Bill Owens: Consume

If This Is It...I'd Choose Right Now ... by Newton Faulkner

Remember this? -->

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4As0e4de-rI

The whole summer built up to the 2012 Olympics, and finally Friday night arrived and we all settled in to watch the opening ceremony. Sound turned up to eleven, windows open against the heat, curtains drawn against the sunshine, everything on ice and everyone in their chosen seats...

... then James Bond leaps effortlessly up those red carpeted stairs, sidesteps the corgis at the top and we all thought, "Oh it's that woman who does the impersonations..." And then she turned round and we all screamed "OMG it's the Queen!"

And Daniel Craig reflected the zeitgeist when he paused, blinked ("Yes, I am in character with HMQE2 and she's playing along..."), then turned on his heel and carried on. Perfect, perfect Danny Boyle genius.

And yesterday I found this on YouTube --> all the best bits of the 2012 London Olympics. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TbsXUJITa40

Its the backing track music that makes it. Newton Faulkner's song If this Is It.

 

 

If I had one night where sunshine could break through
And show you everything,
I’d choose right now.
If this is it, all we have,
I know I’ve done all I can.
If this is it.
And we can't stop,
And start again,
We can't fast forward to the end.
This is it.

Slacker Diaries: Part 22

I love this picture.  It's Paula Hamilton falling through a window at a fashion shoot.  Because sometimes life is just like this.  Even when you're down, you can still make a few people larf. 

Photo: Daily Telegraph, photographer unknown

New Year's Day 2013: Run Hide Fight

With thanks to Michael Yon for the heads up.

 

We are instinctive creatures.  If we think something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.  If we think something just isn't right, it probably isn't.  So let's move forward into 2013 becoming more aware of our feelings and instincts.  Just be aware though, that if we have a gut feeling something isn't right, it could just be indigestion...

 

 

Louis Smith Wins Strictly 2012

Louis owns Strictly, with THAT hold 1.25 mins in...

Last Dance: The Raveonettes

Don't you just love the World Wide Web?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9TL2B-iiVhA&ob=av2e

"If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby
If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby
If this is the last dance, this is the last dance, Then save it for me baby..."

On Lenten Fasting

As a family and a community we always observe Lenten fasting.  This takes different forms; sometimes we give up something; other times we do something extra, something worthwhile and beneficial to both the soul and the community.  This year, Beloved Firstborn decided to give up swearing after I advised him calmly that if I heard him say the eff-word once more I would leave his half of the estate to CAFOD.  He thought about this and decided to drop a quid into the Missions red box every time he edged CAFOD into pole position.  At lunch today we all sat around discussing our Lenten progress.

Mum: So how are you getting on?

Beloved Firstborn:  Not good; a week and a half in and I was up to £59...

On The Graduation Of The Harry Potter Generation

It wasn't 300£ for the five books... it was nearly 300£ for ONE book.  I now have a greater appreciation of my daughter's growing manipulative skills where her mother's Shock And Awe tactics are likely to be deployed.

She graduated magnificently.  My little angel looked utterly, utterly fabulous; long, long legs; long, long hair; discrete but smart clothes underneath her Ede & Ravenscroft.  And I wasn't the only parent marvelling at their daughter's voice squealing with delight, "OMG it's like being at Hogwarts!"

"...At the college we were met by a wall of academic women: young ones and old ones and in-between ones, all gowned, some in their scarlet, and the gossip and chatter and disputation and anecdotes, and the smell and sight and sound of clever, focused, happy women which is the nearest we'll get to heaven on earth."

Michael Bywater 

The Independent on Sunday

28 March 1999;

... Salut Maman, êtes-vous occupé?

MBED: Salut maman, êtes-vous occupé?

Maman: Non ma chérie, je suis juste se prélassant dans le jardin. Qu'est-ce que tu fais là?

MBED: Je viens de recevoir une lettre de la bibliothèque uni me disant que si je ne paie pas mes amendes de bibliothèque par 30 Juin je ne peux pas diplômés.

Maman: Payer les amendes. Combien sont-ils?

MBED: Eh bien, ils ont été £1.60 quand ils m'ont envoyé la première lettre sur le sixième de Juin.

Maman: Que sont-ils maintenant?

MBED: £12.

Maman: Payer les amendes.

MBED: Ils ont dit aussi que j'ai 5 livres encore sortir et j'ai parlé à des bibliothécaires, ce matin, et ils ont dit si je n'ai pas les ramener d'ici jeudi je vais avoir à les acheter.

Maman: Achetez-les (en pensant combien peut être 5 livres?)

MBED: Cela coûterait près de £300. Aussi je pense que je les ai emballé avec mes trucs que vous avez pris plus au début de Juin.

Maman: Faire note mentale pour vérifier les coûts du vol contre le coût de précieux livres des bibliothèques universitaires ...

MBED: Aussi je viens de lire le prospectus des diplômes, et il dit que si je ne commandez pas ma robe pour le 20 Juin je ne peux pas diplômés.

(A ce point, je pense qu'il vaut la peine d'expliquer à mes lecteurs charmant, spirituel et urbain que j'ai développées au fil des ans un masque ressemblant, le visage insensible pour toutes les fois professionnellement et personnellement quand les mauvaises nouvelles doit être donné ou pris. Je appelle mon visage Réponse de Botox. Ce n'était pas un de ces moments.)

Maman: QUOI!  (Ronde 1 à maman ... choc et effroi)

MBED: Je sais, je ne sais pas quoi faire. (Ronde 2 à Mercy Boo ... jeter l'auto sur son épée)
Maman: Laissez-le avec moi.

(Because my French farming neighbours wanted to hear this in the vernacular... oh ha, ha, ha!)

Picture The Scene: Imagine The Language

Picture the scene; your favourite Lady Gardener is lolling about in the garden at our house in France feeling relaxed and happy and terribly smug.  I've been in France since the beginning of June, and it's now Tuesday 28 June and the sun is shining; the birds are chirping and our farming neighbours are careering around sifting new potatoes from their sandy fields.  I've been to Cora for a little shop for the next few days and had lunch in the restaurant there, and am now back home, with an espresso and a Cóte D'Or mignonnette, when the phone rings.  It's Merci Beaucoup Enfant Deux, phoning from England.

MBED:  Hi mum, are you busy?

Mum:   No darling, I'm just lolling about in the garden.  What are you up to?

MBED:  I've just had a letter from the uni library telling me that if I don't pay my library fines by 30 June I can't graduate.

Mum:   Pay the fines.  How much are they?

MBED:  Well, they were £1.60 when they sent me the first letter on the sixth of June.

Mum:   What are they now?

MBED:  £12.

Mum:   Pay the fines. 

MBED:  They also said I have 5 books still out and I've spoken to the librarians this morning and they said if I don't bring them back by Thursday I'll have to buy them.

Mum:   Buy them (thinking how much can 5 books be?)

MBED:  That would cost nearly £300.  Also I think I packed them with my stuff you took over at the beginning of June.

Mum: Making mental note to check cost of flight against cost of precious university library books...

MBED:  Also I've just been reading the graduation prospectus, and it says if I don't order my gown by the 20th June I can't graduate.

(At this point, I feel it is worthwhile explaining to my charming, witty and urbane readers that I have over the years developed a mask-like, unresponsive face for those times professionally and personally when bad news has to be given or taken.  I call it my Botox Response Face.  This wasn't one of those times.)

Mum: WHAT! (Round 1 to mum... shock and awe)

MBED: I know, I don't know what to do. (Round 2 to Mercy Boo... throwing self on her sword)

Mum:  Leave it with me.

Google up the uni library then ring and pay fines with my flexible friend.  Get the closing times for rest of week.  Google up the airline and Thank You Jesus there's a seat Thursday afternoon, and with a hire car I'll make it to the library before it closes.  Google up the graduation prospectus and follow the link to Ede & Ravenscroft. 

Do you know why Ede and Ravenscroft, London's oldest tailor and robe maker has been in business since 1689?  Because it has an excellent business model that requires universities to enforce strict deadlines with their graduating students so it has the vast bulk of graduation orders already in the bag when the inevitable surge of parental orders appears post-deadline, and its website doesn't crash.  Genius.

Making The Greatest Advert... Ever

The kicker is the final, triumphant sweep of those little hands as the doll levitates.  Genius.  Pure genius.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tM3s37fZZts&feature=relmfu

The Greatest Advert... Ever

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R55e-uHQna0

Wedding Bells & Marriage Vows

"I urge you, brothers and sisters, by the mercies of God, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God, your spiritual worship.

Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and pleasing and perfect.

"Let love be sincere; hate what is evil, hold on to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; anticipate one another in showing honour.

Do not grow slack in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord.

Rejoice in hope, endure in affliction, persevere in prayer.

Contribute to the needs of the holy ones, exercise hospitality.

Bless those who persecute you, bless and do not curse them.

Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.

Have the same regard for one another; do not be haughty but associate with the lowly; do not be wise in your own estimation.

Do not repay anyone evil for evil; be concerned for what is noble in the sight of all.

If possible, on your part, live at peace with all."

St Paul's Letter to the Romans: 12 1-2, 9-18

Image from Cox & Cox

On Crime Scenes & The End Of Term Part 2

Less than 24hrs after Mercy Boo arrived home, look who turned up...

On Crime Scenes And The End Of Term

Merci Beaucoup Enfant Deux arrives home this afternoon for the Easter hols.  Her room is tidy, calming, restful and pretty empty.  Exactly 10 minutes after she arrives through the front door, it will look like the ransacked remains of a burgled bedroom.  I don't know how she does it.  I often wonder if she has spring-loaded her suitcases, and set them with timers to explode right on cue. 

On Why Some Friends Are To Be Avoided

You know who you are.  And since we all sat around your table at the weekend, eating cheese and drinking Marsala and discussing the appalling floods in Queensland, all I can think about is clearing off to Australia to work there for the next 5 years.  Mercy Boo graduates this summer, and my direct parenting will come to a close. 

Now I don't do "sunbathing" and the genetic inheritance that is my skin tone demands factor 50 or off season jollies, which could be a problem, but why go to the beach when I could spend my non-working hours at Bill's?  Fusion food here I come.  Possibly.

http://www.spiders.com.au/

Holidays Are Coming, Holidays Are Coming

m.b.e.d. Turn on the telly now!
mum: I know, I'm watching it now!

And within nanoseconds, Beloved Firstborn also rang; "It's on the telly!  Oh man, we have to start our Christmas shopping now."

Harry Redknapp Threatens Media Silence

Yeah right.  The words "Hell" and "Freeze over" come to mind...  But it was a hand ball.

Jobs In The Garden This Weekend: Potting Up Spring Bulbs

It started off fairly innocuously. These things usually do. "I'll just nip to B&Qs and get a bag of gravel and get the hyacinths in." I refuse to pot them up in compost anymore, as I'm sick of hoovering around the window ledges each spring. And of course, last year at my farming neighbour's New Year's party everyone admired the artful glass cubes of spring bulbs planted in green glass chippings. I wasn't the only one who wondered if she'd raided the local cemetery, either. I dropped the bag of small white gravel onto one of the garden benches, because there wasn't enough space in the outhouse.

I usually move into the outhouse at this time of year; hanging and plucking pheasants from the rafters, rummaging around the freezers for soft and top fruit for weekend crumbles, and potting up bowls of spring bulbs because I like to stack and store my compost in the dry. Also its usually raining most days and I hate to stop gardening just because it's raining.

The outhouses have accumulated no end of rammel over this summer, and I'm not really sure why. A little fellow further along the road discovered Beloved Firstborn's childhood store of plastic weapons earlier this year whilst his mum and I bent over the freezers looking for fish heads. Emerging triumphantly some minutes later, we turned around to find said little fellow sitting captivated in the middle of the floor surrounded by vintage Star Wars crap; spud guns; catapults; AK47s; assorted handguns including Smith and Wessons; multiple pump action shotguns, and at least one "Uzi 9mm." You can try as hard as you like to give your little boy wooden swords and bows and arrows from the Early Learning Centre. At some point he will return fully loaded from a shopping trip to Toys R Us with a sniggering maternal uncle.

The mess gradually bred and this afternoon I called "enough!" I changed into my gardening gear and focused my cross hairs. I started out shifting the toolbox, wind-up hosepipes, strimmers, lawnmower and hedge trimmers, extension cables, stacker boxes, slates and tiles and a couple of bags of Blue Circle, and into the space created assembled then shifted three packs of IKEA rammel-storing shelving units. Onto said shelves I sorted then stacked all the French beers, wines and spirits; all the dishwasher tabs; the car gear; the garden gear; the Christmas outdoor fairy lights; all my Bosch hand tools; Beloved Firstborn's arsenal; assorted hurley sticks and hockey sticks, ice hockey blades and sticks, dinghys, paddles, roller blades and fishing nets; multi-cell planting cells and seed trays and more plastic plant labels than you could possibly imagine.

I found glue guns, boxes of buttons and odd bits of string; no end of green garden wire and several knackered secateurs. Why don't I just throw old gardening kit straight in the bin? Who in their right mind really believes they'll ever sew up the shredded fingers of gardening gloves?

By this stage, of course, the decluttering madness was upon me. You know those bendy plastic flexi-tubs? I filled two with bits of wood and old fence posts that over the years I'd had the sense not to throw onto my bonfires in case they exploded and sent white hot nails flying all over the garden. "Don't worry neighbours! It's only tonight's son et lumiére; "Belfast, 1972!"

As I drove into the "municiple recyling facility" (that's the tip, to you and I), I caught the horrified stares of the workers, and I hadn't even told them they'd have to help me empty the car as I'd run out of brufen this morning and my back was too sore to move.

I'm sitting here in the most wonderful position, because it's too painful to sit any other way, and those bloody hyacinths still aren't potted up.

Garden Steps

The steps are finished.
I know.
I can't quite believe it, either.