Public Displays





Oh dear, the weather is getting better here in the UK. You might think this is a cause for celebration, which it is to a certain extent. For me, though, it heralds PDAs (Public Displays of Affection).

I don't mind people holding hands. In fact, the better half and I have been known to hold hands in public. Admittedly, only when we go on the Tube in London and I hang on to him for dear life because I'm afraid of getting lost. And I think we held hands in the street once in the eighties - the year we met and new love had addled our brains.
On the whole, though, we keep a respectable distance between us, although, no matter how much he’d like me to, I don't walk ten paces behind him!
I don't even mind a quick kiss - at airports, railway stations and between grans and their grandchildren. It's the whole-scale, full-on, should be in their own room type of PDA I object to. 
The other day I had the misfortune to be near a young couple whose PDA with hands everywhere and lips locked, was even worrying passing pigeons. If it wasn't for the expression on their faces I would have thought he was trying to resuscitate her with mouth-to-mouth.
Then I spotted another couple - old enough to know better - who were clinging to each other for dear life and kissing more passionately than Jack and Rose in Titanic. At least Jack and Rose had the excuse the darn ship was sinking and death was a distinct possibility. The cynic in me decided they were married - but not to each other.
Approach me with arms open wide and lips puckered when I only saw you last week and I go stiffer than a reinforced poker - but each to their own and you carry on with all that PDA if you want, just don't do it in front of ME! 
Look at this: 


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Motivational Quotes


If you spend very long on social media people will soon start sending you motivational quotes. I don't mind most of them - a metaphorical kick up the backside is sometimes appropriate. If Einstein has a bit of advice for you, it would be churlish not to at least cast an eye over it. (Although, a good 90 per cent of quotes attributed to Einstein were never uttered by him, although it seems the one in this picture was.)

Sometimes they seem like good advice, but read them carefully. Are they really true? How about "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger"? Try being inspired by that when you're in a persistent vegetative state.

Here's one that anX (Twitter) follower of mine posted last week:  “Don't say you don't have enough time. You have exactly the same number of hours per day that were given to Helen Keller, Pasteur, Michaelangelo, Mother Teresa, Leonardo da Vinci, Thomas Jefferson, and Albert Einstein.”

Yeah, but I bet Michaelangelo didn't have to shower, load the washing machine, tidy up,  make a packed lunch, get breakfast and put on his make-up before he aimed one paint-loaded brush at that Sistine Chapel ceiling.

When it comes to realistic advice, I'm more of a Homer Simpson fan. Here are two that will stand anybody in good stead for dealing with life:

1.  You tried your best and failed miserably. The lesson is: never try.

2. The code of the schoolyard, Marge! The rules that teach a boy to be a man. Let's see. Don't tattle. Always make fun of those different from you. Never say anything, unless you're sure everyone feels exactly the same way you do.

I'm joking, of course. Kind of.  You may laugh, but Homer's quotes are often as insightful as many a homily from a celebrity. Here's Kanye West talking about reincarnation:  “I won’t go into a big spiel about reincarnation, but the first time I was in the Gucci store in Chicago was the closest I’ve ever felt to home.”

Crikey. What was he in a previous life? A handbag?

Here's a good quote from Bruce Lee:


Mind you, he did die at the age of 32...



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Future Perfect!



Left to my own devices without the steadying hand of my better half I would rapidly turn into one of those mad women who live on their own in a tumbledown cottage on the edge of the village, surrounded by books and animals.

I can imagine it now. I will be the one about whom mothers warn their children. "Don't hit your brother or Mad Woman will come and get you. If you carry on eating so much junk food you'll end up looking like Mad Woman."

Then the children will start teasing each other at school: "You love that Mad Woman, you do. She's your girlfriend, she is. You kiss her, you do."

I'll be the one walking down the street wearing a moving and purring "fur coat", pushing a pram full of cats and 'useful' items I have foraged from dustbins, dogs following at my heels.

Underneath my "fur coat" I will wear every single stitch of clothing I possess. I will laugh out loud for no apparent reason and talk to trees and walls. No one apart from the most intrepid social worker will ever visit me because my house will smell of cat pee and wild garlic with a subtle aroma of boiled cabbage and mould.

Legends will spring up about me having "treasure" buried in my garden and hordes of small boys with spades will dig big holes in the night and I'll never even notice because the garden is in such a state.

I'll spend my days sitting in front of the fire reading, stopping only to eat stew made from roadkill and wild plants.

Then when night falls I'll be kept warm in bed by four collie dogs and 25 cats who will eat me when I die.

Can't wait.





Look at this: 



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The Waitrose Experience



My friends who are not from the UK may never heard of our supermarket Waitrose. It’s a great store with high quality goods but it does have the reputation of being, shall we say, the supermarket of choice for the middle and upper classes who don’t mind paying more for products if it means not having to rub shoulders with us common people! It’s the antithesis of Walmarts.

So when Waitrose asked its customers to tweet about why they shopped there, they got more than they bargained for. It was the ideal opportunity for the country to have a laugh at the store’s expense with both made-up and genuine comments.



Like this one: I shop at Waitrose because I once heard a woman tell her child, "Don’t rummage in the reduced bin, darling, someone from the golf club might see you."

Another wrote: I shop in Waitrose because I heard a 6-year-old boy say, “Daddy, does Lego have a ‘t’ at the end, like Merlot?”

Then there was: I shop at Waitrose because I was once in the Holloway Road branch and heard a dad say, "Put the papaya down, Hermione!" Similarly: I shop at Waitrose because Jocasta simply
WON ’T eat any other supermarket’s sun-ripened guava. And another where a mother asked her child, aged around seven, “What type of bread would you like to dip into your mussels?”

One person joked, 'I shop at Waitrose because Tabitha and Tarquin only eat phoenix eggs that have been collected by wizards who share their values.'



Then there was a Twitter account called Overheard in Waitrose, with posts like these: “Jemima, you’ll have to take the rosemary off the focaccia before we feed the ducks. Darling, they can’t digest it!” and a horrified husband who told his wife, ‘Not non-organic apples, darling!’  to which she replied, ‘Stop making a fuss. They’re for the horses.’

Waitrose customers demand high quality if this is to be believed: “Well, I don’t understand how you can’t have organic courgettes. Where is this? Beirut?”

Even the children of Waitrose customers are demanding: “Mummy, you must get me more quinoa, otherwise I’ll be a laughing stock during lunch at school,” and “Max, what do you want in your packed lunches, salami Milano or prosciutto in your ciabattas?”




And finally, someone must have been listening to me before writing this (I wish!): “I would cook scampi for dinner, but I just don’t feel I could do it justice after the way our butler cooked it on holiday."



Look at this: 



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Shit, It's Snow!

I shared this a couple of years ago and, guess what?, we've only gone and had a load more snow this week! We Brits just can't cope. Please don't laugh at us, the rest of the world!

Shit, It's Snow!

I EXPECT all my friends who live outside the UK know that we Brits are obsessed by the weather. It's our primary topic of conversation and especially at this time of year. Although snow is not unusual in the winter months it seems to always take us by complete surprise and after few flakes of the white stuff the country grinds to a halt. We're quite pathetic - but at least we can laugh at ourselves!

Take a look at this little video below. It made me laugh!

*If you are offended by bad language, best not to view it!





Christmas is coming so here's a present for a cat lover! 



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Identify




Well, it made ME laugh! Then again, I was once accused of having "a misplaced sense of humour"! It was written in one of my school reports. My parents laughed, obviously they also had a misplaced sense of humour.

Christmas is coming so here's a present for a cat lover! 



You can follow me on: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. As you can see, I have far too much to say for myself.
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Careering Along



The only careers advice I received as a teenager was to be a teacher or a nurse.

“But I can’t stand the sight of blood!” I squealed.

“Well, you can still be a teacher,” said the bored careers woman. And that was that. I was tempted to suggest that maybe she would have been better suited to being a cleaner, cook or cockle-gatherer, anything rather than a careers advisor but, uncharacteristically, I held my tongue.

Teaching and nursing are vocations,(i.e. a “calling”), something more noble than a half-formed idea that it might be something you could possibly do.

It transpired that nearly all the girls were advised to be teachers, nurses, secretaries or sales assistants. Yet the options for the boys covered the full spectrum of professions, from marine biologist to meteorologist and policeman to pilot.

This was just as bad for the boys as it was for the girls. There was never a suggestion that a young lad might be suited for a caring profession – they were advised to aim for the high-flying “manly ” jobs.


Confession time: I trained to be a teacher but after applying for dozens of jobs and not even getting an interview, I started a holiday job copytaking in my local newspaper – and realised that a newspaper office was exactly where I wanted to be. This means that generations of children have had a lucky escape.

My careers advice, which I should never have listened to, was over 40 years ago so I assumed times had changed.  I was, therefore, surprised to read that according to the OECD,  the international economics think tank, by  the age of SEVEN, children are already facing limits on their future aspirations in work because of ingrained stereotyping about social background, gender and race.

I was at a grammar school so at least my careers advice was for something aspirational. According to the OECD findings, girls in primary school from deprived backgrounds are expecting to go into hairdressing or shop work while boys from wealthier homes are more likely to expect to become lawyers or managers. Not that there's anything at all wrong with hairdressing or shop work, but young children should at least be aware that there are other occupations available.



The OECD says too often young people consider only the jobs that are already familiar to them, from friends and family.

"You can't be what you can't see. We're not saying seven-year-olds have to choose their careers now but we must fight to keep their horizons open," says Andreas Schleicher, the OECD's director of education and skills.

The OECD has announced plans to double to 100,000 the network of people who go into schools and talk about their jobs and career paths. At present there are more than 50,000 volunteers, representing jobs from "app designers to zoologists".

I wish the OECD had come into my school. Who knows I might now be the Prime Minister of Great Britain and none of our present political problems would exist. You never know...

Before you leave:

 You can follow me on: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. As you can see, I have far too much to say for myself.
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Seeing Red With King Charles




It's not often official portraits cause controversy. 
No, they can be quite boring but King Charles III's latest picture has made many see red.

Why is that?
Um, well it IS very red. Very, very red, which prompted one critic to wonder if  the King's "grandkids helped colour it in with crayons". 

If it's not been painted by one of his grandchildren, who did paint it?
It was created by respected artist Jonathan Yeo and depicts the king in the bright red uniform of the Welsh Guards against a red background. The portrait also shows a red butterfly hovering over his shoulder. According to the artist, the tiny butterfly symbolises the king's initiatives relating to environmental protection.

How did Jonathan Yeo get the job? 
It wasn't via this ad dreamed up by one wag. Wanted: painter for official portrait of His Majesty King Charles. Must have prior portrait experience. Ability to make painting a portal into the nether realm and a conduit for millennia old evil non essential but desirable.

So what have people been saying?
Predictably the portrait caused a storm on X (Twitter).

Do X people like it?
It's fair to say it's had mixed reviews. Apart from its artistic merits there have been a few conspiracy theories raising their ugly heads.

Like what?
One said that copying, pasting and flipping the portrait reveals a sinister face resembling Baphomet, the deity associated with the Knights Templar. He was depicted as being half-human, half-animal with a goat-like head and was originally drawn by French occultist Eliphas Levi the 1800s.

So it wasn't universally appreciated on X, I take it.
No, here's one post: "King Charles new portrait is absolutely fecking hideous, looks like he is burning in hell." Here's another: "... it's also quite obviously the cursed painting containing the souls of a million dead."

SOMEONE liked it, surely.
Oh yes, it's had many positive comments. Here's one: "Actually think this is a fucking brilliant portrait. And an amazing likeness of him. I feel like I can see his dad and even his uncle in there a little bit." 

What did the King himself think of it?
He's made no official comment but it seems Queen Camilla likes it. She reportedly looked at the painting and told Yeo, “Yes, you’ve got him.”



Look at this: 



You can follow me on: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. As you can see, I have far too much to say for myself.
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See You Later Alligator



Wally the alligator who has gone missing.


Why are telling me about Joie Henney's pet called Wally?
Wally is an emotional support pet and he's gone missing.

Very sad but why is it big news?
Wally is an alligator.

Ah, wouldn't be my choice but each to their own.
Joie says Wally has helped relieve his depression for a nearly a decade.

So what happened?
Joie took Wally with him to his holiday home in Brunswick, Georgia, where he was stolen, probably by pranksters, and dumped at a nearby property.

And?
Authorities came to collect it and then released Wally into a 438,000-acre swamp dozens of miles away.

Oh dear. Poor Joie.
Joie is distraught and has turned to TikTok, where Wally has 143,000 followers, for help.

See you later, alligator. We hope.
"We need all the help we can get to bring my baby back," Mr Henney said in a tearful video posted on TikTok, where Wally has 143,000 followers.

So Joe hasn't given up hope.
No he's praying someone will bring Wally home and make it snappy.


Look at this: 



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Mike's Whale Of A Time




Why is everyone talking about a lobster diver called Mike Packard?
He was swallowed by a whale.

Very Biblical. So what happened?
Mike  was diving for lobsters at Herring Cove Beach in Massachusetts and, like I said, he got swallowed whole by a humpback whale.

Yikes! Yikes and ouch!
Indeed. He was completely inside the whale and thought he was a goner.

He's here to tell the tale so presumably he wasn't.
No. Mike was obviously not to the whale's taste. Humpbacks normally hoover up krill, plankton and small fish.

How did Mike escape this fishy encounter?
Fishy? Whales are mammals. Do you know nothing?




Sorry. My bad. Back to my question. How did he escape?
He didn't so much escape but was regurgitated. The whale began shaking its head and resurfaced. The next thing Mike knew he was outside in the water. 

Then he was rescued?
Yes, he was picked up by his friend in their fishing boat and taken to Cape Cod Hospital. He wasn't badly injured and was home the same day.

This happened in 2021 so why are you telling me about it now?
There's film about to be released, set for screenings over the coming weeks at the New Hampshire Film Festival.

What's it called?
In The Whale but I think they've missed a trick. They should have called it Whale Meat Again.

Ah, based he old World War Two song We'll Meet Again. Topical..
Best I could do  with short notice.



Look at this: 



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North Korea Doesn't Dig Alan Titchmarsh


Our Alan in those subversive jeans.



Shock! Horror! Alan Titchmarsh has been banned by North Korean TV. Or, to be more precise, his JEANS have!

My British friends will know how mind-boggling it is for our "national treasure" Alan to have courted controversy in that most authoritarian of dictatorships. My friends from foreign shores are probably saying,  'Alan who?'

Let me enlighten you via his Wikepedia entry. 'Alan Fred Titchmarsh is an English gardener and broadcaster. After working as a professional gardener and a gardening journalist, he became a writer, and a radio and television presenter.' No mention on Wiki of his subversive tendencies, I notice.

Or even of the subversive tendencies of his jeans which are, according to North Korea, 'a symbol of American imperialism'. Alan, Alan, you little devil.

It's not the only time Alan's sartorial choices have come under fire. The Times criticised his zip-neck sweaters and described his cable knit sweater with a leather zip tip as "egregious" (outstandingly bad or shocking).

Alan replied in typical fashion by saying "egregious" wasn't included on the label but merely "hand wash only"!

I'll give the final word to Alan himself here on Instagram.


Look at this: 



You can follow me on: Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest. As you can see, I have far too much to say for myself.
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