Right, first of all STOP calling roast potatoes ‘roasties.’ They are ROAST POTATOES. They are potatoes which have been roasted. NOT roasties. I don’t even know why a roast potato would be called a roastie, other than through sheer laziness of delivering the extra syllables. What is so busy in your life you haven’t the time to say ‘roast potato??’ Hearing about ‘roasties’ has been on the rise recently because Christmas is on the way and I’ve been reading a lot of magazines about how to achieve the perfect Christmas dinner. Like I care. It is VERY annoying. Just stop it. For heavens’ sake…
Secondly, the NHS needs to get itself organised. My Mum pootled off to a hospital orthopaedic appointment last Monday, 1st November, in an attempt to get herself back on the waiting list for her second hip replacement, a list she didn’t even know she had been removed from after almost making it to the operating theatre in January 2020 and being stopped at, literally, the last minute. Anyway, she went for her appointment on 1st November. All good. On 3rd November she received a letter from the hospital apologising for cancelling her appointment on 1st November (the one she attended) and could she possibly attend on 15th November instead? Quite rightly, Mum huffed about the profligate waste of paper and postage by the NHS, and my brother had his time wasted by having to call the hospital to inform them that Mum wouldn’t be attending the appointment on 15th because she had successfully attended the one on the 1st which they had ‘cancelled’, seemingly without telling her. Then on Friday 5th November she received another letter telling her she was now back on the waiting list, which she already knew because the lady doctor at the appointment on 1st informed her thus. The words ‘arse’ and ‘elbow’ spring to mind. For heavens’ sake…
Thirdly, I went for a morning out at Trentham Gardens today, for a brisk walk around the lake, and there seemed an enormous amount of old people (and I mean older than me by a goodly few years, and I had my 56th birthday last week so am no spring chicken) wearing baseball caps and quilted jackets. What’s all that about then? Old people wearing baseball caps? With a quilted jacket? When I told Andy this, he said, ‘Well, that’s Stokies for you,’ Stokies being the slang reference for people hailing from Stoke-on-Trent, the nearest town to Trentham. As far as I know, ‘Stokie’ is unrelated to ‘roastie.’ And if living here in the Midlands means I am fated to end up wearing a baseball cap’n’ quilted jacket combo when I’m in my dotage, I’m glad my attention was drawn to the fashion crime spectacle today because at least I can now install preventive measures. Like - if you ever see me wearing either a baseball cap OR a quilted jacket or, heaven forfend, a combination of the two - shoot me.
Fourthly, why are there so many leaves in my garden? And why, when I want to sweep them up into a neat pile to take to the leaf mulch section of my garden, does the wind start blowing a gale? And why, when I turn my back for two minutes, do the stupid chickens think it’s fun to kick aforesaid leaf pile all over the place? Also, whilst I’m on a gardening rant, why are ALL instructions EVER written for pruning a mock orange shrub so vague? When I say ‘shrub’ I mean ‘enormous woody, many stemmed monstrosity that is taking over the courtyard.’ I gave up trying to make sense of it all in the end and pruned away purely with aesthetics in mind. Which means Mrs Mock Orange will now sulk and there will be NO beautiful and scented blooms next year under which to sit and read and sip tea like the genteel lady wot I am. For heavens’ sake…
Fifthly, why are we all feeling terrible about climate change one minute, then cheers are going up the next because the USA has lifted travel bans for UK citizens who are now scrabbling for the planes to fly to the States? Seriously, we can’t have it both ways. I’m beginning to realise there is definite divide in humanity. The ‘we try to do the right things’ versus the ‘couldn’t give a shits.’ On all levels and in all subjects. And THAT is why we are doomed. For heavens’ sake…
Apart from that, everything is fine! I had a nice birthday. Work on the farm is fine, the energy healing pathway is fine, the gnome bunting making is fine, the new velvet sofa covers are fine, Bambino is fat, furry and fine, I’ve even started a new writing project. Between minor and brief rants, all is peace and calm. I’ve loads of new books to read. The splinters have winkled their ways from my fingers - nothing went green and dropped off. A flock of sheep has appeared in the field across the road which makes for a delightfully bucolic view from the kitchen and living room windows. I avert my gaze when the two rams set about their ‘business.’ I, like many people, love a skipping lamb or two. I just don’t want to see how they came into being, that’s all.
That’ll do for now.
P.S The hens are out for the evening, supporting Mrs Slocombe at the local H.I (Hens’ Institute) as she is giving a talk entitled ‘What’s Wrong With My Cactus?’ and, quite frankly, I’ve heard the talk and she needs all the support she can get.
P.P.S Today’s blog was brought to you by ‘For Heavens’ Sake - A Celebration of The Favourite Catchphrase of Women Over 80, Including My Mum.’
P.P.P.S Here are the sheep neighbaaaaas….
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KJ