Thank you so much, Golden Key. I've been so low today. I snapped at my roomie for something that was my problem and she has plenty of problems herself.
I've got so fed up of night after night of fireworks in these parts mostly because I've needed to use my weekend mornings to do some music recording tasks I wanted to get done before December as editing them into the seasonal powerpoints is going to take time.
Still, the revenge I took on the entire neighbourhood by playing several hours worth of Christmas Carols early yesterday morning was well worth it.
... playing several hours worth of Christmas Carols early yesterday morning ...
Heretick!
I confess I've been looking at candle-bridges on the interweb, and when I get round to putting them up (at the start of Advent) I'll probably entertain my neighbours with The Best CD Of All Time™ - the Praetorius Christmas Mass, sung by the Gabrieli Consort.
... playing several hours worth of Christmas Carols early yesterday morning ...
Heretick!
I completely agree, but on this occasion, it was purely for recording purposes! Normally I refuse to play any until Christmas Carol Service. If I can't play them by now, after 30+ years, I don't deserve to be employed as an organist. If I hit the point where I can't play them, then I will resign as an organist!
Actually, playing them on the piano felt odd - I don't think I've done that for about 8 years.
Not the Charpentier Christmas Eve one? Is Outrage!
(Actually I don't know the Praetorius, must look it up as it sounds lovely).
It's utterly magic. We discovered it at a very drunken choir Christmas party in Belfast; a crowd of us were in one room singing Christmas carols with David playing the piano, and one of the tenors in the choir came in from another room and told us all to stop singing and come and listen to this amazing CD. We were instantly hooked (we were very partial to that era of music anyway).
That's the cover of my original CD too; I still have it (although I haven't anything to play it on). It was the only CD I kept when I left Canada; the rest went to the same eccentric old gentleman who took all David's organ periodicals, but although the CD now has a "jump" in the last track, I sort of couldn't bear to part with it.
Not the Charpentier Christmas Eve one? Is Outrage!
(Actually I don't know the Praetorius, must look it up as it sounds lovely).
It's utterly magic. We discovered it at a very drunken choir Christmas party in Belfast; a crowd of us were in one room singing Christmas carols with David playing the piano, and one of the tenors in the choir came in from another room and told us all to stop singing and come and listen to this amazing CD. We were instantly hooked (we were very partial to that era of music anyway).
Whoever is in charge of making flu jabs available hereabouts. I've been waiting to hear from the local surgery, and was working up to phone to see when I could go, but I am now told by a neighbour that they have run out and cannot even give them to people with major health reasons, not just age, for needing them. Our village pharmacy has also run out. I need to call Asda about 5 miles away for their pharmacy. Their phone is constantly busy and mine doesn't allow call back, so I am now calling back myself every few minutes.
Tesco were selling bars of Neem and Tumeric soap at half price, and, thinking that Neem and Tumeric sounded interesting, modern and trendy (plus it was half price) I bought a bar.
The first time I washed my hands the smell gave me a flashback to my primary school toilets. Subsequent flashbacks have involved caravan site toilets, a public toilet that had a brass device into which to place a 2p piece to gain entry, and a public toilet with a blue and white mosaic tiled floor. Also, those posters about V.D. which so puzzled me as a small child, and equally puzzling graffiti about crabs. Things I had no idea that I could remember, and which must have been pointlessly cluttering up some part of my brain for the past 50 years.
Meanwhile, when I asked the North East Man what the smell reminded him of, his face lit up. Apparently the smell takes him back to bathtime as a small boy, being cosily wrapped in a towel in front of the fire, warm pyjamas, cocoa, and bedtime stories.
I CTH Neem and Tumeric, the smell of the early 70s, and drawing the short straw when it comes to scent-related flashbacks.
Based on that, I call to hell being last into the bath in the early 1960s, after all the other kids were clean. You did get one pot of hot water at the end over your head, which was the only good thing about it. My younger brother would always tease that he'd pooped in the bath water. I'm going to message him that he's being called to hell for that. Things improved in 1968 when we moved and natural gas heated the water, and city water was available. We were then allowed to flush yellow as well as brown.
I was horrified when visiting someone's cottage out in the country in Newfoundland and seeing a sign in the lavatory that read, "if it's yellow let it mellow; if it's brown flush it down"!
I was horrified when visiting someone's cottage out in the country in Newfoundland and seeing a sign in the lavatory that read, "if it's yellow let it mellow; if it's brown flush it down"!
Ugh!!!!!
That's what my mother says to me ... but she is the woman who walks around the house whilst you are eating with dog poo on a shovel and she thinks nothing of it.
I was horrified when visiting someone's cottage out in the country in Newfoundland and seeing a sign in the lavatory that read, "if it's yellow let it mellow; if it's brown flush it down"!
Ugh!!!!!
During the quakes the Mayor of Christchurch appeared on national TV imploring people to both conserve water and add the least possible amount to the sewerage system with the yellow/brown slogan.
It was better than having raw sewerage on the streets.
Based on that, I call to hell being last into the bath in the early 1960s, after all the other kids were clean. You did get one pot of hot water at the end over your head, which was the only good thing about it. My younger brother would always tease that he'd pooped in the bath water. I'm going to message him that he's being called to hell for that. Things improved in 1968 when we moved and natural gas heated the water, and city water was available. We were then allowed to flush yellow as well as brown.
As the youngest of 8 children and a 70s child, I went to my grandmother’s house with my two brothers for my bath on Sunday and had last dibs on the water.
I also remember conserving the flushing the loo in the uk drought of 1976.
On the island of Kos, you mustn't flush any toilet paper (it clogs up their pipes) - you have to wipe your bum and put the paper in a bin next to the loo. That took a bit of getting used to!
On the island of Kos, you mustn't flush any toilet paper (it clogs up their pipes) - you have to wipe your bum and put the paper in a bin next to the loo. That took a bit of getting used to!
Then what? Do they take it away and incinerate? Or bury it? Or...?
On the island of Kos, you mustn't flush any toilet paper (it clogs up their pipes) - you have to wipe your bum and put the paper in a bin next to the loo. That took a bit of getting used to!
Then what? Do they take it away and incinerate? Or bury it? Or...?
Drivers who, when approaching road works where a lane is closed, come up behind the people who have moved over as soon as they saw the advance sign and undertake in the emptied lane and then force their way into the stream at the place where the lane is closed, thus making everyone else have to travel much more slowly than necessary, even stop to let them in. I have seen lorries preventing this on motorways by travelling together in adjacent lanes, and the traffic moves much more quickly in those cases. Today, I very determinedly did not let the car that was trying to get in ahead of me after undertaking about ten who had been ahead of him, but then had to rethink my behaviour. When we got to the traffic lights and the roadworks were passed, he steamed by me almost before I had got back in the inner lane, exceeded the speed limit in the outer lane, tailgated another car in that lane, then dodged back into the inner lane making another car brake, undertook again and then went out into the outer lane again. Would I have caused any accident he had by making him lose his temper?
Sometimes, backpackers are supposed to put their used toilet paper in a plastic bag, and haul it back out to civilization with them. (Keeps from having used TP scattered on or just under the soil.) Same with other sorts of personal hygiene items.
All the Greek islands are the same, as with yachts* - you get used to emptying the bog bag, but it just seems to get tied up and put with the other rubbish.
*We used to award ourselves extra points for getting the yacht to heel sufficiently for the bin containing said bag to fall off its little shelf!
I remember backpacking in Thailand and needing the toilet - a hole in the ground - which filled my delicate sensibilities with horror. Worse still, as I was about to crouch, a frog popped out of the hole. I lost my nerve at this point.
Also remembering holidays where you have to throw the toilet paper in the bin and then coming home and the instinct almost to throw the toilet paper around the room - especially when waking in the night!
Kingsfold - as far as I remember, the bagged up toilet paper just went in with the ordinary rubbish, which was a skip in the street. Households didn't have their own personal bins to put out for rubbish collection.
Those skips were great fun at the end of the holiday season - all sorts of things were left by them by local cafes and so on which were closing down for the winter, so you could get quite decent chairs and so on. The British who lived there called it "Wombling".
My computer which somehow ate the Christmas cake recipe I make every year for a friend. It is so simple, but I may have to make a more complicated one.
[...] That's what my mother says to me ... but she is the woman who walks around the house whilst you are eating with dog poo on a shovel and she thinks nothing of it.
Why are you eating with dog poo on a shovel? Wouldn't it be easier just to use knife and fork and spoon?
Bank customer service lines - esp their hold music. HSBC, you are guilty as charged. We have now spent an hour and a half calling up to do something which should only take 5 minutes. I could cry. The hold music is dreadful.
[...] That's what my mother says to me ... but she is the woman who walks around the house whilst you are eating with dog poo on a shovel and she thinks nothing of it.
Why are you eating with dog poo on a shovel? Wouldn't it be easier just to use knife and fork and spoon?
Haha - bit of eats, shoots and leaves there! Grammar could have been way better!
There was a frog that lived in my parents' toilet in the tropics. It'd swim up the pipes and sing at night. This meant a pre-use flush of the toilet as well as after. Poor little gaffer swam like the dickens and spiralled away time after time. We called him "poopy frog".
Meanwhile, my real visit to this topic is because of seeing someone throw away the center of a jelly doughnut. The center of it! The best part of it! The reason you get a jelly doughnut. This world is full of monsters. Crazy terrible monsters!
Comments
ICTHT all our stress.
I think that is why someone has literally just (midnight) let off a good half dozen loud rockets.
Still, the revenge I took on the entire neighbourhood by playing several hours worth of Christmas Carols early yesterday morning was well worth it.
I confess I've been looking at candle-bridges on the interweb, and when I get round to putting them up (at the start of Advent) I'll probably entertain my neighbours with The Best CD Of All Time™ - the Praetorius Christmas Mass, sung by the Gabrieli Consort.
(Actually I don't know the Praetorius, must look it up as it sounds lovely).
I completely agree, but on this occasion, it was purely for recording purposes! Normally I refuse to play any until Christmas Carol Service. If I can't play them by now, after 30+ years, I don't deserve to be employed as an organist. If I hit the point where I can't play them, then I will resign as an organist!
Actually, playing them on the piano felt odd - I don't think I've done that for about 8 years.
Here it is.
That's the cover of my original CD too; I still have it (although I haven't anything to play it on). It was the only CD I kept when I left Canada; the rest went to the same eccentric old gentleman who took all David's organ periodicals, but although the CD now has a "jump" in the last track, I sort of couldn't bear to part with it.
I'm a sentimental old piglet ...
Oh my days, my father would have adored this. I wonder if he ever came across it. Never mind, I will listen to it for him and it will be a treat.
The first time I washed my hands the smell gave me a flashback to my primary school toilets. Subsequent flashbacks have involved caravan site toilets, a public toilet that had a brass device into which to place a 2p piece to gain entry, and a public toilet with a blue and white mosaic tiled floor. Also, those posters about V.D. which so puzzled me as a small child, and equally puzzling graffiti about crabs. Things I had no idea that I could remember, and which must have been pointlessly cluttering up some part of my brain for the past 50 years.
Meanwhile, when I asked the North East Man what the smell reminded him of, his face lit up. Apparently the smell takes him back to bathtime as a small boy, being cosily wrapped in a towel in front of the fire, warm pyjamas, cocoa, and bedtime stories.
I CTH Neem and Tumeric, the smell of the early 70s, and drawing the short straw when it comes to scent-related flashbacks.
Ugh!!!!!
That's what my mother says to me ... but she is the woman who walks around the house whilst you are eating with dog poo on a shovel and she thinks nothing of it.
I suggest giving it to the North East Man.
During the quakes the Mayor of Christchurch appeared on national TV imploring people to both conserve water and add the least possible amount to the sewerage system with the yellow/brown slogan.
It was better than having raw sewerage on the streets.
I also remember conserving the flushing the loo in the uk drought of 1976.
Then what? Do they take it away and incinerate? Or bury it? Or...?
Very yucky.
*We used to award ourselves extra points for getting the yacht to heel sufficiently for the bin containing said bag to fall off its little shelf!
Also remembering holidays where you have to throw the toilet paper in the bin and then coming home and the instinct almost to throw the toilet paper around the room - especially when waking in the night!
Those skips were great fun at the end of the holiday season - all sorts of things were left by them by local cafes and so on which were closing down for the winter, so you could get quite decent chairs and so on. The British who lived there called it "Wombling".
Why are you eating with dog poo on a shovel? Wouldn't it be easier just to use knife and fork and spoon?
Bing, the so called search engine. It may be OK in other places, but for searching NZ stuff it is abysmal.
I Googled and found my recipe in a 2007 article in The Southland Times. Thank goodness for small, provincial newspapers.
Haha - bit of eats, shoots and leaves there! Grammar could have been way better!
Meanwhile, my real visit to this topic is because of seeing someone throw away the center of a jelly doughnut. The center of it! The best part of it! The reason you get a jelly doughnut. This world is full of monsters. Crazy terrible monsters!
Which? The shoes, or the doughnut centre(s)?