Mechanical clocks should be available on the NHS because of their outstanding health problem diagnostic qualities. No home should be without at least one.
Mechanical clocks that strike and chime have been blamed for causing some people sleep disruption. This diagnosis is actually an “Urban Legend“. In pre-urban venacular it’s:
Pish, tush and nonsense
A chiming or striking clock is actually an early warning system for potentially dangerous health problems. These clocks will only disrupt sleep when one or more of the following pre-conditions applies – the person presenting the clock-disrupted sleep symptoms is:
The clock has actually uncovered the easily treatable conditions that are presenting as sleep disruption. Treatments are
exercise until your body is tired
friends - to help find out what’s troubling you, and explore possible solutions. If this isn’t possible the NHS does provide counsellors, clinical psychologists and psychiatrists but you’ll probably have to wait until the problem blows beyond the clock-stops-sleep symptoms before you can acess these professional services
patience – it takes time for people habituate to new environments, new sounds
This consultation was provided free of charge by Dr Wendy
This post is an homage to Bux’s blog ‘Everyday Oslo‘. From her blog I’ve learned of the informal exchange of goods that goes on in Nordic capitals and seen the chirpy graffitti and sneaks onto everyday walls
I’ve introduced a new blog tag “Everyday Reading” to log those things that the locals of this town anonymously swap on the streets
Today’s contribution is a sporty, spotty, stripey, Hello Kitty headband
wendy: I’ve recently realised that I’m a cross-dresser
Spottydog: (laughs) are you serious? I’ve known that for ages!
wendy: well obviously I suspected, what with all the trousers and buying mens jumpers. But I bought the jumpers because they’re virtually the same as the womens jumpers except they’re cheaper. I thought I was just buying cheaper versions of girls clothes. But I’m not sure anymore. I think I might be a transvestite. Is a transvestite the same thing as a cross dresser?
Spottydog: does it matter?
wendy: well, I’d like to know what to say to people when I come out of the closet
Spottydog: you’re not in the closet
wendy: oh yeah… ….do you like my new cricket jumper? It’s to go with my kilt…
Mumsie helped with my wedding outfit decisions. What goes with my fabulous new Royal Stewart tartan kilt:
Sox or stockings? Stockings – Mumsie didn’t think it was good form to reveal my bare knees to strangers. I take after Dad in the knee department, he once won a nobbly-knees contest
Red or Black stockings? Black stockings – Mumsie felt it would be ok to wear black to a wedding nowadays. The colour is no longer reserved for mourning. Several wedding guests were dressed completely in black. Tiger, who was actually in mourning wore a black shirt. One guest wore a white lace dress, risking a clash with the Bride’s outfit
Red or Black shoes? Red shoes – Celebratory flatties for lots of jigging on the post-vows disco dancefloor
White or Black shirt? White shirt
Leather or velvet jacket? Leather jacket
Hat or no hat – No hat!!!!!! No-one at the wedding wore a hat. 4 women were sporting fascinators at the ceremony, but no hats or tiarras. A trend that’s changed dramatically in my wedding-going career
On the north wall a Smith’s clock from London with a 7 day mechanism shares it’s Westminster chimes every quarter hour
On the west wall a Saqui and Lawrence pendulum clock from London with a 7 day mechanism strikes every hour
On the stairway of doom a cuckoo clock from Lucerne with a 24 hour mechanism chirrups every hour
hey all have slightly different ideas about
when the hour should be called
the length of a minute
On the east wall a Donald Yule clock from Bath with a quartz mechanism silently moves it’s hands while a ceramic mouse watches
All the mechanic clocks tick tock, at gradually slowing rates
Around the hour, the house sings with differing overlapping strikes and chimes
I love the sound
It is the sound of home with all the clocks chattering the time away in their own idiosynchratic ways. They bring peace to my home in a way that’s probably similar to placing a child in a car to drive around until the child falls asleep
Because they’re pretty and tell the tale of their owners running around – free from footwear
I was the only girl over the age of 10yrs wearing flat-soled shoes. The youngsters were quite keen to kick-off their flatties, I liked their attitude, they were all about running, twirling and laughing.
The adults were more about drinking, smoking and re-telling histories
Because I’ve got some friends. Really! They are real people. They have never commented on my blog – but they do read it! They don’t seek re-affirmation for their own blog and it’s content – but they do have one. I know they have a blog because I’m now an official guest blogger on it!
wendy: take it with you, it will help us meet-up, when I get off the train I’ll send you a text so you know I’m on my way
The next evening there’s a message from mum on the landline phone. This phone is now used only as a direct line to mum and dad
mumsie: ….we’ll charge-up the phone overnight on Saturday then switch it on a 8am on Sunday morning….
at this point I realise that using the mobile phone is not part of my parents everyday life. I’ve probably caused a bit of a kerfuffle, house discussions about how to use the mobile phone…
I received a long message puportedly from Google Blogger
It was difficult to understand. I think it was saying that I will loose my Blogger Blog if I don”t click on these links and do something. I dont have a Blogger blog. I deleted my blogger trial blog in 2004. What are they on about? I wish they’d test thier mass-mailings on people who don’t speak Blogger techno-speak then write translations before sending them to me
Unsure if the email was legitimate or some form of scam, I decided to log into my Blogger account and report the email. An excellent reporting system took a screenshot of the page I was on when making the report. I asked what I should do. I didn’t get any submission confirmation – not even an email….. and no guidance on what to do – at 24 hours later…
While logged-in to my Blogger account I looked for a way to solve the problem. I looked for evidence that the email was real – a big button saying
“You need to do this”
It looked like Google wanted me to “merge” my blogger and google accountsIs this merge the same as the ‘upgrade’ mentioned in the letter? For obvious viral infection risks I like keeping my services distinct. No merging. If Google is determined to merge my stuff – I don’t think I can hold out against it’s repeated requests, especially when I’m getting something for free. The feel of bullying make me gradually dislike Google more and more…..
After much tutting I did the merge thing
Later I went to read my highly organised google reader feeds only to discover that Google had duplicated the blogger account feeds in a newly created Blogger folder. Now I have the originally created feeds and the merge created feeds.
Alongside the old watermill at Mapledurham is this little beauty, a turbine, turned by the falling river Thames. This kept me entertained for nearly half an hour, watching the water, marvelling at the simplicity of the design for converting movement to power. A simple variation on the waterwheel:
Finnicky details like ‘not being in Durham‘ and ‘not being surrounded by Maples’ do not detract from the fabulousness of Mapledurham house (and mill, turbine, tea-rooms, village, riverside)
It is a well preserved Elizabethan building on the banks of the river Thames, a couple of miles outside Reading town. Getting there involved a 2 mile drive down a winding single-track country road bounded by 10ft ancient hedgerows. Thomas and I had to use our skills for
looking around corners
braking
swerving
reversing
pulling into the hedgerow, breathing-in and closing our eyes/headlamps
A friend recently bought the derelict Flitwick Mill, that is mentioned in the Doomsday book (1066 AD). Looking around the Mapledurham mill gave me an insight into how the Flitwick mill might have looked and sounded. I loved the sound of the creaking cogs transferring the power of the waterwheel to the millstone.
modern turbine – big corkscrew being turned by the river-flow
Lots of lovely things in the actual house, staircases, wood panneling, furniture, textiles, fireplaces…..
I kept a look-out for woodcarvings or plaster mouldings of similar design to the carving on my new, old, bench. They might help me to ‘date’ the bench. I din’t find any, I’ll keep looking….
My mother’s elder brother-in-law, a 94 year old ballroom dancing Mason, brings a collection of origami animals to a House family meal:
Niece 92′s boyfriend: I can work out how it’s made, if I take it apart
Bros 57: Will you use a MaSonic screwdriver to take it apart?
Bros 62 and I laughed outselves off our chairs. The waiters hovered like vultures. We lost our Masonic uncle a couple of times that night, physically, mentally and metaphorically
Later that night I dreamt that Alan Bennet dropped by to sort us all out
Dark spring evening. Waiting for the zebra crossing lights to hold the commuter traffic on Kings road
Groped
It takes a few seconds to realise what’s actually happening. First thinking the touch is accidental, before I smell the beer and see the sneer. Then wanting to thrust my fist into his nose. So easy to break his nose. To inflict pain and a public scar
Swallowing this thought – I step back, look him up and down, shake my head and sigh deeply – before turning and walking away
Nothing I could have said or done would improve this old man’s behaviour. My gut reaction would’ve increased his mysogeny. I suspect I was supposed to scream and run away
Occassionally I pop into the wendy house spam folder to find out Askimet has mis-identified any genuine lovely commenters as spam and to get a feel for
who is trying to post
what messages on
which scribbles
Generally its a fairly tea-dious task, this spammer raised a wee smile before being splatted out of existence
When my landline gets a call where the caller doesn’t respond to ‘Hello?’ ‘is anybody there?’ I suspect an automated system has dialled my number. My number is on the UK’s “Telephone Preference List“. Membership of this list makes it illegal for marketers to call my number. Hoorah! The list works for me.
When I get a call that starts with the silent treatment, an automated dialer, I LOUDLY blow into the reciever. This prompts the system to put a person on the line who decides to either:
speak – ask for the previous registered owner of this number then try to sell me something using a rather dodgy east Asian accent. If I have time I play with them, trying to get information about them, without giving them any information about me. Normally they just get angry and rude. When I’m bored of the game I ask them to take me off their lists – they say they can’t – I tell them they’ve broken the law by calling me. They hang-up. I believe that I am doing a good service to society by keeping them talking to me rather than talking to someone who might fall for their naughty dishonestness
hangup – I suspect they recognise me as the lady who wastes their time when they’re phishing. I feel like I know them quite well now. Certainly no friends or people from organisations that provide me with valuable services have complained about the loud noise they sometimes get when they phone the wendy house
*Repeat: this repeat is due to the international austerity crisis. The wendy house CEO (me) has been forced to implement severe financial and creativity cuts to keep this service running. Example cuts include – the Cute-Fluffy-Pet Union (CFPU) has accepted a reduction in food for fat Sampo. Today’s scribble is a repeat of one posted 6 years ago on March 13th, 2006. Normal service will resume when decadance has been retrieved
Somewhere in the UK is almost always partly cloudy
When my phone announced that the UK was partly cloudy I was baffled by it’s desire to share the obvious
Luckily the weather announcers here in the UK have developed creative ways of describing these clouds, to keep us entertained on many an overcast day. How can anyone fail to find many ways of describing and falling in love with skies like these:
During commuter time, even in London, it is possible to be alone in public
When I stepped into this empty circle line carriage at 08.45am I felt like singing. So I did! No-one smirked, No-one shook their head, no-one asked me to stop screaching.
No-one joined in. I did’t feel embarressed because I’m not a talented or even accurate vocalist
When there’s no audience in the room – I’m an extrovert
I normally choose to be in a place with few, or no, people present – does that make me an introvert?
If I tell my friends that I’m an introvert they disagree. They describe things I do that are typical of an extravert. Things that I don’t actually enjoy or find easy. I’m an introvert who can do extrovert things when the occassion requires. Happily living alone, spending many nights in, is probably the biggest indicator that I’m an introvert at heart
Mechanical clocks that strike and chime have been blamed for causing some people sleep disruption. This diagnosis is actually an “Urban Legend“. In pre-urban venacular it’s:
