May we photograph the strawberries?


You couldn’t make this stuff up! Our amazing and lovely neighbours came round for drinkies a  few days ago and suggested that we start to write down all the stories as by the time we’ve retired we’ll be able to write a book. Well, just to kick it all off, here are the tales from the last few days:

Last week Mr Creepy booked a double room at our lodging emporium. He turned up on his own even though he’s booked a super king size room. Odd.  One person. Maybe he just liked to spread out a bit, I mean they are six foot beds.

“Are you on your own then?” “At the moment.” came back the answer with a little smile. he didn’t offer any more information and we didn’t ask.  We didn’t think anything about it, we just thought his companion/friend/partner would be along later.

Around 10pm Mr Creepy came into the bar for a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Looks like his companion/friend/partner turned up then.” Didn’t think any more about it. Mr Creepy didn’t come down for breakfast.  Didn’t really think too much about it. People quite often don’t make it down for breakfast.

After we’d finished service, Boofuls was sitting at his desk and watching the CCTV monitors – as he does. You have to love cctv. Boofuls was watching and calling me in a stage whisper: “Be quick! Look! LOOK! LOOKA’ THAT! He’s ‘ad two women in their all night.” Boofuls watched with incredulity as Mr Creepy sneaked two young, attractive black girls out of his room and into his car.

Mr Creepy came to hand in his room key. Boofuls asked him in a completely deadpan manner if he’d enjoyed his stay. Mr Creepy smirked and ensured him that he had indeed enjoyed his stay. *shudder*

As the summer has progressed we’ve discovered that our garden provides an abundance of luverley fruit. Strawberries are growing faster than we can pick them and now the blackberries, raspberries and plums are joining in. We’ve got so much fruit I’ve had to start making jam. First I made some jam with the rhubarb. It was delicious, if I do say so myself. We put it out on the breakfast display along with a bowlful of strawberries freshly picked from the garden that morning.  Obviously we told all the guests that they were our own. Well. What a to do that caused.

The chinese people wanted to photograph the strawberry plants in the garden.  They were told that they could go into the garden directly after breakfast ( the real reason for that being that Lashes had time to puck up the poo from the lawn).

The Chinese family finished their breakfast as fast as they could and then asked us  if it was ok to go to the garden now. They were almost bouncing in their seats with excitement.   Lashes escorted them round to the garden and they oo-ed and ah-ed and photographed every single plant. There’s nowt so queer as folk.

Then we had the Canadian couple. Well, I’m going to call them Mr & Mrs Enthusiastic. They enthused at length about EVERYTHING. You’d think they’d never eaten an egg before. The man would talk your ears off and all the time he talked he laughed and enthused and cheered up everyone in the room – except for the old couple who sit quietly at the back. I could tell he pissed them right off.

That brings me nicely to last night. Boofuls and I had been out for most of the day. We’d gone to Cockington Country Park with Douggie the Doggie for afternoon tea. Then we went out for an early dinner at a local steak house and after that we went to the theatre courtesy of Lashes and an early father’s day gift. Thanks, Lashes.

All of this of course meant that Lashes was holding the fort back at the hotel. At some point in the evening one of the guests, a young man, came down to ask how to get on the internet. Lashes showed him but he seemed not to understand her instructions. “Come on, I’ll show you where your instructions are” and she followed him up to his room.

Ladies and gentlemen. This is the point where we have to decide if there was any ulterior motive on the part of the couple. The jury is still out. You decide based on the testimony I am about to give you.

Lashes followed the man into the room. At this point a lady’s voice cried out from the bathroom, “Excuse me!” Lashes turned round to apologise for disturbing them, only to be greeted with an eyeful of stark naked female. “I’m so sorry!” Lashes said as she turned away and hurriedly showed the man the internet instructions before leaving  the room as fast as was humanly possible. The man seemed unperturbed by the whole event and the woman continued with her ablutions. Poor old Lashes was mortified. However, I must ask: If you were in a hotel bathroom and a stranger walked into your room, would you not just close the bathroom door rather than stand there stark bollock naked? Add to that the fact that the lady in question spoke and caused Lashes to turn round makes me feel that the there was more to this close encounter than meets the eye. Again. There’s nowt so queer as folk.

So there we are.  It’s often knackering, it’s frustrating, it’s challenging but it’s never boring being in the hotel trade.

Fancy a quickie?


Have you got a mo? I’ll quickly fill you in on what’s been happening at Boofuls Towers Boutique Guest House. Last week we got through 45 pounds of bacon and 45 pounds of sausages, hundreds of eggs and many, many changes of bedding. That’s what’s been going on.  We had to do an emergency bedding shop and spend £650 at Dunelm to restock before the next guests arrived. It’s fair to say the season has started with a vengeance.

I thought they were joking when these seasoned hoteliers told us to brace ourselves for a 16 hour working day. Smart arses, I thought. Trying to scare the newbies. How wrong can you be?

It’s non stop from the second my feet hit the floor at 6.30 in the morning till the minute I lay my head down to sleep around 11pm. I’ve worked out that if I don’t roll out of bed and get straight into the shower then the shower doesn’t happen because before I know it it’s bedtime again.

Once we’ve cooked and served breakfast then we clean the kitchen and dining room. Lashes and me then go and service the rooms, then we can start on the washing. Then the guests start to arrive and we spend we next little while settling them in and getting a bite to eat. Then one of us mans the bar while I get on with prepping the next day’s breakfast.

Boofuls spends his days being handyman, receptionist, telephonist, waiter, and anything else that comes up on a daily basis. Boring it is not. Don’t take all that as meaning we aren’t enjoying ourselves because we’re having a ball! Jus for now though, we have a quiet few days to regroup and recharge our batteries. Bliss.  I might even fins the time to get to Exeter to get my phone fixed after dropping it down the loo. I’ve been without it for three weeks now.

Munki is settling in a her new school. The other day she came in and asked us how to say ‘ball’. lashes looked at her a bit bemused and said ‘ball’ how else can you say it?

Well, it would appear that there is more then one way. Munki told her that her teacher pronounces it as ‘bawl’ and so does the man next door. Once we sat and thought about it we realised that we would say it more like ‘barl.’ Munich’s accent has been changing by the day. Suddenly she has become terribly well spoken. I love it!

Right. That’s the end of the quickie. I’m off to put the washing machine on for the umpteenth time today. Have a great day, folks.

I flippin’ love apples, me!


Lesley:

I found this in the archives earlier. The photos made me smile, I hope they make you smile too.

Originally posted on Tripping Over Pebbles No More:

Lashes has been redecorating her kitchen and decided that the perfect thing to finish it off would be a large photograph of Munki munching on an apple.”Get to it Mum.” Came the instruction.

God! If I charged this lot the going rate I’d be a bloody millionaire by now!

Anyway, we discussed how she wanted it to look and Len was dispatched to get the correct accessories; apples. “Green not red. Goddit? Green. Don’t get red, yellow or a combination, we only want green. Bright green. What colour are you going for?”

I’m not saying that she didn’t trust him to get the correct apples but she certainly drummed it in to him. Poor Len just looked at me ruefully before replying with that ‘covers everything’ comment, ‘Yes, love.” to Lashes and going off on his mission.

We did the shoot in the studio yesterday.  Munki immediately  grasped what we…

View original 53 more words

Sunday Morning


It’s a peaceful Sunday today. A light misty rain is falling and it feels calm and relaxed.

As you’ve probably guessed, we have no guests in at the moment. It’s been a scarily quiet week, let’s hope we don’t get too many of those.

On the plus side, we’ve got loads of jobs done. The awful smoked glass, light sucking in an already dark room, mirrors have come off the pillars in the dining room. It used to be a coaching hotel here with 30 bedrooms. You know, the pile ’em high and sell ’em cheap  type of hotel. The dining room/bar/dance floor were all located in the basement.

Some years ago a wise person decided to halve the number of rooms. Now we have 15 large and comfortable letting rooms of which Boofuls and I use one and three others are used for storage. What the wise person didn’t do though was change the basement. It still has its 1970’s brown mirror wall, its brick wall and its dark, mirrors on the pillars, along with the shiny white and pink 1980’s bedroom paper which adorns the walls and the, make your eyeballs roll round in your head, busy hotel carpet which is probably at least thirty years old but has another thirty years left in it.

It’s fair to say that the dining room is my least favourite place in the entire house.

We have got rid of the twee burgundy and pink tablecloths and the frilly,  more than a little bit dirty net curtains. Boofuls has moved the kitchen worktop from its previous position in the middle of the dining room to make an actual bar with it as there wasn’t one in the ACTUAL bar. It already looks a whole lot better and this week it’s going to get the paintbrush treatment. I’m looking forward to that.

I really should be taking before and after photographs shouldn’t I? The trouble is that all may cameras are still in storage. we’ve been over several times to get things out but still haven’t been able to get as far as the cameras. I only got my clothes last week.

Talking of last week: I only went and dropped my phone down the loo. I never put my phone in my back pocket but on this occasion I did. I  completely forgot about it and down it went. Before rather than after the onset of micturition you’ll be glad to know. Even though I fished it out, dried it off and put it straight into a bowl of silica, my poor phone has died. All I can get from it now is a picture imploring me to plug it in to iTunes. When I do it tells me it has an unknown error. It’s not unknown to me – I know exactly what the error was.

Ok. That’s enough chat. Time to get the dog walked and then get back to the painting. have a nice day y’all.

Aaaaaaarrrr


We’ve done it!  Young farmer’s week has finished. Actually, that was well over a week ago but this is the first chance I’ve had to tell you about it so pretend it’s about ten days ago. *going back in time * wOOooOOooOO Our group of twenty three  young farmers, male and female descended about two hours earlier than expected on Friday. Rowdy lot. I opened the front door to see one chap bending over and with half his arse on show. He looked like a baboon. Actually, he kind of acted like one too.

I invited them down into the bar to fill in their registration forms. They didn’t need asking twice. Lashes was in her element. She ran the bar and ran the farmers with military precision. Don’t mess with Lashes in barmaid mode. She was a natural. Funny, efficient and definitely in control.  Boofuls and I pretty much left her to it.

At one point I went in to hear her telling one of them off while he gazed at her all doe eyed and agreeing to behave. One in particular took a  massive shine to here. Every time he looked at her he blushed – and he looked at her a lot. He’d have agreed to anything she said. At one point I walked into the bar to find two farmers dressed as hula girls with multi coloured grass skirts and leis asking Lashes to dye their hair blonde. She was happy to oblige. Half an hour later they were sat drinking beer in the bar with shower caps on their heads as the dye took.  I pretended I hadn’t seen anything, turned round and left. I did however fall about laughing when they came back to show off their new ‘do’s’,  both of them a fetching shade of ginger! Apparently the girlfriend of one of them wasn’t best pleased.

On the second night Lashes was busily making pitchers of cocktails for them all and  I popped a bowl of peanuts on the bar in between washing glasses and generally keeping order. “Nuts! Nuts! These nuts contain nuts!” They didn’t hang around for long. The farmers devoured them instantly. Ten minutes later Lashes came looking for me. “Mum. We might have an issue. One of the farmers has eaten the nuts and is going bright red.” “Oh crap!” I went in to see for myself. Sure enough, this young farmer was going blotchier and redder as I watched.  “Giles, are you allergic to nuts?” He answered me  with a negative. “I’ve been eating nuts all my life, I’m not allergic to them.” Hhhmmm I begged to differ. While we were having the conversation one of his friends had picked up a peanut and was writing on Giles with it to see if he could get his name to come up in red.  Bloody hell! Friends like that you don’t need. As a precaution I phoned 111 for advice. After waiting on the phone for ten minutes I decided that if anaphylaxis was going to strike him down it would have already done it so I gave up. After half and hour or so the redness started to subside, with the help of some ice packs and a lot of fussing from Lashes and myself. I thing Giles quite liked all the attention.

The doorbell rang in the early hours more times than I could count. Of course every time it ran I had to get up to answer it. They’d either forgotten their key, had left it with their room mate or  were simply too drunk to manage the lock. I went to reception for about the eighteenth time one night. It was about 3.00 a.m.  A female guest was standing there with the door wide open.  I confess I may have suffered sense of humour failure at that point   “Are you bloody kidding me? What did you ring the bloody bell for?” The girl looked at me horrified. “I didn’t.” Her companion,  Spiderman – complete with mask, put his head down and quickly walked off . “See you then.” Culprit found.

The only time I got really annoyed though was when I realised that one of them had learnt how to disable the automatic lock on the door and left it unlocked all night. I was totally unimpressed with that. Luckily Boofuls caught her red handed the next day and registered our discontent. I think she may have got the message. Doorbells, doorbells, bloody doorbells at all hours of the day and night. I got about three hours sleep a night – when I finally got to sleep on Saturday, Boofuls then decided to start snoring. After all that I was expected to get up at 6.30 to cook breakfast for 23!

When we went in to service the rooms  we walked into one room to find half a dozen condoms on the floor. “OH NO!”  Closer inspection revealed that there had obviously been no women involved with these condoms. It turned out that the lads had been blowing them up with the hairdryer. I can only wonder why.

A hotel in town got spray painted.  A bar in town was closed for the evening after a tosser made threats. It was noisy, rude, lewd and awful. Doors banged, voices were raised. Friends were sneaked in to our hotel, much alcohol was consumed – including quite a bit in our own bar.

Now we are all so tired our eyes are looking at each other. The farmers are leaving in the morning and I can tell you without any shadow of a doubt that they won’t be coming back. We will belonging the 40% of local hoteliers who won’t touch them with a barge pole.

*Back to present day* WOOooOOooOOO

Since then we have have had a full hotel of real guests and done a comparison.  It was so much nicer. The people were lovely and polite and  didn’t keep us awake all night. Even though Boofuls did have to sit in the bar with one chap and discuss Iraqi politics all night. We didn’t feel like we were under siege. It was exactly how we thought it would be and we all enjoyed it immensely.  Have we changed our minds about taking the farmers again next time now that we’ve had time to reflect on it ? Nope.  My nerves wouldn’t stand it.

Volleyball


Lesley:

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.

Blimey.

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.”

FECK!

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!

WHAAT?!?


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”

WHAAAT?!?

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?

 

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a Vincy Abraham blog

The Golden Limoncello

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

Blogdramedy

|: attention must be paid :|

Properly Ridiculous

Mostly Pleasant [Possibly Offensive] Perceptions

Dystopia Photography

Combining drama with beauty

Christine R

Trying to keep the brain cells alive.

nihilisticle

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

home is what you make it

a blog inspired by real life

Not A Punk Rocker

Embracing my dorkiness, embarrassing my kid & blogging for the hell of it.

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

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