18 Years Ago , and last week.

Jenny's 18th birthday. The youngest one is officially an adult. Having cleaned and hoovered the house and garden, tidied up, bought and cooked an awful lot of food we were finally there. I think the party was a success.  Jenny seemed to enjoy herself anyway.

Thinking back to the other major occasion of her birth. She always was awkward. Having threatened to arrive for weeks before she should, and having had me in and out of hospital like a yo yo, the day finally came. Lower segment Caesarian section using a spinal anaesthetic. Should have taken fifteen minutes, maximum. But it seemed to go on and on, and I could feel the anaesthetist getting more agitated 'Should I top up?' 'Again?'. Eventually the fateful words came 'I can't do this, can you call the consultant'. You could have heard a pin drop. The theatre sister was frantically shushing him and making gestures to the orderly. The anaesthetist politely said ' the patient, and her husband are awake'. The consultant came, order was restored. Jenny was hauled forth into the world and the registrar (now reduced to helper) said 'You have a boy!'. The theatre sister said 'I think you need to review your anatomy lesions, SHE'S beautiful' . 

Doctor Who?

The news of the day, and it made the headlines - a new Doctor.  It's an interesting fact that a TV show, however good, can raise so much excitement and angst. It has been running for ever, well 50 years this year. I remember it when I was little. We didn't have a TV, so I would go around to a neighbours or a friends. We used to watch it from behind the sofa, with a blanket to hide under when the daleks  appeared. But nothing was so frightening as the weeping angels. The can still send shivers up my spine, and I have been known to wish for a cozy blanket to peer out from under.

Truth about me:

I am not interested in television. Yes, I admit that I do watch some programmes, mainly SF and crime, with the occasional documentary thrown in. I wouldn't miss it though, and I rarely remember to put things on unless someone else in the family reminds me. I  have the ability to tune it out , so can read or plays games with it on in the room, and end up with no idea what's been on. Books are my thing. Reading, anything and everything. Words on the back of the cereal packet if there's none other around. Our house sinks under the weight of thousands of books, and I've run out of space for  bookshelves. Thank heavens for eBooks.

A very small portion. The shelves stretch along the entire wall, and reach almost to the ceiling, and ours is an old house, with high rooms.

When I was young I acquired books whenever and wherever I could, but the best source was the library van that came around every week. You were allowed 3 books, and I had my allowance, and my Mums every week. I started at A and worked along the shelves, they had to let me read the adult books early, as I'd run out of the child's fiction. 
 

I Don't Bounce

Yesterday I fell. Actually I was walking backward carrying my end of an old planter and tripped over a bag of compost. Bang. My head hit the floor and the planter hit my leg. Nothing actually broken, but its darn sore.

Which reminded me of the multiplicity of other daft accidents I have had over the years. The one that immediately sprung to mind was when I put a fork though my foot. A gardening fork mind, not a table fork, one of the big ones covered with mud. By this time we had moved to a house in Pagham Road. It had two large bedrooms, a study, a living room with a ding area and kitchen. It also has large gardens front and back. It had been built in the orchard of the house along the road, so had fruit trees, apples, pears, plums, cooking apples and cherries. The were old and didn't produce much fruit but we got some every summer, along with lots of wasps. Blanket apples taste great eaten straight off the tree, with a bowl of sugar to dip them in, to counteract the sharpness.

The house was set slightly back from the road, with a wild area about a metre wide which was always full of daffodils and snowdrops and then a row of tall elm trees before the road. That was, of course, before Dutch Elm Disease. One early summer the council came along and said that all the trees would have to come down because they were diseased. I was furious. So I went out with a spade and fork to rescue some of the bulbs. I was so angry I wasn't looking what I was doing and put the fork right through my foot just above my toes. That needed a visit to the local surgery for a tetanus jag. I don't remember getting much sympathy either!