Mondrian

Laying in bed (if you remember I am quite partial to a spot of clinomania) I was pondering, musing, lightly conjuring ideas for the next cat blanket. I had made a few with two tone squares and was in the process of finishing the sixteen different colour squares blanket, as ever when you’re not really thinking about something an idea usually pops and a pattern began to form.

Hmm, wasn’t there an artist who black lined rectangles and squares, coloured with white, red, yellow and royal blue? Hmm, must google when I arise to settle my curiosity. Google did infact confirm that I was thinking Mondrian.

Rummaging through the stash I had what I needed, except for the white and blue, the other modern deity Amazon handled that and this I became a creative little hooker.

Of course, my brain didn’t stop there! As I was attaching the various shapes another nugget of wonder began, how to tweak the cat toy patterns and style them in the colours too.

The result is pictured above.

I have reached a conclusion after this artistic endeavour

• I hate using black
• I hate tucking ends
• I hate sewing bits together
• The next blanket will be an ordinary, single colour, back and forth one ….ish …..kinda …..maybe with a sliiight adjustment.

 

The Curious Twenty Pence

A wee tale for you, dear reader, to enjoy and ponder over.

To set the scene :: my kitchen is a small galley style, fridge-sink-washing machine-cupboard-oven-two cupboards, so not exactly expansive nor easy to over look anything. The flooring is a dark charcoal colour, lovely but shows every crumb and dust spec like a flashing neon light. The window at the fridge end is where the furry bunch pop in and out as their little paws desire. Across a few days I have had the same carer diligently tending to my needs, so she knew what was where as only she had been in there and she’s a tidy observant person. I had asked her to strip my bed and the discarded sheet, duvet cover and two pillow cases were loaded into the machine to be washed and dried (same machine does both).

The next morning carer had fed both cats, made my munchables and coffee, wiped the counter tops and left everything clean and straight. she returned for the next visit and had taken my plate and mug to the kitchen sink and put the cat’s trays in to soak too. After getting me from the bathroom to the lounge she returned and emptied the machine to drape the dry but would benefit from a slight airing bedding over the airer. As always she comes into the kitchen and asks if there is anything else that needs doing, getting, checking etc, then after writing the care book goes back into the kitchen to dispose of gloves and apron. I heard her make an exclamation but thought she was talking to the cat.

She came through holding a bright shiny twenty pence piece! That had been lying in front of the washing machine.

How curious…. how had it got there and not been noticed before! Whose was it as neither of us handle coins!!

There are a couple of possibilities…..

• Fallen from another’s pocket and not been noticed
• Somehow I’d been sleeping with a coin in the bedding
• Was the tooth fairy leaving a deposit
• Did #NotMyCat leave a tip for breakfast service

 

Sound Of Metal

The premise of this movie seems straightforward – Ruben is a metal drummer, he and his girlfriend drive around the States in their rv, gigging in numerous backstreet venues, scratching together a ramshackle living. But then in a short space of time he looses his hearing and all stability is lost.

However, after watching this film, which is cleverly put together, there are numerous tricks used that you don’t realise until afterwards, and then you notice that the film has much more deeper levels of philosophical notions.

When we have a sudden debilitating or life changing health issue we want to be fixed, to get back to our “normal”. Ruben wants cochlea implants so he can get back to drumming and life on the road with Lou, where he is comfortable in his known world and the demons and temptations of his pre-Lou life will not invade. But that’s impossible, the clarity of hearing with any aid is not the same as natural hearing, it brings with it difficulties of its own.

Once Ruben is told of his problem, you are taken through how much we rely on ambient sound, how simple things like telephone calls, a conversation with a friend, communicating with a stranger are stressful, frustrating. The initial denial that this new situation is not ‘forever’. Ruben is taken to a deaf community facility, where everyone signs, there are no phones, no use of computers, total submersion in silent life. Here the director uses a clever trick, the sign language is not subtitled, we the viewer like Ruben are unable to understand what is being said around him. But as he learns to use sign and communicate and read people around him, so we get subtitled and find we’ve become more involved, more emotionally invested in his journey.

It’s interesting too, to see the deaf community reaction to these implants. Many deaf communities call them a ‘cure’, a refusal to embrace deafness as a lifestyle and not a disability or something of shame, people with implants are often shunned from such communities. But isn’t a hearing aid/implant the same as a prosthetic to the amputee? A tool, an aid, to be used when needed! Hmm, interesting notion.

Ruben is determined to get the implants, to leave the community, despite the calmness, the inclusion and friendship, the place and purpose he discovers, and return to Lou and music. When he gets that chance, is it all that it is expected to be, that what’s best for the two of them, or does Ruben need to find that inner place of stillness.

My common niggle with films of this nature is how you get the notion of time, maybe I didn’t pick up on the changes of the seasons on the trees to get that sense that we are passing through the months. I don’t recall scenes with things like Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Independence Day, Graduation Day celebrations going on, being in the U.K. snow on the ground could be anytime, it’s snowed in June before now.

I recommend watching this film, it’s moving, telling, heart tugging, rarely amusing, but so insightful.

 

Tale of two bookings

Last week I had two differing experiences with making bookings.

Pre-Covid I would have a mobile beautician visit to do a pedicure. It’s a more thorough job than an chiropodist, cheaper too and I get nice twinkly toes at the end. Now that we are coming out of lockdown I contacted my lady to see if she was back to visiting again but CoVid had forced her into alternative employment. A Facebook post brought a few recommendations and one of those messaged me. After a brief chat I asked when she could fit me in “Thursday good for you?” 😬 absolutely, I was expecting a three to four week wait!

This was quickly followed by a phone call from my GP surgery. “Your GP would like a telephone consultation”, hmm a bit random. I asked what it was in connection with, it’s not the first time they’ve muddled me with someone else, “Erm, I’m not sure” 🙄 sheesh. I wondered whether it’s the pneumonia vaccine my NeuroRehab consultant has been trying to get me for the past two years. “Could it be about the Pneumovac?” Again the voice at the other end was vague and dithery as she clickerty clacked her keyboard. She asked if I would prefer morning or afternoon, I requested afternoon because of carer timings, I then asked how soon it would likely be, “Oh we are looking at about three to four weeks” 😲. Good job it’s nothing worryingly urgent then.

 

Deuce it out

‘She’s always like this when Wimbledon ends.’

Phew, wasn’t that exhausting, thrilling, nail biting and oh so….polite.

I am rather partial to a spot of tennis, so the Wimbledon fortnight is a couple of weeks where I know I will be entertained and manage a stitch project or two. This year it was welcoming to see and hear the crowds getting behind the players, the commentators banter bouncing as artistically as the balls across the court. Thanks to the multitude of BBC options I had plenty to choose from. Merrily from late morn til late evening I could get behind the under dog, admire the resilience of the known and marvel at the prowess of the new blood breaking through.

After the happenings of Sunday night, I also delighted in the behaviour of the crowd. No slurs, no drunken stupidity, no offensive language, no brawling, no scrapping, no abuse. What is it about the mob mentality of football fans that turns the sensible into unabashed vile thugs …. but that’s a while other subject.

While watching the tennis, I was able to complete a round cat blanket and even tackled a new stitch style for the edging.

When Wimbledon concludes I am often left feeling flat. Not as flat as when BFF flies home but adrift, so a mini project commission was tackled Monday. I had been flicking through some photos, looking for something specific, when one of my carers asked “What was that?” Cat Butt Coasters I replied. I had made some for a friend in the USA.

She was so amused that I said I would make some for her. Diving into my stash I searched for a suitable shade of butt to centre the grey and black cat coloured yarn,

The other distraction …. #NotMyCat, who enters for breakfast, leaves for a constitutional, then returns to commandeer my lap to snooze upon, my hands to fuss him and brush him until my next carer arrives.

Round these parts we’ve entered sticky season, when the heat and humidity rises, helped by menopausal hot flashes, equals sticky body parts. Not something many have to deal with but when trying to slide ones naked butt to and fro, it does matter. Even cotton sheets latch to clammy skin and nights are spent throwing off and retrieving the light weight duvet.

It wasn’t always this way….was it…..Or am I getting properly into ‘old’ (don’t answer that).

 

The cat who didn’t get the cream

Somebody’s Sunday morning has not gone according to plan.

When my carer arrived this morning she opened the kitchen door and peering through the back window were two expectant faces, #NotMyCat Mickey and his brother #NotMyCat2 Ginger.

To avoid them getting underfoot or indeed worse getting into my sandwich she didn’t open the window straightaway. Once I was safely in the lounge with my coffee and sandwich she then returned to the kitchen to find no faces at the window but as she opened it Ginger sprang to the bin and announced his arrival in his sweet way. Presumably the other one would not be too far behind.

Two pouches were put on the individual trays and left in the usual spot ready for the hungry horde. Ginger eagerly tucked into his, clearing up every single morsel of gravy, he then took advantage!

You see dear reader, So often Mickey will hang around, patiently waiting for the window to be opened, and then sit beside the cupboard where the pouches are kept, and be first in line for breakfast. The more cautious Ginger will wait before tentatively sneaking in by which time the tray is bare.

But not this morning. As my carer was preparing to leave she sneaked a peek in the kitchen and Ginger was gleefully helping himself to the second tray and there was no sight of Mickey.

About 15 minutes later a black and white disgruntled moggy wanders into my lounge and gives me a glare as if it is my fault that breakfast has been devoured by another. I tried to placates him with the remains of the dreamies packet, I proffered a nibble of my sandwich contents, I even offered my coffee mug for him to sniff. But no, so now he’s sulking, he is on the arm of the sofa, with his back legs against my hip, and the occasional claw from a front paw on my bum. I will likely have to suffer this punishment until about 2 pm.

EDIT :: when my carer returned at 2pm, Mickey was staging a sit-on protest (he’d moved to the cushion on my lap), he followed her through to the kitchen to be served a pouch …. sadly today really isn’t his day, as she squeezed it into the tray Ginger wandered through from my bedroom and ‘nibbled’ some too.

 

Sunny holibobs

Back to normalcy with a winding thrump, after a smidge over two weeks with my BFF, where we enjoy snacks, cats, stitching and bitching (as in kvetch at the idiocy of some and how their get their knotted thong wedged up their butts being mean to others), foods we normally do not have like sausage, egg and chips! We wandered out and about, even got to the seafront esplanade and had an ice cream, with a flake too!!

We both went out for pedicures and I got my hair harvested (not saying it needed it but the vacuum had to be emptied midway as the bucket was full). Jobs and errands got taken care of. And I was spoilt rotten with attention. I love my BFF time, such fun, we even kareoke-d into the wee hours remembering lyrics to songs we hadn’t heard in decades. There were a couple of times we both laughed so hard, and kept setting each other off again, until we almost ‘oops-ed’ ourselves.

Of course Mickey (#NotMyCat) and Ginge (#NotMyCat2) were in hog heaven, practically getting food on demand, well Moocher does have a penetrating stare. Ginge is still a little timid but did settle on the sofa between us on the day of rain. With windows and doors left ajar from early morning until bed time they had free range to come and go at their whim, which they did. BFF bought a brush and Mickey really seemed to enjoy stretching out on the floor and being brushed, the implement soon choked with his white fur. As for the scratch mat, it’s a work in progress.

Avoiding the football we indulged in some serious binge viewing as well as a few films and documentaries

Live & Let Die
Moonraker
The Spy Who Loved Me 
Pilgrimage (bbc iPlayer)
Octopus Teacher (Netflix)
Life series
Blue Planet series
Penguin Town (Netflix)
The Wizard of Oz
Moulin Rouge
Singing In The Rain
Believe Me : Abduction of Lisa McVey
Steel Magnolias 
Titanic
Kedi (Cats of Istanbul)
One Chance (Paul Pott story)
The Man Who Knew Too Much
Thelma & Louise
Mona Lisa Smile
Rat Race
Frankie & Grace (Netflix series)
The Pharmacist (Netflix documentary)
FireFly Lane (Netflix series)

All too soon as always she’s packing the suitcase, putting the duvet back on the bed and we’re waiting for the taxi to whisk her away……we restart the clock for when she can return to play again.

 

June Arrives Like A March Hare

Blimey and it’s barely gone noon and the day has whirled like a dervish already!

So let’s see, so far today there were two emails from friends asking if I was available and up for a catch up this afternoon, one postponed, the other coming 2:30; there’s been a phone call from Mr Pane In The Glass about the window mechanism, they promptly appeared, wrangled banged and replaced it; BFF messaged with musing as she’ll be here on Friday; and I’m half way through a commission piece (bobble hat for a gear stick)!

I’m already exhausted!!

You may remember I decided May would be crochet month, how did I do? Welll…….. red&black blanket finished, two other blankets finished and fourth started, two mouseseses done and four fishies. All in all I did rather well, might give myself a ⭐️

BFF is arriving Friday afternoon for two weeks of natter, films, food and two cats (Ginger will undoubtedly follow his brother Mickey D’Mooch in for breakfast). We are booked in for pedicures (they might need an angle grinder for my little toe nail) and we are hoping to get out-out up the seafront for some racing sea air and sunshine.

Right then, bobble Pom Pom making to be done…… toddle peeps

 

Just Ignore Him – Alan Davies

It was with a degree of trepidation that I began this read, a curious reason to choose to read the book at all you may think. You see, I had read many glowing reviews and critics praise, so often I find them so over hyped and the opposite to my own conclusions, and also because I enjoy Alan’s skills and abilities as a comedian, panellist and actor across many years and I was intrigued and eager to hear about his history.

Thanks to his “As Yet Untitled” series on Dave and of course QI I had gleaned a few snippets of info, I know Australia featured strongly, that his Mum had died when he was very young, that he had a turbulent relationship with school and so forth, but not the core happenings, the fundamentals that form our foundations. His journey that took him from a child to adulthood, from innocent exploration to working family man.

This memoir is not a chronological diary of life, picking out those highlights or significant events that either helped or hindered his progress through life, interspersed with whimsical anecdotes. This is an honest, touching account from a survivor of life as a sexually abused child. It is phenomenally well written, at no time is Alan portrayed as the hapless, silent victim, but the confused child, struggling to comprehend weighty issues, in an environment of isolation, by which I mean alone within his own family as well as in a crowd.

Reading and understanding how his fathers behaviour towards him across many years affected his every moment through out life was incredibly enlightening. The conflicting emotions and signals, the ‘special secret’ versus being ignored or intentionally reprimanded. The feeling of displacement and disconnection around him. At the core there is this influential figure, a father, the person you have an instinctive affection towards, who is supposed to protect you and teach you about life. Realising the perversions of this authoritative presence and the extent of them and how they still prevailed in his dotage.

It has left scars, fractured the family somewhat, still rearing its ugliness on Alan to this day. Taking the brave step of reporting his father’s behaviour to the authorities must have been such an incredibly hard thing to balance in your own mind, the tugging to and fro with the pros and cons. He has my continued admiration.

It was powerful to read about his misbehaviour, the antics that some may say was attention seeking, maybe it was, maybe not having the nurturing, caring, maternal aspect at home he was seeking it from somewhere else, in some misguided fashion to fit in a place comfortably. All children have phases of tantrums and boundary pushing, it’s a process of learning and growing, but it can also be a red flag to something not being ‘right’ there is more to this behaviour than growing pains. As adults we are incredibly blind to spotting the subtle signals of difference.

I hope Alan has found calmness within himself as his adult life has progressed, getting the support and understanding from his wife, a fresh fun zest in life as his own children grow. That he knows he has value to other people.

 

I’m na’ casting me clout

Ne’er cast ya clout til May is out. Ha! With the great British weather as it is, I’m na’ casting out my clout regardless of the month. Soo in April there was a frost somewhere every dang night, chilly you say, well it would seem so. Friday morning as carer arrived, in the time it took her to get from car to my door there was rain-heavy rain- hail, chunks of stinging balls of ice! Mother Nature is off her meds again, or her grandkids flipped her calendar back to February.

So … how are things? Been anywhere? Looking forward to being out and about with the great unwashed? I know what you mean, it’s too peopley out there *shudder*

I scrolled back to my list, can you believe it was as far back as 20th March! Time has done it’s thing, still feeling a bit groundhog but the days are lighter for longer. Anyway, as they say, previously

• Add crochet border to red cat blanket – started yesterday but run out of that colour.
• Start the Alan Davies book – I’m about half way through
• Check domain registry dates – did that, all good until next year
• Go through iTunes genre – classified the blank, tweaked others
• File images accumulated – mostly, sort of done ish

So my to do list is lacking the mastermind effort (I’ve started so I’ll finish). In my defence April got taken over with writing a poem everyday and reading all the other excellent, poignant, hilarious, rude, epic verses.

May, I have decided will be crochet month, each day I will do some, hopefully getting a blanket to grow across a week, maybe a toy or two across the weekend. Ohh, I wrote a poem about that…..

I'm a little hooker
Not short nor stout
Sometimes I swear
Often I pout

You mucky minded readers
Keep your trap shut
It's not what you're thinking
None of your smut

Yarn over, pull through
Yarn over, pull through two,
Front post, half double,
Twiddle deftly is what I do

Blankets for the pussy cats
Toys of fish and mice
A gift to Cats Protection
Because I'm really nice