Design Flaws


Sometimes I think that women have some serious design flaws.

I mean, really, is it necessary at the end of our useful reproductive life to have to go through the hot flushes, mood swings, weight gain and all the other stuff that comes with menopause? Does childbearing and birthing have to wreak such havoc on a woman’s body? Wouldn’t it be much better just to have it all spring back into shape as if nothing had happened?

It wouldn’t be so bad if the menopause happened over a two week period and that was the end of that. You know, like a mega menstrual cycle to get rid of all the stuff you don’t need any more. But oh no, that’s too simple. Mother nature decided that once we are no longer useful for reproducing things don’t need to be in tip top condition. It can all run to rack and ruin. I suppose the rationale being that once we aren’t useful for breeding then the caveman will move on to a younger, fitter woman and the old birds can just die. Not being able to run so fast and not having a caveman to protect us probably meant we would be eaten by a dinosaur and that would be the end of that. Survival of the fittest and all that. No need to keep things ticketyboo in the old birds.

Does mother nature, and by mother nature I mean that nasty old bitch, nature, not know that times have changed? These days we are more likely to live past the age of forty and our useful life isn’t at an end. Not only that, these days most people don’t end up as dinosaur fodder when they slow down a bit. It would be nice if the decline into old age was a bit gentler and kinder.

What the hell am I talking about? I’ll tell you, dear reader.

I won’t tell you in all the gory details so don’t worry, I’ll keep detail to a minimum.

It’s no secret that I am a woman of *ahem* a certain age. Few several years now I have suffered the indignity of hot flushes, blah, blah, blah, you name it, bring on the menopause symptoms. Note the use of the word ‘years’. Years! For God’s sake!

Anyway, that aside, over the last year or two there have been other things going on in my body. Wrinkles have caused my once fairly pretty face to look stern and old. My once voluptuous breasts now look like boulders in a giant sock. My friend with not quite so extravagant mammaries says hers now look like spaniels ears. My once pert bottom now looks like a saggy, dimply lump of jelly and my stomach, let’s not even talk about that. Everything has headed south. Not only headed south but headed south and taken everything useful or beautiful with it and massively fucked off. If I ever win the lottery I’ll book myself in for plastic surgery and tell the surgeon to pick me up by my hair, give me a good shake, trim off all the excess skin, sew it back up and that should sort it all out.

Changes on the outside are one thing. Changes on the inside are another thing entirely. Gravity, weak muscles and the damage wreaked from giving birth to and nurturing three kids has apparently caused my innards to give up the ghost and collapse into a heap onto my pelvic floor like a pile of dirty washing. Thanks for your brilliant design, mother nature. Bitch.

Eventually realising that things weren’t quite right in the nether regions I went to see my doctor who in turn referred me to a specialist.

Rather too jolly and farmer-ish for my delicate sensibilities he announced in a loud and booming voice to everyone within a three mile radius, “Right, bit of a mess in there. I can’t tell if your uterus needs to come out till I give it a good pull and see what happens. I can’t really do that while you’re awake. So we’ll put you to sleep. It if moves I’ll remove it. I mean, it’s not like you need it any more, is it? Hahahahahah!!!!!”

Not usually sensitive but I found myself upset and wounded by his words, telling myself to get over it. It isn’t as if I need it any more, is it?

So. I was duly put on the waiting list to have my innards tidied up and a possible hysterectomy. That was about nine weeks ago. A few days ago I got a phone call telling me that a place was available. I had my operation this Wednesday.

I’ve never been in hospital other to have my kids. I was terrified.

People moan about the NHS. I can’t fault it. Every single person I came across was friendly, professional and very capable. I felt completely safe in their hands. After chatting with the anaesthetist the next thing I remember is waking up in a ward hours later. It must be odd being an anaesthetist, conversations being cut short all day long. I remember we were talking about her lovely necklace and then…nothing.

So, it turns out that I had not one, not two but three operations Wednesday. Suffice to say I’m a bit sore at the moment. They tidied round, threw out some stuff they didn’t need, did a couple of repair jobs and some embroidery, generally making everything neat and tidy.

Now I sit here thinking about the looooooooong weeks ahead of me where I can’t go out, drive, do housework ( ok, not too upset about that bit) or any kind of exertion for the next 6-8 weeks. After that I have been told I must never lift anything heavy again or I will undo all the work that has been done and end up worse that I was before. That’s going to be difficult for woman who generally behaves like Tigger on speed. Sitting still really isn’t my forte. Maybe I should take up basket weaving?

December catch up and Merry Christmas one and all!


It’s been a long Christmas this year.

It started around the 1st of December and since then it’s been a party of one kind or another every other night right up until the Christmas Day. Along with the parties we’ve earned ourselves a few God points by attending a carol service here and there as well as some festive lantern and wreath making. It’s a good job we’ve had very few guests in, we’ve been far too busy having fun to work!img_3944

img_3941

img_3936

25_02

25_01

In between all this we managed a few days ‘up country’ as they say down here and had an early Christmas with family and friends in Lancashire. That was lovely but hectic. Two full Christmas Days and half a dozen meals out, lots of laughs, cuddles and catch ups. It was fantastic to see everyone but I always get more than a pang of sadness when it’s time to leave. We used a fairly central pub as a base for our entertaining. By the end of the trip we were on first name terms and exchanging B & B tips with the landlord. I’m pretty sure he’ll remember us haha.

On our way back from there we stopped overnight in the midlands for a dog show. Dougie the Doggie and me danced in a heel work to music competition and managed to come third! Get in!!!

Copyright
Copyright

Straight from there and still in Christmas leggings we went for a lovely posh lunch and catch up with little sis and after that we headed off home.

It’s exhausting having all this fun!

On Thursday night Boofuls and I left the last party of the season, high fived each other and said “We’ve done it! We got through all the parties and survived.” Of course we had forgotten about the dog walker’s cocktails at a lovely bar near the beach. Oh well, one more night out won’t kill us!

Christmas has been a blessed relief. We’ve been glad of the break from all the parties! Mind you, we’ll be kicking it off again in the next few days as it’s our turn to host the ‘bar club’ meeting for all the B & B owners who have bars on their premises. After that we have a murder mystery dinner party planned.

To be honest, I was a bit worried about Christmas Day. Last year we went back up north for Christmas business as usual but this year it was just the four of us here in Devon. Would it be too quiet, tense, grim? Nah! It was bloody brilliant!

We changed the guest dining room around and basically sectioned half of it off to give us our own dining room, a luxury these days. We trimmed it up, ok, when I say ‘we’I mean ‘I’ with the gaudiest, tinselliest, sparkliest decorations I could find along with all the new and gaudy laser lights that Boxfuls has been investing in this year. The dining room glittered and twinkled like a magic grotto. Tacky in the extreme. It was BRILLIANT. I’d never let a guest see it. So far as they are concerned our restrained and tasteful decorations are the standard by which the bar is set. Haha little do they know what goes on behind the door of our little flat. Here’s little visual of our Christmas. Munki has grown a lot, hasn’t she?

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

Let’s talk for a moment about the word ‘tacky’. In my day tacky meant slightly sticky. When did it start being used in place of the much more elegant word ‘vulgar? One of my mum’s favourite words, vulgar.

Oh yes. I know when it was. When our American cousins imported it into the UK via popular culture. I don’t like it. In this house ‘tacky’ will continue to describe not quite dry paint or nail varnish and anything else that is slightly sticky. Ostentatious, poor taste displays of well, anything, will henceforth be known as vulgar.

Anyway, back to Christmas. The day passed in a merry and laid back blur of jollity and laughter. By the time Dr Who came in we were starting to flag a bit but rallied round for a nice game of Pictionary. After that it was choccies, port and telly before bed.

Boxing day morning rose clear, cold and bright. A perfect day for a swim in the sea. Wait? What? Swim in the sea? In December? are you mad?

Apparently so. I donned the fetching wet suit that my lovely friend bought me as a gift, the Santa hat, a belt of tinsel and some fetching red and green bauble earrings and joined a hundred other swimmers in various stages of fancy dress for ‘The Boxing Day Dip’ Several hundred people lined the steps of the promenade to watch as we all ran into the sea whooping and laughing. It was so much fun, I could hardly stand for laughing. Still I carried on and got up to my shoulders in water before swimming back to the shore. I was so excited I went back in for another dip. Fair to say it was a bit bracing but I’ll be doing it agin next year. I love a bit of festive eccentricity and it certainly got rid of any cobwebs!

It’s almost two years since we moved to the bay and on an almost daily basis I am still amazed at how our lives have changed.

Our lives bear no resemblance to our old life up in Lancashire and every single day I thank God for the life we have now.

Ok, it’s bonkers. Working eighteen hour days in summer and struggling to get any business in at all in winter. Would I change it? Nope. My only regret is that we didn’t do it years ago. If there is any sadness at all it’s that I miss my family and friends. If only I could get a few key people to move to Devon, that’d be perfection!

Now we have opened the doors to the public again and are gearing up for the new year celebrations. So far working has been a lot less tiring that all the partying we’ve been doing. I’m glad to get back to work for the rest.

May I take this opportunity to say I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas and may the new year bring you health, wealth and above all happiness. HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Flick


Boofuls and yours truly went to church the other day.

Not just any old church but a special one. We went to the spooks.

I can hear you thinking, ‘what the hell is she wittering on about now. Spooks? What the…?’

The spiritualist church. Or, as Lashes used to call it when she was a small child and sitting on the back row of the church with a colouring book and pens, the spirilitch church.

Some time ago we went to the spooks all the time for a spot of God bothering. At the spooks we immediately felt accepted, and of all the religions we’d looked at (one, the one we were born into) this one felt like a good fit. For many years we were active members of the local spooks and sat in development circles, meditated for hours, practised healing, made lovely friends and spouted home spun philosophy to each other. Good times.

Then came the not so good times. Then came the times when my good old mum, bless her deceased heart, went though a stage of being not so mentally sound. No need for any details except the ones relevant to this story.

My mum decided that, as avid spooks goers and having been introduced to the church in the first place by her, we had stolen her religion from her.

Bit of a blow, that.

As I’m writing his I’m resurrecting feelings of hurt, confusion, guilt, anger and loss which I have never really dealt with. How do you deal with being accused of stealing someone’s religion from them? It was never our intention to steal anything from anyone. We thought the church was there for anyone who wanted to attend it. Obviously we were mistaken. The end result was that we stopped attending the church, stopped sitting in meditation circles, stopped going away for weekends on various courses and left the world of spooks, spirits, ghoulies and ghosties behind us.

*thinks* this is kind of ballsing up the witty, funny little story I had lined up for you. Damn those memories!

So. Shaking off the past and moving on…

Since mum is long gone and we have a new life down in the deep south we have thought several times we might have a look at the local spiritualist church.

So on Monday we did.

Off we popped and arrived in good time for the service. As we arrived at the door we were surprised to see a very busy and bustling church. The lady at the door asked us for our tickets. “It’s a ticket do tonight.”

Oh no!! We didn’t know there was a special speaker on.

“You can buy a ticket on the door if you like.”

“Brilliant, how much.”

“£15.00 each.”

WHAAAAA……..are you kidding? It used to be a fiver for a special at our church.”

“It’s a great speaker, it’s up to you.”

We decided to go in, it had been a bugger of a day and we felt we deserved it.

We took our seats on a row nearish to the back, an excitable crowd of people sat in front of us. Just as I was saying to Boofuls that the rows were very close together and I felt like I was in a plane, the woman in front of me flicked her hair back and hit me straight in the face with it!

I jumped back into my chair,it’s a good job the seat behind was empty or I’d have headbutted them.

The excited throng ( I said THRONG not THONG! Tsk!) settled down eventually as the speaker was introduced.

“Ey up!” he said. “It’s bin a long while sin’ I were in Paignton. Me mate Val W used t’ come ‘ere a lot.”

“Blimey, I thought, “He’s from up north. Val W? THE Val W? We know her!”

We settled down to listen to a medium who not only gave amazing evidence of life after death but was also a very good public speaker. It’s quite unusual to get a person who can do both and I was starting to enjoy myself.

“Now, if you understand what I’m talking about, stick yer ‘and up in th’ air. When I speak to you, answer me because I work on a voice link and they *nods towards heaven* need to hear you. Otherwise it’s like being on t’ phone and just nodding. Alright? That’s not too difficult is it?”

It would appear that it was in fact too difficult. The row of people in front of us, which of course included Flicky hair, who at this point was pulling her clothes around as if they were incredibly itchy and she was wanting to remove them, looked at each other every time the medium spoke and started to whisper to each other “That’s us! That’s us! instead of sticking their hand up in th’ air as instructed.

Eventually he noticed their looks, gestures and whispers and spoke to them. They received a wonderful message which included some very good evidence.I was pleased as it turned out they’d recently suffered a major loss and were in need of a bit of comfort.

However.

My lovely, fluffy and warm feelings towards them rapidly turned to intense irritation when after their message they proceeded to chat amongst themselves discussing it.

Rude.

I didn’t pay £30 to listen to them chat amongst themselves.

Boxfuls, sensing my irritation and fearing that I’d lean over and tell them in words of no more than one syllable each to be quiet, kept touching my arm and giving me warning looks. “Just keep calm. They don’t know the etiquette.”

Etiquette? It’s got nothing to do with etiquette, it’s simple good manners not to talk during any performance but especially a speaker in church.

‘It’s nothing more than good manners,’ I quietly fumed too myself as I watched Flicky hair pull her clothes around and lean across three people to talk to her bestie at the other end of the row. BY this point I had stopped enjoying the service and couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

I was bitterly disappointed with the whole evening, not because we didn’t get a message but because my fragile hold on a pleasant evening after an awful day had been thwarted by a few rude strangers.

Boofuls and I drove home in silence. What a shame, we should have just kept hold of the £30.

Sometimes it doesn’t matter what you do, you are just destined to have a crap day.

Ah well, it’s over with now.

Tursey and tinkle


Somewhere along the line I seem to remember someone saying to us that summer’s were busy in B&B land but we’d have the winter to count our millions and have a few months off.

I WAS MIS SOLD!

I haven’t noticed any millions and we’ve had a total of four days off in eight months!

However, every morning I walk Douggie the doggie along the sea front and thank my lucky stars. I love my new life and I’m truly grateful for everything we have.

Not that I’m tired or anything but I was chatting to my friend on the phone the other day and I mentioned about the tursey and tinkle weekends.

“The WHAT?” She hollered down the phone before descending into cackles of derision.

At that point when I mentally replayed the conversation I realised what I’d said.

Oh bloody hell. Turkey and tinsel.

While I’m out I’ve noticed that the coaches I see are decorated up for Christmas.

Yup. It’s that time again, folks. Torbay is awash with pensioners enjoying their annual tinsel and turkey weekends. A guest was telling me he’d stayed in another hotel recently and was astounded to see dozens of inebriated pensioners having a good old Christmas knees up. “It was their Christmas day”, he told us. “Christmas dinner, party hats, crackers, the lot!”

You should see them round town, scores of rowdy pensioners with zimmer frames coming at you like drunken, belligerent snow ploughs. You’d better get out of their way because they sure ain’t getting out of yours. Bless ’em.

I suppose it will break us in gently for the young farmer’s conference next year.

Now things have calmed down a bit and most of the guests have gone home we are getting on with some decorating and revamping. I missed my way, I should have been an interior designer. I love it!

On Tuesday we are having a table top sale of all our old curtain, pictures, lamps, shades and all manner of other stuff we need to get rid of.The other hoteliers will descend like a plague of locusts in search of a bargain. It’s very true what they say, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure.

Here are a few random photos from this summer. I think I might get a few together and put a little slideshow on of beautiful Torbay just to give you a little taste of how lovely it is here.

Bye for now folks.

Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright
Copyright

img_5441

Room 8 it is then!!


Fed up of having the worst room in the house, Boofuls and I (ok, just me) decided that some decorating was in order.

The trouble with owning a B&B is that if anything breaks in one of the guest bedrooms it quite often gets replaced from our bedroom. The end result of which is that we have the ugliest, scruffiest, dirtiest, most out dated room in the entire house.

Well I’m fed up of it. Fed up I say!

When I go to bed I turn the light off quickly so I don’t have to look at the dump that we call our bedroom. It’s just depressing. Especially for someone like me who has studied interior design and loves colour, beautiful lights and fittings and gorgeous curtains..

I think it was last decorated circa 1980 and the wallpaper has been patched up for various reasons over the years with the added on bits having a marked difference in colour. No attempt at shade matching being possible I suppose after years of fading away in the wall. The worst bit though was the bit above the bed where it looks like someone has smeared the excavations from their nose onto the wall. It made me sick to look at it.

The carpet, apart from being a grim green fleur de lys patterned eyesore has been thrown up on by the dog at least three times and has also shrunk away from the wall over the years.

The furniture, in putrid pine, was obviously used by the teenage son of the previous owners, it has stickers on the drawers, scratches, engravings and none of it matches anything else except that it’s all putrid pine.

So. Not having money to fritter away on rooms that don’t earn us money I engineered a master plan.

I decided that if I sold all my old professional cameras I’d get enough money to completely refurbish the room. Genius!

I got in touch with a camera shop who specialises in ‘pre loved’ camera equipment and shipped it all to them. Now all I have to do is sit back and wait for the money to roll in.

In the meantime, Boofuls and I decided that we’d use room 8 as our bedroom until ours was ready. It wouldn’t be possible to stay in our room as it needs to be completely gutted. I’ve ordered the new furniture, we’ve picked a new carpet and I’m researching curtains, wallpaper and light fittings. The furniture is due to be delivered in about four weeks. So exciting!

Wait! What? Excuse me Boofuls. What was that you just said? They got the date wrong and the furniture will be here Monday?

Well that puts a little spanner in the works. We’re not ready.

In light of this new information, Boofuls and I were in room 8 this afternoon deciding where we’d put all our stuff. It transpires that we have both always secretly loved that room. So much so that we’ve decided to keep it and make our room a letting room.

Busy week next week then. Happy days!!

Bloody hell


We’ve done it!! We’ve survived the summer season.

On the diary I can now see without scrolling across the screen the great big blacked out space that means we are closed for five whole days.

Five days of not getting up at 6.30 every morning. Five days of not frying eggs or any other breakfast related stuff. Five days of not having to smile and wish everyone a good morning.

Yay!

It’s been a fantastic season, we have knocked spots off last years figures but now we are totally exhausted and ready for a break. Since April we have had two days off. Once to go to a dog show and once to go to a funeral.

I’m so looking forward to waking up in the morning and my first words not being ‘oh, bloody hell’ as I have myself out of bed and stand in the bathroom brushing my teeth with my eyes closed and my head leaning against the wall.

Do we regret buying a mahoosive B&B now that we really know what it’s all about? Not at all. It’s been great but now need to slee…..zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Algerians


Now that summer is in full flow it’s all getting very exciting at Boofuls Towers Lodging Emporium.

Since we last spoke we have converted a junk room into another bedroom so now we have a total of 13 rooms with a total capacity for 32 people. What were we thinking? We are meeting ourselves coming back at the moment but it’s been a laugh a minute.

We have a Spanish family who have been here with us for a month and all manner of nationalities, Swedish, Danish and German mostly.

But ask me about the Algerian family…go on, ask me.

Well I’ll tell you anyway…

An Algerian family with a kid at the language school came to stay for a few days while their sprog settled with his host family and began his two years of learning Devonian English. I’m pretty sure the family are expecting him to go home with a cut glass English accent but I think they may be disappointed. It’ll be ‘Ah’ll ‘ave a paaaaaaasty and a pint o’ dumpling my lovely.’

Lena, our house elf, not being a well travelled girl, asked us if Algerian was the same as albino. “Well, actually, Lena. They are kind of the opposite of albino.” She looked at us blankly while we all fell about laughing, bless her.

Anyway, I digress: A week before the aforementioned family arrived we took a phone call from a minion at the language school saying they wanted to book a family room for three nights. We didn’t have a family room available for the first night so we said we could put them into two rooms for one night then move them. This was agreed with the minion. As the minion signed off they casually dropped into the conversation, “By the way, they don’t speak a word of English.”

Great.

The family arrived. Mum, dad, three small boys ranging from toddler sized to small child sized. As we struggled with the language It became clear that dad wasn’t happy about the two room situation. We tried to explain in our long forgotten school French that that was what had been arranged.

It was all getting a bit tricky when the older son turned up from the language school. He speaks pretty good English so we explained it all to him. “They already know this! I made the decision to take two rooms, there is no problem, I don’t know why they said this!” We showed them to their rooms.

All was quiet until about 6.30 when the older boy came downstairs with our hospitality tray from the bedroom full of cakes. “My mother has sent these for you.”

Lovely, we’re always up for free cake! Little did we realise they were a sweetener before the big event.

Half an hour later all hell broke out in the dining room. BANG! CRASH! BANG! BANG!

I ran into see what was going on.

The Algerian mum was going through all my dining room cupboards and drawers looking for plates and cutlery. Oh please madam, help yourself, I thought ungraciously.

I provided her with plates and cutlery and she proceeded to pull mountains of food out of various bags, including a plastic bag of braised meat and sausage that she had clearly smuggled into the country. I wondered how long the meat had been festering in the bag but decided since I wasn’t going to eat it I didn’t care. That was a mistake, it later transpired.

After she repeatedly tried and failed to get into my kitchen, I compromised and put a spare microwave into the dining room – for the baby’s milk, she said. Ha! Lies! All lies!

The meat went into the microwave as well as various other concoctions she produced. In the end she had a full buffet going on.

Boofuls and I left to take Douggie the doggie for a walk and left lashes to keep an eye on things. Half an hour later a text message came through, “It’s reckon’ chaos here!! They’ve caused a fire!”

It appeared that they had decided to help themselves to our rotary toaster, the kind that is designed for flat slices of bread, and pushed a baguette into it. Surprise surprise, it got stuck, and then it caught fire. Lashes went running in to see flames and smoke billowing out of the toaster. The Algerian mum had it all under control though. She decided to remove the stuck baguette by pushing THREE other baguettes in behind it, which also got stuck and caught fire! It was mayhem.

By the time Boofuls and I arrived home it was all under control and the mess cleaned up. Lashes was totally unimpressed but had handled it brilliantly. Ranting at me later I gently pointed out that the mum was just trying to look after her family and the best way she know in a strange and complicated place.

I had to laugh when she told me that, trying to be polite, she had indicated that the braised meat smelt tasty. The mother took a chunk of it and literally put it straight into Lashes’s mouth. I am far too polite to repeat what Lashes said but it made me laugh.

The following morning they all come down for breakfast. Like a plague of locusts they took just about everything off the breakfast bar, not eating it, just piling it up on their table. It was at about this point that one of the younger children egan to throw up. Not once, four times, following his mother all round the dining room vomming as he went. Lashes was thrilled.

Eventually mum removed the sickly child from the dining room while we hastily cleaned and and anti bac treated the area.

Ten minutes later dad walked over the the breakfast bar and picked up four yogurts and four packets of cereal.Then he asked Boofuls for a carrier bag to take them upstairs. “OH NO!!! I said, that’s not happening, they’ve already eaten/collected/wasted a ton of food here, they aren’t getting it all over the bedrooms as well.”

I strode out into the dining room and amazed myself, “Non, monsieur, le petit dejeuner c’est ici.” Which i believe means, breakfast in here. I don’t know if it was correct or not but he shrugged his shoulders, got up and left the room not to be seen again all day.

Other than having to get the carpet professionally cleaned after they left we didn’t really have many more dealings with them. It was certainly eye opening, frustrating, and hilariously funny. You really couldn’t make this stuff up.

John Bull please


What?
What do you mean what’s a John Bull?
It’s a delicious and nutritious delicacy. Ok, it is delicious but it’s not so much nutritious as a heart attack waiting to happen and delicate? Well, not so much.

Today happens to be Boofuls’s birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BOOFULS!!

As it’s his birthday it’s up to him to decide what he wants to do from a dazzling array of options.

This morning’s option, once we’d finished work, was to choose from lunch at his favourite cafe, lunch at a posh restaurant follow d by a game of golf or whatever else he decided to do.

Lunch was a piece of cake and a nap.

The plan for this evening was for him to go out with Lashes and The Prof for a game of bingo. I offered to watch some paint dry as I thought it would be the better option.

BoofuLs decided he didn’t want to leave me alone on his birthday so he isn’t doing that either.

Poor old Lashes is at the end of her tether with him, all she wants to do is give him a lovely day on his birthday and all he wants to do is sleep.

This afternoon we thought we might go out for tea (dinner to you posh folk) since we didn’t get out for lunch (which is dinner to us poor folk). He didn’t want to do that.

Options then changed to, do you want pie, mash and beans or a takeaway, or a roast dinner, or a ……whatever. His reply was; “what do you want?”
It’s not my birthday, just decide.”

“I can’t”.

Eventually, just when I’d go to the point of wanting to inflict physical violence he decided he’d like a chinese takeaway.

During the conversations about what to eat I suggested John Bull and chips. Nom nom nom.

The Prof looked at me with his disbelieving face.

“John Bull, you’re making that up, there’s no such thing”.

If you are anything like the Prof then I expect that you are imagining a stout little man with a red face and a union flag waistcoat, not unlike a Toby jug – and you’d be correct, that is indeed John Bull. However, the John Bull I’m talking about is the edible one.

Still not convinced there is any such thing? Well, you doubting Thomas’s, let’s sort out this out once and for all.

Feast your eyes on this:

Cor lumme, I can feel my arteries clogging just watching that! All it needs is a pile of chippy chips and a huge dollop of mushy peas.

Hmm, it just goes to show that you can take the girl out of the north but can you totally take the north out of the girl?

Maybe not.

 

Summer’s here and the time is right for dancing in the street


Oh yeah! Summer is most definitely here and there is indeed dancing in the street.

Not a million miles away from where we live and well within Douggie the doggie walking distance is the screen on the green in Torquay.  It’s brilliant!!

In the last week or so I’ve danced to the Blues Brothers, sung along to Mama Mia, walked past and steadfastly ignored the football and tonight danced  to footage of  ZZ Top at Glastonbury while Douggie made friends with everyone he met. The atmosphere is fantastic and I can think of no better way to spend a summer evening than going down the to mingle for an hour or so.

We’ve see the Red Arrows at the fantastic Torbay air show, played at being pirates, spent  a lovely couple of days in Ilfracombe at a dog show (where Douggie totally refused to join in), been to the theatre and been wined and dined. It’s exhausting!

I love my life!!!

After rushing like mad to get all the rooms clean and tidy today I went to Plymouth today to do a craft fair and sell a few of my jewels. If I say so myself I’m getting much better at this jewellery making and wire wrapping lark.

We’ve had brilliant fun with the guests this week. They have been lovely, a pleasure to look after. One couple from Germany have had  fun laughing at my attempts to speak to them in their own language. I was sad to see them go this morning, we’ve had great fun. Who said Germans have no sense of humour, they are brilliant!

Another really nice couple from Lancashire have been trying to talk a bit posh and failing dismally.  Their attempts at poshness have had us in hysterics.  The lady clearly loves her luxuries, we went into their room to service it and saw ten, yep, ten – count ’em, bottles of perfume on the dressing table. Almost as many bottles of perfume as there are handbags. Lashes was green with envy.

I ended up in tears of laughter this morning when the German couple left, I wished them auf wiedersehen and a safe journey home.

After they’d gone I said to the Lancashire couple that I’d have wished them a good journey in German but the German word for journey is fahrt and I couldn’t have said it with a straight face. “Have a good fahrt.”

Well, Lancashire nearly fell off their chairs laughing. They laughed and spluttered and went red in the face, all pretence of poshness forgotten about. It was lovely, kept me laughing all morning.

Clearly creatures of habit, they order the same thing for breakfast,   every day, full English with black pudding, and sit at the same table to eat it.  Some new guests had arrived so Boofuls put a reserved sign on Lancashire’s table in order that they wouldn’t lose ‘their’ place.

A South African couple walked into the totally deserted dining room and sat themselves at the one table with a reserved sign on it. Boofuls had a bit of a  Basil Fawlty moment, walked up to the table, picked up the sign, looked at it silently and then put it down on the next table before turning back and wish the couple a good morning.

” Oh. Shall we move?”

“No *sigh* stay there, it doesn’t matter.”

Poor old Lancashire looked distraught when they walked in.  It clearly did matter. It’s amazing how quickly people get possessive about the table they sit at

So there we are, a lightning round up af some of the recent news. I’ll pop back as often as I can and keep you all updated on the life of a seaside landlady.

 

 

 

 

Mite shite and seagull stools


It’s a bit of a shit post, this one. The reason for this is that we seem to have more than our fair share of er…emissions form various critters round here.

Firstly, Lashes decided to put a bird feeder in a tree in the garden. The tree that we tend to park under when the car park is full of guest’s cars. The result is that the birds gorge themselves on the delicious goodness that comes in the form of nuts and seeds and then poop it all out  – all over our car!

The other day it looked like we’d been bombarded by a squadron of seagulls suffering from the aftermath of a night on the beer followed by a good hot curry. Seagull stools covered the entire roof of the car and down the sides, so disgusting that it warranted an immediate trip to the car wash.

I wouldn’t have minded so much if the bird feeder had encouraged the song bids into the garden, oh no. All we got were the dive bombing seagulls. Tsk

Moving from the back of the house to the front, it would appear that the lime trees on our road are host to a colony of mites. Mites that drop their poo will nilly wherever they feel, but mostly all over our car, leaving it a sticky, dusty disgusting mess.

Oh well, at least our almost daily trips to the car wash mean that for once in our life we have a lovely, shiny bright car – until we park it up again. Haha.

Rants, raves and ramblings about whatever takes my fancy

Cellulite Looks Better Tan

And Other Observations From My Soap Box.

THE DOG VIEW

dog, dogs, dog humour, dog facts, dog information, dog fun, dog perspective, canine, k9

The NoteBook Blogairy

Author, Writer & Short Story Artist. Writing that makes you laugh, sing & sometimes cry. Follow me. Read me. Write to me! You'll never regret it.

lily pups life

bipolar and the journey

Fashioneyesta

Changing Perceptions In Style

Peg-o-Leg's Ramblings

You say you want an evolution...

brh

Just another WordPress.com site

Vamp It Up Manchester

The urban, ethical and alternative blog for style, beauty, veggie and culture

Wish I Were Here

Journeys Through Place and Time

Reigning Cats and Dogs

A scientific perspective on companion animal behaviour and welfare, by veterinary behaviourist Dr Rachel Casey

The Wine Wankers

G’day, you’re at the best wine blog ever! We're all about wine; without the wankery.

Womanseyeview's Blog

Nothing profound and a few of my photos

Charlie's Bird

living the dream with Charlie and Thandi and chirping all the way back to the nest.

Storyshucker

A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.

Tellin' it like it is...

Giving you my own two "sense" (or five...), one blog post at a time.

Pearly Gates Publishing LLC's Blog

"Inspiring Christian Authors - Young and Old - To BE Authors!"

Exploratorius

Old School Film Hack

Putting in a good word...

Because writing is fun

New Bloggy Cat

The joy of happy, healthy, simple living

Is it just me?

Important trivia...

Becky Due - Author

Motivation to Love Your Life

Life is ON

Mapping aging & living, one word at a time

mountainninja999

21st century Policing from a Ninja's point of view

Explore Newness

My quest to do or learn something NEW as often as I can!

Medium Large

"I gotta say, it's brilliant stuff."--Dan Piraro, Bizarro

Storytime with John

Pull up and listen...I've got a funny one for ya...

Peak Perspective

Trying to climb out of the fog.

rachelmankowitz

The Cricket Pages

Captured With My Phone

An iphoneography blog written, shot and composed from my iphone

Hart Helps

explore ways to win the wars waged within the mind

The Learner's Prerogative

a Vincy Abraham blog

thegoldenlimoncello.wordpress.com/

If life gives you lemons...then make some limoncello

She's a Maineiac

just another plaid-wearin' java-sippin' girl

The Person Next to You

... we're not alone in the journey of life!

yes even this too will pass

Peace Be Unto Us All...

NeuroBollocks

Debunking pseudo-neuroscience so you don't have to

Properly Ridiculous

Mostly Pleasant [Possibly Offensive] Perceptions

Dystopia Photography

Combining drama with beauty

ChristineR

Trying to keep the brain cells alive.

nihilisticle

I guess I'll go ahead and count the ways.

home is what you make it

the wisest of women builds her house ~proverbs 14:1

wretchedshekels

finding new homes for old goodies

A Word in Your Ear

Stories and Photographs of my travels, Tales of friends, family, animals and my life

The Reluctant Retiree

Stories from Garrulous Gwendoline - a baby boomer surviving retirement

Confessions of a writer

the art of being a wordsmith and more

The Science Dog

By Linda P. Case