I recall that my mother was annoyed at a distant relative who wrote a semi fictional version of the family history in rural New South Wales. She said that the real story was much more interesting. On my father’s side, a cousin wrote two volumes of that family’s history, essentially about dad’s grandfather. He was an historian so these were quite well researched, but the first rather relied on the memories of elderly relatives and some unfortunate events were not mentioned at all. The second was for his Master’s thesis and so relied more on the materials of historians. Dad did make some annotations in his copy correcting errors.
I have a copy of the first book which I occasionally consult for dates of birth or details of relationships. It even has a photograph of me with my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, taken in about 1956.
Maternal grandmother ( who did all the heavy lifting in the upbringing of 2 siblings & meself) was born in the Monaro as 3rd generation of Irish immigrants ( 1 convict & the rest escapees from the famine of 1848. She had a lively contempt of “romancing” and the stories I heard between my childhood & her death in 1990 aged 93 beat any historical novel.
Microsoft, who are sending me round in circles as I try to access my councillor's account via my iPad and iPhone. Fortunately I can still see it on my laptop, but it is a right royal pain which I hope someone at the Town Hall can sort out for me.
Hackers. Scum of the earth, all of them. 😡😡😡
A friend has just had her email a/c hacked and is at her wits end. I'd offer to drive to the south to help but the weather forecast and temperature put this out of bounds for this oldie.
Mrs RR, in expectoration of long stay visitations from her beloved younger sisters from Oz, is sprucing up the RR abode - rugs, carpets, crockery, tableware etc. Thus visits to various emporia for such. I tag along as 'muscle' and ignored aesthetic advisor. Everywhere has intrusive muzak playing. It drives me potty. So to hell with all this ghastly noise in shops.
Today ICTH the adverts on BBC radio, especially Radio 3. Why tell me (every 45 minutes) that it's The Home of Classical Music when I'm already listening to the bloody thing! Worse - it frequently drives me the off button, thereby having exactly the opposite of its designed effect.
I always think that Classic FM's tag-line ought to be "the home of the world's slowest music".
I remember being horrified when we moved to Canada and discovered that BBC Canada, which tended to broadcast shows that had been current in the UK about 10-15 years previously, had three advert breaks in every half-hour show ...
Mrs RR, in expectoration of long stay visitations from her beloved younger sisters from Oz, is sprucing up the RR abode - rugs, carpets, crockery, tableware etc. Thus visits to various emporia for such. I tag along as 'muscle' and ignored aesthetic advisor. Everywhere has intrusive muzak playing. It drives me potty. So to hell with all this ghastly noise in shops.
I take it that long visits from the darling gals makes Mrs RR want to spit? Or would that be you?
Comments
I have a copy of the first book which I occasionally consult for dates of birth or details of relationships. It even has a photograph of me with my mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, taken in about 1956.
Maternal grandmother ( who did all the heavy lifting in the upbringing of 2 siblings & meself) was born in the Monaro as 3rd generation of Irish immigrants ( 1 convict & the rest escapees from the famine of 1848. She had a lively contempt of “romancing” and the stories I heard between my childhood & her death in 1990 aged 93 beat any historical novel.
A friend has just had her email a/c hacked and is at her wits end. I'd offer to drive to the south to help but the weather forecast and temperature put this out of bounds for this oldie.
Everywhere has intrusive muzak playing. It drives me potty. So to hell with all this ghastly noise in shops.
I always think that Classic FM's tag-line ought to be "the home of the world's slowest music".
I remember being horrified when we moved to Canada and discovered that BBC Canada, which tended to broadcast shows that had been current in the UK about 10-15 years previously, had three advert breaks in every half-hour show ...
I take it that long visits from the darling gals makes Mrs RR want to spit? Or would that be you?