Musical Meandering

Today I borrowed my eldest son's music machine to accompany my walk. I have a very broad spectrum and taste when it comes to music and will not easily dismiss anything without first having a listen. To be utterly and completely honest, I love music, I always have. I love singing, though Mr Grumpy doesn't enjoy my singing as much as I do, but still I sing. I wouldn't say I am good at singing but surely that shouldn't stop me, I'm clever enough to know I shouldn't stand and sing in front of people like Simon Cowell, who I actually think knows what he's talking about, hence the reason he's a millionaire!

Since I was a small person, singing  and music has surrounded me. I have spoken before about how I listened to Radio 2 and enjoyed the musical choices of Terry Wogan, Pete Murray and Jimmy Young. I loved hearing all those oldies as we would now call them, but I also find that the songs from the 80's are now classed as oldies by my teenage sons. I also used to enjoy singing in the Citadel of the Salvation Army and when my brothers lost interest I joined our local church.

It mattered not to me what I was listening to or what I was singing, it made me happy. I just enjoyed the music and for that I'm thankful, it means that I now have the most diverse music collection ever! As I have grown, my taste has changed and so I find myself with a collection of vinyl and CD's that range from Northern Soul, musicals, RnB, pop, soft rock through to my current favourite thrash metal. This latest musical taste is in main due to my eldest son's doing. He plays guitar and learns mainly heavy metal music, his passion, yes I'm his Mum and I'm biased but he is good and really loves it, so in turn I now have fallen in love with some good rock and roll music.

Somehow, I seem to have an uncanny ability to memorise lyrics, lovely when the radio's on and I'm singing but most annoying for Mr Grumpy when he says a sentence and I can almost immediately pick that sentence from a song and sing it! Oh if only my maths O level had been in song lyrics....

So as I find myself surrounded these days by long haired, head banging, body moshing young men I wonder what the 80's me would have thought. Well, I guess that because in the 80's I was still looking for love, I wouldn't have taken too much notice, I would've been matching every song to my personal circumstance. Where as now with the maturity of age I have learned to just enjoy music for what it is. It matters not what it's genre is, who's singing it or whether they're the latest, biggest, hot thing, I like what I like and will continue to do so. 

So there.

part 2

I really wanted to add a very funny story that the lovely Beth's mum told us recently about driving, quite brave and also quite hilarious, I'm just waiting for copyright to come through. If we get it, I'll add something else of my own.

Driving Dawdle

Today I am hoping that you won't mind if I write a little about how I'm thinking without the added walking. It can be quite tiring you know, especially as I have also started to incorporate a bit of running.
Today has been a busy day for me and one that has involved rather a lot of driving, only short distances but driving none the less. I was clever enough to pass my driving test first time twenty years ago. I had initial lessons with my Dad, followed by the usual 300 lessons from a local driving school, OK, maybe not quite that many, but of course while I was paying for lessons they were happy to keep taking my money. Unlike many learners, I actually learned to drive in a Volkswagen Caravanette, so a large, long and quite heavy vehicle but actually had quite good va va voom!

Since passing my test, I have made it my job to be a good, careful and responsible driver, even when I was a sales rep', haring from one city to another. I have been stopped for speeding only once, to which I fully held up my hands, and as for accidents, well, let's not tempt fate shall we?
So, here I am, 41 and a regular and considerate driver. I flash other drivers out of junctions when it's safe to do so, though Mr Grumpy says he thinks I've misunderstood about the whole flashing concept.... not had any complaints so far. I always stick to the speed limit on local roads, sorry, can't include the local parkways, I indicate even when there are no other vehicles around and always keep a safe braking distance between me and the vehicle in front.
Why oh why can't other drivers do the same? I'm not asking much, I know when you pass your test the standard line from your instructor is “now go away and learn to drive properly” But when they hear that do these other drivers hear “ Go and drive like selfish lunatics” ????

It seems that other drivers seem to have no spacial awareness, a gap that you could quite easily fit a family sized car through suddenly only seems the right size for a double decker bus. Or when I'm driving along a main carriageway I suddenly seem to don my invisibility cloak and no other driver can see me, well, actually just that one numpty that thinks he's got time to pull out in front of me causing some braking on my part. Oh and let's not forget those people that don't realise that when you join the main carriageway from a slip road it's them that need to give way. Although a special mention should be given here to the prize idiots that brake on the main road in order to allow them to join!
There are also the people that we have to call pedestrians, shall we call them non-drivers? Oh look, I'm going to walk out in front of you because I know you won't run me over, if only they were on the inside of my car, they'd hear my passengers screaming, “please don't run him over, we know you're right”
It's not that I'm aggressive, just that I know the road. I had the old trick question in my driving test, if you're turning into a road and some one's crossing, who has the right of way? The correct answer is of course I do because I have a car and I'll run you over. The answer they want to hear is the person crossing because you're not going to run them over, are you?

I don't profess to be the world's greatest driver, I'm not saying I'm always right, though I usually am, but I take great comfort in the fact that my sons still think I'm a better driver than their Dad, well, it's statistically proven, women are better drivers than men.

Gosh I feel better getting that off my chest, happy driving!

Old Age Amble

O what a beautiful morning, morning Howard! So to be certain not to waste it I was up and out nice and early, plus Mr Grumpy woke me up because he couldn't sleep. Thanks for that.
For company this morning I had somebody different join me, it was Johnnie Walker, appropriate name, I had rather hoped for Terry Wogan but he's on holiday. Never mind, Johnnie would do and as it turned out he was rather nice to have around.

As I had left home so early, it was quite a different mix of people that I came across today. There were the inevitable workers doing their daily commute into Peterborough, but along the way I met about half a dozen people of an older generation that had obviously been to fetch their morning newspapers.
Seeing these folk going about their normal daily routine and combined with the fact that I was listening to Radio 2, old age became the subject wafting around my head.
Just two weeks ago it was my eldest son's 17th birthday, though with the way he acts you'd think he was 27! On his big day I commented on how quickly time was passing and that he was now getting on a bit, to which he said “I don't want to get old Mum” I tried to explain that getting old is better than the alternative.
We then had a discussion about age and the fact that on many occasions when asked my age, I will always reply honestly but will also add that I still feel like a 17 year old. No, not that I feel like I want a 17 year old, but mentally 17, naughty readers. When people tell me that their children make them feel old I fail to understand, sometimes my boys drain me of all my senses and energy but actually they're what keep me young at heart.
It was at about this point in my walk that Johnnie reminded me of the famous line Pete Townshend once said “I hope I die before I get old”. This also got me thinking, though momentarily it was of Horatio Caine as the music blasting into my ears was “Won't get fooled again” by The Who, how different it is being 41 now to how it was back in the 1970's.
When I was 10 my mother was roughly the same age that I am now, she seemed much older. Sorry Mum, though I don't really need to apologise as she doesn't read these, in fact she doesn't even know they exist.
Why was life so different for them back then? Could it be because she had quite a demanding job as a nurse working permanent nights? Maybe it was the stress of having 4 children? I think the hardest thing for me, had I been her, would've been that twin tub washing machine that used to take up half the kitchen twice a week. Oh how I loved that smell of the hot soapy water swirling around.
I guess when I compare her to some of the other women that were in my life back then she wasn't that old fashioned, or old in her appearance, in fact she was actually quite liberal and gave us lots of freedom. Although I do remember that in order for her to have a bit of a break now and then I would get shipped off to stay at my Aunt's bungalow in Thorney and my other young Aunty would come to stay at ours in order to help look after my brothers. I can't speak on their behalf of what it was like for them, though I know I was always jealous when I came home and found that she'd bought them pink and white almond nougat while I'd been staying at what I thought was the equivalent of a prison. That may seem a little harsh and in fact over the years my older Aunt has softened somewhat, but as a child she terrified me, I truly thought I'd been naughty and was being punished when I was sent there. She looked much older as her hair had turned grey many years earlier, she had some odd ways too, like setting the breakfast table every night before bed and when we had tinned fruit for pudding you had to have bread and butter with it. Whatever amount she'd buttered, it had to be eaten.
She was quite hard to tolerate for a week, sometimes two but all these years later I find we actually have something in common, we both like Radio 2, and over breakfast listening to Terry Wogan all those years ago, who'd have thought history would be repeating itself.

So I do want to get old, but I want to be young at heart, I want to enjoy my children and nieces and nephew and I don't want to be the scary Aunty that they never want to visit. Most of all though, I am going to grow old disgracefully, throw caution to the wind and to hell with anyone that doesn't approve.
You're a long time dead.

Cinematic memories

A walk in the rain can be most distracting for your thoughts, concentrating more on dodging puddles, or people's unnecessarily large umbrellas, or just wondering if your feet could actually get any wetter. This is a little how my thoughts have been dampened today, though I hope it won't impact too much on the content of my ramblings.

As I walked this morning I noticed a group of young men and women ahead of me, about seven of them, all wearing flourescent jackets, carrying large plastic sacks and those pincer type picker uppers. You know, the sort that old people always seem to have hidden away somewhere just in case they suddenly find themselves with a shelf too high to reach. Anyway, they were picking up the litter from the road side. As I passed them, you see I walk very quickly and as they are obviously employed by the council, they move slowly. That reminds me of a Max Boyce joke, when the council worker turned and stomped on a poor defenseless snail, until it was just a pile of shell and mush. A passer by took the man by the arm and said "Why on earth did you do that? What had he ever done to you?" To which the council worker replied, "He's been following me around all day!" Sorry about the Welsh accent, it wasn't very good was it?

Where was I? Oh yes, as I passed them I found myself wondering, was this a job they wanted to do? Aspired to doing? Or were they being good, hard working people, doing this job to have some dignity rather than just signing on the dole? Either way, I admired them, not a nice job but a very worthwhile one.

So, I started thinking about the jobs I have had in my past, I've had a few and most have been enjoyable. All of them had their highlights, things that you wouldn't usually class as a perk but were a treat to me all the same. I wondered, could I pick one out as a favourite? My first proper job, not including the Saturday jobs I had while still at school, was one I really loved. Having had a few minor issues in the man department at home, I was dispatched to live with my newly married eldest brother and sister-in-law. Whatever had they done to deserve that??? How terrible for them that after just two months of marriage, this sixteen year old girl is lumped on them in their lovely new home. Don't worry Jill, I won't tell the condom story....

Now then I found myself living in a lovely little village on the outskirts of Lincoln, I think it's where that famous chunky farmers pickle was discovered. As both my new landlords worked shifts it was quickly decided I needed a job. I was only set to stay with them until October as I had secured a place for myself in the RAF that November. As my brother was and still is a real cinema junkie, he was on very good terms with the manager and assistant manager of the ABC in Lincoln. Hence I ended up as an usherette for the Summer, not just selling ice creams and popcorn you understand. Oh no, I had the honour of even being allowed to take money for the tickets on one occasion!

What a wonderful Summer I had, Mr Black was the manager, he was a very thin Scottish man, who if I'm honest gave me the creeps a bit. He had those eyes, I can't describe them better than that but if you've ever known someone that gives you the creeps, you'll understand. The assistant manager on the other hand was an absolute joy, Mr Caslake. If he hadn't have been gay I would have lusted after him madly.  Sadly I can't remember the names of all the other women that worked there, I'm sure Drew will be able to, but I can remember their faces. I think the very large lady that didn't like giving up the cashier job  mainly because it was the only job where you sat, was called Val. She told me a story about how she'd had an accident in her car as a purple dog had jumped into the road in front of her. My brother later informed me that the purple dog had actually jumped straight out of a bottle of booze.

Then there was the only other young girl, I was the youngest at 16 but she was 19, she was so exciting and introduced me to the Green Dragon pub and drugs. Don't worry readers, I declined the company of those funny smelling little cigarettes but would sit quietly with her and drink my lager and black.

I think that there were 2 highlights for me that Summer, the first was meeting a nice young policeman from Nottingham, Dean, who would come and pay to watch a film (they were films then not movies) but spend much of the time chatting with me. I wonder what happened to him...  The second was when the film Splash was released, starring Tom Hanks and Darryl Hannah. Oh what joy when I turned up for work and I was told that the Lincoln Echo were coming to do a promotional piece for the film and I was going to be in it. Wow, would I get to meet Tom? Darryl at the very least, no, I was dressed up as a mermaid while Mr Black dressed up in a wetsuit and held me in his arms. That wetsuit was far too tight and extremely disturbing.

Sadly, the Summer came to an end and I was sent home a reformed character, ha, that's what they thought. I'm glad I had the man trouble I did, I'm glad my ever patient brother and his wife took me in and I'm glad I worked in the ABC cinema. I still can't say if it was my favourite job but I can say it was the best job for a naive 16 year old to break her teeth on, surrounded by lovely, funny and very interesting people. Oh and of course getting to see all the films for nothing!!!

Family thoughts

Today I think I'm going to be a little predictable, for those in the know that is. Because at 7.10am this morning, I became an Aunty again for the third time. Welcome to the world Lily-Rose and well done Sarah! 9lbs, bet that made your eyes water....So as I set off in the morning sunshine, my thoughts were filled with family. I live on an estate made up mainly of large homes quite obviously designed to be filled by families, though I hasten to add, my home is one of the smaller ones. So as I tried to take peek into the worlds of these other people, I wonder if their homes run like mine? We're what I'd call a pretty normal family, though others may question my use of the word "normal" I'm married with two sons, have never been married before and never intend marrying again, I work as does my husband. My children have been brought up with good family values and know that manners maketh the man, I'm not saying they're perfect but I am safe in the knowledge that they do know right from wrong. Hang on a minute, I've just read that back and if I compare it to what I see on the television and read about in the press, we're actually far from normal.So where does all this normality stem from? I know the whole argument of nature v's nurture, if there is still in fact an argument concerning it, but is it in our genes to behave the way we do or is it something learned from our parents?I look at my own family, I am the youngest of four children and to make it worse for those around me, the only girl. Yes I was spoiled, my father once famously told my grandmother, his mother-in-law, "if you don't have children for spoiling, what do you have them for?" Something that I have certainly held him to ever since. My maternal granparents certainly did not believe in spoiling children and thankfully my mother didn't raise us in the way she had been. I'm not saying my mother had a hard or terrible childhood, I'm just glad it was hers and not mine.My brothers and I were taught all the basic lessons in life, from please and thank you to respecting our elders. In fact one couple I can recall in particular that sadly is now only the husband, were friends of my mum and dad when we were children, and godparents to one of my brothers I believe, were always called Mr & Mrs Secker by us. Mr Secker is still alive and my parents still visit him, and when I see him I still call him Mr Secker. Even though I have grown up and had this man in my life for 41 years, I still feel he deserves respect and would never dream of calling him by his first name.So as I look around my family I see that three out of the four of us are married, and I think I can safely use the word happy. My brother that is still single I also think is happy, he certainly appears to be, good job, nice home, three or more holidays a year and his lovely dog that never answers him back! My eldest brother and my sister-in-law have just celebrated their Silver wedding anniversary and my youngest brother has only been married 6 years, but 3 children later seems extremely happy with his life.So is the ability to stay married, hold down good jobs, raise polite and respectful children and be good all round human beings because of how we were raised? could it be purely because we were loved and we knew we were loved? Or is it that we were given a jolly good smack if we deserved one

Theme Park Thoughts

Well firstly I would like to apologise for not writing anything for the last 2 days. I sat and had typed virtually all of my ramblings on Saturday when the wonders of modern technology let me down and I lost everything. Oh what a happy soul I was. I decided to quit while I was ahead and left that walk as one that I may have to recall on a day when nothing occurs.

I also hope that you'll allow me the indulgence of writing today what actually occurred yesterday, as I had a walk with a difference and now is the earliest that I have been able to sit and write my findings.

Yesterday's ramble was actually less ramble more queueing, as I had the pleasure of spending the day at Thorpe Park in Surrey. Did I say pleasure? Oh it was alright I guess, if you like standing around in the baking sun, waiting to go on a ride that's going to send you from 0 to 80mph in 2 seconds, take you over 200 feet skywards just to plunge you back to earth, well most of you, I think you may leave your stomach somewhere mid air, let's face it, you've already left your senses at the gate!

After a very early start we arrived with the masses just after the gates opened, where we were fed through a queueing contraflow, I think that this process is in place to acclimatise you for the rest of the day. In attendance for this trip were, myself, Mr Grumpy, my youngest son, who was very tired so should be referred to as Master Grumpy and his BFF Beth. For those of you that aren't down with the kids of today, BFF, stands for Best Friends Forever. I would imagine that in future rambles these hip abbreviations may arise so I will endeavour to compile a little list for you to refer to if needed.

So back to Beth, a lovely young lady who is a year old than Master Grumpy but as we all know how girls mature much earlier than boys, could pass for maybe 2 or 3 more. She had assured me that she's a real adrenaline junky and would get me onto every ride in the park. I wasn't convinced, I'd looked at the brochure and the website and saw no evidence of swings, slides or maybe at a push one of those old swinging conical climbing frames. Passing through the gates I realised my worst nightmare. I was in an enormous playground for small and big kids alike, that have no concept of fear or possibly feel so flip about life itself they don't worry about dying.

It was decided quickly, that we should head for the big ride furthest away in order to avoid the queues later. This proved to be rather shrewd thinking, as when we did return to this ride later we ended up waiting for a most enjoyable hour, detect the hint of sarcasm? Master Grumpy plopped himself down on a rock and said that's where he'd be on our return, unless someone kidnapped him, then we'd be sorry. I pointed out that with him being in the frame of mind he was that, 1) it would be the kidnappers that would be sorry and 2) they'd soon return him.

The ride wasn't too bad I suppose, I removed my loose clothing and bags, was quickly told to put my clothes back on, it's not that sort of theme park apparently, was thrown around for about 2 minutes and the "fun" was over. We returned to find that Master Grumpy was still sitting on his rock and didn't want to spend the rest of the day waiting for us while we went on all the rides, how boring.... 

The next ride was like an enormous swing, flying up to 75 feet high at over 50mph, actually topping 4g in force... oh goody. Master Grumpy looked at it and said that he'd give it a try, guess what? he loved it.  I hated it, I wanted it to stop, I needed to get off and cry. After a few moments in which to compose myself, somebody appeared to steal my son and replace him with a completely different boy, Master I love these rides let's find something bigger and faster to go on. Nice boy, think I'll keep him.

And so the day went on, most enjoyably, I was dragged from one ride to the next, thrown around the skies of Surrey, sometimes dry, sometimes wet, but always happy. 

I am now the proud mother of an adrenaline junky son, who is already planning his next trip to another theme park. Am I happy? I'm not sure, as I don't know how much will be expected of me next time, I love my life but I'm not so sure I want to live it quite so close to the edge. The excitement for me was watching them have fun and when I declined a third trip on the world's only 10 looping roller coaster, I had a most enjoyable time people watching.

I'm not sure there's an actual point to today's ramble, other than I guess my son and I both had preconceived ideas about what we'd like and what we wouldn't, but we both went in with different attitudes. We both came way though with the attitude that we should try something different from time to time, push ourselves just a little, who knows, we might even like it.

Right off to stick pins in my eyes!

Gas

Once again I find myself sans walk.
This is due to more than one reason and hence may make this blog not only late in the day but a little serious, mmm, let's wait and see.

Yesterday proved to be a most annoying day, mainly because one of the lovely men building the new Stanground bypass managed to cut through the main gas supply to the estate where I live. The smell was horrendous, the house reeked of gas and within a very short space of time my youngest sons eyes were quite red and sore. I guess he didn't help the situation by insisting on riding around outside on his BMX to see what was going on. He came back from his travels and said that he'd spoken to one of the gas engineers and it looked likely that we'd have to be evacuated, great.
Oh well, I checked the hob and we still had gas so wasn't unduly worried. The day went on, as did we, when at about 2pm I noticed the national grid engineers reading our meters... I became a little suspicious. On checking my hob, I found that the gas was no longer on, this not only meant no bolognese for tea, it meant no hot water. Getting crosser now.
So, after a trip to the chippy for the rest of my clan and a zap in the microwave for my tea, all was well with the world. Much later in the evening I received a text from Ms Womble to say that she'd flirted outrageously with the gas engineers and now had gas being pumped into her house. I, on the other hand didn't, on either front, and I am a little disappointed she didn't mention my street name and house number.
Naturally when I awoke this morning I stupidly assumed my gas would be back in its rightful place, but no, no hob and no hot water. I thought about raiding my dusty drawer for my suspenders in the vain hope of seducing some poor chappy, when I came to my senses and realised that the logical option was to go to my parent's house for a shower.
As I drove by the work site where this horrendous catastrophe had taken place, I actually shouted out of my car window that I hoped they'd all had a lovely home cooked meal last night and a nice hot shower.... my poor son cowered in the foot well.
I then had to be taught all over again by mother how to use a shower. Somewhere between having a shower yesterday morning and this morning I had obviously lost all my senses and needed to be shown which cord to pull, which button to press and which dial to turn.

I have moaned, cursed, shouted and generally hated life because of no gas until this afternoon.

A young 13 year old boy that lives just down the street had a major seizure outside my house, which caused him to fall off his bike and for some time left him fitting and bleeding in the road. Myself and a very kind and well trained passer by helped him until the ambulance arrived. I have some medical experience and also have a current first aid certificate, but in all my years have never seen a fit of this seriousness. Without going into horrible details, it was a most disturbing sight and something that I hope he recovers from. He is still in hospital at the time of writing this.

It put things into perspective for me today, no gas for cooking or hot water? Big deal.
No gas for breathing? Bigger deal.

I don't intend my blogs being all serious and philosophical, but sometimes we just need to get our priorities in order.
I hope to resume normal ramblings tomorrow.

Dental Encounter

Well today's ramblings have had to take a slightly different course, figuratively speaking.
I looked at the calendar last night and realised I had an early morning dentist appointment.... great. No worries, I thought, I shall simply observe the people in the waiting room, it's always packed with all types. Being one of the few remaining NHS dentists in the country, I always find myself mingling with folk from every corner of the earth. Good old national health service, well it must be good mustn't it? Why else would people from Poland, Lithuania, Iraq, and many other far flung destinations choose to register with the dentist, other than the fact it's free. Oh cynical old me.
I imagine them sitting around a fire or in a little hut somewhere, gabbling together about the weather, when one of them looks at the others teeth as if noticing them for the first time and says, “Blimey, you look like an horse, better set off on the 300 mile trek to England and register with a dentist, it's free there you know”
So imagine my surprise when I walked into the waiting room this morning and it was empty apart from a rather scary looking receptionist. Never mess with a dental receptionist, she has a hot line to the great man himself, your dentist, and between them they have the power to inflict pain.

After booking me in, she handed me a myriad of forms to check and fill in, no, nothing has changed since my last visit be let's fell another part of a rain forest shall we?
Finally I was allowed to take a seat, after using the anti swine flu hand rub naturally. I wondered if I dared to ask her had she used it before handing me the forms? Or had the dentist used it on his many trips in and out of his surgery? But then remembering the little red buzzer that's probably hidden under her desk I thought better of it.
I sat rather nervously, actually I sat waiting more than nervously, I was terrified! I'm not sure what has brought about this fear of the dentist as he is actually a very nice, kind, gentle fellow, not at all like the chap played by Laurence Olivier in Marathon Man (I'm sure Drew will remember his name)
I think it may go back to when I was a very small person, and due to the terrible habit of thumb sucking ended up having to have loads of teeth out, four in one day. That in itself is bad enough but back then in the near dark ages, the dentist used gas to put you to sleep before ripping them out. So, when you came round, still woozy from the gas and a mouth full of gaps and blood you really didn't relish the thought of another visit any time soon. I must say though, that it's a fantastic way to deter your children from ever sucking their thumbs!
So, still waiting and wondering, is this wait time inflicted on those nervous patients on purpose? Does it heighten the experience for the dentist, add a bit of interest to his day? Then he appeared, and beckoned me through, as I have said, he's a very nice gentleman but I'm afraid nice doesn't make the slightest bit of difference when you're shaking from head to toe.
I got on to his chair and he lowered me back so that I was completely at his mercy, the nurse commented on the whiteness of my knuckles, she'll be seeing them a little closer if she wanted. He checked and poked and prodded and told me that all was well and what excellent dental hygiene I practised but was going to give me a quick polish anyway. Please no, not the polish and not that squirty, slurpy thing in the back of my mouth, I hate that more than an oral injection. Is this sounding like soft porn?
Well, I survived, I didn't bite his hand and I didn't throw up when he made me gag. I did cringe slightly though when he said he looked forward to seeing me next time, really? Feeling's not mutual I can assure you. So back to the waiting room to pay. Yes, I'm paying while the odd little people to my right are applying for free dental treatment, but only one of them can speak English and every thing's taking three times as long as they translate.
Ha, I'm hoping that the receptionist is frantically pressing her silent buzzer under the desk, they should be made to pay in some form.

Countryside Ramble

What a glorious start to what looks to be quite a promising day. I've never been one for following the weather forecast too closely, I just try and dress according to what's going on outside my door.
So it was with much glee that I pulled on my shorts and T-shirt for today's ramble, one that found me heading off into the beautiful countryside with my very good friend, Suzie Womble.

Now, for those of you that have been following me so far, I am all too aware that I said I would explain all about my good friend and where her very curious name came from. The more I thought about the explanation, the more lost I became.... because I'm not really sure I know. The only thing I can be truly certain of, is that she's a little bonkers. Not truly mentally ill you understand, just maybe what people would call blonde. Over the years that we've been friends, I have just learnt to accept her ways and in fact it probably endears her to me even more. I don't want to go off at a tangent here, as it would be quite easy to, and start regaling you with stories of her teddy, Bobbi Bear, who goes on holiday with her, has her own bikini, and who poor Suzie's fiancé is made to take to work with him or out on days trips so she won't get lonely, but I want to try and paint a picture for you of what goes on in her lovely private little world, and how she trustingly believes all she is told.
So, back to the countryside. For anyone not familiar with Peterborough and the surrounding area, it's flat. For miles and miles around, it's as flat as a pancake, and I love it. I feel extremely passionate about the countryside here and think that far too many people drive through it every day without even looking at it. I drink it in.
I listen to people burbling on about Scotland and how beautiful it is and yes, to a point I agree. Hills and mountains are lovely, very pleasing to the eye and nice for sheep, but here in the Fens I can watch the sun appear at the edge of the world in the morning and then I can watch it go down at the end of the day, beautiful. Nothing to obstruct my view other than maybe the odd building or at the moment a combine harvester.
Quite often on our walks in the country I feel a little like I'm giving Ms Womble a nature lesson, “oh look a heron” or “look, a weasel.” Most of the walk is next to a river, so more often than not we see ducks and swans, which is where, for a change, I was the one that got a lesson in nature.
“Did you know that the duck is the fastest bird in the world?” my walking companion asked. I looked at her, waiting for the punch line, but no, she was deadly serious. I told her that the fastest animal in the world is actually the Peregrine Falcon, and that I thought her beloved had been feeding her duff information again, purely for fun you understand, as he knows she absorbs and then repeats every little fact he gives her. So we both agreed to go away and check our facts, and as it turns out we're both almost right. The Peregrine Falcon is the fastest animal on the planet when in it's hunting dive and the duck is amongst the top 10 fastest birds when measured in level flying.
Further along the river we encountered a pair of swans with their young. This always proves a little worrying for me, I think it must hail back to the assembly that was delivered to all the children in my primary school once every year, just before the start of the Summer holidays. We were warned of the dangers of farm machinery and rivers, I suppose being on a tractor in the river would be quite concerning, but in particular we were warned about swans.
We were told never to approach them and especially if they had young, as they could break a man's arm, blimey, what would it do to my spindly arms and legs then? I pointed out the beautiful but obviously quite deadly creatures to Suzie to which she told me we needed to be careful as a swan can break a man's arm! We didn't go to the same primary school, before you ask.
We looked at each other and with our combined years thought that at least one of us must know of a man that's been attacked by a swan and had his arm broken, but no, and of all the people we have since asked, still nothing.
Maybe someone reading this will contact me and tell me if they've had experience of this or know of anyone it may have happened to, but until then I guess it'll have to be added to the countryside myths along with the Beast of Castor.
Enjoy the sun!

Italian encounters

Today's ramble has been more of a meander, due to the over indulgence last night of wine, pizza and chocolate cake. I don't usually splurge quite so much in one evening but I was celebrating my son's 17th birthday with my family. So due to the fact that I am a little cake laden I had more time today to take a peek into other people's lives.

My journey this morning has taken me through the mainly Italian populated area of Peterborough, known as Fletton. During the 1950's, thousands of Italians moved to the area to work mainly in the brick industry, and although the business of bricks is still ongoing, the Italian community have of course spread their wings and now work in many areas of varying businesses.
As I walk amongst their homes I never cease to be amazed at their sense of community, family and general good neighbourliness. Their houses are immaculately presented, their garden's pristine and their own appearance always smart.
As I passed the Italian bakery, trying not to stop and purchase bread and pastries, the chatter from within was all Italian, but I know that as soon as I entered, had my resolve not been so strong, they would've immediately stopped and carried on in English. They have an amazing politeness about them that I have never encountered in any other nationality of people before.

I remember as a 13 year old girl going into town to meet friends, and most Saturdays would encounter a lovely, short, typically Italian Mama. It was like I had a beacon on my head or some sort of homing device that enabled her to seek me out, because without fail she would always find me. The amusing thing was, she thought I was Italian, she would always stop me, kiss both of my cheeks and babble something that I couldn't understand, then after another two quick kisses would be on her way. This kind of greeting was of course readily accepted as normal. How would I have felt had it been a large, sweaty, fag smoking woman? I assume my trips in to town would've very quickly come to an end.
I often wonder what happened to her, I also wonder what she was saying, did she think I was rude for not answering her in her mother tongue? Maybe she was just some loony old lady that thought I was easy prey, and her family now have her safely locked in some attic room. Either way, I actually liked the fact that she thought I was Italian, it made me feel exotic, especially as I'm a Lincolnshire yellow belly! (Although there has always been a story floating about that I'm an Egyptian throw back, but that's a tale for another time!)
So what, I wonder had changed? How was it that as a teenager I could easily pass as Italian but now I'm just as easily accepted as not? I still have dark brown hair, thanks L'Oreal, I still have dark brown eyes, though occasionally they need glasses, and much to many other people's frustration, naturally dark skin.
Is it that their community is so tight knit that they know I'm not one of them? Or is it that as I've got older I've become less Italian? I haven't shrunk by two feet, I don't wear only black clothing and as of yet haven't adopted the lovely waddle that they seem to have.
Whatever the answer, I am happy to live near them and walk amongst them, I feel safe in their community. I also love their bread, pizza, pasta, parma ham, wine.... mmm, maybe I could be an honorary Italian? Maybe if I carry on eating as they do, I too will one day waddle.

Day 1 - An introduction

Well, after much thought and a short discussion with my big bruv, I have finally decided to bite the bullet and write my own Blog.
Now, for any readers of The View From The Hill, I can't promise that I'll be as funny, thought provoking or as clever as Drew, but I can promise that I will write only about what I know. Unless of course there's no chance of my untruths being found out, in which case I'll write what I like!

For those of you that know me well, and I'd hazard a guess that it isn't actually very many, you'll know that every day I embark on a most enjoyable power walk. Sometimes alone, sometimes with my friend Ms Suzie Womble, (story for another time) and sometimes with Mr Grumpy, but always for a minimum of 5 miles.
I would imagine that most people would think that around Peterborough that wouldn't be very exciting, but as I start to write my experiences down I hope to change your minds!
If however I do have a dull walk, I hope you'll allow me the grace of maybe throwing in some memories of walks gone by or just an anecdote from my past.
This mornings walk, though fairly uneventful, did start off with a lovely treat. As I left my home in the glorious sunshine, I looked skyward for an indication as to what weather I could expect. How wonderful then when I spotted a pair of Red Kites soaring above me, and yes, I mean the birds of prey not a piece of string with a small child on the end.
This in itself doesn't strike me as unusual, as I'm always looking around me, at nature, at people, at anything really, as it interests me. But I did wonder how many other people actually witnessed this fine sight? Because I have found wherever I am, people these days have a tendency to look only down towards the ground. I like to greet people I might meet with a cheery "Good Morning!" but find it increasingly difficult as they refuse to meet my line of sight.
Are they scared that I'm going to mug them? Do they perhaps think I might want to engage in some deep and meaningful conversation? Or maybe they worry I might be a drunken druggy about to ask for a light or some loose change.
It reminds me of when my family and I first moved to Peterborough back in 1980. My father, who has always been used to getting up at the crack of dawn, insert own joke here, got up on that first Sunday morning and walked to the local shop for his Sunday Express. On his return he was most upset, as he had met people on his journey, greeted them with a "Good Morning" only to be looked at like a lunatic that had escaped from the local asylum! Peterborough back then, was an overflow town for people wanting to escape London and so of course they weren't used to exchanging pleasantries on the street. Everyone you met had the potential to be some sort of extreme personality, and not, like my father, a gentleman from the country with impeccable manners.

That memory has stayed with me and I think it's one of the reasons I try and make people say hello, or morning when I'm out, am I seeking revenge for my poor wronged father?
No, I tend think I'm a bit of a bugger that likes to wind people up. So if you see me walking your way and you don't want to talk, I suggest you cross the road quickly, although I may start crossing the road too just to be even more mischievous!

I hope that this hasn't been too boring for you, and that you'll stick with me to see if I have the ability to improve. I welcome any feedback but will of course only print the positive stuff.
Ali