Granny becomes fashion victim

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Have you seen these breeks with holes, slits cut right up and down the leg? It looks as if they have been in a thresher. Trendy in the extreme just now. But not for menopausal women. If I wore a pair of these each hole would be pushed to bursting as croissants of undulating flesh pressed to escape the confine of the trouser so why am I on about them???My niece who went to stay with her Granny recently who did the dutiful parental grandparental thing of putting on the ebola suit on complete with face made before unbidden, emptying her case of dirty clothes and washing them. When Jenny got up 2 and half days later from a win night her granny was rather proud to announced
“Your trousers, the ones with the God awful holes in them – don’t worry they’re not ruined I’ve fixed them for you?
Sorry
Sewn up the holes.
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Long pause, illustrated by tears rolling down cheeks, face going a dangerous deep red and hair alarmingly standing on end and it’s was length. But she rallied not wanting to upset her well meaning Gran.
“Thanks”.
“You’re welcome dear. Now what would you like for tea?”
Absinthe.

My Mum and technology – get me a gin – not a glass – a bottle now!

Smelling salts for Alison. My Mother  phoned me on her mobile ( for the first time ever as she hates it) I assumed something was wrong. It was. The conversation went something like this.

“I’m on my mobile. That other walkabout phone thing you bought me doesn’t work”

Oh dear I said whats the problem?

“Well when I pick it up it just makes a noise…one long noise.”

You mean the dialling tone?

“No it’s definately not the dialling tone”

Adamant she was so I decided not to argue but go with the flow.

“OK Mum… Well why don’t you stay on the mobile and I will try and phone your walkabout phone from my landline to see if its working with incoming calls?”

“Oh OK”.

So I rang her new walkabout, as she stayed on her mobile. It  rang. ‘Oh ” she said  as she picked it up. “Hello…you’re there”.

Yes. I am.

So we agreed it was working.

“OK” I said “now you press the red button which will cut this call off. Then press the green button so you can try phoning me back”

Silence.

I repeated it.

“Oh right” she said

“OK” muffled shuffling “I have hit the green button” and as she did she shouted “yes! yes! I told you  that’s the funny noise now. Can you hear it ? I am holding the walkabout phone up to my mobile for you to hear “.  Which I couldn’t

“No Mum I can’t hear it but just put this number in…”

“Oh OK “she said as I listed off my mobile number and heard her poke each number into her phone sighing in that resigne-d there is now way this is going to work -sort of way.

“OK that’s it done” she said as my landline started to ring.

“Its working.” I said and  picked it up . “Hello” I said.

“Hello” said a confused woman on the other end. My Mother.

“Its me Mum don’t blow the whistle”

So she now had her mobile phone in one ear and her landline in the other.

45 minutes drive away, so did I.

“We are now talking on four phones” I said.

“Oh”. She said.

Teenwolf by now was rocking back an forward with tears rolling down his face.

“Shall we put them all down now?” I asked sounding a bit Fluella Benjamin

“Yes” . She said.

“Right When I count to 3 hang up your mobile AND the walkabout phone.”

SILENCE

“I said whenI count to 3 hang up you mobile and your walkabout phone OK?”

SILENCE

“She’s already hung up. Get me a whisky please” I asked the hysterical teenwolf

My hot flush raised itself another few degrees.

To heck with technology.  Next time it’s a pigeon with a leg for a message to be tied round it.

 

Furious mother may strangle Teenwolf son.

 

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I can’t you how angry I am having just come home from a full days work to a smell that just about knocked me out when I opened the door.
Oh God the aged dogs have combusted I thought uncharitably but one look at them proved they were as horrified as I was as they pushed past me to get out the door.

 

A cursory sniff as they scattered took me to the source – Teenwolf  had decided to whip up a snack for his pal – smoked mackerel.  He’d manfully opened the package, sliced it on a chopping board all left there with fishy knife . The pan is also in evidence as are the plates they ate from with the leftovers, a few further fishy wee shards.

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All of this has been sitting in the warm house left to emanate fishy fishy smells all day long. Ggggggrrr.

Our pals are coming round in an hour so I have to decide whether to open the windows and freeze them to death or invite them into fishy hell.

I am off to dig out jumpers, rugs, hats and gloves – they will thank me for it if and when they ever thaw out.

My mood will take longer to thaw out when the Teenwolf slopes in. I guarantee it.

Margaret Thatcher.

imagesGrief Is Grief – For A’ That.

 Margaret Thatcher Milk Snatcher has gone to meet her maker.

An extraordinary woman you must agree whether you love or hate her.

The vitriol and vicious words so many  choose to spit

She cannot hear, she’s left this world so what’s the point of it?

So cast aside her politics and remember she was a mother

Her daughter, son & all their kids will never have another.

Hello! Today is the day to meet Teenwolf and the Mongrels !

Living with Teenwolf – a joy for a mother to behold. I’ve written about him so many times I felt it was time to share a peek at the reality. Put it this way Kevin the teenager is no longer a comedy it is a documentary of our life. Proof is in this pudding.
Then of course I have to fess up I am not a perfect mother. I know, I know it’s a shocking admission call the police, but it’s true.

But I do get it together to feed the beasts – and no I’m not talking about Dave and Teenwolf but the hounds of the baskervilles, our two that’s  Sam our nice but dim labrador and Flora half dog half womble who are joined on this occasion by my Mothers big hairy nelly dog called well…eh..Nelly actually. By the way I am not housewife of the year but the reason there is newspaper on the floor is because we finally had to defrost the freezer as it was frozen shut it’s not usually quite so Wayne and Waynetta Slob – honest.

Of course the combination of teenagers, animals and a typical Scottish bloke husband does mean that occasionally under duress I am forced to drink wine  the consequences of which become more dire as time goes on. Gone are the days of leaping forth in a fragrant fashion to face the day after a a wild night and a few hours sleep. No sadly the morning after the day before now means many hours of shuffling around regretting the 3rd glass and wondering how on earth to start feeling human again. After the usual suspects a banana, a berocca, a yoghurt , a vat of water, a pint of coffee, some paracetamol and a full cooked haven’t worked there is nothing left for it but to go for a lie down which is exactly what I was doing when Dave snuck up with the camera and caught me at as you can see here.

Typical he can work my new video camera but he can’t set the video when I want the latest episode of how To Look Good Naked. So from The Sunday Mail, a flat one dimensional page to a confessional box as this is turning into. Technology is a strange thing.

From day-to-day on this here blog I have been spouting lots of stuff – its great being able to be so proactive  from being restricted to just a Sunday I have been running amock – is that how you spell amock?  So if my pal Fiona finding the best buy in an antique shop  near Callander , a nitwit trying to flog utility kilts and sex education for the deranged 1950’s housewife are of interest either scroll on down this page – it goes on for ages – or click on ‘Day to Day’ tab at the top of this page and have a look. Alternatively….come back any day you have a moment. Coming up over the next few days I will introduce Matthew, a  B&B proprietor from Kilmelfort who may well steal Keith Floyds crown as he produces a delicious chocolate pud with the help of a quantity of wine oh and me, his very able (to drink) assistant in fact here’s a photo to whet yer whistle…

Matthew fabulous Kilmelfort cook at home swigging wine & handling fondants. Form an orderly queue.

Get yer pen and paper ready for next time though as the pud he creates will hit all the right spots as well as possibly giving you one or two – but hey it’s worth it!

Don’t forget to subscribe to this on the right hand side by filling inyour e mail address  yup – it’s a free bottle fo champagne every week at stake – you’d be mad to miss it. Til next time! Have fun!   Alison x