15 minutes out with a giraffe and frolleague

 

giraffe

photo from here

Funny how you think about things, but recently I reminded myself about a night out with a frolleague. The night itself wasn’t memorable with regards to where we went – bar in Greenpoint, Cape Town – for it was all about having a drink and just chilling. Anyway, what makes me smile about that night is how this frolleague must have been over 6ft tall, while I’m around 5ft 1 or 2 when extending my neck. She wore heels too so you can imagine how we looked. She tall, very blonde, very dynamic personality, and me short, dark and wearing flats.  Quite possibly she being the giraffe, and me being the keeper, tagging along behind

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

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15 minutes and the need to rewind time

Eternal_clock

Image from HERE

Licking breakfast marmalade from my fingers, hubster is considering his next move to wash-up or head out to run.

“What’s the time?” I said.

“Huh,” he says, a sense of glee in his voice alerting me this is not going to be as easy as it should be. “The clock says 7.58, the radio says 8.01, so it must be 9am.”

“You what?”

“I’m running at 9am, you asked me.”

“No, I asked you what the time is.”

“No, you asked me what time I’m running.”

Giving up licking marmalade, I reply. “I didn’t. I asked you what the time is and you said, The clock says 7.58, the radio says 8.01, so it must be 9am.”

Hubster sits down. “No, you asked me what time I’m running.”

“Well if I did, then why did you tell me it was sometime between 7.58 and 8.01?”

Hubster looks at me, that way he does when he really wants to end the conversation and pretend it hasn’t happened, as in, little smile, almost a flutter of his eyelids.

“Wouldn’t it be nice,” I said, trying hard not to stop licking fingers and start chewing them. “If we could have a rewind button and remove the last 90 seconds of our life?”

Hardly surprising to learn we both agreed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

15 minutes with Serena Williams and afternoon tea

Well having not watched the US Open 2018 Ladies final match in its entirety, and having caught up with the news and clips on the WWW, I kinda feel like taking Serena Williams by the hand and suggesting she takes a good old break, read some lovely books, and have some time to dwell on why it’s ok not to always win. And, if she is on the losing side, not to push the blame at any other person or situation that ends up in this sort of madness.

Easier said than done, sure. But she was losing that match, no matter the coaching or not. The outburst was likely frustration on a catastrophic level. And sure, we all have those times when you just want to punch something or somebody when you’ve tried so bloody hard to win, get, gain, achieve only for it to fall apart on the day.

And, Serena, I would say. You’ve achieved so much. You have no need to do more for your daughter to be able to see this in years to come. Jeepers, what a role model you will surely be. Come on Serena, you are a WINNER. You don’t need another trophy to polish once a week to know it.

I’m going for Afternoon Tea today, maybe Serena would have liked to join us 🙂

Basically, in about 45 mins time there will be delightful cake and small sandwiches being shovelled down my throat, washed down with Earl Grey tea – actually, correction, a glass of bubbly will do better.

Hubster and I are heading off for this. Sadly this means no roast potatoes for him today, but he will cope because he is a WINNER on so many levels.

cropped-lemon-meringue-cape-quarter3.jpg

Photo: mine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What the heck is this blog about?

Should you have fallen onto this blog, the purpose it serves is to ignite my love of writing once more by simply typing whatever is on my mind for 15 minutes and stopping

 

 

Fifteen minutes – and it be Sunday with a wild life roundup

I’m not sure why it’s called SUNday, because there is no blooming SUN today! Googled the reason and lost interest when each reference went off into Roman Times and Germanic terms. Evidently, there is no need in my day to be educated.

sun

photo from here: HERE

In the last week or so, I’ve seen a deer, fox and hedgehog. Hedgehog was in the garden outside the back door, and the fox and deer as expected were crossing the road as I headed either to or from work. Whenever there is wildlife about I find myself smiling and cheerful.

hedgehog

Quite fond of a hedgehog we started putting out some mealworms and water, with some success. Hubster erected some make-shift retreats out of old wood, bricks and an old chopping board. All was pretty good, however, we decided to upgrade facilities and today installed a proper hedgehog shelter, allowing us to create a bit of a scamper-way through the beds, round the mancave, into a selection of homes, and then out through the hedgehog highway.  This all sounds as if street planning was needed, and perhaps rather OTT, but no, it’s a simple set up, very basic and rural and with luck will be helpful.

hedge house

Photo from here: HERE

Back to Sunday then. Hubster is going to do some planting and me, well lucky me, I’m off to work. Food is good there, and chances are a roast could be on the cards.

 

 

 

Purpose of this blog should you have fallen upon it:

Having fallen out of love with writing, yet deep down really wanting to, decided the best way was to write whatever comes to mind in 15 mins and then stop

fifteen minutes before I leave for work

30th July 2018 – it be Monday

Writers Block – write anything, just write you dummy

That’s all I have, fifteen minutes to put something down on this blank page. No idea where to start. No idea what to say. How about I think about what work is going to be?

Hmmm, well, it’s a 2pm-10pm shift. Quite a change for me. And that’s an office position too. I never really associated late shifts with office work before. Have you? Office hours have always been 8-4 or 9-5. Where is Dolly Parton when I need her.

9_to_5_moviep

If my mind is correct we have an outdoor meeting between 2 and 3.  Up the road at a pondy sort of place. Is pondy even a word? Who knows, leaving me only to hope the context is correct for this blog.  Of course, the weather is not playing along, after endless and long days of heat and blue sky, so today we return to grey, damp and blegh. Reason for the meeting? Colleague leaving tomorrow. She’s fluent in French, going to Uni in France to study Spanish. Go figure!

Do you know I actively save every kind of flying creature and, crawling ones too? Flies the lot. Shew them out through doors and windows, urging them to “come along, out you go.” Hubster smiles and rolls his eyes, and will take over shewing if I’m dashing out the door.

Ok, that’s it. 15 minutes almost up.

Just enough time to add tags and categories and publish. Feeling content I’ve done it.

One last thing. Not sure who the killer will be on Unforgotten. Loads of red herrings there.

 

 

 

Stories We Could TellStories We Could Tell by Tony Parsons
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

great book, easy to read, satisfied with the ending.
Bearing in mind the entire story unfolds over one single night, namely the night Elvis died, you would expect this story to be Elvis through and through. Well it isn’t. Which is good. Instead you follow a group of young music journalists, not much older than very early twenties, cock sure of what they are doing and where they are going, only to find 12 hours later that everything has changed, mostly for the good. Pretty much a coming-of-age book.
Based in London, jumping from clubs, to squats, to punch-ups and much more, you can’t help but recognise a little of yourself in this book. How you felt the world was at your feet and that you knew everything, only to discover at some point you know nothing at all and, that as you get older life will send you who knows where when you least expect it.

View all my reviews

Book Review – Hugh Laurie

Hugh Laurie: The BiographyHugh Laurie: The Biography by Anthony Bunko

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I was quite disappointed with this read. This was not a good biography at all, with pages and pages dedicated to talking about actors and a few select friends who Hugh Laurie has worked with, and been educated with. His father was mentioned, and I think I learnt more about the senior Mr Laurie than I did his famous son.

This of course raises the question regarding what should be in a bio’s content? Well no need down to minute detail, or sock size, but some kind of background and or reference to inspirational people etc would be a start.

Such a shame as Hugh Laurie is a favourite of mine.Hugh Laurie: The Biography

View all my reviews

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run

On a previous post I mentioned  how since being in the UK we have been enjoying the countryside and all that comes with it. I also said that I’d seen a couple of wild rabbits and that Hubster refused to believe it until he too had seen them hop, hop, hopping along.

So here you go, proof! Jeepers not sure how I managed to get this short clip. But I did. Ha, that little fluffy tail just keeps bouncing

 

 

Jedland video

Writing a sequel is always fun, especially when you have a character like Jed P Horton.

With that in mind, and to help me as well, I’ve put together a short video of a reading from the beginning of Jedland, along with some happy snappies to set the scene of Jed’s journey

Hope you enjoy

Jedland – The Sequel

 

Jedland has always held a soft spot for me, and while I originally thought Jed’s story had been told, I now realise it needs to be finished.

The Jedland sequel picks up in 2016, where Jed is now in his early fifties, no longer working in the press room, yet still hankering for a final dream to be fulfilled.

Below is a short snippet

2016

Heading along Leighton Buzzard’s High Street in search of a cup of tea at May’s Tea Shop, Jed P Horton’s well-eaten, and almost non-existent fingernails held grip to a travel brochure he’d had his eye on for some time now. The brochure had been the only change to his routine. A routine that took him daily along the same route . . . always at the same time of ten in the morning . . . his feet religiously secured in a pair of favoured red Doc Martens, which after suffering years under his lumbered pace, were now held together with more of a wing and a prayer than the dozen or so tubes of glue he’d purchased over the years. It was fair to say Jed’s boots had seen better days. And it was fair to say Jed had too.

Of late the nip in the air had started to catch up with him, and not bothering to slow his pace, nor change his grip on the brochure, Jed sunk his neck into the up-turned collar of his weathered, brown leather jacket, going as far as pulling the zip hard until it would go no further, and even then giving it an extra pull to ensure it was right to the top.

As to the teashop, well it certainly wasn’t May acting as a draw card. Not a chance. For as Jed would say, May had taken the wrong turn when passing the looks department on her way to be birthed. She’d also gone on to make matters worse by adding tattooed lips and eyebrows – which even Jed would wager money on being a do-it-at-home job. She’d effectively done a hatchet job on herself, and having done so, now paid the price of garnering the kind of attention she’d hoped for, but yet beneath was along the lines of, what the heck has this nutter done?

Jed could vouch for this too, having paid witness to a combination of surprise, fear and confusion, as non-locals entering the teashop found themselves holding May’s gaze far longer than they really should do, or for that matter need to. They pretty much followed the same pattern, trailing an eyebrow to the peak, just below her heavy fringe of grey hair and of late purple highlights, and then back down again, before crossing to the other brow and repeating. If they weren’t careful they could be at it all day, eyes going up and down, down and up, all the while May smiling a toothless smile, as often than not she’d left her teeth at home, or had dropped them in a glass by the till.

In fact both ends of May had fallen victim to the wrong end of the body scale. There were bunions too. Great, big, onion sized lumps, overlapping her sandals. Jed had caught sight of them often enough over the years, and in doing so could well understand the ease of being put you off your teacake, should they be in view as you went to take a bite.

No, what drew Jed to May’s then was how she ran the place. Setting it up as you’d have expected in the 70s and early 80s. A place where when you wanted a cuppa, all you had to do was ask for a tea. There was none of this choose a blend of leaves from a carefully written chalkboard, secured to the wall behind the counter. Further more, and thankfully, there was no sight of egg-timers, fancy pots, and pyramid shaped teabags within a fifty-mile radius. No way, all you need do at May’s was offer a nod, a thumbs up, and a single word, tea. Magic it was, almost immediately you got your tea; a heavy, thick-lipped mug of strong, sweet tea that warmed you to the core, and called Jed back every day.

If he were to be lucky, May would have some sausages sizzling too. And being it was market day, she probably had some soft, fresh rolls to push two fat ones into, layering with them HP brown sauce and a flick of mustard. Talk about a winning breakfast. He was already licking his lips as he touched the door of the Tea Shop.