A Tuesday Tale

Way back when, before the Playground really took off, I used to write little tales from my past on Tuesdays - and recipes on Fridays or Saturdays (known as Friday Feast or Saturday Supper depending on the day I published the recipe).

I was thinking about fish and chips yesterday, triggered by a funny and very apt comment made by Brenda of Floral Fantasies. I subsequently hopped back in here to peek at an old Tuesday Tale, written in February 2012. Almost four years ago now and few of you sweeties did see the post, but many of you didn't so here it is again. Whilst laid up I might even have time to dig back in the memories for some new ones!

A Tuesday Tale - pick where you eat your fish and chips with care 

I had a really fun work pal called Joy (still great mates) - we worked together for a few years and oddly enough got into a few scrapes - our boss called us the Terrible Twosome and I do think we managed to age him by about 20 years :)

Our work meant travelling a fair bit and more than once we visited our Northern offices as  the Terrible Twosome with glee. Both having Northern roots it was one of the more fun trips on our schedule - err, usually.

On this particular dark evening we'd left the Carlisle office and were driving back
to our hotel when we spied a good ole Northern fish and chip shop. It was emanating (big word!) the most wonderful smells and so we stopped and joined the queue. Hotel food did become quite tiring and this promised to be a yummy meal.

The food came in boxes like those above and we selected our own personal treat - a polystyrene pot of curry sauce for Joy (What?! That was a new one on me.) and a large soft roll for your truly. I'm afraid to confess that I just love a chip butty :)

We hopped back into Joy's car and then parked, almost straight over the road, in a very quiet little car park in a disused retail park. Windows down to prevent the lingering smell of vinegar and curry sauce we began to tuck in. Bliss - and then Joy hissed at me 'Don't look too pointedly Di, but can you see what going on over there?'.

I'd been really pre-occupied making my chip butty, head down and carefully lining up the chips like little soldiers (chip OCD?), and had only partly noticed the only other cars which had arrived in the car park. So, I took a look and replied 'Really parked close together aren't they - they'd never be able to open their doors to get out' and then 'Oooh, look Joy, how friendly - they're passing packs of  cigarettes around from car to car through the windows', before returning to carefully assembling layer two of chips in said chip butty. How stupid slow dumb naive can you get!! :(

Next thing I knew, Joy had quietly raised the car windows - then she made her move. 'Look Dumbo' she hissed (there was a lot of hissing going on here I noticed) - 'those aren't packets of cigarettes. And we could be thought to be a drugs surveillance team if they take notice'.

Slowly, the asses ears sprouted from my head and preoccupation with a neatly made chip butty was swiftly replaced by absolute terror. 'Hold onto your hat Di - we're out of here' was the next utterance from Joy, followed by her box of fish and chips landing on my lap and the pot of curry sauce being thrust into my hand.  And with that, she started the engine and we screeched out of the car park.

It was like a scene from something like Cagney and Lacey or maybe Thelma and Louise. Only, I just bet that Louise wasn't whimpering 'I want my Mummy. I don't want to be shot. I didn't see anything, honestly' repeatedly whilst looking like an Indian goddess with each hand raised on either side, one clutching a chip butty and the other one holding a lidless pot of curry sauce as we hurtled along. There were a few mini-roundabouts on the route too and believe me, that was tricky stuff! Threats from Joy that she'd personally shoot me if I spilt the curry sauce all over the car weren't helping either :(

As it happens, we weren't followed, we did survive unscathed and hid the car round the back of the hotel where we half heartedly finished off the fish and chip supper. The following day, back at the Carlisle office, we discovered that sure enough - where we'd parked was a 'known' local hangout for drug dealers. Ha, known perhaps - but not if you're a couple of innocent visitors trying to have a quiet supper!

Di
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The dancing duckling

A guy (let's call him Fred) goes into his local pub and tells the landlord he has a sure fire way of drawing in more custom with a little cabaret act.

Dubiously the landlord agreed to 'audition' this new act, whereupon Fred whipped a little duckling from one pocket and a metal cigar tin from the other pocket. He turned away, rustled around a bit and hey presto, there on the bar was the cigar tin with a cute little duckling dancing away on top like there was no tomorrow - tappitty, tap, tap, tap:

'WOW - you're booked!' exclaimed the landlord. So each evening Fred, the duckling and his little metal 'stage' arrived at the pub, collected their percentage of the previous night's takings and set up for that night's performance.

People came from far and wide to see the little ball of fluff tap dancing like there was no tomorrow - until Fred had to go away for an overnight trip. He left the duckling and his little metal cigar tin stage in the care of the pub landlord.

The following evening, after he returned home, just before closing time he dropped into the pub to collect his duckling and little metal stage. But, he found that the landlord was not at all happy. 'You and your duckling are FIRED' he shouted 'I was a laughing stock, that duckling just sat on its bum on top of the cigar box and smirked at everyone all evening - not one single tap, tap at all'.

Fred sighed and replied ............................... wait for it .....................................
 
'I know, my fault. I forgot to tell you to light the tea light inside the tin just before the duckling was due to perform'.

I told Len this one the other evening when we were trying to outdo one another with silly tales - and he said it was cruel :( That guy takes life a bit seriously sometimes - tap, tap, tappitty, tap - snort.

Di
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The ability to snatch disaster from the jaws of victory

As I mentioned yesterday, I once had a boss (aka Noddy, secretly named by me 'cos all that was missing was the bell on his little blue hat) who was a contender for being the World's most incompetent manager on the planet and unpleasant with it. If he could make a right mess of things he would, and be proud of his achievement too - he sure could snatch disaster from the jaws of victory.

Let me explain just one incident to illustrate the lack of grey cells and he actually told us this one, I would have been so mortified I'd have kept it secret from anyone who hadn't known me at the time!

Before he worked where I did, Noddy was having replacement windows installed in his first floor floor flat/apartment. Noddy couldn't leave things well alone, he always had to be interfering and sticky beaking, so he was under the feet of the workmen at every step of the job.

When they stopped for lunch, Noddy couldn't resist checking out a huge (lucky for him not glazed as yet) window frame. Noddy didn't know that said window frame wasn't drilled and screwed into the walls as yet, heavy window frame tilted and tottered, Noddy hung onto window frame instead of letting go. Can you picture what's coming?

Window frame toppled out of the window opening, Noddy still hung on, window frame and Noddy flew through the air and almost landed on the astonished workers quietly having their lunch below.

Noddy ended up in hospital with concussion, a broken leg and TWO broken arms. This meant weeks of being spoon fed with his arms in plaster. Silly Noddy - perhaps that should have taught him a lesson but not so.

Thankfully I escaped from that job and moved onwards, upwards and out of reach. And Noddy? He's still there and still as incompetent, in the same job and going nowhere fast...................except for flying out of window openings perhaps?

Di
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We Three Kings of Orient are

......is one Christmas carol that always reminds me of yet another one of my 'sillies' - but first here's the card I made:

Been sifting through Christmas cards here and keeping some to 'up cycle' - and then I saw over at Shaz's blog how she'd die cut an image from a Christmas card rather than just cutting it into a square or oblong as I generally do. Her result is beautiful - do go and see what I mean!

And, I wanted to make a card for this week's Crafty Hazelnut's Christmas Challenge which is 'Rudolph is resting', so no Rudolph images.

I used:

- 6" x 6" square cream card stock

- deep blue card from the snippets folder

- vellum with the words 'We Three Kings of Orient are' printed all over - which reminded me of the little tale further down this post. Attached the vellum to more cream card stock by using part of a double sided adhesive sheet - the wording shows up better when the light catches it properly

- sentiment from Personal Impressions 'Many Greetings' clear stamp set, stamped in Memento's 'Paris Dusk'

- a single gold Josy Rose nail head star

Resisted the urge to add anything else as I wanted the real message of Christmas in this card to be the focus.

Right, and here's my tale - 100% true, but I bet I'm not the only child ever to have wondered about this one.

As a child we had a routine (this was pre-dishwasher days of course!) whereby Mum cooked the evening meal and Dad and I did the washing up between us while she sat down with a well earned cup of tea - he washed and I dried. And we sang - oh how we sang - every show tune and song imaginable!

As soon as there was a whiff of Christmas in the air I would be hopping up and down begging for us to begin singing Christmas carols as we did the dishes - 'Good King Wenceslas' was my very favourite as Dad sang the part of the king and I sang piped out the part of the page.

I must have only been about six or seven years old  when I stopped Dad in the midst of 'We Three Kings' and said it puzzled me. Why did we sing about three kings when there were only two of them I wanted to know?

Dad could see I was really very confused and had been waiting for the right time to ask - so he stopped putting dishes away and gently asked me just why I thought there were only two kings.

'Well Daddy' said little Miss Clever 'it goes like this.........We three kings, Ovori and Tar......but that's only two of them so where's the third one?'.  Absolutely true - and one of those tales that Dad delighted in telling my boyfriends when I was older!

Di
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A Saturday Story

I related this one to Len yesterday, and he sort of looked at me whilst shaking his head and obviously thinking 'You know, she really IS so totally stoooopid',.

In a previous part of my life, I was lucky enough to have two adorable little Bichon Frise dogs. We only had one at first but quickly got him a companion from the same parents next litter - this is the two of them:

 

During the one Summer when we only had little Benjie, we brought the touring caravan down from Northumberland to Hampshire for a holiday in the New Forest.

After almost losing him in a dense part of the forest, I got it into my head that we needed to  get a dog licence (they were 'on the way out at that point' and weren't compulsory, but I was adamant).

So, I'm pretty sure it was in Brockenhurst, I hopped into the local village store cum Post Office and went to the counter. One elderly post master was on duty and he had to rummage round to find the little A6 sized form. With pen poised he said 'Name'?

And I replied brightly, and even helpfully 'Well, his full Kennel Club name is Benjamin Silverelves Gypsy - but we call him Benjie or even Widdle for short (he's proving difficult to fully house train) if that's easier to fit on the form'.

With a stern stare over his glasses, said Post Master then almost barked 'Your name, madam'.

Tell you what, I paid my thirty seven and a half pence (or something similar) and was out of there as fast as my feet would carry me!

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - 'The last word'

Yesterday's card, and me wondering just what the Oriental/ Japanese wording on the stamp I used might be, reminded me of this tale I heard ages ago:

Towards the end of WWII we had quite a few German POWs over here - but, us being 'jolly fair Brits', a lot of them were allowed to have a fair amount of freedom and to work outside of the camps for pocket money.

One very nice young German was employed by a lady seeking someone to tend to her gardens. She took quite a liking to the young chap and gave him pretty much free rein so, when he suggested that it would be really nice to plant crocus bulbs in the rather large front lawn, she readily agreed thinking 'How jolly to have naturalised crocuses popping up in the Spring'.

The end of the war meant that he was repatriated before Spring came and she was quite sad to see him go as he'd worked diligently and been no trouble at all. Sure enough, little green shoots began to appear in the front lawn once the snow began to clear. After a while, a few days of sunshine meant they began to bloom and they were quite a sight to behold.

That is, until she glanced out of an upstairs bedroom window to admire them from above and realised that he'd left her a message - they spelt out 'HEIL HITLER'.

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - never trust paper knickers

I was reminded of this incident when some wag suggested that I ought to have taken disposable paper knickers/panties etc. on holiday to leave more room for crafting goodies on the way home:

Many years ago, along with another couple, a boyfriend and I went on our first holiday abroad together, to the exotic climes of Majorca :) As you did back then, I shared with Doris and he shared with his pal.

Doris was born middle aged I'm sure and was sooooo organised it was unbelievable. Her meticulous packing was a sight to behold, although she did make me laugh when she ran out of the bathroom exclaiming there was a 'foot bath' (aka bidet) in there!

She had taken a load of paper knickers with her to last the duration of the holiday - they were very new-fangled way back then. All was well until the day we went off on a boat trip in the height of the July heat. I could tell she was a bit non-plussed as the day wore on but 'nuffin'' was said until we all arrived back at the hotel - hot, tired and sweaty.

Back in our room she shot into the bathroom - this was followed by a shriek and she reappeared  waving three bits of circular elastic. The paper part of the knickers had totally dissolved in the sweaty heat leaving her with just elastic round her waist and the tops of her legs - goodness knows where the dissolved paper went to though. All we could imagine, in between rolling on the floor screaming with laughter, was that she been walking round at the end of the trip leaving trails of white confetti behind her :)

My Rudolph Day card is below - all six of them.

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - an innocent at work

I've written before about things that happened when I worked on Saturday afternoons in our local charity shop (aka thrift store). But, this one probably totally takes the biscuit!

I really enjoyed working on the till and truly thought I was 'Little Miss Helpful', you got to know regular customers really well - or so I thought :(

I'd imagine just why they were buying stuff from us, older ladies buying wool then sitting comfortably knitting in the evenings, children playing with pre-loved toys, folk enjoying a jigsaw, young girls showing off their clothing bargains......and so it went on.

One guy, quiet and very innocuous, used to nip in quite often late on a Saturday afternoon to look for bargains. 'Ah, how sweet' I thought, 'buying clothes for his housebound Mum'. Then he began asking Little Miss Helpful's advice. Would this top go with that skirt and so on - and I realised that it was in fact a housebound partner/wife he was buying for. After all, I couldn't see his elderly Mum wearing a chiffon top and a mini-skirt. I even advised him on some makeup for her - we were allowed to sell sealed and unused toiletries and makeup BTW.

Then, one Saturday he whizzed in just before closing time and quietly asked if he could buy a wedding dress, reduced to £25. 'Fine' said Little Miss Helpful here and scurried off to get Rita, our manageress, as the rail was very high and we needed steps to reach up to remove wedding and evening gowns. Rita grabbed the steps and when I pointed out who the customer was whispered something to me about him working with radios before going to the front of the shop to lift down said wedding dress.

I took a few steps to follow her and a big light bulb suddenly went on in this stooopid little head.What she'd actually said was 'He's our local tranny' - and in my day a 'tranny' was short for transistor radio. Ha, not so at all - it's now short for transvestite innit :(

Rita, seeing the light finally dawn on Little Miss Helpful, said 'Can you tidy up the bric-a-brac Di, while I serve'. She could see the bright red face and bulging eyes on yours truly, who was likely to burst into hysterics at any moment. So, I hopped around behind the tall bric-a-brac shelves - tidying and peeking at the same time - whilst a huge pair of donkey's ears grew outta the top of my head :( And when Rita threw in a veil for free I almost wet myself on the spot!

Thankfully, Mr Tranny paid up sharpish then disappeared and the shop was closed for the day. At that point, the girls in the back of the shop all raced out hooting with laughter at 'Donkey' here - they'd been watching over the previous months (yup, it had been months) and marvelling at the innocence. One of them howled 'You didn't even flicker or begin to twig the other week when he came in and bought those ladies size 8 patent leather red high heels,  you Dumbo!'

The embarrassment at my own stupidity was a source of much amusement for some time afterwards I can tell you.

That evening, when I was relating the tale to Len over a much-needed glass of vino in the garden he quietly observed that I really shouldn't be let out to play without supervision :(

Let me also say, it's each to their own, I have no problems with what folk do (so long as it isn't hurtful or criminal) some of my best friends are either gay or transsexual....... my only problem is that I truly had absolutely no idea so for long!

Di
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Quick Tuesday Tale

Kath strikes again! She is one of the World's innocents, I've written about her here before when she went to the docs worried about her eyesight and he suggested she took her specs off before using hairspray - once he'd held the glasses up the the light :)

One of her latest was to troll into town for a DVD which was on a wish list as a gift - no luck though. Then she told another friend of mine who offered to look for it on Amazon UK - when asked what the title was Kath's response was:

'Scumbag Billionaire'. 

Bless - no wonder the shop assistant looked at her as if she was a bit weird :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - crash, take that!

My parents were generally quite placid people, especially my Mum - it was Dad who had more of the sense of adventure whilst Mum was the home maker, and he sometimes verged into being a bit of a likeable rogue. BUT, my Mum did have her limits, and this is one example.

We were living in Malta and I was probably just a toddler when this happened - but the tale was related more than once over the years, generally if Dad was pushing his luck a bit :) Despite the heat, Mum was a traditionalist and always cooked a Sunday roast - Dad was also a traditionalist and liked to nip down to the Mess for a pre-lunch pint with his buddies. One particular Sunday (I suspect I was grizzling or going through the 'Terrible Twos' phase) Mum objected to being left to cook lunch and cope with me at the same time whilst Dad quaffed a pint or two then sauntered back home to lunch followed by a nice snooze. He dug his heels in and Mum did too - soon they were in the throes of a heated argument as Mum was beginning to get pots and pans ready for a roast beef lunch.

Suddenly, and without any warning, I think a sort of 'red rag to a bull madness' came over Mum and she lost the plot totally. She happened to be holding a large empty roasting tin at the time:

Said roasting tin was raised in the air and brought down with a HUGE wallop on the top of Dad's head! He saw stars *********  but still went out for his pre-lunch drink - nursing an already throbbing head.

I suspect he didn't enjoy his pint or two or the huge lump that had now appeared on the top of his head but it was now a matter of pride. He returned home to find my Mum sobbing her heart out in the kitchen. Thinking that he'd been rather a 'cad', remorse overcame Dad and he hugged her and apologised. Mum's reaction though wasn't quite what he expected - the tears got worse - then she opened the oven door and cried 'Look what you did to the joint of beef!!'.

Sitting there jauntily, in the roasting pan on top of a large bowl shaped hump in the centre was the Sunday joint - merrily overcooking and enjoying the 'mountain experience'.

That really must have been one BIG wallop to dent an old fashioned roasting tin :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - you just can't get the staff

....and I'm debating whether to sack our gardener or not. He worries me when he dons his hat with 'Head Gardener' on - it's almost as if something slightly manic takes him over (maybe I should just throw the hat away, that might be the cause).

We have a mahoosive evergreen bush in the garden here, it really should be removed and the whole border then replanted. But, we have (no kidding) a fully resident blackbird, wife and family - year after year. Plus sparrows and a robin. So, for now the gigantic bush stays but it started to die off a few weeks ago - right in the centre parts so clipping the dead branches off was going to leave huge holes.

Then, one day about two weeks, ago Head Gardener said 'That bush is getting new growth - go take a look':

Well, I'll be blowed - sure enough, those brown twigs were now green. Then I looked a bit closer - Head Gardener had only been rootling round in the shed and found an almost empty spray can of green paint and had been renovating the bush with it!

In fact, I hate to admit it but it's done a temporary job - and the birds have accepted it really well.

BUT, and this is the bit that really worries me - Head Gardener then jumped into his car and whizzed off to a DIY store to buy more green spray paint so he could finish the job off properly :(

Apparently he once made a garden strimmer by using an old spin dryer motor attached to a pole. Barking, totally barking - Heath Robinson strikes again!

Di
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Tuesday Tale - rhubarb anyone?

I was reminded of today's Tuesday Tale the other afternoon, whilst pulling a load of rhubarb from the garden.

We love rhubarb here, but my Dad absolutely hated it for some reason and always referred to it as 'bloodshot celery' :)

When I was about eight years old we lived in Germany and my Mum was unexpectedly rushed into hospital, leaving us to fend for ourselves. The suddenness had meant that no preplanning had been done on the home front by Mum of course. Also, the hospital was some distance away so I didn't see her for the whole time she was hospitalised.

Mum was in hospital for about three weeks and, when she was almost well enough to leave hospital, she was asking  Dad how he was coping with running the home. He blithely said 'No worries, we're absolutely fine. Eating well and Diane is clean and tidy for school'. Bless him  - I suppose he wasn't telling fibs, although his head was stuck somewhere either in the sand or even worse - and of course I wasn't with him to 'snitch'. Then he added 'You know though, I think we need to talk about your grocery shopping. I truly don't understand why it costs so much'.

Came the grand return home and I think Mum almost had a relapse :( Of course I'd been kept clean and tidy for school, but by then I don't think there was much in the line of fresh clothing - in fact I was probably destined to be wearing Dad's underpants if things had gone on much longer. So, there was a Chinese laundry's worth of washing and ironing to catch up on.

Then Mum opened the fridge - empty - so she went to check the pantry - empty. No wonder Dad thought Mum was being extravagant with the groceries, all he'd bought was fresh milk, bread and perhaps fresh meat and eggs. Absolutely everything else has been cleared out of the fridge, kitchen cupboards and the pantry - talk about Old Mother Hubbard's Cupboard! Tea, sugar, coffee, every can, jar, bottle, most packets - you name it - gone!

Then something caught her eye in the vegetable rack - yup, a big bundle of 'bloodshot celery', by now totally limp and looking very sorry for itself. Apparently that had been destined for a pie the day Mum unexpectedly went into hospital - but Dad hated it so much he couldn't even bring himself to touch it and throw it out :(

I'm not sure he was ever allowed to live one that down. Another time, remind me to tell you about the roasting tin debacle.

My 'rhubarb pink' card for today is below :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - Mrs Overall

I just bet most of us remember our first day at work - mine almost scarred me mentally for life:

I was the youngest in the office, at a local Electricity Board, and as such treated like the office junior until I realised they were pulling a fast one.

For some weird reason, absolutely every single of the female staff had to wear a blue overall - even if you were based in an office and never clapped eyes on the general public. On my first day I was issued with said overall, nylon, stiff and VERY long. Recipe for disaster really :(

Just before tea break time I was taken up into the attic area and shown the kitchen where there was a huge array of different shaped and patterned mugs, each belonging to specific individuals. Wide eyed I just nodded dumbly as Dorothy (she'd have been about 30+ and seemed ancient to me, we're still in touch all these years later) rattled through a list of about fourteen people, pointing out their individual mugs and whether they liked strong or weak tea or coffee, no milk, some milk, a lot of milk, sugar or no sugar etc. etc. then waltzed off back down the creaking stairs leaving me to it.

For goodness sakes, I was 18, fresh out of school and certainly no domestic goddess, with a memory like a sieve as an additional handicap.

Undaunted, and probably too scared to admit I was totally lost I struggled as best I could and eventually, after an absolute age, had a tray all loaded with the best attempt I could muster.

Betcha know what's coming next, I took two steps down the flight of stairs, my 'kitten heel' (remember those, first time round?) got caught in the hem of that stupid overall and WHOOSH down I went - hurling the whole tray of mugs up in the air. I was physically fine but the whole kit and caboodle was smashed to smithereens and the place looked as if it had been raining tea and coffee. I just wanted to curl up and die with embarrassment.

Evil, but thinking back, it probably served them right for throwing me in the deep end like that :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tail (sic) - Lassie Come Home

OK, to set the scene. My Dad's father was quite an eccentric, as well as being very strict with his offspring. Even up until Grandad was in his 80's my Dad was still a bit in awe of him.

When I was a kid, Grandad lived in the wilds of Yorkshire in a little stone cottage, no electricity (except from a temperamental generator), so the lighting was all gas lamps, and for a long time there wasn't even running water. To be honest, I think he was more than a bit eccentric - verging on bonkers more like :(  His faithful companion was a Border Collie, imaginatively called Lassie (or Lass for short).

One Winter, when I was about five years old we were staying with him and I came down with pneumonia - not surprising really considering the place was damp and pretty cold unless you huddled in front of the fire.

Grandad had a job as a night watchman and off he went to work one evening, I should say that he had to walk as we had more than a couple of feet of snow. My Dad had already struggled miles through the drifts to get the local doctor and then again for a prescription so he wasn't overly happy when Grandad issued instructions to take Lass out for her evening walk. Crumbs, the snow was higher than she was!

Come about 10pm Mum reminded Dad of the task in hand, Dad took one look out of the little front door and saw that the snow was falling thick and fast and sort of lost the plot a bit :( 'No way am I going out in that' he muttered and went into the kitchen area for a rummage. Ha, just the thing, a washing line!

Poor Lass was coaxed from her cosy spot by the fire and Dad tied the washing line to her collar, opened the front door, kneed her out into the night and reeled out the washing line so she could 'do what comes naturally'. He then tied the end of the washing line to the front door knocker, closed the door and settled back down in front of the fire.

About 30 minutes later it was time to let Lass back into the cottage - front door was opened and the line was reeled in, I guess you know what's coming next. Just a chewed end of the washing line where Lassie had gnawed through it :(

So, being more than a little afraid of Grandad's temper, on went the layers of clothes once again, wellies were donned and, waving a tilley lamp, off into the night went Dad. He called and searched until he was hoarse but no sign of Lassie - and the snow was still falling thick and fast. Eventually Dad decided he'd have to face the music and returned to the cottage - this time thinking it was a good idea to return via the little back porch where he could leave his wellies and not trudge snow right through the place.

Ahem, and there, curled up fast asleep in the porch out of the driving snow was - Lass :( Seems she merely chewed through the washing line, scarpered round to the back of the cottage and had been there all the while.

Today's card, appropriately enough with a snowman on, is below :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - Vesuvius in the kitchen

As a child, I loved nothing better than being in the kitchen with my Mum cooking. She was a trained cook and always trying out different things.

One wet afternoon she decided that we'd have a go at making this stuff:

Cinder toffee, just like the stuff in Crunchie bars! Out came the ingredients and off we went.

Ahem, I think I distracted Mum at a crucial moment and instead of adding the bicarbonate of soda (which reacts with vinegar and makes the bubbles) in a teaspoon she absentmindedly added a heaped tablespoon of the stuff! BIG mistake, a very BIG mistake in fact.

Whoosh, up and over the pan it went like a volcano - totally alive and spewing all over the cooker. It truly was quite spectacular as it bubbled its merry way absolutely everywhere whilst Mum chased me away from the 'monster' and tried to get to the controls to turn the heat off. No way could the pan be touched so all she could do was to wait for it to subside. I clearly remember hiding behind the kitchen door, peeking in horror at the ever growing stream of sweet lava.

That evening, Dad arrived home to a very tearful wife still trying to clean the mess up, hours after the volcano. I think we dined on tinned Heinz tomato soup and bread and butter that night.

Happy days!

My card for today is below.

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - CK's demise

Many years ago, I was a junior computer programmer in a very old fashioned world. The men and women's pay scales were different (honestly), even when you were doing exactly the same work. And there were many other differences - presided over by our rather pompous IT Director Mr Charles Kenneth Powell (just call me CKP he used to say!) - not least his very own executive loo/rest room, just along the corridor from his office.

So, off trots CK on his annual holiday and, whilst he was away, building management set to and did some alterations didn't they. Back comes CK and mid-morning nips into his executive loo, noting that the door was unlocked and no doubt making a mental note to berate the cleaners lest any of the 'commoners' should be tempted to use his hallowed place.

Ahem, then he noticed that said loo had been updated considerably, lots of mirrors, extra basins and more cubicles added so he nipped into one whilst sort of wondering why the walls had been painted pink. You already know where this one is going don't you?!

Next thing the main door to the loos burst open and in poured a crowd of girls from the punch room - trust me, you did NOT mess with girls from the punch room. Salt of the earth but they certainly didn't take prisoners. Suddenly, while
CK cowered in the cubicle not knowing what on earth was going on, one spotted his feet under the door and shouted ''Ere, there's a fella in that cubicle!'

Apparently, at that point CK made a run for it - pursued down the corridor by a pack of screaming punch room girls.

Yup, in his absence, said 'executive loo' had been converted into a ladies loo - a sort of fait accompli as he'd have raised the roof at any attempts to do it with his knowledge. I do seem to remember that the building manager was transferred elsewhere soon afterwards.

But, I never did find out if he was hopping along being chased whilst trying to pull his trousers up or what :)

Di
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A Tuesday Tale

Quick one today. Many years ago, whilst I was a very short term office junior at the electricity board in my local area, the TV programme 'Dr Who' was all the rage. We had a dishy electrical engineer called Bill working there, married with a young son - sigh, off limits :(

One Monday Bill came into the office very sheepishly with a huge round red blotch on his forehead. When we asked (we were a nosey lot and not much missed us) this is what had happened:

Bill's little boy had been entranced by Dr Who on the Saturday and at bedtime Bill decided to play games with him. Silly man found the kitchen sink plunger and stuck it onto his own forehead whilst chasing little boy round the bedroom.

Ha, ha - when the time came to remove said plunger, it was firmly stuck to Bill's forehead :) Instead of easing one edge away, his wife grabbed the handle and put her foot against his chest and heaved like mad! Hence the broken blood vessels and one very dishy but silly looking office heartthrob :) Snigger!

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - The night an alien landed in Hampshire

Shame I couldn't take some video of this tale, but it does tickle me and is worth relating.

Anyone seen the film 'Batteries not included'? It's one of my favourites and never fails to make me smile:

The gist of the story is that some harmless little aliens (see picture above) land in New York - very cute film too.

On Friday night, with me trying to get some much needed beauty sleep before the School Reunion Marathon, we woke up at 2am in the morning to a bit of a racket. Sort of shuffling and banging noises coming from the back garden.

I've said before, we feed the hedgehogs here, and as the birds pinch their food during the day we cover the bowl of dry food with a shallow plastic bulb planter, not unlike the shape in the image above. But, we'd forgotten to uncover it on Friday night :(

When we went downstairs to investigate, the outside lights were ablaze having been triggered by something. And, there it was, the uncovered dish of food where it should be and the upside down plastic bulb planter running round the garden paving!

I wanted to go and get my camera and do a little video clip, but Len insisted that rescue must commence without delay - what a party pooper he is sometimes! So, Muggins here was sent into the garden and sure enough, I could see feet trotting around with the planter on top and when I lifted it, there was Spike underneath looking very confused! He glared accusingly, and almost indignantly, before scampering off.

He'd obviously managed to nudge his way underneath to get at the dish of food and as he'd moved away from the feeding dish the planter had popped back down thereby imprisoning him :)

Not much sleep for us after that, I couldn't stop giggling!

Have a nice day!

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - curtain call

Watching the Thames Jubilee Pageant, I spotted my old office which was right on the banks of the river. Happy days! This tale came to mind - short and sweet this week.

Len was in the same, pretty important meeting, as me - on a bright sunny day. This was before we were 'an item', and being something of a novelty in a group of 20+ men and the same grade as they were, I was lucky enough to be treated as an absolute equal. But I also felt conscious that arranging the 'domestics' was one of my strengths (not that it was expected). The sun was shining onto the screen for the overhead projector during a presentation - so 'Little Miss Helpful' here hopped out of her seat to close the meeting room curtains.

Whisk...whoosh...crash!! Everything went dark - in my enthusiasm I'd only managed to pull the whole curtain track, complete with curtains, off the wall. I had to be rescued and dusted down, whilst a load of managers stifled their laughter at the impromptu comedy act :(

Len (usually using his pet name for me) sometimes reminds me of this 'over-enthusiasm' when I rush headlong into some crazy scheme . 'Mind the curtains, Piglet' is usually enough to stop me in my tracks (no pun intended), if only for a silly 'Piglet-like' snigger before I carry right on anyhow :)

Have a great day!

Di
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A Tuesday Tale - Spheksophobia

Ha, now there's a long word for starters - spheksophobia. It means, fear of these little perishers:

And if you combine the above with these jeans below - that's double-trouble:

I was reminded of today's tale by something Rach said on her blog about being terrified of wasps - ever since she was stung inside her ear, big ouch, poor kid. If you're reading this Rach you might want to run away now :)

Many years ago, when I was aged almost 16, a fashion trend for skinny jeans (known then as drainpipes) hit the streets. My parents wouldn't buy me any, so undeterred I set to and did some alterations of my own on the quiet. All you did was to made a double fold down the inside of each leg and stitched it tightly right down the seam - I did it all by hand too :(

During the Summer hols from school in Germany I went away with my parents to Switzerland camping and said 'skinny jeans' were secretly packed and produced with a flourish at the other end! Snort, oh the price of vanity :(

So, here we are, in a supermarket about halfway through the fortnight at the checkout, with me sporting these jeans, which were so tight they were almost impossible to get on and off. I'd sneakily packed no other trousers and jeans either so Mum had been forced to let me wear them. Suddenly, I felt a tickle on my right calf and idly scratched it - 'sting!'- OUCH, that hurt. So I rubbed the leg through said jeans and got another sting for my trouble, then another. By this time panic was setting in as I tried to pull up the leg of those wretched jeans - to no avail of course. Sting followed sting as I realised that little fella who had somehow crawled up inside the leg of 'oh so trendy but totally stupid' jeans meant business - we were standing at the checkout and a bag of sugar had spilled and a little wasp party was going on :(

In a state of panic, and unable to hoist the leg of tight jeans up, what was a girl to do? Yup, I unzipped them and whipped them down to my ankles whilst squealing like a stuck pig! Of course, this attracted attention from other shoppers and an assistant who rushed over, grabbed a bottle of vinegar from a shelf and tried to usher said squealing piglet into the manager's office.

Well, that was akin to running the marathon in a sack, I did try truly, but the little dance of 'bunny hop twice, jump up and down, then two shuffles, two more bunny hops and repeat again with jeans around the ankles' didn't get me far - I couldn't move really. As mayhem began to break out the manager himself appeared - a large chap with a handlebar moustache I seem to recall - from what I saw of him.

He took one look and then decided action was needed 'Right, vee sort zis out' he barked - and without any more ado grabbed me round the waist, tucked me under his arm and charged towards his office. Yeah, right - eyes popping like a frog and still squeaking in pain - there I was, with me rear end exposed (apart from a pair of briefs, thankfully) and jeans around me ankles, being carried like a rag doll to his office.

My parents, I swear to this day, were almost exploding with laughter - me, I was totally mortified. Copious amounts of vinegar later we were sent on our way with a very large bottle of vinegar and no supermarket bill to pay either, they waived the bill - I think to get rid of the teenage 'shuffle-hop and look at my bum' dancer!

I do remember lying on the back seat of Dad's car, whimpering and applying wads of vinegar soaked cotton wool to what turned out to be seven wasp stings all the way back to the campsite. And you know what? I distinctly heard my Dad say to my Mum, 'Such a shame it wasn't a full week's groceries darling'. What the heck was that all about then?!

No wonder I hate wasps with a vengeance, and I do sympathise Rach!

Di
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