Wry Vita

(Not Quite) A Partridge in a Pear Tree

Having carried on coaching right up until 7.30pm on the Friday before Christmas and then packed my bags and headed to the airport first thing Saturday morning, I have returned from ten days in London to a house brimming with clutter and I am therefore using these first two weeks of January to sort, declutter, fold up, clear out, tidy and shine as much stuff and as many rooms as I need to give my head the space it needs to plan, focus and act. 

In between work, relaxation, caring for others and everything else that I do of course.

Today I've made a start with the removal of Christmas cards, coloured lights, tinsel and Christmas ornaments and decorations.  Once New Year's Day arrives that enormous Christmas tree does my 'effin swede' in (as SW would say) and I'm enormously relieved to have emptied it of its booty and moved it to its year-round home in an unused bathroom.

Fluffy's not too happy though.  I don't know about the partridge in a pear tree but Fluffy has been having a ball for the last three weeks running up and down the tree and perching precariously in the top-most branches.  Made all the more fun by knowing Waggy just can't get the hang of tree-climbing.

Christmas Partying

I'm back at my desk after ten great days with the folks in London.  This was the first Christmas in ten years that I've spent with my parents and it was as delightful as I could have hoped for.  Not to say that a boisterous 11 year old cooped up with elderly grandparents for over a week doesn't have its challenging moments but dad should be off the tranquillisers - and mum off the sherry - by the end of the week.

Blog Tag Update

I was so busy the other day choosing which secrets I could safely reveal without damaging my good name and reputation that I quite forgot to tell you which five fellow bloggers I was tagging.  But at least three of them have now posted their own secrets and as I thought they were all well revealed, it's time to share them here with you and give you a snippet of what's in store for you.

Free Hugs

Madeleine Giddens of Mad About Herbs sent me her newsletter today and right down at the end snuck in an anonymous little link that turned out to be about Free Hugs!

So take a look, get inspired and get hugging...

The Emperor's New Carrots

When the Emperor has finished parading naked through the streets listening to folk exclaiming about the outstanding elegance and style of his non-existent finery, and returns to the palace for dinner, might I respectfully suggest he gets Chef to include some Tesco Chantanay carrots on his plate?

I couldn't help noticing on today's supermarket trip that they are €5 per kilo, approximately three times the price of yer common or garden carrots, but worth every cent I'm sure because according to their packaging it's not just their "unique size" that is significant but their "traditional carrot flavour".

And there I was, worrying someone might mistake them for broccoli.

Man-Child for Sale

I said to Jake, Judith's game of Cashflow on Saturday is fully booked, you know. 

Great, says he, some decent competition at last.

I said, yeah, there's Judith, Nicola, Linda, Marie, Stephie, me and you at which he shrieked, that's six women and me!

And what's wrong with that? I asked.

Because that'll be six women all wearing make-up, he said.

Yes, and the only thing more terrifying than that, thought I, is six women not wearing make-up...

Forward Thinking!

A little light relief for my readers today...

This was forwarded to me - a fact that you will understand the irony of, once you start reading it - by Jan Scott who is responsible for The New Coaches Forum and Simply Fab Web Design.  She does other good stuff too but I think two mentions is quite enough for now or she'll be inundating me with the contents of her inbox.

She says:

This was forwarded to me by no 1 daughter (Polly) :

My  heartfelt  appreciation  goes out to all of you who have taken the time and trouble to send me "forwards" over the past 12 months. Thank you for making me feel safe, secure, blessed and healthy.

*  Extra thanks to whoever sent me the email about rat crap in the glue on envelopes  -  because  I now have to go get a wet towel every time I need to seal an envelope.

Balloony Baloney

As I got all grumpy the other day about an article in the Daily Mail about Katie Holmes looking care-worn and exhausted, I thought I'd balance it with the top story in this week's local Tipperary paper, The Nationalist which applauds Bridget Myles on reaching 100.

She celebrated her birthday with a trip to Ballydoyle to meet Ireland's no.1 horse trainer, Aidan O'Brien.  Very nice man.  But the piece de resistance appears to have been a "special lunch in the Kilcoran Lodge Hotel, where the hotel made every effort for the important day and even put balloons on the table".

Balloons if you don't mind!  She'll be losing the run of herself.

Note to self: diarised for early Feb 2059.  Book lunch at the Kilcoran Lodge.  And don't forget my balloons.

Incy Wincy Spider

Have you noticed it's spider season again?

I feel like I've become a bit of a reluctant expert in the twelve months since I moved to this house.  Not sure if it's because it's old or surrounded by farmland or because arachnids are silently taking over the world, but anyway the buggers are everywhere.

Having had enough close encounters to call myself an authority, if not an enthusiast, I have now carried out a full classification of the species ranging from tiny-almost-cute-and-lovable to over-sized spindly wimps to thick-legged and hirsute devil-creatures.

Friendship and False Teeth

Friendship's a funny old thing, isn't it?

I've just had my oldest friend to stay.  I don't mean she's a hump-backed old dear with a bus pass and false teeth but that she's been my pal for ever such a long time, almost thirty years I reckon.

If we'd been contestants on some Blind Date type of show we'd never have chosen each other in the first place.  She was the non-smoking teetotal sensible 'attached' semi-Welsh scientist.  She went to lectures by day and studied by night. 

I, on the other hand was single and semi-Irish with the common sense of a plank of wood.  I smoked, drank and now and again, if I could find no-one to play with, would slope along to a lecture on Mediaeval French or Swahili morphology on the basis that I'd be bound to meet someone interesting in the student bar afterwards.