There is more to my life than cat-obsessing, you know. The gales have resumed, and make dog-walking a serious hazard. She hates the wind, and gets very silly and skittish, runs out in the road, importunes strangers to take her home with them, and eventually tries to slope off home without my noticing. Not that I can blame her, as I get very silly and skittish too (not really; I just hate windy weather with a passion), so we had a domesticated morning indoors. I have made cakes today, including some experimental bun things involving lemon and walnuts (more leftover pecans than walnut) which proved to be rather nice despite some serious deviation from the recipe, which was actually for a tealoaf. I am going to give one to Lesley, who leaves for Hong Kong tomorrow, to wish her a safe journey. Lesley, you may post your verdict if you want to, but I know you are like my young Official Tasters, and are never truly professional and critical. Which is a relief to me, really.
Now that I come to think of them, where are those Tasters? I haven't seen them for ages. First sign of Springlike weather and they'll be out again, whooping and shrieking in the street, playing hugely imaginative games and scattering crumbs and sweets, which is what has turned my once-sober little dog into a shameless guttersnipe, scavenging for what the children and local students leave in their wake. Anything too large for her small mouth and 8 teeth gets smuggled into the house and hidden, regardless of its toxicity and threat to life; I have found stale half-cupcakes, rock-like crusts of toast, worryingly aged spare ribs and fossilised chicken thigh bones tucked into corners or under her bedding. Thankfully, she seems to have stopped burying illicit items in the cat litter tray....I will spare you the details, but oh, believe me, you can't be too particular (or fancy yourself as having a nice house) when you live with small determined animals!
Showing posts with label windy weather. Show all posts
Showing posts with label windy weather. Show all posts
Friday, 29 February 2008
Tuesday, 26 February 2008
Vicious, howling and destructive
No, not the dog.Though maybe in her imagination....
But this was how the weatherman described the gales now lashing us - 67 mph in Newcastle! Wheelie bins are practising their jump jet take-off technique, and small children are being sewn into their pushchairs. I have been into town on foot, leaning well forward, Marcel Marceau mime-style, with my coat billowing like the parachutes that bring the Space Shuttle to a halt. Very nerve-wracking; I seem to recall some research that found windy weather was detrimental to human mental health, and I could believe it. Grown men were cowering in doorways, sobbing and pleading for it to stop.
But I arrived determined to accomplish some purposeful shopping, and immediately came across a newly-opened optician's, all shiny and beckoning, so, on impulse, I got my eyes tested (for free!) for the first time in years. This took a long time, and was extremely thorough. A strange experience, though. Optometrists are like dentists, in that they see you in a most unflattering way, i.e. with your mouth unnaturally wide open or with one of those bizarre devices on your nose like the ones that Johnny Depp wore in Sleepy Hollow. And they have to get up closer than you would want a stranger, or even most of your nearest and dearest, to do, and shine lights in your eyes. At least I could answer questions today without my mouth being full of cotton wool and gurgling spit-sucking tubes.
Weakened by the shiny-shiny technology and the sheer charm of the pleasant young optometrist, I yielded to the dazzling array of designer specs, and chose a pair a zillion times more expensive than I intended. Shopping, purposeful or otherwise, deteriorated rapidly after that. I bought some audio books for the plane journey, a new washbag that would not bring shame to the family name, and browsed the luggage displays, horrifying myself with the prices of small suitcases that would only be thrown, dropped, trashed, filthied in transit, and probably end up misdirected to the far East. Then I got the bus home, watching pedestrians flailing helplessly in the wind and clutching lamp posts, and, crunching over fallen roof tiles, I shut my front door with a sigh of relief. And then I caught up with those leftover hot cross buns. Well, carbohydrates are calming, after all.
But this was how the weatherman described the gales now lashing us - 67 mph in Newcastle! Wheelie bins are practising their jump jet take-off technique, and small children are being sewn into their pushchairs. I have been into town on foot, leaning well forward, Marcel Marceau mime-style, with my coat billowing like the parachutes that bring the Space Shuttle to a halt. Very nerve-wracking; I seem to recall some research that found windy weather was detrimental to human mental health, and I could believe it. Grown men were cowering in doorways, sobbing and pleading for it to stop.
But I arrived determined to accomplish some purposeful shopping, and immediately came across a newly-opened optician's, all shiny and beckoning, so, on impulse, I got my eyes tested (for free!) for the first time in years. This took a long time, and was extremely thorough. A strange experience, though. Optometrists are like dentists, in that they see you in a most unflattering way, i.e. with your mouth unnaturally wide open or with one of those bizarre devices on your nose like the ones that Johnny Depp wore in Sleepy Hollow. And they have to get up closer than you would want a stranger, or even most of your nearest and dearest, to do, and shine lights in your eyes. At least I could answer questions today without my mouth being full of cotton wool and gurgling spit-sucking tubes.
Weakened by the shiny-shiny technology and the sheer charm of the pleasant young optometrist, I yielded to the dazzling array of designer specs, and chose a pair a zillion times more expensive than I intended. Shopping, purposeful or otherwise, deteriorated rapidly after that. I bought some audio books for the plane journey, a new washbag that would not bring shame to the family name, and browsed the luggage displays, horrifying myself with the prices of small suitcases that would only be thrown, dropped, trashed, filthied in transit, and probably end up misdirected to the far East. Then I got the bus home, watching pedestrians flailing helplessly in the wind and clutching lamp posts, and, crunching over fallen roof tiles, I shut my front door with a sigh of relief. And then I caught up with those leftover hot cross buns. Well, carbohydrates are calming, after all.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
It's wild out there!
I have struggled home in the windiest weather, having been to administer soup and sympathy to the sick, living 14 miles away on a wind-blasted village hilltop. I rang her before the mercy dash to M & S Simply Food: what did she fancy? She chose "a bland soup", (sorry, M & S, that means your leek and potato) adding in a pathetic little voice "and an egg custard....". Only this would make her feel better. Egg custard. Groooh. Everyone has some food of choice for when they are ill, but egg custard would not help me regain my health and vitality, no indeed. When I was a child, we knew we were properly poorly when we were allowed Lucozade, which was measured out in small glasses as though it was a magic potion. The orange cellophane wrapping was removed very carefully from the bottle and used to look through or wrap pebbles in to make pretend boiled sweets. Yes, we made our own amusement then....
Annie is recovering nicely, but the weather is definitely worsening; snow, sleet, rain, all lasting no longer than a few minutes as the gales lash us into submission. Nerves shredded, fighting to keep the car on the road, I noticed quite a few birds being blown about as they strained to get home to roost, and a small dog cowering behind the spindly post to which he was tethered outside a shop, looking the very picture of misery. That dog needs a coat, I thought, even one of those embarrassing ones with a peaked cap. Or a bee hat, like the one my dog ungratefully received from Suzy. See picture of bee hat and ungrateful wearers, above.
My house is whistling with draughts, and the dog has made it clear that she does not intend to be taken out for a walk, thank you. I suppose she will be getting enough fresh air indoors. My recycling box has blown away - my own fault for leaving it at the front door - which is quite a relief. Our council issued ugly black plastic boxes which did not have lids so didn't cope well with being left outdoors, and which did not fit in any normal cupboard indoors. So they became domestic trip hazards, universally hated and much complained about, and I hope no one finds mine and returns it.
Annie is recovering nicely, but the weather is definitely worsening; snow, sleet, rain, all lasting no longer than a few minutes as the gales lash us into submission. Nerves shredded, fighting to keep the car on the road, I noticed quite a few birds being blown about as they strained to get home to roost, and a small dog cowering behind the spindly post to which he was tethered outside a shop, looking the very picture of misery. That dog needs a coat, I thought, even one of those embarrassing ones with a peaked cap. Or a bee hat, like the one my dog ungratefully received from Suzy. See picture of bee hat and ungrateful wearers, above.
My house is whistling with draughts, and the dog has made it clear that she does not intend to be taken out for a walk, thank you. I suppose she will be getting enough fresh air indoors. My recycling box has blown away - my own fault for leaving it at the front door - which is quite a relief. Our council issued ugly black plastic boxes which did not have lids so didn't cope well with being left outdoors, and which did not fit in any normal cupboard indoors. So they became domestic trip hazards, universally hated and much complained about, and I hope no one finds mine and returns it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
