wendy house

I know I was wearing them at lunch because I ate my cheese sandwich. 

The teeth are old,  not as old as me. They don’t fit aswell as when they were new.  In January I lost my job.  No more health insurance.  55 unemployed in Warren, Pensylvania. No new jobs. Without a job I don’t have health insurance, or money, to replace the old teeth.  Without teeth I can only eat soft food. 

While looking for a job,  trying not to spend money, trying to stay warm, I spent my days in the library.

The Library! 

I must have left my teeth at the Library.  The woman who had sat opposite, draped in gold jewelry and plastered in 3 coats of make-up, complained about the sound of my sucking my teeth.  I stopped sucking my teeth - I took them out.  Hah!  I placed them on the table where the over-sensitive rich bitch could see them.   She moved tables,  I lost myself in a book then forgot about my teeth.

Before breakfast I went back to the Library to pick them up.  The Librarian winced as she told me she found my teeth.  She threw them out last night because of what she called ‘cleanliness concerns‘.  False teeth can be cleaned! Steam, disinfectant, take your pick, what do they teach Librarians at school these days?  I searched the bins at the back of the Library,  the bins weren’t clean.  No teeth.  That librarians ‘cleanliness concerns’ has turned my diet to mush.  Mush  until my money completely runs out,  then who knows what will happen to me.  Maybe I too will be binned for cleanliness concerns.

Google analytics provides a ’site overlay’ that shows your website with in-place click-through statistics.  A geek like me will spend time wandering through such statistics saying ‘oOOoooo‘  and ‘Aaah‘ and ‘what does it all mean?‘

For 4 weeks,  September 2009, Google analytics says that I had 4,681 ‘visits’. 

I rashly infer that visitors want to know something about who is writing this nonsense (8.1% on who’s wendy) or are interested in finding food (0.3%), or why I’m bothering to write about anything at all (0.2%).  Some people consider whether to comment, or why I might consider stopping people from publishing their commentson my blog, (0.1%). 

More than no-one,  some-one,  is interested in who inspired me to blog ( >0.0%) while no-one wants to sign-up to receive notifications of my posting in thier RSS reader.

Here’s what Google Analytics says, in numbers, about what visitors click on:

• Scribbles (The Wendy House home page) = 5.9%
• Who’s Wendy = 8.1%
• Why Scribble = 0.2%
• Comment control = 0.1%
• Food foraging = 0.3%
• Credits =  > 0.0%
• RSS = 0%

I prefer the notion of ’somone’ over the numerical representation of more than no-one (> 0.0) looked at who I credit with inspiring my blogging.  The relationship between significant (meaning) and signifiers (often numbers) is frequently obscure and sometimes misleading.

Ho hum

My nieces look like they’ve escaped from Bananarama.  Having mislaid their dictionary during the breakout they are now tackling the ravages of teenage boredum.  Dedum. 

Grunting and liberal misuse of the original anglo-saxonisms helps alieviate the condition.  I’m thinking of trying it,  small doses.  But, as yet, I can’t bring myself to part with my 1982 Collins concise.

Banarama sang ‘Robert DeNiro’s waiting’

email from building services:

INTERNET NOT DOWN FOR A FEW MINUTES

swiftly replied to, with a hint of cheekiness, by IT services in one part of the building:

This email doesn’t affect you

Why I love England #11: leafy roadways

Driving down many of the roads in rural England is like driving through a tunnel,  the trees on either side meet above you.  On sunny days dappled light dances on the road.  Beautiful

please address your comments to my ‘out of office’ message

Thankyou

I love her. Tears streaming down John’s face.  I know. Liz reassures him

 I didn’t love any of the others. As one of ‘the others’ Liz understands, laugh’s, lowers and softens her tone  I know.

Where is she?  Liz knows that Maria is skinny-dipping with her new lover, John’s friend, on a beach 5 miles west of the camp site.  She can look after herself,  where-ever she is,  she’ll be alright. 

John takes the torch, scrambles out of Maria’s tent and starts stumbling from tent to tent,  peering in, stumbling.  He’s been drinking.  Liz curses the lads for leaving John with the holiday whisky stash.  

Where is she? Liz parries  ‘It doesn’t matter.  Where-ever she is,  it’s none of our business.  John,  ITS OVER, she’s left you, she doesn’t want to see you.  Let her go’  John doesn’t appear to hear.  He makes his way to his aging MG midget and climbs in.  Liz runs to the car and jumps into the passenger seat. 

John,  you’re in no state to drive,  DONT DRIVE.  The car lurches over the field’s uneven ground, Liz wishes she was old enough to drive  Calm down,  where are you going?  As he shifts to second gear he says ‘the pub’.  Liz tries again Can we walk? John is determined  You can walk if you want.  The pub is only 3 miles away,  the roads are deserted,  they could make it.  The lad’s are in the pub,  support,  distraction and warmth.  They swerve down the dry-stone-wall lined winding roads.

John seemed to need to move his relationship loss of control and emotional pain to something physical.   

A wall mangled the Midget

Love crashed

Deborah: I know who you remind me of,  Chrissie Hynde

Wendy:  Thanks!  that’s good,  other people have mentioned the similarity

Chrissie Hynde leads a PETA protest in Central Park (Jan 2008)

Africa, through the door, second star to the right…. 

The swallows in St Nectan’s church were flying from window to stained-glass medieval-window.  Chirruping.  Sounding distressed, desperate, like people making 999 (US = 911) phone calls. Plenty of painted stars on the church ceiling but no phone service to answer the calls… 

It’s autumn equinox, getting noticably cold.  It’s a long flight south, I hope they find the door before winter sets in. Painted stars can be fatally distracting from the things that really make life…

My drab, starless, self felt helpless in the hermitted church.

The Wendy House has a novel coil-spring doorbell circa 1960’s. For some reason it isn’t working.  WD-40 and a bit of fiddling hasn’t yet fixed it. I do enjoy a personally relevant, memorable, chorus delivered with passion.  Ring my bell!

White Stripes sang Doorbell

Several pubs I’ve visited recently have bookshelves labeled ‘book exchange’.  Unlike a library, you do not get a wide range of choice, helpful advice, and an occassional dose of ’shushing’. This can be a bonus for noisey, decisionally-challenged, me.

Until now I’d treated the bookshelves of friends and family as book exchanges, now my net has widened to include pubs….  …some people are releasing their books into the wild then remotely tracking their progress via websites like bookcrossing.

Long post warning.  Plot spoiler -  ‘The Court’ is a great place to spend a relaxing break from modern city life.

Deborah: Wendy?  Would you like a glass of wine,  a cup of tea?

Wendy:  Yes!  both please

Sunday early evening, I’ve just stepped into the Court,  a large thatched cottage in the heart of Sheepwash, North Devon.  What a wonderful welcome.  Deborah takes my bag and gives me a tour of her home while making tea, pouring two glasses of wine and finishing the ironing. 

Deborah Dooley and her family have opened their home to paying guests. Deborah gives subtle and caring attention to all her guests, making sure they have what they need, keeping the atmosphere welcoming. Guests might come to write, to hike, to take time-out from being a mum.  

Sheepwash bustles at 8am in the morning. The local shop opens it’s doors, literally. School children chatter and scream as they wait for the bus. Milk is delivered, tractors roll by and I wake from a deep sleep amidst thick white cotton sheets. 

When I wander downstairs in the morning a mug of tea soon finds me.  Fresh fruit salad, cereals and a full cooked breakfast with eggs from the hens in the garden are served on the visitors’ book, a table with messages scrawled from past guests. Packed lunches are prepared for guests’ planning day trips.

My mornings are filled with workshop activities designed to improve my writing. Whether my writing improves is up to me, Deborah’s workshops give fun, tactful, feedback and encouragement. 

Evenings are warmed by a real crackling and hissing fire.  Guests recline and share stories from huge embracing sofas. The pub across the tiny town square feels like an extension of the house, not that I’ve spent much time there because the hospitality in the Court is magnetic.

I stayed with 3 other guests, an Essex accountant with a detailed colourful story on any topic your care to mention and a Cambridge couple taking a Hiking holiday. We share breakfast, dinner and evenings and mainly do our own thing during the day. Deborah listens, thinks, then uses what she’s learned. A simple but rare combination. An excellent combination for a hostess.

This is not the sort of place to stay if you like all the modern conveniences available in a multi-star Hotel.  The Court provides a different kind of luxury, not one that is packaged with the check-list criteria of hotel stars.

The bathroom is shared by all the guests.  None of the modern trendy en-suite nonsense. The bath is BIG,  deep and long, surrounded by a wide selection of dissolving things that you might want to soak in. You need to check if there is enough hot water in the tank for a bath before taking a bath. This reminds me of living in a house with a hotwater tank and 4 other adults, my family, coordinating use of the bath was something we learned to do without giving it a second thought. There is an electric shower with always available hot water. If this breaks your idea of a cosey retreat then maybe this isn’t the place for you.

There is a TV in one of the rooms, I have not used it. There are no TV’s or phones in the guest bedrooms. There is a wireless base-station hidden in the lounge which provides internet connections. I couldn’t get cellular reception from either T-Mobile or Orange services. If this type of thing will be a problem for you, the Court is not the place for you. Lack of cellular service was a bonus for me. The Court has a landline number that I gave to the neighbour looking after my fluffballs and thankfully she had no reason to call.

My experience is a warm friendly, active, family home full of people that respect each other. The atmosphere and attitude of the place and people made my stay interesting and welcoming. This is a very pleasant change from the benefits of living alone. I’ll definitley be visiting again.

As they strode towards each other through the bed warehouse John’s baritone reassured the young besuited sales assistant

“I’m looking for a bed”
“me too!” Sarah’s soprano sang,  John stopped, turned to face her
“Are you?” his slight Oklahoma drawl,  playfully suggesting a challenge
“No, I’m looking for YER bed misser” Sarah tilted her head and flashed her lashes to take up the challenge. John blushed with a hint of a smile before turning back to the sales assistant. 

The technical bed-purchasing discussions didn’t interest Sarah.  From across the warehous she interrupted their conversation to ask the sales assistant “If I takes me shoes off can I jump on yer beds… …to test em out like?” the young besuited assistant nodded. 

Sarah kicked of her pumps, leapt onto the nearest bed then launched from bed to bed across the store finally stopping by John who was lying on his back.  His body barely moved as she landed beside him. His eyes were closed, his fingers woven together across his chest. If she hadn’t known he was testing sleep she might have thought him dead. Sarah gently kissed Johns serene forehead.  

“Are you dead? Can I wake the dead?!” Sarah started trampolining by John’s side.  With a slow deliberate move he swung his arms round her legs and draggged them to the foot of the bed.  She fell neatly in a giggling bundle beside him.

“I think this one will do,  don’t you?” he said to the sales assistant while holding Sarah’s gaze.

No-one ever told me that when in a jewelry shop you must browse quietly.  Myself and the other jewelry shop browsers abide by this unspoken rule.  The churchlike atmosphere is dull, unlike the jewelry.   A spritely looking elderly gent stands in the doorway of the store and shouts across the shop to the lady behind the counter

Have you got any bright shiny things luv?

Wendy:  I want Oxblood red please!

Conkers footwear facilitator (CFF): You can have any of these colours, you can have different colours for different feet, different colours for different sections of the boot, what would you like?

Wendy: Oh, Oh, OH,  purple, no green, no this electric blue,  no brown.  Oh!  …  um,  Oxblood red please..

I discovered Conkers shoes in the summer of 1986.  discovered after having been sent there by a bouncy student friend from Newton Abbot who’s boots I couldn’t help but admire.  By the time I found Conkers they were 9 years old and had a small shop at the top of Totnes High street. 

They now have a larger shop half way up Totnes High street. As a student I couldn’t afford the luxury of a well made, durable, easy to repair, natural tree-rubber soled, funky coloured, personalised pair of shoes. I sulked and promised myself that when I had a job I would come back and treat myself.  I’ve had one job or another for nearly 20 years.  This week I went back to Totnes and now I have a pair of boots being made-up to fit.  I suspect I will be back again…  for purple, or green, or…

Brand specialist 1 (BS1):  I saw comic sans on a scaffolder’s van!

Brand specialist 2 (BS2): NO!  That’s just wrong

BS1: I know,  a childs font on a SCAFFOLDER’s van!

BS2: Scaffolding should be a strong and bold font inspiring thoughts of solidity,  not a child’s niavity

BS1: now the London Underground,  they got it right,  the legendery Johnston font

BS2:  a classic,  they could never change that,  there would be an OUTCRY!

On Holiday!  Out in the country!  Sheep, cows, fields, tractors, all the advantages of rural living.  Anything could happen…

The farmers boys sang in the country

She ignored me. She blames me, but we both argued.  It takes two to argue. I drive from work straight to the hospital every night since the misscarriage and she lies there with her back to me.  She ignores me,  even when I shout at her she ignores me. She hasn’t spoken to me since the misscarriage.  She blames me, she lost it because of the stress.  I was stressed too, I hurt too.  She thinks she is the only one in pain and she just doesn’t listen to me, even when I shout. Bitch. At least she’s still there, at least I’ve still got the bitch.

.

• Human or computer?  Can a computers intellignce make it indistinguishable from a human by another human?   Turing test
• Hererosexual or gay?  Can a gay persons behavior make them indistinguishable from a heteresexual to the UK law?  Turing failed this test

The UK prime minister apologises to the now deceased Alan Turing for the government removing his security clearance and hence his job when Alan was found guilty of being gay.  Reprogramming involved chemical castration,  Alan committed suicide.

This morning BBC Radio 4 appeared to focus on the

• Prime Minister’s apology to Alan
• broadening of police record checks for people that have regular or intense contact with children
• Afghanistan election irregularities

September 11th 2001 was mentioned, a brief comment on the lack of progress in redeveloping the site of the former Twin Towers.

Words of wisdom from an almost stranger*.  In this case a marketing manager:

“if you’ve recieved bad service,  just mention that you are a marketing manager with friends in the press,  your service will improve”

I’ll definitely consider using a realistic variation on this tip, should the circumstances arise. 

* Past tips provided by Alan the hairdresser.  Lucia the hairdresser, an anonymous manicurist, a Jackson’s sales assistant, a bus stop philanthropist, a mini salesman, Windows Network Diagnostics, Flat Eric, a local Reading resident and Reading Police.

Matrix starts chasing her tail.  She has never chased her tail before. I stop making the bed to watch her playfulness,  she is bearing her teeth and growling.  She falls over, her bowels open and her body twitches wildly.  After less than a minute she stops convulsing and lies still.  I pick her up and carry her to a warm soft bed on the floor by the phone while I call the emergency vet.  Matrix and I cry as I dial.  

While the vet questions me. Matrix stops crying and starts to walk around.  Yes her breathing is normal,  yes her movement is normal.  She’s not dragging her back legs.  Her pupils are no longer dilated.  The vet advises me to keep her warm,  let her eat and drink and watch her closely for an hour.  The vet says it is fairly common for aging cats to have seizures.

I called mumzie.  “Oh yes dear,  Jason had a seizure while he was sleeping,  about 4 years before he died.  He hardly noticed it, I did because he emptied his bowels all over our nice new sofa, what a mess”

Peacefully, Matrix watched while I cleaned the mess.

With the internet I can just type the name, make, model, serial-number and colour of my preferred bra and get an exact purchasable match in less than one minute.  Excellent,  underwear wooshing its way to the Wendy House.  All is well

 Then

The Royal Mail left me a little note to let me know that my ‘package’ was too big to fit through my letterbox.  Not being a larger lady in the underwear department this was a baffling concept.  This meant a trip to the Reading central post-office on Satruday morning during peak Reading shopping traffic congestion.  While listening to Jonathon Ross interview Spandau Ballet I noticed a shop with hand-crafted wood furniture in the window

Dangerous

An hour later I had picked-up my new underwear, removed the ridiculously bulky packaging and bought a hand made ‘gun cupboard’ for my mug collection

Expensive underwear

Before metro-sexual, with the aide of Niel Innes,  people like me imagined urban spacemen.  I grew-up with a crush on Niel Innes.  He wears hats, plays the piano, and has eyebrowse that raise towards the centre of his brow.  Excellent.

Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band sang I’m The Urban Spaceman

The lines ‘hey you, you’re such a pedant, you’ve got as much brains as a dead ant, as much imagination as a caravan site…  …but I still love you’  have a touching brilliance that appealed to me as a child and are still poignantly pertinent

Niel Innes sang how sweet to be an idiot

Caller: are you real or one of the voices in my head?

Answerer: I’m real

Caller: are you the lady that I called on the phone?  Are you on the other end of the phone?

Answerer: yes, you called me, I’m on the other end of the phone

Caller: (silence)

Caller: was that you or someone else?  is there anyone with you?

Answerer: I didn’t say anything, there is noone with me

Caller: it’s very noisey with all the people talking in my head, I can’t tell which one’s are in my head and which ones are real.  Are you real?

Answerer: yes, I’m real, you called me on the phone

Caller: yes,  you’re on the phone

(silence)

Local councils are phasing out the use of apostrophes because they are complicated, confusing (to GPS units), messy and generate too many complaints.

1. In  January 2009 the Daily Telegraph reports that Birmingham city council has updated their street name signs to remove apostrophes.  From now on, no sign produced by Birmingham City Council will contain the punctuation mark.  Debates over whether Kings Norton really should be King’s – or even Kings’ – Norton may rage on, but they will be useless.  And nearby Druids Heath – which was never actually home to one, let alone many, druids – will never take on the possessive, no matter how furious local apostrophe advocates become
2. In February 2009 the Yorkshire evening post reported that Wakefield council dropped apostrophies from its roadsigns.
3. In March 2009 the BBC reported that Bristol City is removing apostrophes from public road signs.  “Bristol City Council says the ban makes the road signs look “neater” and argues that if capitals are used then apostrophes should not be…    …Roger Mortimer, from the Cotham and Redland Amenities Society, says residents are keen to keep the threatened apostrophes.  “I think it is an example of just ignoring the English language. Punctuation is extremely important and the apostrophe is very valuable – it gives you a sense of place.”

The founder of the apostrophy protection society is quite upset.  He mentiones that ‘this could be the first step towards linguistic anarchy’ .  I wonder whether he knows about text messaging? 

The colonies find this a bit amusing.  3 News (New Zealand) wittily reports that:  ”the Queen’s English is now the Queens English.  England’s second-largest city has decided to drop apostrophes from all its street signs, saying they are confusing and old-fashioned.  But some purists are downright possessive about the punctuation mark.”

Imagine a Monty Python sketch with the team in suits and ties passionately discussing the value of the apostrophy in avoiding linguistic anarchy. Lots of arm and leg waving, diagrams and charts.  Terry Jones demonstrating what total linguistic anarchy sounds like…. …and its impact on your sense of place…   which probably involves falling over.

Meanwhile the Times reports that councils are publishing crib sheets to help their staff work-out where to put apostrophes for the rare occassions when they are allowed. 

This post is dedicated to my many tolerant readers who refrain from correcting my spelling, typing and gramatical aberations despite the irritation and distress this causes them.

When the wind blows the slates on the Wendy House roof rattle,  or could it be something else?

On a hot day the Wendy House roof timbers creak, or could it be something else?

Picture of a Glis Glis hosted on the Daily Mail website

According to an article in the Mail,  edible doormice are invading the home counties,  first introduced to Tring by the 2nd Baron Rothschild.

Luckily the Wendy House is out of the current glis glis play grounds and if they do come here I wont be spending a fortune on pest control services to remove them,  I’ll just put the fluff balls in the attic for a wee bit of fun every now and then.

shingle, shingle, shingle, I hear footsteps on the Wendyhouse approach as I walk to the gate to put my handful of weeds into the garden waste recycle bin.  The gate opens

Sky Rep:  Oh my,  you’re not supposed to come to the gate to meet me

Wendy: coincidence (waving my hand of groundsel, grass and dandelions before placing them in the bin)

Sky rep: I’m from Sky,  do you have freeview or anything like that?

Wendy: I have freesat

Sky rep: OOOO,  Baby sky!  Would you be interested in more channels?

Wendy: I’m very happy with the free service, I rarely watch the channels that I have…

Sky rep:  OH,  you’re one of THEM

He closes gate and shingles aways while I wonder what ‘one of them’ means….

European or Anglo Saxon?  Mutually exclusive groups?

A European Union funded research project called investigating Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) describes the companies that participated in their research as being either:

• North European
• South European
• Anglo Saxon

(e.g. table 18 page 49 in Final Report)

Do you think they included some USA registered US English speaking companies and labeled them Anglo Saxon? 

How would they classify a company with its Headquarters in the Netherlands that uses Anglo Saxon English as its main business language,  North, South or Anglo Saxon? 

How did they label any companies registered in Northern Germany - pure Saxon? or did they exclude them?

Does ‘Eastness’ and ‘Westness’ not make a difference?  Given the radical differences of the social philosophy influenceing Western and Eastern European countries I would have suspected differences in their attitudes, behaviours and sesitivity to ladybird stings.

Time for another cup of tea.

This is an example of the type of thing that keeps me entertained and (un)productive during a normal working day.  What works for you?

Due to temporary failure of satelite connections the BBC announced that they were sorry for the interuption in our reception of thier programming.

In my day the BBC used a collection of strangely engaging short media clips to entertain viewers during program interruption,  called ‘interludes’, accompanied by classical music.  These media clips included watching a potter potting,  a spinner spinning (wool,  not exercise) and the slightly more cute kitten-playing: