Tuesday, 24 June 2008

Another Belated My Town Monday

I've neglected my Blog for the last couple of weeks - my only excuse being a rather feeble lame one of being otherwise engaged in the trials and tribulations of life in general!

So thought that I had better pull my finger out and submit a rather belated My Town Monday post.

Over the school holidays we went to the cinema, something which I haven't done for a long time. We saw the new Indiana Jones movie in the "Cineworld" which has multiplex screens showing several films at once.

This got me thinking back to my own childhood when my Mum would take my sister and I to the old " Flea pit" cinema in the town. I have vague recollections of seeing Bambi there and also E.T. I remember E.T very well as when E.T "died" I was very upset and in my moment of temporary grief, I fell off the cinema seat and scraped the skin off down the whole length of my back bone!


Bishop's Stortford first cinema "The Cinema" opened on 10 February 1912. It was, by all accounts, a quiet and private affair with admission that evening by invitation only.




In complete contrast, the opening of the Empire a few weeks later on 25 March was a much livelier event. The town band played, three films were shown, and the entire days takings of £5. 13s. 9d. (£5. 68) were donated to the Bishop’s Stortford Hospital. But despite the initial publicity, and a small fortune spent on weekly advertising, the Empire wasn’t successful and closed within three years of opening.

In 1914, extensive alterations were made to The Cinema that included a balcony and 100 additional seats, and two years later Mr Smith, a former barber and owner of the cinema in Saffron Waldon, stepped in and bought it.

To insure The Cinema stayed ahead of any future competition he paid Alfred Slapps Barrett, the owner of the land on which the Empire stood, a weekly sum of one pound not to re-open! This ‘agreement’ was abided by, although the building was kept intact until after the Second World War when it was then used as a garage by the owner of a local firm and, later, by Clement Joscelyne as a furniture store.



After serving with the army in the First World War, Ernest Smith returned to Bishop’s Stortford in 1918 and set about further modification of The Cinema. This he re-opened the following year, putting on live shows as well as films. Early silent movies were always accompanied by a resident pianist, but later a device called a panotrope was installed which, in theory, synchronised music with films. In practice this was not always the case, but after experimentation with talking films in the 1920s finally proved successful, the first ‘talkie’ to be screened at The Cinema was Love Parade – starring Maurice Chevalier – on 9 February 1931.

The Cinema’s popularity was such that in 1929 Mr Smith bought a large plot of land opposite the old Empire on which to build a second, more up to date cinema. Designed by E.M. Allen-Hallett and built by local builder F. Cannon & Son, it was named the Regent and officially opened on 9 November 1931 by local MP, Rear Admiral Murray Sueter.



Compared to The Cinema, or ‘flea pit’ as it was more popularly known, the Regent was luxurious and held a capacity audience of 999 people (1000 seats would have involved extra taxation). But having built his modern cinema Mr Smith then worried that the public would find it far too plush and want to return to ‘flea pit’, so to alleviate his fears he closed The Cinema the following year.

He needn’t have worried. The Regent quickly established itself as a popular venue, and with audiences continually rising he then refurbished the old cinema and reopened it in 1935 as The Phoenix. It didn’t exactly rise from the ashes but it did rise anew from the remains of the old cinema. Now with seating for 500, it also featured the added novelty of double seats in the back row for young lovers – cinemas at that time being the place where most couples did their courting! And unlike today’s standard priced tickets, seats were valued according to quality and positioning – the cheaper seats being in the stalls and close to the screen. Once inside though, it was possible to watch a film several times for the original admission price.



At the outbreak of war in 1939 the government closed all cinemas nationwide, but very soon re-opened them again when it was realised they would be a moral booster. The town’s cinemas were certainly popular with the American forces stationed here, and the Regent put on occasional Sunday concerts in aid of charity. Stars that appeared included Cyril Fletcher, Harry Champion and a young Petula Clark.

After the war both cinemas continued to show two films per week, the Phoenix playing mostly popular repeats and horror movies, and the Regent showing the latest releases. One notably successful film in 1948 was For Whom the Bell Tolls, which ran for a full week – a week being 6 days at that time because cinemas weren’t allowed to open on a Sunday. The previous year this fact had prompted local discussion but was strongly opposed by the Church. A subsequent poll of the town’s population recorded an overwhelming vote against Sunday opening.

When Mr Smith died in 1948, aged 76, his family continued to run both cinemas but by the 1950s, long before television intervened, audiences began to fall and it soon became apparent that the Phoenix was surplus to requirements. It closed on 3 May 1958, the last film shown being the X-rated Crime in the Streets starring James Whitmore.

In 1965 the Smith family sold the Regent to the Granada chain, although it retained its name until the official opening on 30 January 1967. A rather grand affair, it was attended by representatives of several film companies and three major stars of the time – Dickie Henderson, Rita Tushingham and Jess Conrad. The first film to be shown was My Fair Lady, promoted by the Town Band who marched up and down South Street playing a selection of tunes from the film.

The arrival of the ‘Swinging Sixties’ brought about a dramatic change in social attitudes and it wasn’t long before the topic of Sunday opening was raised once again. This time the Church agreed not to oppose the plan and at a public meeting in December 1965, attended by just 35 people, a vote in favour of the proposal was carried. On 26 June 1966 the Regent (as it still was at that time) opened its doors on a Sunday for the very first time.

The Granada continued to show a varied range of films in the hope of capturing a wide audience, but all to no avail. With the introduction of colour television in the early 1970s and the later advent of the video recorder, people preferred to watch entertainment in the comfort of their own homes and cinemas throughout the country soon became uneconomical to run.

An application to close the Granada in 1973 was rejected by the local council, but three years later permission was granted to convert it into a Bingo hall. The last film to be shown was Grizzly – described as Jaws on land – and the cinema closed for good on 22 January 1977 ( I was 9 years old and probably never went to the cinema again until i was well into my teens)

The Bingo hall survived until the early 1980s when the land on which it stood was then sold to Marks & Spencer who built their store in 1986 ( I worked here as a Saturday girl)

Today the Cineworld prices are quite high however they do offer Saturday morning as "Kids go for £1", they also get to play a game and have a biscuit/ drink before the start of the film ( which usually are older films that most people have already seen) but my kids love it.

Saturday, 14 June 2008

A wonderful happy sunny day !!

Today was Georgina's First Holy Communion. She has been having lessons since September with several of her friends. The weather forecast has not been favourable all week , with the weather men predicting that there would be rain !

We were quietly dreading having a soggy celebration, but thankfully we have been so lucky and the weather has been absolutely glorious - our prayers were certainly answered.

She looked beautiful and we were so proud !!

She wore my bridal headress which made it all the more special and jewellery that she had as a Christening present from my sister when she was a baby.


The ceremony was really special , our Canon Eddie was brilliant as usual and all of the children had a part to play with readings, singing and prayers. It was perfect!

Georgina was also given some beautiful gifts from family and friends which she will treasure as well as the special memories of the day.

Today made me remember how lucky I am and thankful for everything !



Monday, 9 June 2008

My Town Monday - Part 13

This week I've strayed slightly away from Bishops Stortford , having read an article in the newspaper recently about Britain's rudest place names. I've copied out what I read.


Cockington
Just a mile from Torbay's seafront lies the thatched village of Cockington, whose pretty houses are steeped in history. Nelson dined at Cockington Court, and Lutyens designed the local pub, where sniggering over the village name is kept to a minimum. Quiet and quaint, Cockington is a pricey place to live and its proximity to the "English Riviera" makes it a honeypot for holidaymakers.


Lickey End

In spite of large-scale development in the 1990s, Lickey End is a local beauty spot that makes up one part of the Lickeys, a collection of villages near Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. It draws walkers looking to explore the Lickey Hills, and there's a good local school, making it popular with families. Residents ignore the wisecracks about their village's name, maintaining a dignified air in the face of ridicule.


Nob End

Nob End, near Bolton, Lancashire, is a 21-acre site that includes the southern half of the village of Little Lever. It was formed by the dumping of toxic alkali waste during the 19th century, which resulted in an unusual landscape of chalk-loving vegetation. This rare site of special scientific interest is offset by the distant industrial landscape of Greater Manchester and the quaint cottages that line the nearby waterways and weirs.


Thong
Thong is a blink-and-you'll-miss-it hamlet, south-east of Gravesend in Kent. It has absolutely no connection with skimpy undergarments. Travel links, however, are good – it's just 500 yards or so from the A2 (almost too close) and five miles from Ebbsfleet International station. The few shops that are there wouldn't see many people through the week. Luckily, the giant Bluewater centre is close at hand.


Ugley

This small village is just around the corner from where my parents currently live and is a lovely place - far from Ugley.

It sits between Saffron Walden and Bishop's Stortford, in prime commuterland. The name probably means "Woodland clearing of a man named Ugga". The "Ugley Women's Institute" grew so tired of the juvenile jibes that they changed its name to the Women's Institute of Ugley, a rebranding exercise not yet repeated by the Ugley Farmers' Market !!


Pratts Bottom

Located just within the M25 motorway, to the south of Orpington in Kent, Pratts Bottom was first recorded as Spratts Bottom in 1773, but it quickly changed to its present form, meaning "valley of a family called Pratt". Very expensive and very desirable, its moniker seems to make no difference to people seeking rural bliss in close proximity to London. The village website admits that it is "often the butt of jokes".


Lower Swell

Fans of the puerile will love Lower Swell in Gloucestershire. Not only does its name raise eyebrows, but the river Dikler and the Golden Ball pub rarely fail to raise a smile, too. That said, it has some of England's finest countryside, a tranquil village green and plenty of mellow stone cottages – and the quintessential Cotswold town of Stow-on-the-Wold is just up the road.

Wetwang

Wetwang is a Yorkshire Wolds village that sits on a busy main road along the coast. Debate surrounds the origins of its name; it means either "field for the trial of a legal action" or just "wet field".


Twatt


Fifteen minutes' drive north of Stromness in Orkney lies the hamlet of Twatt. The name comes from ancient Norse, meaning "small parcel of land" – and there's not a lot there apart from a clutch of unexciting buildings and the A967. The beauty of Twatt, though, lies in its wild setting, breathtaking views and a sense of total isolation. Houses here are decidedly affordable.


Balls Green

Sounding more like a reason to visit the doctor than a dot on the map, Balls Green is a tiny hamlet between Tunbridge Wells and East Grinstead, close to the borders of Surrey, Kent and Sussex. It has pretty peg-tile cottages and detached, oversized houses clustered along its one quiet lane. Too small even for a pub, drinkers need to look a few miles up the road to the Dorset Arms in Withyham to slake their thirst.


Penistone


My Mad husband thinks that this name is hysterical and had to have his photo taken standing by this sign with some friends ( I haven't included it so as not to encourage him !)
Penistone is a thriving market town west of Barnsley in South Yorkshire, in the foothills of the Pennines. Its name derives from the Old English "tun", meaning farm or village; Penstun and Penstone are early versions of the name. The Domesday Book simply refers to it as "wasted". It has all the amenities you'd expect in a rural town of 8,500 residents, including a cinema, farmers' market and, er, morris dancers.


Bitchfield

Five miles south of Grantham, Lincolnshire, is the delightfully named village of Bitchfield. But the name's definitely its main attraction; there's nothing to see, just two groups of buildings connected by Dark Lane, and a small chapel. Beware: avoiding Bitchfield because of its name may land you up in nearby Bulby, Aslackby, Sproxton or Burton Coggles. Not much of an improvement.


Tosside

Tosside in Lancashire is considered by residents to be the smallest place in the world. Its origins stretch back to the Vikings, with its name derived from "tod", meaning fox, and "saetr", meaning high summer pasture. Located between the villages of Slaidburn and Wigglesworth, within the Forest of Bowland, it's a designated area of outstanding natural beauty that can be explored on foot or bike. It may be tiny, but Tosside does have a pub – the Dog and Partridge.


Prickwillow

Prickwillow is set on the banks of the river Lark, four miles east of Ely in Cambridgeshire. The "Prick" in Prickwillow is said to be a reference to the "prickets" of willow – long, thin skewers used to make thatch – that grew in the nearby marshes. The village lies below sea level and a series of pumping engines were installed to ensure that the land remained arable. Some of them can be enjoyed at Prickwillow's Museum of Fenland Drainage.

Crapstone

Crapstone in Devon is to be found on the western edge of Dartmoor, one mile away from Yelverton. The locals are fiercely defensive of their village, even starting a campaign on Facebook complaining about a television advert that claimed to be set in Crapstone but was actually filmed near "the Pimple" in Tavistock. It has been noted that Crapstone's industrial hub is the Crapstone Business Park, while its financial district is the counter of the local post office.


Bell End

Five miles up the road from Lickey End is the minuscule hamlet of Bell End. Set on the busy A491, between the M5 and Stourbridge, in the Bromsgrove district of Worcestershire, it consists largely of the Bell Inn pub and a couple of houses. So there are very few residents to suffer the shame of living in Bell End.


Cockermouth

Cockermouth in Cumbria sits at the confluence of the rivers Cocker and Derwent. It's an ancient town, with Roman, Viking and Norman influences, which has grown over the centuries to a population of nearly 8,000 people. It's the birthplace of William Wordsworth and Fletcher Christian. In spite of its proximity to the Lake District, it suffers much less from summer tourists than close neighbour Keswick (that means Cockermouth is not as popular or pretty). It's also home to the Belfagan all-female morris dancers.


Spital in the Street


Boasting just a few buildings and a public phone-box, Spital in the Street joins a long list of Lincolnshire places with a hint of unsavouriness. It's on the busy intersection of the A15 and A631, north of Lincoln, and has the equally daft Owmby-by-Spital and Normanby-by-Spital as near neighbours. Not as remote as it seems, Spital in the Street is half a mile west of Hemswell Cliff, which has a school, museum, pub and hotel.


Titlington


The cheekily named Titlington is six miles west of Alnwick in Northumberland and 10 miles from the coast. The population has dwindled over the years, and it now consists of a few houses and the spectacular Titlington Mount, a country pile used for corporate functions and weddings.


Upper Dicker

Originally the site of a medieval trade centre ("dicker" means barter), Upper Dicker sits within sight of the South Downs near Polegate. Not the prettiest village (or name) in the area, the housing stock is a mixture of Downland vernacular and modern boxes, slightly blighted by a fast through-road. There's a smattering of shops along the main road and the posh St Bede's senior school is in the village. Lower Dicker is just down the road.


Muff

Muff – from the Irish word "magh" – is a village in County Donegal, on the border between the Republic and Northern Ireland. Over the last decade, Muff has seen a huge growth in population, with people from Northern Ireland moving across the border. The first week in August sees the Muff Festival – and there's a diving club in the village called, yes, the Muff Diving Club.


I know that there are many more weird names -the article even left out the village of "NASTY" a few miles away from where I live -not sure if they have the Nasty Women's institute or not !

Monday, 2 June 2008

My Town Monday - Part 12

Well after two weeks of not submitting a post for My Town Monday I thought that I had better pull my socks up this week and put pen to paper , well digit to keyboard (!)

I've moved a little way out of Bishops Stortford to a small town called Dunmow just over the county border in Essex. We have Great Dunmow and Little Dunmow, but the locals just call it Dunmow.

Next month in Dunmow are the "Flitch trials" a unique and historical event which takes place every four years in a leap year.



The Dunmow Flitch Trials exist to award a flitch (a side) of bacon to married couples from anywhere in the world, if they can satisfy the Judge and Jury of 6 maidens and 6 bachelors that in ' twelvemonth and a day' they have 'not wisht themselves unmarried again'.



A reference to The Dunmow Flitch is even in The Wife of Bath's Tale within Chaucer's 14th century Canterbury Tales.

A common claim of the origin of the Dunmow Flitch dates back to 1104 and the Augustinian Priory of Little Dunmow, founded by Lady Juga Baynard. Lord of the Manor, Reginald Fitzwalter and his wife dressed themselves as humble folk and begged blessing of the Prior a year and a day after marriage. The Prior, impressed by their devotion bestowed upon them a Flitch of Bacon. Upon revealing his true identity, Fitzwalter gave his land to the Priory on the condition a Flitch should be awarded to any couple who could claim they were similarly devoted.

By the 14th century the Dunmow Flitch Trials had achieved far-reaching notoriety. The author William Langland who lived on the Welsh borders, mentions it in his 1362 book ‘The Vision of Piers Plowman’, in a manner that implies general knowledge of the custom among his readers.

Chaucer, writing less than half a century later alludes to the Dunmow Flitch Trials in ‘The Wife of Bath’s Tale’ and again does not see the need to explain them to his readers.

However, is it not until 1445 that the winners of the Flitch were officially recorded. The earliest record of a successful claimant to the Dunmow Flitch is Richard Wright who travelled from Norwich to try his marital harmony and take home the bacon. The win is recorded in documents from the Priory of Little Dunmow still held by the British Museum.

After the monasteries were swept aside by Henry VIII, the awarding of the Flitch was taken over by the Lord of the Manor. In 1701 the local paper records the Judge’s professional predecessor Thomas Bridge and others taking part in the Trials, spent the evening dancing and playing cards in the Saracens Head. In 1751 the Shakeshafts of Weathersfield were successful in claiming the Flitch recorded in the well-known print by William Ogborne.

It was in 1832 that Josiah Vine a retired cheese monger from Reading, and his wife, tried to claim the Flitch. The Steward of Little Dunmow, George Wade, another professional predecessor of the Judge, refused their request to hold a trial and is reported as saying that he regarded the trials as being “an idle custom bringing people of indifferent character into the neighbourhood”. It was at this stage that the trials were transferred from Little Dunmow to Great Dunmow.

Over the following years the custom lapsed. The pointed stones upon which the couples knelt were carried away and the carved oak carrying chair is preserved in Little Dunmow Priory.

Victorian novelist Harrison Ainsworth is credited with reviving the Trials as an entirely civic event, separate from Church and Lords of the Manor. In 1855, following the publication of his popular novel ‘The Custom of Dunmow’ in which Ainsworth recounts the attempts by Little Dunmow’s Flitch of Bacon publican to win the Flitch by marrying a succession of wives in an attempt to find the perfect one, the Trials were once again staged in Great Dunmow.

Since then, the trials have been held regularly, and since the end of WWII, every four years in a leap year. Not because of historic precedent, but because such intervals suits the situation nicely and gives the organizers time to recover and build up strength to organize the next event.

The modern Trial take the form of a court presided over by a Judge, with Counsel representing the claimants, and opposing Counsel representing the donors of the Flitch of Bacon, a Jury of six maidens and six bachelors, a Clerk of the Court to record the proceedings and Usher to maintain order.



The couples have to swear the Flitch Oath

THE FLITCH OATH

YOU DO SWEAR BY CUSTOM OF CONFESSION

THAT YOU NE'ER MADE NUPTUAL TRANSGRESSION

NOR SINCE YOU WERE MARRIED MAN AND WIFE

BY HOUSEHOLD BRAWLS OR CONTENTIOUS STRIFE

OR OTHERWISE IN BED OR AT BOARD

OFFENDED EACH OTHER IN DEED OR IN WORD

OR IN A TWELVE MONTHS TIME AND A DAY

REPENTED NOT IN THOUGHT IN ANY WAY

OR SINCE THE CHURCH CLERK SAID AMEN

WISH'T YOURSELVES UNMARRIED AGAIN

BUT CONTINUE TRUE AND DESIRE

AS WHEN YOU JOINED HANDS IN HOLY QUIRE

The court is held in a marquee erected on Talberds Ley especially for the occasion and couples (claimants) married for at least a year and a day come from far and wide to try and claim the Flitch. It is not a competition between the couples. All couples could be successful in their claim, which is vigorously defended by Counsel employed on behalf of the Donors of the Bacon, whose job it is to test their evidence and to try and persuade the Jury not to grant them the Flitch.



Successful couples are then carried shoulder high by bearers (humble folk) in the ancient Flitch Chair to the Market Place where they take the oath (similar to pre-Reformation marriage vows) kneeling on pointed stones. Unsuccessful couples have to walk behind the empty chair to the Market Place, consoled with a prize of gammon.




The original custom of awarding a Flitch to those who can prove marital harmony is not unique to Dunmow. There are references from across Europe of similar customs now long abandoned. However the town is unique in continuing to reward marital harmony with a Flitch of Bacon well into the 21st century. With each Trial comes amusement, entertainment, renewed community spirit and another piece of history to a beautiful and prosperous town. Long may it continue - I might even try for it one year - what about you ??!

Sunday, 1 June 2008

The Pitter patter of tiny feet !!!!

Well exciting news to share !!

We have a new edition to our family.

Yesterday after much debating a new member arrived in the comfort of our own home.

Our kids are over joyed having someone else to play with.

Malc and I have been a bit worried what with me being 40 this year and him being a bit older than that - were we really cut out for it!

The whole family were present and assisted in their own special ways.

No gas and air were used.

Only a couple of tools required.

Two hours pain free labour and hey presto.

I am proud to announce our new "bouncing" baby

All 12ft , 72 springs of him.

Lovingly named "TED" the trampoline !!!


Tuesday, 27 May 2008

The laziest Blogger in Town !

Well so far I've missed out on not one but two "My Town Monday Posts "( Sorry Travis!)

I honestly do not know where the time has gone to but in my defence I have been running around like a "Blue A*sed Fly" ( Where did that phrase originate from ? - I'll have to google it)

Any way - work has been hectic, we've survived Sam's SATS exams, finally bought a Holy Communion outfit for Georgie for her big day on 14th June, made preparations for Sam's school trip and just lived the normal toil of shopping, washing , cooking , cleaning, being taxi driver for the kids activities and working extra to be able to pay for them !

We're now on a weeks break from school and work and so far have had a lovely time. The weather has been pretty miserable with non stop rain all over the Bank holiday weekend - hopefully it will cheer up a bit for the rest of the week before we all have to go back.

Last week I nearly " came a cropper". I was at home and had a peaceful couple of hours all to myself. I had had a busy morning and was feeling a little jaded so went upstairs and thought I would have a lie down before picking the kids up from school.

In the corner of the room I spotted an item which my Mum had very kindly given me for Christmas. It was a leg massager- " designed to relieve and relax tired legs".

Feeling a bit intrigued, I clambered off the bed and picked up the box.

I looked at the instructions on the outside which depicted some a coloured ultra sound "before and after" pair of legs - the tired legs and the " not so tired legs" and thought that I would investgate further.

Upon opening the box my first reaction was the unmistakeable pungent plastic smell of "Made in Taiiwan" aroma.

Inside the box was a small control box, copious amounts of rubber piping and a pair of light blue plastic zipped calf length boots.

There was also a small sheet of instructions which seemed to be in 50 different languages. Being rather impatient and not having time to fully read all of the documentation I decided that it didn't look that difficult to assemble and carried on regardless.

Slowly I unzipped the calf length plastic boots and squeezed both my legs and feet into each one until I was fully contained in a mummified stance.

I then had to connect a series of plastic tubing to several valves which seemed to run up and down each boot.

The finally stage seemed to be to wire the whole lot to the mains electricity supply. This I did by removing my bed side table lamp and plugging the wired boots into the socket.

I felt good and ready to be re energised.

I lay back down on the bed and turned on the TV.

I then adjusted the control on the boots, which did not seem to have any numbers on it but just a button that made a click noise.

I clicked the button a few times. It didn't seem to do much so I clicked it again about another 6 or 7 times.

I became aware of air flowing through into the valves and up into the boots themselves.

I can cope with this I thought and clicked the switch again. The poorly written instructions stated that the recommended treatment was for 60 minutes.

The boots filled with air which made the already snug plastic fit feel quite tight around my legs and feet. The pressure then released and then filled with air again.

I lay on the bed for about 15 minutes watching the telly but started to feel a little bit uncomfortable.

I tried to turn the control button down - "click click" - no effect.

"Click click" - nothing.

I looked down at my feet - my toes were a bright blue/ purple colour !!

Oh My God what's happening ! , I thought.

The next minute - the worse thing happened - "Ding dong".

There was some one at the door.

I had been expecting a delivery - a wedding present for a friend, whose party we were going to the next day.

I couldn't move my by now purple cramped feet. The air pipe was still pushing more air into my now Michelin man sized boots - and they were likely to pop at any minute.

I tried to manoeuvre myself off the bed with my legs splaying like a blue windmill.

I clicked the machine and with a Whoosh - more air started to fill the boots.

"Ding dong" went the door again.

I landed in a sumo stance on the floor still attached to the 50 metres of pipe work.

My toes looked like swollen blueberries and were getting really painful.

I scrabbled for the machine - there was no on/ off switch that I could readily see, so I then yanked out the plug and like a dimented woman started to tug and pull at the copious tubing sticking in all directions.

Because of the pressure that had built up this was not as easy as I had hoped.

I managed to get one of the tubes off and "Whooooooooosh" - the air started to release and the pressure which was by now starting to cut into my legs eased.

I hobbled across the room making a series of rip roaring fart noises as I went from my lower legs as the air pipes were being ripped off.

"Ding dong"

"I'm coming !" , I yelled, half in pain , half in relief and half in despair of the delivery driver going.

When I opened the door , still wearing my boots, pipes and half a control box trailing in the hall, I casually signed the paperwork , took in my parcel and bid the driver farewell - well it could have been a fashion statement for all he knew !
I'm sure that he had seen worse ????

It took a further 10 minutes before I could actually totally remove the plastic boots from my feet as my feet were so swollen.

I was left with the feeling of having pins and needles when your feet don't feel real or even a part of your body - not quite sure that it was rejuvenating but I did have a good laugh afterwards!

My Mum thought it was hysterical when I told her what had happened - it certainly was an entertaining present.

I've attached a photo of the boots - in case you have any gifts to buy or indeed you are trying to subtly kill someone with the threat of thrombosis or toe amputation !!

Wednesday, 14 May 2008

The fathers scale of 1 to 10 for Medical Ailments

The other evening just before bed time Georgina came into the kitchen complaining of a tummy ache.

Despite having spent the last half an hour rolling around laughing with her brother and having had a good time ,she put on the " I'm going to have my father over" face on , with her hands clutched over her stomach.

The conversation went a bit like this;

Georgina : " Daddy I've got a really bad tummy ache"
Daddy: "Where does it hurt?"
Georgina: "Here" ( pointing to her mid riff)
Daddy: "How badly does it hurt?"
Georgina; "Really bad"
Daddy: " How badly on a scale of 1 to 10?"
Georgina: " I'm not sure, what are the choices?"
Daddy: " Well 10 is really really bad and I would have to get you to the hospital immediately"
Georgina: " My programme is on , What's a 9 ?"
Daddy: "Well a 9 is you probably need to go to the hospital but not immediately but very soon"
Georgina: " Ok what's an 8 ?"
Daddy: " An 8 would be that your tummy is really bad and I have to get you to the doctor who may then want you to go to hospital"

A minute or two goes by.

Georgina: "May be it would get better if I had a hug and a biscuit"
Daddy: "Mmm Are you sure?"
Georgina: " What was an 8 again?"

After several hugs and a table full of crumbs the ailment had completely disappeared!