly.
Naturally, this means lots of room left for other goodies: like chocolate éclairs, or a simple Victorian sponge cake.
And, of course, there might be soft, warm scones that you can eat with strawberry jam and clotted cream.
All washed down with lashings of tea.
Still, I don’t expect that any of this is actually on the menu on my visit to the folks back home.
What I do expect is:
- Rain – and lots of it! I’ll be scurrying around borrowing raincoats, wellies and umbrellas.
- Feeling cold. The British have a wonderful ventilation system known as ‘draughts’. These are currents of air that come into people’s houses because windows and doors do not fit their frames, and because insulation is something for the future.
- Damp. That always makes me feel cold. And it’s damp because it rains a lot. Did I mention that already?
- Having a wonderful time with my family. It’s been a while since we last met!
So, check back again in a few days’ time.
Until then, go for a long invigorating walk, laugh a lot and make sure you eat a high tea or two.
Put the megaphone down…
It’s Sunday morning and Sir Pe and I are drooping over our bowls of coffee at 6.45 in the morning, trying to wake up and wondering why the anklebiters don’t seem to realize that it is the weekend and they are supposed to be having a lie-in! There is no in-between with these two: they are either asleep or hyper.
Anklebiter #1 received a High School Musical kit for her birthday complete with megaphone and red and white pom poms. And, on this Sunday morning, anklebiter #2′s fascination with all this stuff is endless. Especially the megaphone. He discovers that he can go from being loud to explosive by shouting down that megaphone. At 6.45 am. On a Sunday morning.
Windows shatter, huge flocks of birds scatter in fright, and neighbours several kilometres away are rudely awakened. OK – not really: but you get the picture.
This is when I am forced to say:
“Put the megaphone down and step away from the pom poms with your hands in the air!”
Peace and quiet resumes … for at least 30 seconds.
Monitoring hormones
As I was lying in bed, feeling all cold-y and sorry for myself, anklebiter #1 cheers me up no end with her fantastic imagination and philosophizing.
My nose was making that funny whistling sound that noses make when you have a heavy cold.
“Do you know what, mama?” she says. “When my nose makes a funny beeping sound, then it’s my nose’s way of telling me that it’s time for the snot to come out!”
Aha – so that’s why!
Then, she carried on philosophizing. About hormones. As all parents of 6-7-year-olds know, kids of this age are like mini-teenagers with all the accompanying mood swings, tantrums and door slamming. So, nothing could have been more appropriate.
Anyway, the conversation goes something like this:
“Do you know that we’ve got little computers inside our bodies, mama?”
“Have we?”
“Yes. And little people sit in front of these computers and keep a look-out … for hormones! When they see a bad hormone, then they go out and bash it.”
Valuable information.
The only question is: How on earth do you switch those hormone-bashing machines on?
Who says what?