WordPress kindly threw up this old post as related to my last post so I clicked on it and had a little chuckle at the memory. Enjoy.

Originally posted on Tripping Over Pebbles No More:

Having done a hard morning’s slaving over a hot computer, I kept  being disturbed by the the rumbling noises coming from my  tum.

The hens have been on egg laying overtime and we have about 3 dozen eggs all waiting to be used up or distributed among family and friends. “Mmmmmm, poached egg on toast, yummy. That’ll do for my lunch.”  The eggs were poached to perfection, I laittle dash of salt and black pepper and off I trotted to go and enjoy them.

As I went to set down, somehow, the plate tipped and one slice of toast and egg slid off. “NOOOOOOOO!”

In a stupid attempt to try and catch it I actually ended up batting it volleyball style  right across the room and it landed on my honey coloured living room carpet. The egg exploded, the perfectly cooked yolk covering a distance of about 3 feet, the…

View original 110 more words

Well that was an interesting week

We  took the no vacancies sign off the door and we opened the doors for business this week.


Our very first guests, two business men on a one night stay, turned up at the appointed hour. We fawned and faffed over them like they were royalty. They must have wondered what the hell was going on.

Bright and early for breakfast I got everything ready. Boofuls and Lashes fluttered around nervously while I paced up and down the kitchen and barked at anyone who came too close.

How many times have I cooked breakfasts for many people at once? Hundreds. Have I flapped about it? No. Yet here I was a total nervous wreck. All I had left to cook was the eggs. The rest of the full English  was ready to be plated up. Bob came in with their order.

Poached eggs! Fecking poached eggs!  Not only that they wanted tinned tomatoes and I’d cooked fresh.  Awkward sods.

Dammit. My brain switched off and I went into full panic mode. How it’s possible to use so many pans to make breakfast for two men is beyond me but use them I did. What a mess the kitchen was when I’d finished. Still the guests were happy so that’s ok.

Off they went on their way. Phew! We did it!

A couple of days later we  learnt a valuable lesson.  We’d decided that once we had no one booked in we’d all go out for a meal. Lashes wanted to try the Mexican restaurant near the harbour.  Boofuls was mightily relieved when it was closed and we ended up in the Italian across the road instead.

Just as the wine was served Boofuls took a phone call.

” Hello, we have a reservation at your hotel and there is no one here.” Boofuls went a funny shade of puce. “I’m so sorry, I’m not aware of any booking for tonight.”

“We booked on Late Rooms a few minutes ago.”


We asked the waitress to keep our wine aside and we’d be back in an hour. Back we dashed back to the hotel to find three men standing on the drive. They wanted three single rooms. Dammit. I haven’t finished deep cleaning all the rooms yet. We had to put them in a single, a double and a superking. The chap with the superking was well happy.

The single had been on the days list for deep cleaning and apart from a few bits and pieces it was all ready. Lashes and I dashed to finish it off and put the hospitality tray, towels  etc. in while Boofuls kept them talking. That was a manic 10 minutes.

We got them safely into their rooms and then went back to the restaurant to finish our meal, wide eyed, breathless and shell shocked. That will be the last time we leave the hotel totally  unattended for a while. Lesson learned.

We got back after our meal and the chaps asked if they could have an early breakfast.  “Of course, what time?” Seven o’clock. Oh well, early start for me.

Again I had all the full English ready. Working men will want  hearty breakfast, I thought. Totally faff and stress free I might add and with minimal use of pans.  Boofuls came in with the orders. Scrambled egg, bacon and beans and poached egg on toast. Not a sausage or full English  in sight.Bloody hell. Boofuls and I are going to end up eating a lot of sausage and bacon at this rate. Oh well. At least the guests were happy.


What’s a coopid?

Munki: What does a coopid mean?

Lashes: You’re saying it wrong.

Munki: No I’m not.

Lashes: Yes, it’s a cupid. A little angel that fires arrows and makes people fall in love.

Munki: No. Not that. A coopid. It says it on that door.
Lashes: Oh! Occupied.

Me: Rolling round the floor laughing for the second time yesterday.
The first time was sitting outside our new favourite eat and drinkerie. Munki and I were at the table playing at being Barbie and Rainbow Horse and speaking in ridiculous American accents. I was Rainbow horse.

Munki: Can I ride you?
Me: You sure can.
Munki: Oh great. If you ride you you won’t flip me off will you?

Me: Laughed till I cried and couldn’t even tell her why. Other diners looked at me like I’d gone slightly potty.

A couple of weeks ago before we moved and the proverbial hit the fan,  we were sitting in our little rented flat all in our jammies watching a bit of rubbish telly.

Munich snuggled up to me for a cuddle. After a minute or two she started surreptitiously sniffing at my dressing gown.  Lashes looked up. “Did you just smell Nanny’s dressing gown?” Munki  blushed and  admitted she had. “Why on earth would you do that?” The answer came back, “Because it smells like custard.”

Lashes looked at me  incredulously for confirmation. “Yup, it does smell like custard. I have no idea why. Come and have a sniff.

That was the start of a five minute sniff fest and discussion about if it actually smelt like custard or vanilla and why it smelt like that.  Conclusion: I have no idea. It did smell rather nice though.

A few days later I washed it and it doesn’t smell like custard any more. That’s a shame I liked my custardy dressing gown.

So. Back to present day: What’s happening on the good old English Riviera and the  Nirvana that Boofuls, Lashes and me were looking for?

We’re all knackered, that’s what.

Twelve hour days of non stop cleaning, internet booking websitey stuff and cable tracing. Honestly, I thought Boofuls liked his wires but he’s a beginner compared to the efforts of the previous owner of this place. Stocking great wodges of wires are trailing and dangling everywhere. He’s made no effort to hide them, they just dangle around all the walls like unsightly bunting.

Let’s not even discuss the cleanliness of the kitchen. Suffice to say a five litre tub of industrial de greaser and no skin left on my hands did the job. Now I’m deep cleaning the bedrooms and the rest of the hotel before we welcome our first paying guests next Monday. It’s a bit of a race against time because it took me four hours to deep clean just one room yesterday. Not that it was disgustedly dirty or anything.  We have fifteen rooms in total and all the public areas to get up to scratch over the weekend. No pressure.

Poor old Douggie the doggie has been so stressed his been biting chunks out of his own tail leaving it red raw and painful. To be honest, if I had a tail I’d probably be biting it as well. I’l be glad when we get into a nice routine and then we can all calm the hell down a bit.  It’s a good job we have the beach on our doorstep to walk the dog and destress on or I’d probably be in the funny farm by now.

Happy days!


Here we all are still in our little flat by the sea. It’s becoming a little bit tedious now to be honest. A couple of weeks of ‘let’s pretend we’re on holiday’ has turned into long and pointless days of ‘Let’s go out and spend more money we can’t afford in order to get out of this flat.’

The property buying process in this country is absolutely ludicrous. It seems to be purposely set up to cause as much stress and distress as possible. For non English readers: did you know that in this country nothing is binding after you have made an offer on a property until the very last minute and contracts have been signed? This process can take anything up to three months and contracts are usually signed the day before you move in? Ludicrous, eh?

In our case that has been two months since we put in the offer. In the interim period we (and by we I mean Boofuls, he’s been amazing getting this all moving forward) have paid for umpteen reports, made a gazillion phone calls, supplied information two or three times over, bought various indemnity insurances against things that everyone knows will never happen and through it al the seller could still say, “I’ve changed my mind” and just walk away.

An example of a recent day goes like this: We reached mortgage contract signing stage last Thursday. Our solicitor is in Lancashire, 300 miles away. Our mortgage provider is in Plymouth, about 30 miles away. Our solicitor wanted us to drive to Lancashire so he could witness us signing the document. WHAT?!?!

“Surely there’s a better way than this?” we wailed.

“Well, you can get a local solicitor to witness it. I’ll have the document sent to me here in Lancashire, I’ll read it, send it to a solicitor in Devon, you can go there and sign it, then it will come back to me in Lancashire and I’ll send it back to Plymouth. That’ll be £600, please.”

Boofuls phoned our mortgage provider in Plymouth: “Can we come direct to your offices and sign it?” “We’ll phone you right back”, they said.

We got an email within five minutes from our solicitor.”Please refrain from contacting the mortgage providers solicitor, it’s upsetting for them.”

Again: WHAAAAT?!?!

By this time my migraine was throbbing away nicely and the tears were falling like a river. Boofuls saved the day.

He phoned our mortgage broker, 5 minutes away: “Pete, we have to drive to Lancashire to sign this contract.”

“WHAAAAT?!?! No you don’t. It doesn’t have to be a solicitor who witnesses it. Just a responsible person. That’ll be me. I’ll phone the mortgage providers solicitor and double check it’s ok.”

Two minutes later: “It’s ok. Pop into my office later today, I’ll have it emailed across and ready for you.”

Our solicitor: “WHAAAAT?!? You can’t do that. I’d have to read it, it’s 20 pages long.  That will take me till tomorrow. DON’T SIGN IT!!”

We signed it. With the caveat that it wasn’t posted back until the solicitor had read it. Guess what? It was fine.

So. Mortgage contract sorted. Next: property contract and completion.

Boofuls phoned the seller: “We’re almost ready, the contracts will be exchanged today, we can complete Friday?

Our seller: “Ooh no, we don’t want to complete Friday. We don’t want to move out till at least Monday, we’ve got a big night out on Friday. The wife’s upset, she’s not ready to move”


Remember I said at the beginning the seller can change their mind right up to the last minute?

Back on the phone to our solicitor. “Get that contract completed and returned pronto, we have a feeling the seller is going to pull out.”

Then started the tense wait to see what happened first, the seller pulling out or the contracts being exchanged.

I went for a bath to settle my jangling nerves and to avoid flooding the flat with my tears. I mean, the last thing we need is a bill for water damage to the carpet.

Boofuls came to talk to me while I wallowed in warm, bubbly, scented water. Actually, we were arguing but that’s irrelevant. It did kind of negate the benefit of my bath though.

Munki knocked on the door. ” I need a poo.”  Boofuls told her to go upstairs to her own flat and have a poo there.

Half an hour later, Lashes came down to see us, grinning all over her face.

“I see you two are a lot happier.”

Still grinning.

Munki came up and said. Nanny and Grandad are having a secret conversation in the bathroom.  Now half an hour later here I am and you’re both in a much better mood and smiling again. Good ‘conversation’ was it?

Hahaa. Trust Munki to cheer everyone up!

So that was our Thursday, how was yours?


Fashioneyesta Stars in Guide Dogs Uk’s Latest Video On The Safe and Sound Campaign #safeandsound


This is an issue close to my heart. So I make no apologies for spreading this message far and wide.

Originally posted on Fashioneyesta:

Greetings Readers!

I hope everyone is doing well today?

I wanted to share with you all some very exciting news on about my work with the charity Guide Dogs and their campaigns team.

Recently i filmed for a brand new video for the Guide Dogs charity all about traveling and the importance of having cars that can emit a sound.

in the video i talk about having a guide dog, the freedom she gives me and the dangers that electronic and hybrid cars pose to my independence.

Although electronic and hybrid cars are fantastic for helping us to converse our environment there is a great risk to pedestrians in the sense that they are not audible to someone when out on the streets which makes it very dangerous for people with sight loss, people who walk in the dark and to all pedestrians in general.

The Safe and Sound Campaign…

View original 329 more words

What’s in your drawers?

So what have you got in your drawers?

Oo-er, steady on Mrs! I meant literal drawers not yer underpinnings, as my mother would have called them. Good grief woman! I know what you’ve got in those drawers, let’s never discuss that again! *shakes head to get that image out of my mind*

Every house has a drawer of plenty, you know, the place where you keep all the bits and bobs. Bits of string, fuses, hair grips. It’s the first place you look when anyone asks, ‘have you got a ….?’

Now, in our teeny temporary flat  we haven’t really got a drawer of plenty since it’s a holiday let and not a real home but we do have a drawer of’ I’ll not be needing that again.’

It was with a huge amount of pleasure and smugness that I filled this particular drawer with all of my cold weather clothing, the padded trousers, the fluffy hat and thick walking socks. Now we live in ‘The English Riviera’ there’ll be no more need for this stuff, I thought. At worst I’ll be needing a light jumper from now on.

How wrong can you be?

One morning last week  I got up and strolled down to the garden in my dressing gown so the dog could have a wee.  Just so we’re clear, the dressing gown isn’t paramount to the action of the dog weeing, it’s just what I happened to be wearing at the time since it was still stupid o’clock in the a.m. The action of poochie weeing isn’t influenced in the slightest by my clothing choices.

So, back to the plot…Imagine my shock and horror when an unexpected icy blast of wind swirled round my ankles. I pulled my dressing gown closer round me and chivvied Douggie the doggie to stop messing about and ‘go pee’. He lifted his leg on command and I could see the shock on his face as the same icy blast caught him round his now exposed nether regions. He was clearly thinking the same as me, ‘What the hell’s going on? We were promised balmy, warm weather, sunny winter days and absolutely no rain’. We’ve been conned!

Totally unimpressed was I as I pulled the thermal trousers and Miss Marple hat, which I’d bought on a previous visit when I’d been caught out by the cold, out of the drawer in readiness for our walk. My Deputy Dawg hat with the earflaps, the one I usually wear for dog walking is still packed up in storage with 95% of our other belongings so MIss Marple saved the day.

It was an eclectic mix of clothing I wore that day, wellies, anorak and Miss Marple knitted hat with a jaunty crocheted flower on the side accented with a little feather. The locals must have thought that we northern folk have no sense of sartorial elegance.

How did they know I was from the north? It was probably because I walk round calling out “Ti reyt cocker? and singing “On Ilkley Moor baht ‘at”

For my non English, and southern, bloggy friends I’l translate for you:

‘Ti reyt cocker’ translates as  ‘How are you this morning?’

‘On Ilkley Moor baht ‘at’ means on Ilkley Moor ( a place in Yorkshire ) without a hat’. 

Once the walk got underway and I’d warmed up a bit I soon recovered from my distress  at the cold weather. Douggie and I yomped  along the coastal path at a rate of knots listening to the sound of the  waves as they crashed against the rocks. It was all very dramatic and invigorating. Worth looking like Miss Marple for.

Ok, I won’t move back up north after all. I still prefer it here.

Missing cat returns home

Big news hit the local newspaper here recently. “Missing cat returns home after eight years. Owner hopes it hasn’t come home to die.”

Wow! Anywhere that can have a quarter of page three dedicated to a cat coming home will do for me.

What was on page one? A story about an old building being closed for the third year running. Again. Wow! You’d think that have stopped being news after the original closure of it’s doors. Some stories just run and run.

News like this I can cope with. I think I’m going to like living here.

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