Showing posts with label ice cream vans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ice cream vans. Show all posts
Monday, 6 December 2010
Six Days....
Is it really only six days ago I was buried in my writing (and eating,) trying to complete the NaNo challenge?
I'm glad to say I've got back to a much healthier diet since my confinement in November. This morning I had a coffee and some very healthy brown, nutty bread with a smear of Marmite.....hopefully that will counteract the massive handful of Minstrels I also had. Come on!! I had Splenda in my tea.......
..........which I nearly spat out after listening to the hilarious gaffe on the Today Programme BBC Radio 4 this morning. (If sensitive to poor language, do not investigate further!) .... Poor Jim.
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The past six days have been busy, we've managed to get Dizzy Discovery back after it broke down and the manifold gasket blew, (I've no idea what I've just said, but it cost us about £80!) We've been at the school play and been to a bowling birthday party. We've sledged. I've collected frozen eggs from all over the site which had expanded and cracked - very annoying as they are now in the compost bin. I've snuggled and kissed Archie Archer - who is as warm as toast with his mummy. Oh, and yesterday I did a fair bit of the Christmas shopping in a town called Hereford that was very quiet really, bearing in mind it's December. You can feel the recession biting, it's not just the cold.
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Boy has been sickly since last Friday. He managed to limp through his Christmas play at school where he was a chef, then stardom took its toll and he went all flu-y, with soaring temperatures. No projectile fluids I'm pleased to say, but the snotty-ometer was off the Richter scale. Still, after three days of wall-to-wall Star Wars and a lot of home-made chicken stock, he's back at school. Before you ask, no I didn't murder one of the girls to get the chicken stock, I used the carcass from the free-range turkey we ate for Thanksgiving when 'Cross the Pond came a-visiting.
The Archers have been decorating the house for Christmas. Across the road from us is a wonderful tree farm. I drove over in my normal car, (or as I like to call it - The Sledge) and picked out a good sized tree for the inner hall and one for the Hubby to take to the office. The owner very kindly offered to drop the trees over to the house in his Land Rover. I waved goodbye to him and then went nowhere - totally stuck in the snow! So boring.
For your info; the owner of the nursery gives really good driving instruction, much better than the hubby. He quite simply told me to put the car in first, (keeping the revs gentle so's not to cut out,) and then to remove my foot from the accelerator and brake pedals, allowing the car to drive itself, albeit slowly, up his slightly inclined drive and back out along the track, towards The Larches. Phew. My little heart races when I get stuck like that, does yours?
We're happy with the tree though.....
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The whole country has been spookily cold these past few weeks, but last night must have been a SUPER-COLD night in Shropshire.
This morning Hubby took my car, laden with his Christmas tree, while we opted for Dizzy for school run. It took an age to defrost the cars. I hope Hubby's journey was uneventful, he goes in the opposite direction to us, up and over an ancient bridge on a thread of a road. He managed to pull a 360° the other day. He said it properly scared him and he doesn't really do scared. BMW may stand for Beat My Wheelie, then again it might not. (Whole different blog-post could be dedicated to what BMW stands for.. 'nuther day maybe..)
Anyhoo, our journey to school was awesome. The snow Queen had been busy overnight turning Shropshire into a Popsicle. The Common, usually so yellow and green with gorse and heather, was artificially white. The summit of Clee Hill at 533 metres above sea level was like something from Ice Station Zebra.... a Christmas movie your Dad would love!
The sky was its coldest blue, clear of cloud. A pheasant looked gaudy at the edge of the road, watching us pass he looked a bit like a dandy, over-dressed for such a simply coloured day. The sheep were perfectly dressed as snowballs.
As we drove along the hill road that drops down to sea level to Ludlow, it looked as if someone had filled the valley with squirty cream. Ice fog engulfed the land, only one lonely island remained, far in the distance towards Wales, the top of a forested mountain.
We turned down into the fog and the blue sky was gone, replaced by sepia countryside, where only larch or red brick or the warm orange glow from a window pushed through into the picture postcard landscape.
And now I'm back home, a warm fire crackling quietly, cats asleep. Chickens fed and watered and me to finish cards and bake I think.
Keep warm.
(Pic of the radar at Clee Hill courtesy of Wikipedia.)
Monday, 1 February 2010
Urinals
My five year old is very manly. I've already told you how the girls love to chase him! He is gorgeous (as is my beautiful girl btw.) He roars sometimes and I imagine the testosterone coursing through his body. He's terribly young too and still has a baby's bottle of milk every night while insisting that I pat him gently. The patting came from nursery, where lovely nursery maids had the time to pat their little charges to sleep, never mindful of mothers who, years later, might want to read a book, pick up every toy in the sitting room or shave their legs over the course of an evening.....deep breath....sorry I digress.
Boy's new manlyism is to insist on using the male toilets when we are out and about. You can picture the scene, we are on a huge family outing to the B&Q Depot 30 miles away (hey, that is not true the kids love the DIY store visits on a Sunday, the skiddy floors are brilliant....) anyway the children start jiggling about, you say; ' Do you need to go to the toilet?' They say 'No.' You march them there anyway and they do an excellent impression of Niagara Falls. Well, this Sunday I ushered them to the loos, (which incidentally were falling apart, with broken seats and drippy taps - NOT A PARTICULARLY GREAT ADVERT FOR THE DIY STORE REALLY,) when I notice that the boy has veered off to the men's, desperate to pee against a wall.
I tried to stop him, petrified that he might meet someone unsavoury without me to Jackie Chan them out of the way, but he is resolute. 'I am a boy. I'm not allowed in the girl's toilets.' He is little and brave and I am going to have to plan ahead sneakily....in future I will encourage him pee on my car tyres in the car park. Gosh, I used to dispise mothers like me...
It's a bit like the ice cream van, although I've no issue now as we live so far from civilization. These vans cruise housing estates playing Greensleeves on a jack-in-the-box, seeking out sweet-toothed customers. My mother always told my sister, brother and I that the ice cream in those vans was made from minced rats. We NEVER asked for one again. In our previous house, in the Oxfordshire village, with village green and a quaint church that was built around the year 1160, I occasionally heard the chimes of the van from the garden. Before I was questioned by the sproglets I would hark my hand to an ear, look nostalgic and murmur 'Ah, listen to those lovely church bells...' I know, I KNOW..believe me I know. I know because I'm a lapsed Catholic and I am fully aware that big fat liar's pants are red hot and that I'm going straight to hell! See you there.
Labels:
Catholic,
Hell,
ice cream vans,
Male,
testosterone,
urinals
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The Archers at The Larches
Lou - Chicken whisperer....
