Fascinating to read a sympathetic and factually correct account of former England coach Sven-Goran Eriksson in the Sunday Times.
Far from being the money grabbing, woman-chasing idiot he has been made out to be by the rotweilers of the sporting tabloid press, he came across as thoughtful, considerate and likeable. A man who talks to his elderly parents (who live nearby) everyday. Who, far from taking any fee paying public speaking opportunity available, actually did more non fee paying appearances. Who, instead of fleecing the FA for every penny even when he stopped working as England coach, agreed to take £2.25m instead of the £6m he was entitled to.
Most significantly, Sven was, without doubt, the most successful England coach of the modern era. Played 38, won 26, lost % was 7.9. Let's compare that with Alf Ramsey, shall we, because let's face it, we only ever talk about 1966. Played 33. won 20, lost % 21.2.
Sven was utterly vilified by the UK press, most of it zenophobic because a foreigner had the audacity to manage the England team. Well, not many candidates would accept the post. What I find galling is that the vitriol was largely based on lies.
The problem is that England should have a good national team. Look at the number of international players who choose to play here. But the reality is different. Expectations are far too high. The pysche of England is inextricably wrapped up with the success of the football team. Was it Sven's fault that some of the highest paid footballers in the world bottled out and missed penalties? It wasn't the first time this has happened.
Most significantly in the article, after the disasterous defeat at the hands of Portugal, Eriksson begged the UK press not to "finish off" Rooney (sent off)or the idiots who missed the penalities. He asked to be vilified because he wouldn't be needed again.
Proof again that here was an honorable man, mistreated by the press and public at large.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Celebrities who lie about their looks
Lying celebrities. The ones who say their good looks are down to genes and healthy eating. They make me so mad. They add to the worries that women have about their looks and ageing. Sophia Loren for example: fabulous in her 70s. She enigmatically says she has a special recipe for her good looks. Yes, probably everything going! Face lift, brow lift, Botox, Restylane. Or Goldie Hawn, who says she has had no surgery (but today's modern equivalent is all the collagen and injections, and she no doubt has those). Joan Collins is the worse. You can see from her frozen face, and the funny little wrinkles on the side of her mouth, that she isn't natural, but she insists nature was very kind to her. Tosh.
Then there are Victoria Beckham's ludicrous breasts. A picture in Hello this week shows the two footballs looking as if they've been stuck onto her flat bony chest. Apparently, claims Jordan (Katie Price), Posh told her they were fake and even gave her a flash in a loo. Yet she steadfastly maintains she's had nothing done. (Frankly dear, you should ask for your money back, they're appalling).
So respect to the celebs who come clean. Jordan for one. Goodness knows why she had Botox at her age. I saw Bonnie Tyler recently ("It's a heartache") and she happily confessed to Botox and Restylane. Toyah Wilcox. Anne Robinson. I don't think they lose face by admitting it. They show they're human and they have the same worries and frailties as the rest of us. Meanwhile the celebs who lie, who disguise themselves and turn up at hospitals in the dead of night, are trying to perpetuate some sad myth about themselves and they just seem ridiculous.
Then there are Victoria Beckham's ludicrous breasts. A picture in Hello this week shows the two footballs looking as if they've been stuck onto her flat bony chest. Apparently, claims Jordan (Katie Price), Posh told her they were fake and even gave her a flash in a loo. Yet she steadfastly maintains she's had nothing done. (Frankly dear, you should ask for your money back, they're appalling).
So respect to the celebs who come clean. Jordan for one. Goodness knows why she had Botox at her age. I saw Bonnie Tyler recently ("It's a heartache") and she happily confessed to Botox and Restylane. Toyah Wilcox. Anne Robinson. I don't think they lose face by admitting it. They show they're human and they have the same worries and frailties as the rest of us. Meanwhile the celebs who lie, who disguise themselves and turn up at hospitals in the dead of night, are trying to perpetuate some sad myth about themselves and they just seem ridiculous.
Monday, April 23, 2007
By way of a small commercial....
I've created a new blog, gail_scrapper to allow me to indulge in my scrapbook and card making passion. I noticed that quite a few of the ladies on uk scrappers have blogs and discovered there's a definitive guide to crafting websites - their button is now on my craft site. Now all I have to do is generate traffic. Are there enough hours in the day?
Size zero over exposed
Last night there was yet another TV programme showing you how to get from size 12 (that's US size 8) to double size zero within 5 weeks. That's the third programme in about 5 weeks.
I'm sure the programme makers would say "the intention was to show how it can lead to mental disturbance / food disorders", blah blah, and try to justify how they're creating a debate in the broadcast media.
Tosh. What the three programmes have all done is shown how frighteningly easy it is to drop dress sizes if you have a laser focus and friends in the medical and personal trainer professions. You can see why the likes if Nicole Ritchie and Posh Spice have become so hooked on being tiny. They get a buzz from being in control.
I wish we would ignore all this size zero nonsense. The more press attention it gets, the more mainstream it becomes, rather than a sickness and malaise spread by the media and adopted by airheads with nothing better to do than starve themselves.
I would love to see a leading UK designer like John Galliano put hour-glass shaped models on the catwalk and feature clothes for hour glass-shaped women. Not fat women. Hour glass shaped. The Sunday Times reported yesterday how the catwalks in Mumbai, India, were an inspiration because the beautiful women they featured had real busts and real waists and real hips. Not the emaciated, boyish, straight up-and-down figures you see on the UK's catwalks. Perhaps they're all boys? There's a thought.
I'm sure the programme makers would say "the intention was to show how it can lead to mental disturbance / food disorders", blah blah, and try to justify how they're creating a debate in the broadcast media.
Tosh. What the three programmes have all done is shown how frighteningly easy it is to drop dress sizes if you have a laser focus and friends in the medical and personal trainer professions. You can see why the likes if Nicole Ritchie and Posh Spice have become so hooked on being tiny. They get a buzz from being in control.
I wish we would ignore all this size zero nonsense. The more press attention it gets, the more mainstream it becomes, rather than a sickness and malaise spread by the media and adopted by airheads with nothing better to do than starve themselves.
I would love to see a leading UK designer like John Galliano put hour-glass shaped models on the catwalk and feature clothes for hour glass-shaped women. Not fat women. Hour glass shaped. The Sunday Times reported yesterday how the catwalks in Mumbai, India, were an inspiration because the beautiful women they featured had real busts and real waists and real hips. Not the emaciated, boyish, straight up-and-down figures you see on the UK's catwalks. Perhaps they're all boys? There's a thought.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The trouble with Derriford Hospital
My mum (Giz) was in Derriford Hospital, Plymouth, overnight after falling and dislocating her shoulder. It's the third time this has happened. She doesn't appear frail; she walks a lot, has a healthy diet and maintains a big and immaculate garden, as well as being social secretary of a widows' organisation. But it seems that elderly ladies are more inclined to stumble and fall, and when they do, they hurt themselves.
The second time it happened, Giz was staying with us in London. She tripped in the front garden in the evening gloom. We took her to Whipps Cross, a hospital in danger of losing its A&E, and we were well impressed by the speed, and quality, of the care she received. She was seen within 5 minutes, given immediate pain relief, and her shoulder was put back very gently. The next day she was taking the sling off because the pain had gone.
Not so with her first and third times, both involving Derriford Hospital. Admitted late yesterday, she was given no pain relief despite asking several times. Eventually someone grudgingly offered gas and air (do they still use that?!) or Co-Codemol, which she has at home. Before it was given, the doctor attemped to put her shoulder back by waving her arms around until she screamed in pain. The damage he has done means her shoulder will now take longer to recover.
Then, before she left today, the staff "mislaid" her phone and handbag. She saw them ransacking bins searching. All the time the staff were laughing and joking and the ward was a filthy tip.
Derriford has a "fair" rating but I have always had a low opinion of it after my dad died there. He was in hospital for several weeks and I always believed the standard of care he received was poor. The problem is that the majority of people don't complain. A lot of our hospitals are worse than those in Third World countries: the MRSA statistics confirm that. Yet we somehow tolerate it. Why?
Of course I now have a niggling concern that the great care she received in Whipps Cross was because we were there with her. Maybe an elderly lady on her own is vulnerable and likely to be treated with disdain by hospital staff. The care the elderly receive is a big worry to me: so much is said about stupid girls starving themselves to size zero, yet many elderly people are forcibly starved and cruelly treated in unscrupulous residential homes. But it's not a fashionable cause and so it doesn't receive the Jamie Oliver spotlight treatment.
The second time it happened, Giz was staying with us in London. She tripped in the front garden in the evening gloom. We took her to Whipps Cross, a hospital in danger of losing its A&E, and we were well impressed by the speed, and quality, of the care she received. She was seen within 5 minutes, given immediate pain relief, and her shoulder was put back very gently. The next day she was taking the sling off because the pain had gone.
Not so with her first and third times, both involving Derriford Hospital. Admitted late yesterday, she was given no pain relief despite asking several times. Eventually someone grudgingly offered gas and air (do they still use that?!) or Co-Codemol, which she has at home. Before it was given, the doctor attemped to put her shoulder back by waving her arms around until she screamed in pain. The damage he has done means her shoulder will now take longer to recover.
Then, before she left today, the staff "mislaid" her phone and handbag. She saw them ransacking bins searching. All the time the staff were laughing and joking and the ward was a filthy tip.
Derriford has a "fair" rating but I have always had a low opinion of it after my dad died there. He was in hospital for several weeks and I always believed the standard of care he received was poor. The problem is that the majority of people don't complain. A lot of our hospitals are worse than those in Third World countries: the MRSA statistics confirm that. Yet we somehow tolerate it. Why?
Of course I now have a niggling concern that the great care she received in Whipps Cross was because we were there with her. Maybe an elderly lady on her own is vulnerable and likely to be treated with disdain by hospital staff. The care the elderly receive is a big worry to me: so much is said about stupid girls starving themselves to size zero, yet many elderly people are forcibly starved and cruelly treated in unscrupulous residential homes. But it's not a fashionable cause and so it doesn't receive the Jamie Oliver spotlight treatment.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Back from Boston - brrr what a freezer!
We've just returned from a few days in Boston, US, where John ran the Boston Marathon. It was his 15th marathon and #8 in the "tick box" list of top 10 marathons. Just Chicago and Amsterdam left!
The weather was dreadful the whole time. Dire warnings had been issued for marathon Monday (Patriot's Day). Record levels of rainfall were expected. Icy winds. Runners were warned to dress up and how to avoid hypothermia. John left for the buses to take the runners to the start, a long way out from Boston, at six in the morning. It was raining then, and the runners got cold and wet waiting. Once the race was underway, the rain more or less stopped and the wind was not too bad. With temperatures around 50 fahrenhait, it was better for running than hot weather.
John came in at less than a minute outside his personal best, which for the weather conditions was very good: even the elite runners all finished up to six minutes slower than normal. He was very pleased with his run: all the training with the Orion Harriers the past year had paid off and he didn't struggle at Heartbreak Hill or hit the wall.
The photo I took of him in the park, overlooking the swan boats, was after the marathon as we wearily walked back to the hotel. By then it was very cold, which you can see from his face and "apparel." It's quite wearisome for me even though I don't run. I usually try to whiz around the town on the underground, wherever we are, to try to take pictures, but this time because most of the marathon was outside of Boston, and because of the weather, I went to the finish with other spectators whose partners were in the sports party with us. I shot some camcorder footage of John finishing but I'm no Pedro Almodovar so heaven knows what it will be like.
As for Boston itself, we did a "duck tour" (John is pictured driving the duck along the river) and a two hour trolley bus ride, and inevitable shopping. Boston has history and they seem proud of it. I was very taken with the gas lights that stand in the Beacon Hill area. I tried to take some pictures at night but the slow exposure was a disaster. Fortunately I was able to buy some decent pictures so I can use them to make a scrapbook page.
Food-wise, it's never a gourmet's delight on a marathon weekend because of the relentless carb stacking. But we did find a gem of a restaurant, Antonio's, not far from our hotel in Cambridge Street near Government Centre. It was small but very lively and busy, filled with locals, and mega decibels of conversational shouting. The pasta dinner, organised free of charge for the runners with partners paying $20, was a bit of a washout. In freezing temperatures and rain we were herded into the adjacent big top to queue, and as you would expect for mass catering, the pasta was fairly solid and congealed. I'm putting my foot down on pasta dinners, feasts, whatever they want to call them. From now on we're going to a civilised restaurant like Antonio's! After the marathon, we went to an Irish pub, Kinsale, and a jolly time was had with plenty of steaks and Guinness. My steak was the equivalent of £10 but far better than the £28 steak I had in Smiths of Smithfield.
Next stop is Amsterdam - John has already signed up for that one in October. Right now, glad to be back in blighty to enjoy some of the nice weather. Ironic to think that the Rotterdam marathon was abandoned because of the heat while Boston's marathon was shivering in the rain and wind!
Monday, April 09, 2007
Spandau Ballet - there's no need to reunite
The BBC carried a news item today "for ageing New Romantics." (thanks!). Viz a viz, Spandau Ballet have now agreed to reunite, following their acrimonious court case. Mind, their ageing fans will have quite a wait because lead singer Tony Hadley claims his diary is too full for four years.
Four years?! I mean, nice work Tony, you've scored a few points with the fact that following one or two appearances on reality TV, you have a good gig going with Butlins and Pontins, but my advice would be to act quickly. The band members must all be pushing 50 so who knows if one of them might snuff it by four years.
Frankly, I wouldn't care if they didn't reunite. I wasn't a big fan of SB. We used to refer to Hadley as "the opera singer" because of his strangled vocals. I hated "Gold," although some of their earlier songs were OK. I remember dancing to them wearing the uniform of the time, stripy red and white knickerbockers, flowing belt, frilly white shirt and ballet pumps. Yes, quite.
It's ok when a pop star grows old with you, eg David Bowie; but when a group disappears and then decides to resurface to hopefully pay off their mortgages, it's very disconcerting to see them all looking fat, jowly, bald and/or grizzled. It reminds you of your own mortality (and appearance). I think we all believe we look the same, hardly any different, so seeing Tony Hadley et al with beer guts and enough chins to rival the Chinese phone book is a bit of a zeitgist moment.
Mind, I don't think we're talking the Take That reunion, are we? Those boys do look a bit old to be a boy band now but at least they've still got their own hair and teeth.
I remember watching a terribly sad programme a while ago featuring 70s band The Sweet, who were still gigging. Their lead singer Brian Connolly (now deceased) had been a heavy drinker and paid the price: he was shown shuffling into a club, a shadow of his former self after a stroke, but still trying to perform Blockbuster and the other hits. Tony and the gang, don't do it! Leave us with our memories, with you in your prime.
Sunday, April 08, 2007
The Apprentice loses its bite
The Apprentice, UK version, has moved to mainstream television on BBC1 and, regrettably, is running out of steam.
What was unmissable TV for the first two series is now formulaeic and tired. Clearly, most of the challengers were chosen simply to create good TV rather than be taken seriously as talented businesspeople. I'm horrified at the low standard. The guy who was evicted last week was a car salesman: nice enough but with no strategic vision or leadership qualities. The bankrupt entrepreneur Rory, who was evicted this week, was a prissy lecturing headmaster who was so obsessed with reining in the show's inevitable loudmouth Tre that he forgot about winning the task. Meanwhile another contender evicted this week had kept quiet about the fact he was a product designer because he was "having an off day" and missing his family. He should have resigned rather than been fired, having deprived someone else of the opportunity to take part.
The problem with Sugar and the UK format is that he's nothing more than a box shifter and what he's looking for is someone who's tactical, a salesperson and mild-mannered. Someone like Tim, who won series one after being invisible for most of the show. Any candidates with a marketing or legal background are there just for TV impact, because Sugar is not looking for impressive brains or marketing acumen.
The tasks are mostly sales focused and becoming dull: sell coffee in central London? I watched the US version when it was shown late at night on BBC2 recently and the tasks were more interesting because Donald Trump is looking for more of a visionary achiever. There were fewer of these "sell as much as you can in 10 minutes" type tasks and more around marketing and advertising.
What was unmissable TV for the first two series is now formulaeic and tired. Clearly, most of the challengers were chosen simply to create good TV rather than be taken seriously as talented businesspeople. I'm horrified at the low standard. The guy who was evicted last week was a car salesman: nice enough but with no strategic vision or leadership qualities. The bankrupt entrepreneur Rory, who was evicted this week, was a prissy lecturing headmaster who was so obsessed with reining in the show's inevitable loudmouth Tre that he forgot about winning the task. Meanwhile another contender evicted this week had kept quiet about the fact he was a product designer because he was "having an off day" and missing his family. He should have resigned rather than been fired, having deprived someone else of the opportunity to take part.
The problem with Sugar and the UK format is that he's nothing more than a box shifter and what he's looking for is someone who's tactical, a salesperson and mild-mannered. Someone like Tim, who won series one after being invisible for most of the show. Any candidates with a marketing or legal background are there just for TV impact, because Sugar is not looking for impressive brains or marketing acumen.
The tasks are mostly sales focused and becoming dull: sell coffee in central London? I watched the US version when it was shown late at night on BBC2 recently and the tasks were more interesting because Donald Trump is looking for more of a visionary achiever. There were fewer of these "sell as much as you can in 10 minutes" type tasks and more around marketing and advertising.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Scrapbook Update
Today we planted some more roses (David Austin's Gertrude Jekhyll & Scepter'd Isle)so I was thinking ahead to a rose themed scrapbook layout and took some photos. Now I have the "befores," with J digging the holes, and in a few months' time I will have the "afters," with (hopefully) masses of roses in full bloom. And now I can start accumulating rose themed papers and embellishments to go with the layout.
That's how it works. And to such an extent that I sometimes change my clothes to make sure I'm wearing a colour that co-ordinates with the paper in hand.
It's often agonizing when I see a particular paper in a magazine and then find it hellishly difficult to get hold of. This happened last week when I decided I to have some daisy papers from the Twelve by 12 range, Colorflowers II. I looked up the UK stockists but none of them had the exact same papers. I looked at the US stockists. Same thing. The designer has her own online gallery, but no shipping to the UK. Then, in an inspired moment, I asked on UK Scrappers if any of their sponsors (scrapbook retailers) had the papers in stock. I struck lucky, and now have these papers tucked away waiting to be turned into a birthday card for J's mum.
Anyway, here are some recent LOs (layouts to the uninitiated). Next week I am off to the US for work, but hopefully might the chance to find a craft store. I've never been in a US craft store, and imagine it must be a veritable Aladdin's Cave. And of course I do need some rose themed materials.
Friday, March 30, 2007
You've got to read this
One of the funniest books I've read for a long time is "Who moved my BlackBerry?" by Martin Lukes and Lucy Kellaway. It's about the hapless marketing director of the UK subsidiary of a US multinational. In David Brent (The Office)v vein it covers a year in the life of marketing director at A-B Global (UK), Martin Lukes, through a series of emails, texts and messages "sent from my Wireless BlackBerry hand-held." It's just tooo funny. I was laughing out loud on the plane as I read it.
The intro from Martin Lukes is a good opener to what you can exepect: "In your hands is a highly unique book, which pushes the envelope literature-wise. As you will see, it is a 120 per cent honest account of a year of my life - a phenomenal year of personal progress, corporate scandal and marital drama.
It not only chronicles my promotion to one of the foremost executive positions globally, but is also a profound journey of personal learning, aided and abetted by my coach, Pandora.
"I am often asked why I want to share my deeply private philosophies with such a wide audience. I always say, it is because I am passionate about learning. I have grown from my own mistakes, both in the professional space and the personal one, and I believe that there are many key takeaways for you here too. "Who Moved My BlackBerry[trademark]?" is a creovative[trademark] work - to use a phrase of mine that has now entered the business lingo. I anticipate it will be the must-read of 2005. All my very bestest, Martin."
The intro from Martin Lukes is a good opener to what you can exepect: "In your hands is a highly unique book, which pushes the envelope literature-wise. As you will see, it is a 120 per cent honest account of a year of my life - a phenomenal year of personal progress, corporate scandal and marital drama.
It not only chronicles my promotion to one of the foremost executive positions globally, but is also a profound journey of personal learning, aided and abetted by my coach, Pandora.
"I am often asked why I want to share my deeply private philosophies with such a wide audience. I always say, it is because I am passionate about learning. I have grown from my own mistakes, both in the professional space and the personal one, and I believe that there are many key takeaways for you here too. "Who Moved My BlackBerry[trademark]?" is a creovative[trademark] work - to use a phrase of mine that has now entered the business lingo. I anticipate it will be the must-read of 2005. All my very bestest, Martin."
Sunday, March 25, 2007
Disappointing flavours from John Torode
I was very impressed with Australian chef John Torode and his expertise on the recent Masterchef series so I decided to hot foot it round to his restaurant, Smiths of Smithfield, in London's Faringdon.
As a judge on the programme, Torode frequently made comments about dishes not having the right flavours or being seasoned properly, so I reasoned that my taste buds were in for a gastronomic treat. I must say, I get a bit irritated when he constantly berates contestants for not putting enough salt in their food. Isn't he aware of the guidelines regarding salt? Personally I never add salt to my food and I don't like the taste when restaurants have overdone it. Anyway - back to the review.
Smiths of Smithfield is opposite the famous meat market and has four floors all with a different dining experience. We went for the top floor which is the serious restaurant. Offering wonderful views over London it had a great vibe and was packed out (as were all the other floors).
The menu is refreshingly non-pretentious; none of those ridiculous trios, timbales or anything else plagiarised from French menus. Torode specialises in sourcing the best in ingredients and the menu faithfully records the provenance of the fish and beef.
Dorset crab on toast was a disappointing starter. The crab had very little flavour; it didn't even taste very strongly of crab, and the toast was so hard that slicing into it made a piece ping across the table. An inauspicious start. My companion had smoked eel which had a good texture and subtle flavour.
Next up was Hereford sirloin which came with the vegetable of the day, courgettes (a strange choice, as this is the one vegetable that can be counted on to be dull dull dull) and large square shaped chips.
The chips were divine, the courgettes were, well, dull, and the steak was erring towards medium rather than the rare I asked for. For £28 I expected a melting texture and a most memorable steak, but it was very similar to the old cow "aged 21 days" sold in Sainsbury's. It wasn't the best steak I've ever had - that was in an obscure pub in Dublin.
Finally, rum and raison bruelee had a pleasingly crunchy top and a crisp, light shortbread biscuit, but the rum flavour was non existent. What was left was a pleasant enough rich gloop, but disappointing when you were expecting some wonderful flavours which weren't delivered.
So in summary I'd say that Smiths at Smithfield has a great vibe but on the top floor it doesn't deliver the fine dining experience that it promises. More work needed on the flavours and the seasonings, Mr Torode.
As a judge on the programme, Torode frequently made comments about dishes not having the right flavours or being seasoned properly, so I reasoned that my taste buds were in for a gastronomic treat. I must say, I get a bit irritated when he constantly berates contestants for not putting enough salt in their food. Isn't he aware of the guidelines regarding salt? Personally I never add salt to my food and I don't like the taste when restaurants have overdone it. Anyway - back to the review.
Smiths of Smithfield is opposite the famous meat market and has four floors all with a different dining experience. We went for the top floor which is the serious restaurant. Offering wonderful views over London it had a great vibe and was packed out (as were all the other floors).
The menu is refreshingly non-pretentious; none of those ridiculous trios, timbales or anything else plagiarised from French menus. Torode specialises in sourcing the best in ingredients and the menu faithfully records the provenance of the fish and beef.
Dorset crab on toast was a disappointing starter. The crab had very little flavour; it didn't even taste very strongly of crab, and the toast was so hard that slicing into it made a piece ping across the table. An inauspicious start. My companion had smoked eel which had a good texture and subtle flavour.
Next up was Hereford sirloin which came with the vegetable of the day, courgettes (a strange choice, as this is the one vegetable that can be counted on to be dull dull dull) and large square shaped chips.
The chips were divine, the courgettes were, well, dull, and the steak was erring towards medium rather than the rare I asked for. For £28 I expected a melting texture and a most memorable steak, but it was very similar to the old cow "aged 21 days" sold in Sainsbury's. It wasn't the best steak I've ever had - that was in an obscure pub in Dublin.
Finally, rum and raison bruelee had a pleasingly crunchy top and a crisp, light shortbread biscuit, but the rum flavour was non existent. What was left was a pleasant enough rich gloop, but disappointing when you were expecting some wonderful flavours which weren't delivered.
So in summary I'd say that Smiths at Smithfield has a great vibe but on the top floor it doesn't deliver the fine dining experience that it promises. More work needed on the flavours and the seasonings, Mr Torode.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
My favourite blogs
"Millions of blogs out there, some of them must be good" is a quote I've seen somewhere. I've been reading my way through the world's blogs, within reason, having become a member of various blogging communities like fuelmyblog , spicypage.com and the excellent mybloglog.
I imagine what we like in a blog is very subjective. I tend to only read blogs from the UK and USA, although I would love to find a well written blog about life in Japan for example. I like blogs which are well designed, where you don't have to click on links to view the content. Pretty photos are good - I should do more of this myself. I like blogs where the writer's voice and spirit comes through, OR blogs that tell you things you didn't already know. Quirky blogs.
So in no particular order, here are some of the blogs I've discovered, and the reasons why I like them:
1.The Slim Blue Line. This is the blog of a UK policewoman. Revealing and no holds barred, it's a valuable glimpse into a tough job. Disheartening sometimes to read about the chauvinistic attitudes that still prevail. Her latest entry is about the dilemmas of dealing with domestic violence.
2. davidbdale.wordpress.com. This is fun. David Bale writes novels in 299 words. Character, conflict, emotional impact. And sentences! Everything you want in a novel, without one extra syllable.
3. Janey Godley is a Scottish stand-up comic, actor and playwright. Her blog is a good example of the personality of the writer shining through. She comes across as funny and feisty. http://janeygodley.blog.co.uk
4. Very useful for my job is this blog about branding. Always something interesting to read.It's promoting a company, but in a very positive way because the entries showcase their expertise. Very clever.
5. Lots of blogs offer a free service. I like this one from designer Dave Richards in New York that offers e-cards and ideas on how to keep in touch with friends. Nice, because with our busy lives it's easy to lose touch with friends.
6. Blogging has become mass media, and big companies have set up blogs, some of them coming unstuck because they attempted to deceive their readers. The Kodak "Ink Is It" blog is a great example of how companies can use the blogging genre and provide value and fun to their readers and not just a promotional platform. It uses two kooky characters who love ink, and it's very quirky and well done.
So that's a few of mine. I'd love to see some of your faves.
I imagine what we like in a blog is very subjective. I tend to only read blogs from the UK and USA, although I would love to find a well written blog about life in Japan for example. I like blogs which are well designed, where you don't have to click on links to view the content. Pretty photos are good - I should do more of this myself. I like blogs where the writer's voice and spirit comes through, OR blogs that tell you things you didn't already know. Quirky blogs.
So in no particular order, here are some of the blogs I've discovered, and the reasons why I like them:
1.The Slim Blue Line. This is the blog of a UK policewoman. Revealing and no holds barred, it's a valuable glimpse into a tough job. Disheartening sometimes to read about the chauvinistic attitudes that still prevail. Her latest entry is about the dilemmas of dealing with domestic violence.
2. davidbdale.wordpress.com. This is fun. David Bale writes novels in 299 words. Character, conflict, emotional impact. And sentences! Everything you want in a novel, without one extra syllable.
3. Janey Godley is a Scottish stand-up comic, actor and playwright. Her blog is a good example of the personality of the writer shining through. She comes across as funny and feisty. http://janeygodley.blog.co.uk
4. Very useful for my job is this blog about branding. Always something interesting to read.It's promoting a company, but in a very positive way because the entries showcase their expertise. Very clever.
5. Lots of blogs offer a free service. I like this one from designer Dave Richards in New York that offers e-cards and ideas on how to keep in touch with friends. Nice, because with our busy lives it's easy to lose touch with friends.
6. Blogging has become mass media, and big companies have set up blogs, some of them coming unstuck because they attempted to deceive their readers. The Kodak "Ink Is It" blog is a great example of how companies can use the blogging genre and provide value and fun to their readers and not just a promotional platform. It uses two kooky characters who love ink, and it's very quirky and well done.
So that's a few of mine. I'd love to see some of your faves.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Flog It
Speaking to James from the ad agency today, we discovered a mutual interest in selling stuff on Amazon and Ebay. James prefers Ebay, where he's big in cosmetics (I didn't ask), whereas I prefer to buy on Ebay and sell on Amazon. Reason for that is mostly laziness. You don't have to take pictures of your wares for Amazon, not if they're books, CDs or DVDs, which is what I flog.
It's quite a little money spinner. As I keep telling J, my Amazon sales are subsidising my magazine purchases.
The great thing about Amazon is that you set a fixed price; they calculate the P&P and allow for this, and you don't have to do any transactions with the sellers. Amazon deposits the money directly into your bank account.
It's surprising what some items go for. You discover, for example, that the Manic Street Preachers special edition goes for less than a pound (not viable in my view) whereas the Doris Day CD is worth at least eight pounds. I was amazed to see that a John Galliano book I have is offered at no less than £150. Quite a lot of CDs go for around £2 - £4. You have to decide if it's worth it, by the time you've factored in bubble wrap, brown paper, trip to the post office. I think it is worth it to get shot of the damn things. And any greatest hits compilations (particularly Now!) sell very quickly.
I had a biography of businessman Gerry Robinson on Amazon for ages and when he featured in the recent documentary about what he would do to revitalise the NHS, I had an immediate offer.
For paperbacks, I have a different modus operandi. I use a website called Read It Swap It (link on the right) and have only had one bad experience. You choose a book from someone's reading list; they're sent your list and choose a book (or decline); you post the book, and an email is generated to say you've done this, and then when you receive it you give feedback. Very simple and it works perfectly. I had one bad experience when the swapper didn't communicate at all; took about three weeks to send the book (usually it's done in two or three days) and when it arrived, it was so horribly dog eared and dirty I didn't want to read it.
But now I have a little pile of books waiting to be read, which is a luxury for me as I'm such an avid reader.
It's quite a little money spinner. As I keep telling J, my Amazon sales are subsidising my magazine purchases.
The great thing about Amazon is that you set a fixed price; they calculate the P&P and allow for this, and you don't have to do any transactions with the sellers. Amazon deposits the money directly into your bank account.
It's surprising what some items go for. You discover, for example, that the Manic Street Preachers special edition goes for less than a pound (not viable in my view) whereas the Doris Day CD is worth at least eight pounds. I was amazed to see that a John Galliano book I have is offered at no less than £150. Quite a lot of CDs go for around £2 - £4. You have to decide if it's worth it, by the time you've factored in bubble wrap, brown paper, trip to the post office. I think it is worth it to get shot of the damn things. And any greatest hits compilations (particularly Now!) sell very quickly.
I had a biography of businessman Gerry Robinson on Amazon for ages and when he featured in the recent documentary about what he would do to revitalise the NHS, I had an immediate offer.
For paperbacks, I have a different modus operandi. I use a website called Read It Swap It (link on the right) and have only had one bad experience. You choose a book from someone's reading list; they're sent your list and choose a book (or decline); you post the book, and an email is generated to say you've done this, and then when you receive it you give feedback. Very simple and it works perfectly. I had one bad experience when the swapper didn't communicate at all; took about three weeks to send the book (usually it's done in two or three days) and when it arrived, it was so horribly dog eared and dirty I didn't want to read it.
But now I have a little pile of books waiting to be read, which is a luxury for me as I'm such an avid reader.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Europe has nothing to fear from UK Eurovision entry (again)
Last night the nation decided. The UK entry in the Eurovision Song Contest in May is a group called Scooch, with Bucks-Fizz style formulaeic cutesy song.
I've often thought that the BBC isn't serious about winning because we always have such turgid entries, and of course winning it would result in huge expense. But this year, they clearly put some effort into it. All of the songs, with the exception of a dreary ballad from Brian Harvey, were very good. I liked the montage of clips from other countries who have already picked their entrants. And I liked the guest panel from across Europe voted. Unfortunately, the British public didn't back the horse the panel suggested (Big Bruvaz, the rap number). I didn't like it the most, but I reckon it had the biggest chance of Eurovision success.
When I first saw Scooch I knew right away they would win. Classic Buck's Fizz style cheese, where you take a group of averagely attractive people and give them cutesy outfits, cutesy dance moves (aeroplanes) and a few lines heavy with suggestion ("salted nuts sir?").
Win it did, but by the third airing, my brother and I were both groaning and saying we wouldn't want to hear it again. It's beyond irritating.
The only black spot of the night was Terry Wogan, normally the lynchpin of Eurovision, but now so curmudgeonly that it didn't seem he was being amusingly ironic. It seemed like he really does hate it all. Time to pension him off and bring in Jonathan Ross.
I've often thought that the BBC isn't serious about winning because we always have such turgid entries, and of course winning it would result in huge expense. But this year, they clearly put some effort into it. All of the songs, with the exception of a dreary ballad from Brian Harvey, were very good. I liked the montage of clips from other countries who have already picked their entrants. And I liked the guest panel from across Europe voted. Unfortunately, the British public didn't back the horse the panel suggested (Big Bruvaz, the rap number). I didn't like it the most, but I reckon it had the biggest chance of Eurovision success.
When I first saw Scooch I knew right away they would win. Classic Buck's Fizz style cheese, where you take a group of averagely attractive people and give them cutesy outfits, cutesy dance moves (aeroplanes) and a few lines heavy with suggestion ("salted nuts sir?").
Win it did, but by the third airing, my brother and I were both groaning and saying we wouldn't want to hear it again. It's beyond irritating.
The only black spot of the night was Terry Wogan, normally the lynchpin of Eurovision, but now so curmudgeonly that it didn't seem he was being amusingly ironic. It seemed like he really does hate it all. Time to pension him off and bring in Jonathan Ross.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Elizabeth Hurley's jaw dropping Indian wedding
If old Liz Hurley was looking for the wow factor with her Indian wedding ceremony, she certainly found it.
The photos in Hello! are truly jaw dropping.
Regular readers to my blog will know I don't care for Hurley very much. As Sarah Kennedy (Radio 2) said earlier this week, what's she famous for? The films all go direct to DVD. That's true enough. My gripe with Hurley is that at 41, and a successful businesswoman with her swimwear and film production companies she should stop acting like ageing cheesecake and posing in skimpy dresses or bikinis and instead become a role model for women breaking the glass ceiling.
Anyway, that's by the by. Round 1 of the nuptials, in the UK, was a disappointing affair I thought. Some old castle, and no sign of the owner's wife (Lilli Maltese, who was famously upstaged by Liz at her own wedding when she turned up wearing a skirt that flashed her knickers). Everyone was wearing white; there were dozens of bridesmaids, and no real celebrities (Patsy Kensit and Trinny Woodall don't really qualify) except for Mr & Mrs Elton John.
Liz's dress was a bit of a disappointment to me. The floaty tulle skirt reminded me of Adam Cooper in the male version of Swan Lake. And I didn't think she would wear a tiara again after her last outing was criticised by one of the weekly gossip mags as mutton dressed as lamb (or even worse, Courtney Love).
One week later, and the bridal party goes out to India, flown around on a private plane. And now we're cooking with gas! Liz is radiant in a deep pink Versace Indian bridal gown; the guests are in pink (Liz's side) or orange (Arun's side) and the colours are dazzling. Arun arrives on a black horse; there are fireworks, Bollywood dancing with Liz flashing her enviably toned midriff, a cricket match and an English tea, plus the spectacle of the guests having to camp overnight in tents at one point, although the tents did have their own loos and showers so it wasn't like Carry on Camping.
Liz looked lovely throughout, except for the emerald worn high on her forehead. I've never liked green with pink. Arun, I have to say, looked a bit wet. Somehow his shoes, many of which were specially commissioned, looked like something Abanazer would wear in Aladdin. Arun suffers from Grant Bovey / Jude Law syndrome, which is when a man knows he is goodlooking and he unfailingly presents his best side and his most radiant smile to the camera whenever it's on him. It doesn't make for the best wedding pictures, which for Hello! are those where the couple lovingly gaze at each other.
I dread to think of the cost, which was no doubt borne by Hurley. One of the papers reported last week that Arun is far from a millionaire, although his parents are wealthy. He was even flying with airmiles until Hurley got him upgraded.
The photos in Hello! are truly jaw dropping.
Regular readers to my blog will know I don't care for Hurley very much. As Sarah Kennedy (Radio 2) said earlier this week, what's she famous for? The films all go direct to DVD. That's true enough. My gripe with Hurley is that at 41, and a successful businesswoman with her swimwear and film production companies she should stop acting like ageing cheesecake and posing in skimpy dresses or bikinis and instead become a role model for women breaking the glass ceiling.
Anyway, that's by the by. Round 1 of the nuptials, in the UK, was a disappointing affair I thought. Some old castle, and no sign of the owner's wife (Lilli Maltese, who was famously upstaged by Liz at her own wedding when she turned up wearing a skirt that flashed her knickers). Everyone was wearing white; there were dozens of bridesmaids, and no real celebrities (Patsy Kensit and Trinny Woodall don't really qualify) except for Mr & Mrs Elton John.
Liz's dress was a bit of a disappointment to me. The floaty tulle skirt reminded me of Adam Cooper in the male version of Swan Lake. And I didn't think she would wear a tiara again after her last outing was criticised by one of the weekly gossip mags as mutton dressed as lamb (or even worse, Courtney Love).
One week later, and the bridal party goes out to India, flown around on a private plane. And now we're cooking with gas! Liz is radiant in a deep pink Versace Indian bridal gown; the guests are in pink (Liz's side) or orange (Arun's side) and the colours are dazzling. Arun arrives on a black horse; there are fireworks, Bollywood dancing with Liz flashing her enviably toned midriff, a cricket match and an English tea, plus the spectacle of the guests having to camp overnight in tents at one point, although the tents did have their own loos and showers so it wasn't like Carry on Camping.
Liz looked lovely throughout, except for the emerald worn high on her forehead. I've never liked green with pink. Arun, I have to say, looked a bit wet. Somehow his shoes, many of which were specially commissioned, looked like something Abanazer would wear in Aladdin. Arun suffers from Grant Bovey / Jude Law syndrome, which is when a man knows he is goodlooking and he unfailingly presents his best side and his most radiant smile to the camera whenever it's on him. It doesn't make for the best wedding pictures, which for Hello! are those where the couple lovingly gaze at each other.
I dread to think of the cost, which was no doubt borne by Hurley. One of the papers reported last week that Arun is far from a millionaire, although his parents are wealthy. He was even flying with airmiles until Hurley got him upgraded.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Eurovision approaches - excitement mounts
I'm a huge fan of Eurovision and looking forward to choosing the UK's song on Saturday. I see no expense has been spared in providing the brighest stars in the galaxy for our delectation: Brian Harvey, formerly of East 17, whose car ran over him; Justin Hawkins, the long haired screamer from The Darkness, and Liz Mclarnon, formerly of Atomic Kitten.
I've already heard the Hawkins entry, and my advice to him would be "don't ring us, we'll ring you."
The great thing about Eurovision is that it plays really well into the British sense of humour. It's very kitsch and camp. We know the songs and dance routines and costumes are terrible, but we still like it. Our stiff upper lip and sporting fairness does us proud as we sit through the political voting, quietly seething as nobody votes for the UK because we don't have any Euro friends now (America isn't eligible to vote). We can't even count on Ireland or Malta these days.
It doesn't really matter if the UK song is a pile of poo because we know deep down we can never win. What with the unpopularity issue, and the Baltic block vote, we're destined to always be down the bottom of the list along with France, still resolutely singing in French, and Germany, who always seem to choose someone wildly eccentric.
Last year I felt faintly optimistic because I did think that Daz Sampson was in with a shout. I thought it was sufficiently "Eurovision" to win, albeit a little edgy. I was confounded when Finland won with heavy rockers, a sign that the "la la la" Eurovision song and the ripping off of skirts may be a thing of the past.
One thing for sure: we can never be relegated because UK contributes too much to the funding of the whole shebang.
So tune in on Sat folks, and put aside your reservations about picking up the phone. Lots of irreverent fun. The actual contest this year, hosted in Finland, is bound to break the mould. Will they play it straight and try to dazzle us with dry ice and lighting, or will they play it tongue-in-cheek?
I've already heard the Hawkins entry, and my advice to him would be "don't ring us, we'll ring you."
The great thing about Eurovision is that it plays really well into the British sense of humour. It's very kitsch and camp. We know the songs and dance routines and costumes are terrible, but we still like it. Our stiff upper lip and sporting fairness does us proud as we sit through the political voting, quietly seething as nobody votes for the UK because we don't have any Euro friends now (America isn't eligible to vote). We can't even count on Ireland or Malta these days.
It doesn't really matter if the UK song is a pile of poo because we know deep down we can never win. What with the unpopularity issue, and the Baltic block vote, we're destined to always be down the bottom of the list along with France, still resolutely singing in French, and Germany, who always seem to choose someone wildly eccentric.
Last year I felt faintly optimistic because I did think that Daz Sampson was in with a shout. I thought it was sufficiently "Eurovision" to win, albeit a little edgy. I was confounded when Finland won with heavy rockers, a sign that the "la la la" Eurovision song and the ripping off of skirts may be a thing of the past.
One thing for sure: we can never be relegated because UK contributes too much to the funding of the whole shebang.
So tune in on Sat folks, and put aside your reservations about picking up the phone. Lots of irreverent fun. The actual contest this year, hosted in Finland, is bound to break the mould. Will they play it straight and try to dazzle us with dry ice and lighting, or will they play it tongue-in-cheek?
Monday, March 12, 2007
The Monday Pot Pourri: Plymouth Argyle snatch defeat from the jaws of victory; the New Angel reviewed and good news about language lessons
Language lessons from age seven
Glad to hear the news today that language lessons are to be taught at primary school, from age seven. It's a constant source of shame and embarrassment to me how badly the Brits speak languages when abroad. It's no longer sufficient to shout in English. My own language skills are pretty bad, I hold up my hands. I don't know when children stopped learning languages at age seven. I remember learning French at primary school. We sang jolly songs like "Sur le pont D'Avignon," and pretended to be shopkeepers. I don't know why it's not compulsory beyond age 14 either. In my view, should be compulsory, along with English & maths, until age 16.
The New Angel, Dartmouth: restaurant review
Fabulous weather at the weekend and thoroughly enjoyed my time in Plymouth (except for the match of course. How did Plymouth Argyle lose against Watford? They were infinitely superior!). Took Giz to Dartmouth for Sunday lunch at the New Angel. This is the place now owned by John Burton-Race (Channel 4 TV show fame) which has always had an excellent reputation. My verdict is: should try harder.
Service was very good and the pudding - vanilla, Cointreau and orange baked Alaska - was sublime. I could sense that it was a work of love, so painstakingly perfect, with lightly browned meringue that was soft and crunchy, and a gorgeous marmalade-y type syrup around the edge.
But the starter and main were, frankly, disappointing. If Burton-Race has not been spending enough time in the kitchen, I would urge him to return. Both plates were lukewarm and lacklustre. The Dartmouth crab tortellini initially had a delightful explosion of flavours in the mouth, but was quickly overwhelmed by coriander. And why was it floating in a tepid fish tasting water? It was neither a reduction or a sauce, and added nothing to the dish.
Blackawton lamb should have been meltingly tender but was hard round the edges. Mum had the pork plate and said it was tough. And to round it off, Hildon water, which as Michael Winner fans will know, is water beyond the pale.
Glad to hear the news today that language lessons are to be taught at primary school, from age seven. It's a constant source of shame and embarrassment to me how badly the Brits speak languages when abroad. It's no longer sufficient to shout in English. My own language skills are pretty bad, I hold up my hands. I don't know when children stopped learning languages at age seven. I remember learning French at primary school. We sang jolly songs like "Sur le pont D'Avignon," and pretended to be shopkeepers. I don't know why it's not compulsory beyond age 14 either. In my view, should be compulsory, along with English & maths, until age 16.
The New Angel, Dartmouth: restaurant review
Fabulous weather at the weekend and thoroughly enjoyed my time in Plymouth (except for the match of course. How did Plymouth Argyle lose against Watford? They were infinitely superior!). Took Giz to Dartmouth for Sunday lunch at the New Angel. This is the place now owned by John Burton-Race (Channel 4 TV show fame) which has always had an excellent reputation. My verdict is: should try harder.
Service was very good and the pudding - vanilla, Cointreau and orange baked Alaska - was sublime. I could sense that it was a work of love, so painstakingly perfect, with lightly browned meringue that was soft and crunchy, and a gorgeous marmalade-y type syrup around the edge.
But the starter and main were, frankly, disappointing. If Burton-Race has not been spending enough time in the kitchen, I would urge him to return. Both plates were lukewarm and lacklustre. The Dartmouth crab tortellini initially had a delightful explosion of flavours in the mouth, but was quickly overwhelmed by coriander. And why was it floating in a tepid fish tasting water? It was neither a reduction or a sauce, and added nothing to the dish.
Blackawton lamb should have been meltingly tender but was hard round the edges. Mum had the pork plate and said it was tough. And to round it off, Hildon water, which as Michael Winner fans will know, is water beyond the pale.
Friday, March 09, 2007
Good luck Plymouth Argyle
Going down to Plymouth this weekend, the old ancestral home. John is staying in London because he's running the Hastings half marathon on Sunday. Last year we took Rachel and stayed the night, but I didn't take to Hastings very much - very scruffy seafront - and it was bitterly cold, so this time I decided to take the opportunity of seeing Giz (mum), Chops (brother) et al.
Our weekends usually follow a set routine of going to Endsleigh garden centre and Buckfast Abbey; having a look at the cemetery at St Mary's Church, playing consequences and having a roast on Sunday - pork or lamb which is not something I do very often as John doesn't like either.
This time our itinerary will be different for a couple of reasons. Plymouth Argyle are playing Watford in the FA cup, at home. None of us is going to the match, but we're going round to Chops' pad to watch it on Sky. It's a revenge match, for what happened in the early 1980s when Watford beat Plymouth 1-0 in the semi final (see an earlier posting). Let's hope Plymouth win. I gather Watford are at the bottom of the Premier so rubbish anyway.
And for the first time, we'll go on a tour of craft shops. I sent Giz on a recce of a craft shop in Ladysmith Road during the week. She was walking in that area, reliving her youth. Grandma and Grandad lived in Mount Gould Road nearby for 54 years. Apparently a family bought the house, so it looks in fairly good nick (we thought it would be turned into flats). But all the fruit trees have gone from the lovely garden.
It used to be paperweights, not craft shops. I stopped collecting paperweights a few years ago (I have about 30) but the best place for buying limited editions still remains the Devon Paperweight Centre at Yelverton.
Our weekends usually follow a set routine of going to Endsleigh garden centre and Buckfast Abbey; having a look at the cemetery at St Mary's Church, playing consequences and having a roast on Sunday - pork or lamb which is not something I do very often as John doesn't like either.
This time our itinerary will be different for a couple of reasons. Plymouth Argyle are playing Watford in the FA cup, at home. None of us is going to the match, but we're going round to Chops' pad to watch it on Sky. It's a revenge match, for what happened in the early 1980s when Watford beat Plymouth 1-0 in the semi final (see an earlier posting). Let's hope Plymouth win. I gather Watford are at the bottom of the Premier so rubbish anyway.
And for the first time, we'll go on a tour of craft shops. I sent Giz on a recce of a craft shop in Ladysmith Road during the week. She was walking in that area, reliving her youth. Grandma and Grandad lived in Mount Gould Road nearby for 54 years. Apparently a family bought the house, so it looks in fairly good nick (we thought it would be turned into flats). But all the fruit trees have gone from the lovely garden.
It used to be paperweights, not craft shops. I stopped collecting paperweights a few years ago (I have about 30) but the best place for buying limited editions still remains the Devon Paperweight Centre at Yelverton.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Hoorah for Charles & Camilla
Prince Charles and Camilla have been in the news in the last week. Camilla went into hospital today for an operation that's been the cause of too much undignified interest among the tabloid press. I hope it all goes well, particularly the long recovery period.
I think we'll all agree that Camilla has risen to the challenge of being Prince Charles' wife very well indeed and does the nation proud on their foreign tours. She has taken to it far better than any of us ever expected.
If only she and Charles had been allowed to marry years ago, we would have avoided the ridiculous charade that's now going on with Mohamed Al Fayed and his ludicrous claims about the royal family trying to kill Diana. Why oh why? She and Charles had been divorced for some time. The French authorities say she was NOT pregnant. I begin to wonder if Al Fayed is losing his marbles. It seems Dame Butler-Sloss might share the same opinion. This very expert legal brain has painstakingly waded through thousands of documents and can see nothing to substantiate his wild claims.
Meanwhile Prince Charles speaks sense (for once) and condemns the Macdonalds burger culture. Hoorah. If we must "save it for a treat," then so be it, but anyone who has seen "Supersize Me" must be aware that this stuff is poison. Macdonalds can talk about their salads as much as they like: if people go there for a burger, they aren't going to have a salad. And if people want salad by choice, they won't go into Macdonalds where they have to tolerate that awful old fat smell. I wish people would vote with their feet but their profits aren't falling anywhere near fast enough.
I think we'll all agree that Camilla has risen to the challenge of being Prince Charles' wife very well indeed and does the nation proud on their foreign tours. She has taken to it far better than any of us ever expected.
If only she and Charles had been allowed to marry years ago, we would have avoided the ridiculous charade that's now going on with Mohamed Al Fayed and his ludicrous claims about the royal family trying to kill Diana. Why oh why? She and Charles had been divorced for some time. The French authorities say she was NOT pregnant. I begin to wonder if Al Fayed is losing his marbles. It seems Dame Butler-Sloss might share the same opinion. This very expert legal brain has painstakingly waded through thousands of documents and can see nothing to substantiate his wild claims.
Meanwhile Prince Charles speaks sense (for once) and condemns the Macdonalds burger culture. Hoorah. If we must "save it for a treat," then so be it, but anyone who has seen "Supersize Me" must be aware that this stuff is poison. Macdonalds can talk about their salads as much as they like: if people go there for a burger, they aren't going to have a salad. And if people want salad by choice, they won't go into Macdonalds where they have to tolerate that awful old fat smell. I wish people would vote with their feet but their profits aren't falling anywhere near fast enough.
Friday, March 02, 2007
Spring has arrived!
Finally the sun came out and I was able to dash outside and take some photos of the spring bulbs in all their glory. We planted these back in October and it's always amazing to me to see how the shrivelled little bulbs are transformed. Last year I had some anemone corms, and I didn't know which way up they went (very hard to tell) so I was thrilled to see that most of them flowered.
The pictures aren't great: hopefully I can get John to take some better ones tomorrow. Because then of course I can make a spectacular Spring spread for my scrapbook! I have everything ready and waiting.
One curious thing: when I printed the photo above, it came out fine except for my hair which turned into a cartoon-like purple haze! Quite nice really :-)
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