THAT'S ALL FOLKS!

Time for AU to go into permanent hibernation.

Was poised to relate the latest holiday 'airport boarding-pass machine fiasco' - but suddenly realised that this latest technological battle story, is hardly any different to those of previous years - and in all probability (unless scientists can re-grow a new brain for me, from a bit of the old one) the world of technology, in all its wonderfulness, will continue to boggle old Geri forever and ever, ad infinitum....

And anyway, have been thinking deeply and seriously about this computer of mine. Don't really even want it anymore.

The 'search' bar is useful of course, for looking up new stuff - but I can't seem to get animated about anything at all lately. On the other hand, it is also useful for in-depth perusal of News items; but am finding the News more and more depressing and the World more and more unhappy and desperate - and I wish I had a magic wand... but, I haven't.

Going from 'online banking transactions', back to the paper/envelope 'rompslomp', will of course be odd at first; but the radical thought of throwing off as many technological chains as possible and roaming free, both literally and figuratively... is making the old Geri heart feel lighter than it has felt in years!

Visions of walking free through dense woods, filled with beautiful birds and large-eyed night animals; or pottering around cave ridden hills, discovering million year old relics; and dabbling tired feet in babbling streams and quiet woodland ponds; and living quietly with maybe a chicken or two in a little hut or one roomed cottage, tucked away somewhere off the beaten track....(sigh..).
Or maybe I'll just stay here in my little, noisy, smelly (petrol fumes in the kitchen seeping in from adjoining storage rooms of flat dwellers above me) town flat - and sort my head out (!)

So good-bye folks.
And many thanks to all those readers who have followed and hopefully enjoyed AU- and particularly to those who have regularly left comments. Your consistent good natured support has been greatly appreciated!!

Take care, one and all.
Geri Atric.
(AKA - Jean xxx).

MOTHER NATURE - OW!

Nestling in the woods above a winding stream the holiday bungalow was comfy and spacious and equipped with all mod cons. The weather was wonderful too - hot-hot-hot(!) with only two rather violent thunderstorms - and the Park amenities were excellent. Swimming, eating, walking, eating, climbing, eating, bowling and eating...!! Well, what the h*ck! Isn't that all part of enjoying a good holiday? Even though lots of normally 'forbidden' snacks and sweeties are now (despite all that activity) lodged for the unforeseeable future around the old hips and tum....

The setting was great; surrounded as we were with numerous different sorts of interesting trees, filled with birds of many lovely colours and inclination (I like birds). Cheeky Tom-Tits; raucous Jays; bossy Magpies; and busy mother ducks with their numerous fluffy offspring, all anxious to share our picnic breakfasts.

We were even treated to an occasional glimpse of two red squirrels, chattering at us from high up in the trees, although too timid to come down whilst we were outside.

All in all, Dutch Mother Nature at her most relaxing, picturesque and charming best....

WOAH... back up for just a moment there Geri!...

AND her worst!!!!!!!!!! *scratch, scratch*

Yup, I got bitten, remorselessly - by creeping, flying, whining, buzzing, horrible buggy things! Have been home two days now, but am still scratching at big red lumps on arms and legs. The one just above the left knee looks suspiciously tick-like too...

Why didn't I use the repellent on offer? Because I'm an idiot, that's why...tsk!

The second week of my summer holiday will be in Scotland, starting at the beginning of August - but since the end of last week the picture of beautiful highlands and the interesting woods and wild life they have there too, is now rapidly giving way to a vision of dozens of ominous clouds of.....midges!! I saw on the UK news recently that these pesky, tiny devils had actually driven hoards of camping tourists away....

Ah well - that's Nature, I guess. Take it or leave it.

I'll take it - but will be smearing myself in with 'anti-bug' from head to toe, the moment I leave the plane. Oh yeah..!

Happy holidays everyone! And take care, wherever you go.

FROGNAPPING

Have come to the conclusion that old Geri has Royal linage.

Well just look at the facts.

1. There was once a Princess who developed large bruises from a pea hidden under a pile of mattresses. Right? Well biscuit crumbs between the sheets irritate the sensitive Geri skin alarmingly - and crumbs are much smaller than peas!
One point to me.

2. There was once another Princess who pricked her finger on a spinning wheel and fell asleep for one hundred years, until the kiss from a Prince woke her up Right? Well I don't even need to prick my finger to suddenly wake up and realise that I didn't even know I had fallen asleep in the first place! Now that's clever - and it happens at least half a dozen times a day and I don't even need a Prince to kiss me awake!
Two points to me.

3. Talking of Princes, it is my understanding that olden day Princesess did a lot of amphibian snogging, in their attempts to find a husband.
Well strangely enough, I was put in mind of this curious fact a couple of days ago whilst crossing a quiet, leafy road near the park. Was just lifting my foot to step over what looked like a lump of blackish dog poo, when the poo suddenly leapt forward about a foot and almost gave me heart failure...!
Turns out the 'poo' was a frog which I assumed was looking for a Princess to give it a kiss. So cupping my hands, I picked the poor thing up and - *drum roll* -returned it to the edge of the park pond. Ha! Not that it wasn't a nice looking frog or anything - well actually it wasn't - but I didn't want to chance removing its enchantment and turning it back into a handsome toyboy...er.... Prince....I mean Prince!....*sigh*.... Am just too set in the old Geri ways to start sharing my abode with a man again.....even one wearing a crown and tights... Hmm....tights...let me think about that a bit more.....(!)
Anyway, in the meantime, I guess that loses me point three.

Oh well, 2 out of 3 is fair going. So whilst probably not a true-blue Princess or Queen of anybody's heart.... There might just be a bit of the 'Right Honourable' in there...(can women be Honorables?). After all, I did do the honourable thing and return the frog to its natural home... Well 'natural' while it is still in frog form. Don't know where it lived when it was a Prince, before its wicked stepmother enchanted it.... and then asked the mirror on the wall if she was still beautiful, before...yawn... dispatching 7 dwarves down a ravine and.....zzz...having herself imprinted onto a playing card and changing a baby into a pig and chasing.....zzzzz.......Alice up a rabbit hole....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz back through the very same 'looking glass' she was just chatting to !

What on earth am I talking about? This is scary, even for moi. Oh lor', now I'm starting to speak French - must be all those frog's legs (in tights, no less!). Heh!

ARE YOU SEEING WHAT ISN'T THERE?

There is a distinct difference between accepting that you are glimpsing the ghost of a little black cat darting about your house - and of thinking that you are 'imagining things', every time said cat cavorts playfully at the periphery of your vision!

I have no doubt, that the ghost of a little black cat has been living with me for a number of years now; and that she occasionally disappears for weeks at a time, to visit other members of my family in their own houses. (Sort of goes off on her 'holidays'!).

All this came to light of course when I casually, and half jokingly mentioned that I was being 'haunted' by this animal and surprised family members also admitted that they too sometimes 'saw' a little black cat, flitting silently around their houses.

We did have a real, live black cat once. In fact we had five family cats, during the years my children were growing up. All of whom came to us either as young strays, or were born in the house, or from another litter - and all lived to a ripe old age (17, 18, 19 and 20). All except the little black one that is. She was the first cat we ever had - a young stray (found by yours truly) starving and sick in the snow - and who when recovered, became mother to four kittens; two of whom found homes elsewhere and two we kept, because they got too big waiting for homes - and we'd become too soppy about them to want to part with them anyway...

Our little black mama cat was about 14 when she became very ill and had to be 'put to sleep'.

I sobbed all the way back from the vet's on the bus, with her little lifeless body wrapped in a blanket on my knee..... and buried her in the garden - and my heart ached for months. Nay, years!

What the heck, I hear you say. It's just a cat...

Yes, they were all 'just cats'; and they all got ill in the end, with quite serious old-age illnesses (brain tumour; hyperthyroidism/heart problems; kidney failure) and all had to be 'put to sleep' and buried in the garden. Except for the fifth one - a little grey and white cat. She moved with me to my present abode - where there is no garden - and I had to have her cremated and her ashes 'scattered at sea' in The Hague.
Actually, I was a bit bothered by that afterwards, because cats don't like water and it didn't 'feel right'. But there was no other choice (council rules and regulations) so it wouldn't therefore have surprised me, if she hadn't turned up on a few celestial visits - to reproach me for her soggy end...! But no. It's not her.

It's definitely the little black cat.

That's her in the photograph (taken when she was alive)!

On the other hand. For those of you who prefer a more rational explanation for my feline phantom, I have googled up this site:

http://www.amd.org/living-with-amd/33-charles-bonnet-syndrome.html

I came across the phenomenon of 'animal hallucination' during a psychology course.

It's not the worst hallucination in the world! Rather comforting actually. And I don't have problems with my eyes, apart from needing glasses for reading, so am still convinced that in mine and my family's' case, this is not some kind of brain/eye syndrome - but a true haunting! And just so you know, our hearts and minds will remain open to our little black cat ghostie, for as long as she needs us. And that's just purrrrrrfect!!!

A FISHY TALE!

Harping back to the 'shark nightmares' of a few posts ago, I finally decided that the best way to vanquish these night terrors - and stop getting virtual (but feels like real!) chunks taken out of me now and then - was to confront this particular 'bogey man' head on - and bop him on his virtual nose!!

So with a right old showdown in mind, I put my camera under my pillow, drank my cocoa, went to sleep - and look what I 'caught'!

Laying hidden between fronds of waving seaweed and breathing without tanks *smirk*, I filmed him (er...no.. hang on a second - isn't that a her....?!) all night long, until she eventually swam right out of my sub-conscious for good and all! (I hope....).

Well all right then. The truth of the matter is, I took this photo at the aquarium/zoo, in Rotterdam, with reinforced glass between us. Guess I'll never be a marine biologist!

Except perhaps in dreams...?

NIT-PICKIN A CHICKEN!

Just recently I had to face my eldest daughter’s indignation.

Daughter: (confrontational). Mam! Do you remember when I was a little girl and you read me the story of Chicken Licken?

Me: Er..yes..

Daughter: Well, you lied to me!

Me: (warily). I did…?

Daughter: Yes! Remember how an acorn falls on Chicken Licken’s head and he thinks the sky is falling in and so he sets off to tell the King? And on the way he meets Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Ducky Lucky, Drakey Lakey, Turkey Lurky and Foxy Loxy, who all want to go with him?

Me: (bewildered). Yes…

Daughter: Well Foxy Loxy apparently said that he was sure his wife would want to tag along too, so he invited them all back to his den to meet her – but once there, he gobbled them all up!

Me: (nervously). Yes, well I’m sure he did. Yes, he did.

Daughter: (indignantly). Well you told me that Foxy Loxy invited them all back to meet his wife and they all sat down and had jam sandwiches!!!

Me: (spluttering) Ahem. Yes, well, you were so young. What were you? Three? Four? You were all excited and enjoying the story so much, I couldn’t bare to tell you the cold, evil truth and wipe that happy smile off your little face. So yes. I lied!

Daughter: (tongue in cheek) Well, I can understand that - but you should have told me later. You shouldn’t lie to kids. I went through childhood defending your version!

Me: (contrite). Okay. I’m sorry. I forgot. But look at it this way. You slept serenely afterwards. No nightmares of being eaten by foxes. No years of therapy needed.

Daughter: There is that, of course. Now… about Red Riding Hood and the Wolf………?

Me: (gulp..).

Moral of this true conversation: (Yes, surreal as it seems, it really did take place!). Don’t ever tell fibs to your kids - even with their welfare in mind - because they will always come back to roost! Even more than 40 years later. LOL!

NIGHTMARE BEASTIES!

On holiday at last! Pure bliss - and there was little me - Geri in paradise! Knee deep in a sparkling blue sea and gazing joyfully up and down an empty ribbon of white sanded beach, that stretched for miles to both sides of me.

Dabbling in the gentle waves with both hands, I turned lazily and gazed towards a darker patch of sea just in front of me. This dark area indicated a sudden drop into deep water; and there were darker patches at regular intervals all along the shoreline. One minute you would be shuffling through the gentle swell and the next, swimming high above an underwater tropical world!

The idea of a swim was appealing - but before I could don my snorkel and step forward, the sand shifted violently beneath my feet and my heart was suddenly thudding with horror as the dark patch was swirling upwards out of the water to meet me! What in heaven's name....?! And then the dark patch tore off my leg!

It was a dream...? It had to be! Another one of those blasted shark nightmares! Ughh!....*shudder*.
All it takes is half an hour of National Geographic in the late evening - and there I am in slumberland, gathering up severed limbs!!! You would think I'd have learned by now not to watch late night Oceanic programs.

In childhood, it was snakes. The funny thing about that though, was that I did not need to see or hear about snakes beforehand for them to infiltrate my dreams. All it took was a bout of feverish bronchitis (which was often) and young Geri would be plunged into a pit of slithering, entwining vipers - and it would only take one tiny movement.... and they would strike and strike and strike....aarrgghh!! Woe betide me, but I always thought I could get out of the pit by walking v-e-r-y slowly. But it never worked. I always got thoroughly bitten - and woke up gasping and sweating with fear.

The sub-conscious is very strange, don't you think?

But there were nice dreams too. When I was very young, I remember seeing a picture of the boy God Mercury, with tiny wings on his heels. All he had to do was flap these tiny wings and up he went! It made such an impression on the wee sub-conscious, that it wasn't long before I too was flying through the air - up and away, above towns and countrysides... lovely! The best dreams were when I would run a few steps and suddenly be flying over the heads of my surprised classmates and family....
The funny thing is, I never dreamed about the landings. Up, up and away and the next thing - back in bed.

Haven't dreamed the flying dreams since childhood. But they were nice and I'd like them back again. So, think I'll swap those Nature programs for Aeronautical ones. Trouble is, the only flying documentary I have ever seen on Nat. Geo., is: 'Seconds from Disaster'!!!
Guess in future I'll just have to turn the telly off straight after 'Eastenders'..... (...help!)

FLITTING THOUGHTS

Gazing out of the window, at a sneaky new fall of night-time snow, I am reminded of buttercups and daisies. Which doesn't make much sense, I know - except of course that on parting the curtains, I was expecting to see the clear streets of yesterday, with their promise of Spring.

Fickle weather. But never mind, I can still dream of buttercups and daisies - which reminds me of a hymn we used to sing in our amazingly high young voices, at Sunday School:

"Daisies are our si-il-ver, buttercups our gooold..."

Free riches.

Which puts me in mind of Church for some reason. Probably because that is where the grown-ups would disappear to after dumping us at SS - and most of them (the grown-ups) were not rich at all. Which reminds me of that saying: 'As poor as a church mouse'....

Why is a church mouse considered to be poor? Seems to me it has quite an affluent existence, in a mostly quiet (except on Sundays) dry place, with access to an abundance of alter flowers, wafer crumbs and drops of spilled wine. Seems to me, a church mouse would be partying day and night!

Still, mice are not a popular animal. Which by a huge leap of the imagination reminds me of a 'school boy howler':

Teacher: I want you to write an essay on the House of Lords.

School boy (writing industriously): In the H of L's the men are called Peers, because they peer about a lot. And they wear cornets on their heads and their robes are trimmed with vermin...

Which reminds me of a Dutch song:

I saw a mouse (warble).
Where?
There! There on the stair - right there... A little mouse with clogs on..
Well I declare!
Going clip-clippity clop, on the staair! Oh yeah..!"

Which puts me in mind of another Dutch song about 'Tulips in Amsterdam'. Which makes me think of Spring.........and buttercups and daisies...

........and that infernal snow!

Which makes me think of 'whiskers on kittens and bright woolen mittens....tra-la'!!

'And they're coming to take me away, ha-ha-hee-hee, to the funny farm, where life is beautiful all the time and I'll be happy to see those nice young men in their nice white coats and they're coming to take me awaaay heyhey!'

Did I mention that it was Sunday?

ADDLED!

OH...!

So now the 'ads' that miraculously appeared under the posting entitled 'OW!' (when I pressed that seemingly innocuous new dashboard button) and which prompted a new posting - have now disappeared from beneath 'OW!'(?) and nestled themselves snugly beneath 'BUTTON IT!'...?
As I understood it (before pressing the button), new 'ads' would appear on the sidebar and beneath EACH new posting(?)

Which probably means that since I am now in the process of typing out a new posting entitled 'ADDLED!' the 'ads' are now in the process of slowly fading (like the Cheshire Cat's Smile - ref: Alice in Wonderland/Lewis Carroll) from beneath 'BUTTON IT!', to reappear underneath this one...?

*Sigh*...I am in Computer Technology awe. Computer technology is my God. I feel like feeding my computer a carrot.
(I.E., ref. to The Coming Plague/Laurie Garrett - and an incident in which a Brazilian tribe, on seeing their first ever aeroplane (bringing medical Scientists) thought it was a mighty 'God' Bird and rushed out from the surrounding jungle to feed it roots - and don't say you (and me )would not have done the same in their place - because I am betting we would have - for sure! ).

Wait though, I have just had a thought (!) (*rusty grinding noise*)... Since 'ADDLED!' will be posted on the same day as 'BUTTON IT!' the ads will 'think' it's all one-and-the-same - and not move upwards (seems logical), if you get my drift?

Wonder if I am right.....? (finger now moving towards 'publish post')..... bated breath...


(*Groan*.... There must be a better way to spend a cold, wet, slushy Sunday?).


P.S.
HMMPH!! This is an 'edit'. I wasn't right...

OW!!

Slipped on the icey pavement this morning, whilst putting out the wheelie bin and bumped my 'tail' bone. Smack ! (@*!!x#) - right on the end of the spine - ow-ow-ow!

There were only two other people about - an elderly couple, shuffling along and clinging desperately to each other, on the opposite side of the street. But the odd thing is, during and immediately after the fall, I behaved as though nothing had happened (?!), clambering as swiftly and nonchalantly to my feet as possible (with legs flailing all over the place) and ignoring the pain. What was that all about?

Am left wondering if my reaction would have been the same if the street had been deserted? Giving it some thought - the answer is, that I think so. I think the desire to be upright and apparently unhurt is/was some kind of survival instinct....(?)
Sort of like: 'Aargh! I've come a cropper in the snow-and am old and helpless-and if I don't get up at once the wolf pack will close in-and eat me! So let's see if the legs still work and if they do, let's get the h*ll out of here!

Well maybe there are no wolves in the middle of slippery, snowy suburban 'Den Haag' - well, not the animal kind anyway - so perhaps it had more to do with not wanting to look like an idiot (?!) Anyway, as I said, I uprighted myself (with the aid of a lamppost); placed the wheelie bin carefully at the curb; and baby-stepped slowly back into the warmth and safety of the Geri 'cave'.

Hmm... (wince). Feels like I'll be sitting on a cushion for a while - but apart from that, nothing a few hot cuppas won't cure.. Cheers (!)

And oh yeah - be careful out there!

BOOM-DIDDY-BOOM!

Dutch New Year celebrations started officially yesterday morning, with the legal sale of fireworks in Holland. Legally, they must not be let off before 10 a.m. on the 31st Dec.; but unrealistically, billions of bangers, rockets and other heart jumping noisy explosives, are now in the hands of millions of over-excited Dutch youth.

So, since I am not allowed to leap out, screeching bloodcurdlingly (and brandishing my broomstick) onto the backs of our local youth - and physically remove their fireworks from them when they let them off right under my windows (!) - that just leaves the following:

Check list:
Wheelie bins under cover.
Letter box sealed shut.
Last minute shopping done.
All windows closed.
Monitor the dog's pulse and respiration.

A friend's German Shepherd mix is staying with me, while her 'mam' holidays in Dubai - and she is cowering on top of my feet. She has been there for almost the last 24 hours and my feet are numb. Toasty, but numb.

This poor dog is my greatest concern; what with all the smoke and noise coming from the street she is a nervous wreck, so I have created an elaborate, 'escape' route, out of my scullery door (mine is the only residence on the ground floor - a sort of granny flat) and into a small enclosed back passage. Then out through another door into the main hall, past the lift and out through the electronic back doors onto a large cul-de-sac of grass and trees - and from there it is just a couple of minutes mad dash across the grass, around a corner, across a road and into a large wooded park, where an 'off lead' area for our four footed friends, offers sanctuary. Phew!

After a bit of a run, I will put her back on the lead and since the local New Year's bonfire is being built further up in the park, we will then proceed the opposite way, past monuments and duck filled ponds, towards an area of high prickly bushes - to relax and sniff at rabbit holes. (The dog, not me (!) I gave up rabbit hole sniffing years ago...). It seems to soothe the dog's nerves and the local rabbits are apparently used to us now, since they don't bolt anymore.
I just hope that these cute, seemingly unafraid bunnies - and the local tame ducks - have the sense to bolt and hide from the growing swarms of kids armed with thousands of 'bombs': i.e, bangers that get louder and more dangerous every year... *shudder*..
Because some of them really are like small bombs. Obtained illegally from Belgium and smuggled into the Neths. I saw two of them blow a couple of impressive holes in the tarmac outside a party in Amsterdam, a couple of years ago.

Happy New Year everyone - and be safe! And that goes for your pets and the local wild life too.

Cheers!!!

ZWIJNPEST!

Don't know whether to blame this ridiculous looking pink creature I found lurking around - whilst clearing up the grandkids' toy box last Wednesday - but with mounting trepidation the list of today, includes:

Chills; coughing; very sore throat; horrible pain in back of neck; thumping head; aching all over, sore skin and runny nose.

Could of course be just a bad cold, but considering what happened last winter - when I felt ill but ignored it and carried on till I broke(!) - am now going to dive into bed and dose myself into a long healing doze. Read about that once in a James Herriot book (he was a Yorkshire vet'), how he put a 'sick sheep into a deep sleep' - Lor'.. don't say that fast! You'll lose your dentures - and when it woke up after 3 days it was cured! Brilliant stuff.

So ta-ta for now and take extra care when clearing out boxes and cupboards. Never know what might be lurking there.. My mother found a scorpion once, but that was when she was billeted in India during W.W.II..... (another time, another tale).

love and stuff,

Geri xx

TAKEN SHORT!

Feeding the ducks in the park yesterday, met a neighbour just back from his holidays. A friendly man and very proud of his idiomatic-type English, which he practices on me – strangely with an ‘American’ accent - whenever he can.

Me: 'Howdy neighbour!'

Him: (Walking stiffly)…'O.K.. Jes got me a new case of the "galloping whatsits…".'

Me: 'Oh dear. That doesn’t sound O.K.. Picked it up on holiday?'

Him: 'Yeah. Makes it difficult to walk properly. A bit sore between the…'

Me: (Interrupting hastily)… 'Oo-er, yes yes, well, perhaps you shouldn’t be out? I mean, I know there are a lot of bushes around here, but perhaps it would be better to stay home, close to the...er.. W.C. You know - bathroom.'

Him: (With a slightly puzzled air)… 'But why would I wanna do that? I allus walk the hound round this time…'

Me: (More puzzled) 'Well, those ‘galloping…er…whatsits’ can come on quite - suddenly.'

Him: 'Awl-a-sudden? Well nay, s'matter-a-fact, took quite a while to tug them critters on!'

Me: (Totally confused). 'Heh???'

Him: (Lifting his T-shirt and pulling at his jeans waistband) 'Looky here…'

Me: (In rising panic) 'What are you doing man.? Get home quick! I’ll finish walking your dog for you!'

Him: 'The label. Look at the label.'

Me: ' "Colt". You’ve bought yourself a new pair of Colt jeans?'

Him: 'Tight sons-a-b****ers.'

Me: (Whinnying). 'NAAAY…toch!' (spelled NEE - Dutch for NO…).

Him: 'Whad'ya think I meant?'

Me: (Quickly) 'Nothing. Have a nice day.'

Him: (Shuffling stiffly off, mumbling in Dutch..) Translation: 'Strange woman. Goin’ a bit ‘potty’...'

INVIGORATED!

Well it’s three months later now and winter more or less gone, although you never can be sure, as it’s wet and chilly again today in my part of the Neths. - but never mind that, take a peek at the photo …

Those pesky seagulls even followed me to Menorca ! Of course, they could have already been there…(radical thought). This one was particularly persistent in its attempts to dive-bomb my grandson’s lunch.

That’s right folks, after a dreadful cold winter and an eight month list of depleting family maladies ranging from pneumonia, broken bones, ear operations, stomach flu, ordinary flu, continuous coughs, colds and very low spirits all round etc., etc., we (youngest daughter, two small grandsons and yours truly) took ourselves off to Menorca on Dutch Mother’s Day, 10th May, for ten sun filled, recuperating days. Well, eight actually, it rained for two (but even that was warm).

Back home now though, healthy, tanned and relaxed - and hopefully with re-built immune systems!

Bring it on!!!!!

WINTER SLEEP

Woke briefly from winter hibernation this morning and poked my sleep grizzled head out of the Geri Atric cave… A watery sun struggled through the clouds to briefly touch my tongue. Other folk hold up their finger to test the wind. I stick out my tongue to test the sun. Don’t ask.

Not a soul to be seen, except for a row of seagulls, perched motionlessly on the roof of the building opposite. They eye me hungrily.

I’m feeling peckish too and rummage hopefully through my depleting store of nuts and berries. Hmm, not much left. Spring will have to come soon….

A brief visit to the computer to read online news - and also to see if my blog is still there. Does the Blog Host Company, or whatever it’s called, delete your blog if it is not contributed to regularly (?) Not much to report at the moment but it’s nice to know I have an outlet, for those rare moments of rambling inspiration.

(Almost) cuddled back on the settee now, with the telly droning in the background and eyelids drooping…
Dreams of emigrating to warmer climes. Dreams of eating a mountain of chocolate ice-cream. Dreams of being young and nubile again.

Those ravenous seagulls are gathering under my window – and have been joined by flocks of raucous crows. I throw them stale bread and watch them half kill each other.
I like birds.

I hate winter.

HORSE MANURE!

I am standing outside my front door chatting to a neighbour, when the clatter of horses’ hooves draws our attention to two magnificent police horses turning into our street. Whether by accident or design the horses are a matching sandy brown and their riders sit high and haughty in the saddles, resplendent in their blue police uniforms.

‘Now that’s a fine sight…’ I begin, but as they draw abreast of us the nearest horse is obviously agitated, tossing his head and rolling a baleful eye.
‘He’s gonna crap!’ Yells my neighbour’s young son, jumping up and down with glee - and sure enough as the horse strolls past, he lets fly with endless dollops of thick, smelly yellow manure.

My neighbour clicks her tongue in disgust and shooing her delighted progeny before her, picks her way through the piles of steaming poo to their house across the road, leaving me staring after the horses. In my mind I am five years old again and back in England at my grandparent’s house. The coal man’s horse has just passed by and the cry has gone out: Horse muck! Horse muck! And at every house in the immediate vicinity, kids are scrambling to grab buckets and spades and be the first to collect the inevitable booty left by this hard working animal.

‘Just what my roses need.’ Laughs granddad, egging my cousin and I on.
‘A penny each for a bucketful!’
As the youngest by two years, I would hold the bucket, while my cousin shovelled frantically. The kids who lived next door were about our ages and competition was fierce! Still, there always seemed enough to go round and my cousin and I would struggle back to granddad with our bucket of steaming bounty, to collect our reward. A penny in those days would fill the whole of a child’s palm and I would stare down at my huge, hard earned copper coin with satisfaction. A sherbet dab, pink sugar mouse, gobstopper, thin chocolate bar wrapped in tin foil… the mouth-watering treats this coin would buy were endless!

A passing car jerks me from my reverie. There are still no children anywhere to be seen and my neighbour across the road is calling me over for a cup of tea. As we sit in her back garden my eyes are drawn to a bag of fertilizer pellets standing next to her rose bushes. Clean, efficient, no pungent odour… and the only bucket and spade to be seen are the brightly coloured plastic ones in her child’s sandpit.

As I return home the horse manure is still there but almost completely flattened and crisscrossed with the tire treads of passing cars. But all is not wasted – a couple of magpies are pecking animatedly in the remains.
‘Ah well’, I mutter. ‘Peck away. After the street sweeper car has been tomorrow there will be no trace of it at all. That’s progress for you; a clean and sanitized world – but not half as much fun!’

A MOTH THAT MATTERS

Insects are not a life force I usually think much about, except when swatting a pesky fly or trying to eradicate a plague of ants from the larder. But since last night, after transferring a particularly large moth from the kitchen ceiling into a glass and releasing it into the night, I have been thinking about some particular kinds of insects a lot - and wondering where on earth they are…!

It has suddenly dawned on me that I have not seen a wasp for at least eight years. There was a time that it was impossible to sit in the garden or on a restaurant terrace during summertime, without being besieged by aggressive, black and yellow would-be assassins. So where are they now? Is it just my own city corner of the planet that they (seem to) have disappeared from? Not that I miss them (!) having been chased and painfully stung by them on a number of occasions – but where are they all?

Come to think of it, I have not seen a sparrow for years either. I can remember a time when flocks of sparrows would swoop down into my garden in Amsterdam at least twice a day during the 1990s. Then almost overnight or so it seemed, they stopped coming and were replaced by blackbirds and magpies. I have recently moved to another major city but it is the same story here too.

Did/do sparrows eat wasps? Has the disappearance of one caused the disappearance of the other? And what about bees? I know that the world is mystified by the disappearance of whole hives of bees and that this phenomenon presents a potentially catastrophic problem for agriculture: i.e., no bees, no pollination. Bats too, seem to be disappearing in their millions… Perhaps all the communication satellites circling our globe are disrupting bats’ sonar (?) It is all very strange…

As ‘my’ moth flew away last night, I watched her go and worried. A quadrangle of newly renovated flats across the way lit up the surrounding area with dozens of gallery lights - and to a little disorientated moth it must have looked like the moon. Shivering, even though the night was warm, I hoped fervently that she would turn and fly the other way, towards the darkened park, with its many bushes and trees and sleeping flowers…. I hoped she would hear the call of her own kind and meet a friend and thoroughly enjoy her short life!

I have never hoped for anything for a moth before, except perhaps (for both of us) that it not fly into my hair (!) but as I sit and gaze out of my window today, onto a predominance of concrete technology and bustling humanity – the survival and happiness of that one small lost moth, suddenly seems like one of the most important things in the world.

STRICTLY FOR THE BIRDS?

Birds of a feather are all of a dither! A recent television program revealed a male osprey flying back to the nest with his prey and proceeding to tear strips of it and feed them to his young. So what’s wrong with that? Well, that’s what I thought but the commentator almost fell out of his tree! This is obviously big news. Evolution gone haywire.

Apparently male ospreys just don’t do that sort of thing. His job is strictly to bring back the prey, dump it, screech at the wife how wonderful he is - and then fly off and hunt for more.
In her turn, Mrs. O. will screech back at him that he’s nothing special, fluff herself up a bit and proceed to stuff bits of fish down her children’s monstrous throats. And now here she is, this poor creature, all ruffled and perplexed and out of a job! Cast aside like last year’s feather duster.

I strongly suspect the hand of human technology - as in the human birth control pill - in this evolutionary quandary. In my opinion ‘the pill’ has finally polluted the ground water to the extent that the evolutionary perfected Mr. Osprey, has been tipped over the edge into his feminine side!

This is just the beginning. Mark my words. I would not be at all surprised if one day all male birds are behaving like Mr. O. - and from there, it is just a short evolutionary step to male birds with moobs*.

In fact that future scenario might not even be ‘strictly for the birds’. As ground water everywhere becomes even more contaminated with estrogen, it might be that eventually all species will become androgynous …? Caw! (I mean Cor!) The mind boggles....

Think I’ll leave further discussion on that topic to the experts.
I’m off to feed the ducks.... and drakes.

* male boobs.

SLUGGED!

I cannot kill a slug. Once by accident, I rode over a particularly fat and juicy one that squelched out into a revolting gooey mess all over the front tyre of my bike and for the life of me and I don’t know why, I felt like a cold blooded killer! Cold and green, like the slug’s remains.

I know it is probably downright loony to feel guilty about committing slugicide - but I can’t help it. Just moments before that particular slug ended up on my tyre, it had been a slug someone. A slug of substance, with an evolutionary line dating back to primeval crud. A slug with family and connections all over the world. In fact at my last 'gound floor flat with garden out back', most of its relations seemed to live there, in the garden - demolishing plants and wolfing the cats’ food and leaving slimey trails – but if you are a slug, it’s what you do. It’s your job.

So, to atone for my earlier crime, I became a slug crusader. You have probably noticed that touching a slug will cause it to draw in its little antlers and curl up into a sticky, gungy lump and so every time I found one, I would pick it up with newspaper, to prevent ten minutes of yukky finger dee-slime-ing…! Then, after pottering around the garden and collecting a plant pot full of slugs, I would re-house them to the long grass by the canal at the end of the road. A harmless pastime that amused the local kids, causing them to trail after me chanting:
‘Slugs! Slugs! Eeouw, slugs!’
Yes indeed, I was and on occasion still am - ‘Slug Woman’!!
I even wrote a poem about slugs once:

Having no perception of up and down,
Of space and distance and light,
When the rock was moved,
The slug rolled out
And promptly died of fright!

Unless of course they get ‘slugged’ by a bike first, then they get put on a blog…. ‘A blogged slug, a slogged blug’ – say that fast! Oops. Now there’s spit all over the computer screen. Ah but that’s pretty! Lots of rainbow lights shining through the droplets…wonderful! Go on, try it…
Uhhhhh - I must get a life…

UP THE GARDEN PATH

I know for a fact, having recently lived there, that many of the apartment blocks in Amsterdam hide glorious secret gardens!
Often assessable only through the ground floor apartments to which they belong the effect is of a tranquil and colourful oasis, hidden away from the dinginess and turmoil of city life.

Each rainy day in spring our modest lawns would be teeming with frogs – though lord knows where they came from, while bees, butterflies, snails and slugs went forth and multiplied. Blackbirds and blue tits abounded too, whilst the tallest trees were often filled with screeching families of wild green city parrots, who liked nothing better than to bombard us with twigs and poo (!)

So with all this natural beauty to keep us busy, it was with some surprise that one bright summer morning I discovered my seventy-six year old neighbour Mrs. V., halfway under a hortensia bush, feeding a dish of strawberry yogurt to her scrubbing brush….

Mrs. V: ‘Tch… It wont drink it…. do you think it’s ill?’

Me: ‘ Oh definitely.’

Mrs. V: ‘I don’t know. It’s unheard of to find one of these here. I mean how did it get here? Do you think it's dead?'

Me: ‘Indubitably.’

Mrs. V: Blinking and frowning. ‘You don’t seem bothered. I thought you liked hedgehogs?'

Me: ‘Well like you said - it’s dead… Oh Mrs. V., I am sorry but… you know that cataract operation you are due to have next week?'

Mrs. V: ‘Yes.’

Me: ‘And you know that scrubbing brush you lost last year and that is now half rotten and buried in the dirt under your hortensia bush?'

Mrs. V: Brightly. ‘Is it? Oh good, I wondered where… that… had… got … to… WEL NU BEN IK VAN DE POT GERUKT!’

Which means something like: ‘Well now I’ve gone completely off my rocker!’ The Dutch aren't known for spicy swear words.

P.S. We threw the scrubbing brush in the bin. A-men.