What are you like with silent moments, feel comfortable?
There are times when I agree that silence is golden especially when excited children are around. However, I have difficulty with sombre silences which hang over the moment like a heavy pall, insulating against the need to talk. I feel these occasions need me to verbally jump straight in and fill those embarrassing lulls in the general conversation, to crack inappropriate jokes and say the first thing that comes into my head.
I make every attempt to clamp down on the impulse. However, my good intentions dissolve as the general ebb and flow of conversation ceases. It is at this stage that I, lemming like, have this sudden overwhelming urge to jump off the conversation cliff into the abyss beyond.
This is why I am convinced that as soon as someone shouts into the dull and silent party crowd "right, who's up for karaoke?" my eager reply is totally out of concern for those shy people around me. Don't you think? Is there anyone out there? Cooey! Hello? Am I talking to myself again?

Have you ever needed a few days to get over the weekend?
Wednesday evening was a soiree (well actually Karaoke and fish and chips) which was a terrific night. Yesterday we had friends coming for a barbecue and this was even better.
So a wonderful weekend and now I'm jiggered. Be back tomorrow when I can put my mind to this.

Many years ago I lived in a new house which was lovely in every respect apart from one. In the deeds it stated that front gardens had to be open-plan with no walls or fences erected anywhere to the front of the property.
This initially was not a problem. However, it wasn't long before all of those old Anglo Saxon, territorial feelings surfaced in a way that Boudicca and Eric the Red would have been proud of. Now in a Utopian society where we are all able to live hand in glove, in perfect harmony with the people around us, there are no irritations to spoil the perfect lifestyle. Now I put up with the fact that my garden had been designated an official right of way for local ramblers and that the children preferred my lawn to kick a ball around. The thing that made me spit fire was Barney, from next door, who used my garden as his toilet! Believe me poop on your door step is not a pleasant thing to have to deal with. Sorry I forgot to mention that Barney was a dog, a big canine beast who delivered rhino sized poop every day and then barked triumphantly to let me know when he had finished.
Barney lived with Harry the Vicar and his lovely wife Iris. When I asked Harry to exercise Barney on a lead and walk him over the field to relieve himself, Harry's reply was that it certainly was not Barney doing the deed. Now would you tell a member of the clergy that they are being economical with the truth? I did eventually confront them when I had the sort of proof that no one could argue with.
It had snowed heavily through the night and I awoke to a beautiful white world almost unblemished except for the neat line of animal prints straight from their door to mine. And there it was a fresh neat parcel from Barney staining the snow around it. Harry could not deny it this time and he didn't. So you see the fence had to go up. I would like to report that this was the end of the matter but it wasn't. Although we made an effort to rekindle that special bond that we had had before, the incident hung over us and clouded the relationship.
Physical barriers have been erected throughout history in an attempt to solve issues of dispute and through fear and ignorance. The Great Wall of China, Hadrian’s Wall, the Berlin Wall and now there is talk of a wall surrounding Israel. For whatever reasons a wall is erected, perhaps we shouldn't forget that they are not only imperfect barriers to keep out the unwanted, they also imprison the people who are inside.
I am not putting forward political arguments; I have a foot on both sides of the fence. I abhor injustice of any sort but isn't there any other way?
Harry died shortly after and Iris had to go to sheltered accommodation. Unfortunately there was no one to have Barney and he was put-down. I never had a chance to make peace with them; the barrier that I was responsible for was just too great.

I have found the unfolding story of events, as told by Tami, on the untimely arrival of visitors, very interesting! Most people will be able to empathise with the predicament having been in similar situations. I think an illuminated sign must emerge from the roof of your dwelling with the words, "Visit now for maximum embarrassment!"
Why do people arrive when you are in your scruffiest clothes, face devoid of make-up and hair that is greasier than a car mechanics overalls?
However, the thing that really stresses me out and winds me up tighter than a boy scouts woggle is when people who have been invited, arrive 'early'! What's that all about? I remember one such occasion when the kitchen looked like it would be more in keeping in the back streets of Naples. I had read somewhere that the best way to test pasta was to throw it against a wall and if it stuck then it was cooked. Edward, who was only three at the time, thought that this was great fun. He was covered in pasta sauce and had a wonderful time sucking individual lengths of spaghetti into his mouth and demanding his turn for throwing.
I, totally exhausted, was slumped at the table slurping a glass of wine, dressed in old jeans and a food splattered shirt when there was a knock on the door. And yes, I uttered those same ridiculous words that we all do on such occasions, "who the bleep is that?"
Not only were they an hour early for dinner but they knew that they were! Believe it or not I handled the situation with the sensitivity of an electric cattle prod. Did it spoil the evening? Of course it did.

We have continued the power walking around the compound but I just had to stop this morning and take a photograph.



The climate here is almost perfect and so the gardens are full of flowers all year round and the months after Christmas the trees are full of citrus fruits.

Isn't modern technology WWWonderful?
I upgraded my mobile phone when I was in London and so I have attempted to rekindle an affinity with this means of technology. The 'BOYS' in Phones 4 Us (or something like it) convinced me that the Nokia number was just right for me and would accessorise with any handbag that I owned.
This afternoon I spent two hours trying to text Ed and all that I managed was a load of gibberish. Now I have witnessed someone text with the dexterity of Edward Scissor Hands (my Step Daughter, Nats) and the assembled group around her almost burst into spontaneous applause as she zapped the 'send' button.
The funny moment of the afternoon was Ed texting Steph on the smallest mobile phone ever and getting his XXX's mixed up with the WWW's; does the W stand for Wuv?
Whoops, sorry must WUV and leave you, the phone's beeping, could that be Miss L from the top of the Empire State Building? (Guess what, it is!)

One of the joys of going to the UK is that I am able to buy lots of newspapers and magazines to bring back; fortunately none were confiscated this time by Customs officials at Riyadh.
This morning I settled down at breakfast to read last weeks Mail on Sunday and one particular article has certainly got my 'dander' well and truly up!
Diane Keaton was under the microscope because a photographer had taken one of those awful pictures when you least expect them and captured her without make-up and in the garden chatting to a neighbour. Miz Keaton and I certainly have one thing in common, we do not apply make-up just to walk in the garden and chat with friends. However, if she had been pre-warned that the paparazzi were hiding in her floribundas she might have run the comb through her hair and applied a bit of lippy.

Travelling broadens your backside and not your mind. Believe me it's quite true. From here to the UK you will spend at least four days travelling of which too many hours are spent sitting in airport lounges.
On our journey out we had to spend almost three hours in Jeddah airport in the early hours of the morning. To stave off the boredom Phil disappeared in the direction of the shops. Now I love surprises so I was totally delighted when he returned with a gift for me; a beautiful blue palm pilot.
Once the gift was revealed all efforts to proceed slowly and refer to the instructions were futile. I just took a deep breath and dove straight in clicking and pressing unable to suppress my enthusiasm. Fortunately this method guaranteed that I was kept busy on the fifteen hours we were flying on this latest little jaunt.
It's a remarkable bit of kit and it takes photographs!

My mother-in-law lives in St John's Wood and I love staying there. This time we went to our usual Italian restaurant and also spent many happy hours in the local wine bar. It is such a relaxed and friendly place with excellent food and of course wine. The weather may have been very wet and cold outside but inside we had an excellent time.

This is the view from the window late in the afternoon.



The first day in London we hit the shops running and I managed to stock up on the essentials that you can't buy here. So 4 blouses, 1 pair of trousers, 1 absolutely gorgeous black trench coat, 2 bikinis, 1 skirt and a pair of work-out pant type things later (and a slurp or two of wine in Selfridges) we headed back to the above venue for lunch. I have omitted two other purchases from my list because they deserve a separate 'post' of their own.

It was amazing! The opening notes of Gaudeamus igitur announced the commencement of the procession of high-brow intellectuals for the beginning of the 2004 Degree Congregation at the University of Leicester. As they paraded down the aisle, in all of their grand finery, in their midst was a guy in trainers and dread-locks who I expected to high five everyone on either side as he loped, to an unheard reggae beat, to the front of the auditorium. As they arranged themselves on the stage I couldn't help but focus on the black guy who relaxed in his seat with legs outstretched, arms folded and a slight smile on his face as if to witness the first 'whitey' sold into slavery; he was clearly enjoying himself!
At this point things did not register with me, being obviously more concerned with my own 'graduand' sitting below and waiting for his moment of a life-time. Then it struck me; "Be Nice to Your Turkey..." Sitting on that stage was someone who's poetry I had admired and read to the children over and over again for years. Yes, it was Benjamin Zephaniah who was about to receive an Honorary Degree (Doctor of Letters) at this very ceremony!
I wanted to shout "way to go Benjamin" but good manners dictated a more dignified response.
I looked out for him at the VIP lunch which was next to Phil's Faculty venue. Like a child looking through the window of the sweety shop, I saw him surrounded by the best in academia and knew that I couldn't tell him the difference that his poetry makes.
Not only has Benjamin Zephaniah touched people with his poetry, he made a wonderful day even more special.
Thank you.

A wonderful moment and a great day.



We are now back in the Middle East after a very hectic but superb visit to England for Phil's graduation. Over the next few days I will go into more detail but after 2 days travelling, arriving at 8.30am and then straight into work you can well imagine I am feeling more than a little drained.

How do you apologise to your best friend when you know you've been a prat (hope that is an acceptable word)?
The scrappy piece of paper with the all important phone numbers did not come with me to the UK and of course she would be ex-directory! She will probably NEVER speak to me again, NEVER be that all important shoulder to cry on, NEVER be totally wild with me again! OH BLEEP!

Well they did finally end up in cyber heaven so I have had to go to a new system. Now I totally look like 'Billy No Mates' so come on do your bit and write a few comments for me.