Another new experience (that I possibly should have avoided)

Posted on August 14, 2017 by thepogblog

If you’ve been around for longer than I deserve to have had you here, you’ll know that a few years ago I decided to learn to scuba dive, despite being scared of going under water.  Rather than finding I could overcome my fear, I had a panic attack every time I got in the sea, threw up 12 meters under water and still can’t watch footage of underwater scenes.  ‘Face a fear to overcome it’ my arse.

You’d think I’d have learned, wouldn’t you?  Apparently not.  For His birthday, I bought Him a flying lesson.  I promptly became so involved in the weather for the day (rubbish…it was cancelled and rescheduled for Saturday), that I forgot the small fact that I was going to go up too.  Now, I used to be terrified of flying.  These days, as long as I sink my fingernails into my palms for take off and landing, I’m pretty much ok; I just ignore the fact we’re on a plane and flying once we’re up there.  That works well on a big plane.  Not so good when you are taller than the plane and the inside is the size of the Mini that was your first car:

Himself channeling Biggles :o)

We did it though.  We went to the Isle of Wight (because yes, in another complete flaw in my planning I selected the lesson that included TWO take offs and landings.  Genius).  It was a good thing though, as if we’d not landed when we did I would have decorated the inside of the plane with the cream tea I’d selected as my possible final meal while we waited at the airport.

As it was, I was fine, and had thirty minutes on land to take deep breaths and sip water before having to get back on to get back :o)

Before I felt really sick, I took some photos of the view, which was amazing.  I just probably should have listened to Sister 1 when she suggested I don’t use my camera…

Oh well, I think I’ve now established that this Pog is much better avoiding air and sea and sticking firmly to land :o)

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Getting Googled

Posted on August 11, 2017 by thepogblog

I’m not the worlds best driver (I’m still not sure if I failed my first test because I got in the wrong side of the car and settled in the passenger seat, or if it was that emergency stop that wasn’t actually meant to happen).  What I am REALLY bad at though, is directions.  (I once attempted to get from Somerset to Kent and it was three hours before I discovered I was on the right road, but going the wrong way and had reached Cornwall).  So it was very exciting to discover via Himself that there is such a thing as Google Maps.  I know.  I’m not good with technology either.

Having realised how easily I get lost, himself ‘pinned’ our house, put a phone holding thing in my car, and taught me how to set Google Maps to talk me home, wherever I may be.  This has been a bit of a godsend since moving to Beachville.

But this week, Google Maps decided to have a bit of a joke with me.  Only I was not amused.  I had to go somewhere new, so I plugged in the post code, set off and withing a few miles, the man decided that ‘turning’ was no longer the done thing.  No, he wanted me to ‘slide’.  I was told to ‘slide left’ and ‘slide right’ all over the place.  Most of the time these weren’t hard left or rights so they kind of made sense.  Just as I started anticipating and relaxing into this new approach to directions though, it threw me a curve ball by informing me I should ‘go south west’.  Seriously?  I wasn’t on some sort of country hike involving a hill and a compass.  And to be honest, even if I had been, I couldn’t have told you which way was south west, or any other direction for that matter. I panicked.  The Google man went quiet.  But unbelievably, I suddenly realised I knew where I was anyway, and didn’t need to be told to turn, slide, or get out the car and pop on some hiking boots!

Maybe I am going to find my way around Beachville one day after all.  One day… :o)

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Norman Love

Posted on August 8, 2017 by thepogblog

I’m not ashamed to say it:  I am trying to encourage the fur ball to love me more.

Since we moved in with Himself, Norman has….well, Norman has transferred his affections.  I suspect he is in love with Himself.  I should have seen the signs back in Pog Towers last year:

But it’s worse now.  When Himself is at work, Norman mostly languishes on His side of the bed, presumably inhaling deeply.  When it gets to 6.50pm, he moves outside to sit on the shed roof so he can watch Him walk down the road home from work.  When Himself was away for a week a while back, Norman spent hours waiting and watching, before completely ignoring me and buggering off for the evening to play elsewhere.  (Judging by the barking and the speed he occasionally emerges over the fence, I suspect ‘elsewhere’ is mostly winding up the teeny terriers next door).

So, today is international cat day and Norman, I want to tell you that you are the very best fur ball there is.  Having to tell someone on a call today that I needed them to repeat what they’d said, because while I tried to take notes, you had chewed the top of the biro and made my handwriting illegible wasn’t so bad.  Having to apologise on a team call for the fact that all anyone could see on the video screen was your backside will eventually be forgotten.  And at some stage I might forgive you for deleting that very long email while you tried to tell me it was time for tea.

I suppose it doesn’t matter.  Especially when you pose for Himself and He gets a photo this good:

Happy International Cat Day, Norman.  You’re my best furball, even if I’m not quite your best Hooman :o)

 

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Alternative Pride and an alternative umbrella

Posted on August 6, 2017 by thepogblog

It was Pride in Beachville yesterday, but by the time Himself and I discovered we had a couple of spare hours to do something, all the free parts had finished and I thought this might be the closest we’d get to the fun:

So we decided to go out of the city rather than into it, and there discovered that we might have missed Pride, but we had our own little version going on in the countryside.

First the cows demonstrated that same sex relationships are not just for those with two legs:

And then after the rain had come down, a rainbow came out:

:o)

And the reason for this walk from Beachville:

Here’s what we were aiming for:

Its not wonky; I was just getting very rained on. It’s the Chattri. In WW1 many injured Indian Army soldiers who served alongside the British were hospitalised in Beachville. Hindus and Sikhs who died there were cremated and their ashes scattered at sea in accordance with their religion.  The Chattri was built on the cremation site to honour the soldiers sacrifice. Chattri means umbrella.  We hoped the soldiers didn’t mind us using it as one while the storm passed over us:

:o)

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Birthday planning

Posted on August 4, 2017 by thepogblog

Yesterday was the birthday of Himself.  (That seems like the most arse about tit way of writing a sentence but at this stage on a Friday, I’m not sure what it would be.)  Anyway, I was most excited.  Himself had expressed more than a passing interest in flying a plane, so I organised a flying lesson on his birthday and started obsessively checking the weather forecast for the day on multiple apps.  We both took the day off work, I planned the day, I even made a birthday cake in secret with the help of Sister 2 and Facebook Messaging (thank you Sister 2 :o) ).

Despite torrential rain on Wednesday, yesterday started dry and if not blue skies, then at least not black ones.  I was hopeful.  Himself opened his pass the parcel style present with a clue at each layer and was reading the instruction booklet wearing the Biggles Hat and glasses when I phoned the flying school at the time they’s suggested.  A gale was on it’s way in.  It was cancelled :(

All my planning out the window, we had birthday cake for breakfast and then decided on a different day out.  That wasn’t quite what we planned either, but  you know, it’s not often you get to be a knight:

A queen:

Or a pair of knights…

The cakes wasn’t too bad ether.  Four pieces though, may have been a little excessive.  But it was practice for the cakeathon.  Just without the running part :o)

And the flying is booked in for next weekend.  Please cross fingers for a dry, still day :o)

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Ghosts, evil squirrels and sacrificial tables

Posted on August 1, 2017 by thepogblog

Well, I suspected this house might have a ghost – it’s very old, the backdoor is often open in the morning and the hall way makes funny noises.  Then I realised that Himself and I were just rubbish at remembering to lock the back door and Norman must be exactly the right weight to ‘clunk’ a specific floorboard.

Now I think that perhaps the squirrel that sits in the tree outside and laughs all evening while doing his squirrel dance to tease Norman is actually evil.  You see:

1. A couple of weeks ago I was in the office and Himself worked from home. Norman, who adores Himself bought Him the gift of a dead bird.  Himself has been a dog owner until now and was apparently at a bit of a loss as to what to do, having sent me photographic evidence.  I later found out that he’d discovered the bird was still warm, considered sugared water (he’d seen me reviving a bee this way), but instead decided to smooth the birds feathers down so it ‘looked quite smart’ and pop it on the bird table incase it’s friends wanted to come and get it….  Really, the next day when he told me this, the bird should have still been there, but it had gone.  Norman can’t get up onto the table, so I couldn’t imagine anything else could. It’s a bit of a mystery.

2. Unfortunately, a week or so later, Norman bought me a bird. This was cold and however much I smoothed his feathers, I thought it wasn’t very likely any of his mates would be over to ferry him off, so I threw him in the undergrowth so at least some creature could have a good dinner.

I don’t know if it was the same bird as my gift, but two days later I walked out to the car, past what I now call the sacrificial table:

(It’s actually a rather lovely, very large stone hand..  And no, nobody is sacrificing Little Pea.)

There was a bird on there with a hole right through it’s middle.  Like it had been sacrificed.  By an evil squirrel.  And I bet that squirrel was also responsible for the bird Himself had put on the bird table.  He’d better watch out though;  the last time there was an evil squirrel in the vicinity back at Pog Towers (it bit Norman), Norman got his own back and the squirrel wasn’t around very long.  Evil Squirrel:  You have been warned!

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Exercise-ness

Posted on July 27, 2017 by thepogblog

In Bumpkinsville I had my lovely yoga class, my very happy fitball class, and a fantastic group that I ran with each week.

In Beachville, things have been a bit more tricky.  I joined a yoga class, but the focus seemed to see some sort of breathing competition around ‘that bit’ of When Harry Met Sally and was so crowded that at the last class I went to we had to fold our mats in half to fit everyone in.  So I changed classes and the last two weeks have been amazing.  Any teacher who renames a rather boring pose ‘The flying dragon’, teaches you where your ‘tortoise point’ is, encourages stretching your wingspan and isn’t too enthusiastic about noisy breathing has my vote.

I’ve not been able to find an exercise class that covers what I want and a time and place that works, but I’ve been doing park gym / back garden gym once a week or so, although I think I may have scared a few neighbours walking past as I attempt things with kettle bells that I probably shouldn’t.

And running.  I’ve been running.  I didn’t think I’d done that much until I looked at the bottom of the trainers I’d bought just before I moved here.  Oops.  This is old versus new:

It feels a bit lonely here sometimes.  I’m used to doing some exercise each week with smiley faces I know, but the box my trainers came in made me smile:

I’ve taken them 40km (almost 25 miles) around Beachville this week.  We’ve done skies so dark and rain so soggy I had to borrow a fluorescent t shirt from Himself to be seen.  We’ve done skies so blue and air so warm that people have been swimming in the sea at 7.30am:

And we’ve done ‘just a bit dull’ (there’s nothing like a British summer).

We’ve seen a man being pulled along on a skateboard by two Huskies on their walk and congratulated him on his ingenuity and we’ve nearly been taken out by a shouty man on a bike.

My reward for taking my trainers on their requested adventure is blisters so big that I look like I have two feet on each leg (and that’s with Lanacane).  Today I can only assume I was running funny (down to the blisters maybe?) as people smiled at me.  Lots of people.  It wasn’t quite the same as exercising with friends in Bumpkinsville, but it make me smile right back.

So I wanted to say:  spread your smiles around.  Because they might just reach someone who has got so desperate for friends that she’s treating her trainers like they have personalities.  And that person might already look happy – if rather sweaty – but your smile could be the loveliest thing that happens to them today. :o)

PS:  My first yoga class was a bit out there, but didn’t have a patch on these two who we saw on holiday.  It wasn’t a nudist beach and while he quietly meditated, she go up with no warning to do a bit of stretching, and I think it’s fair to say that she surprised the people behind her… ;)

 

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Reasons number 3289752 – 3289754

Posted on July 24, 2017 by thepogblog

So, once again, we should thank our lucky stars that this Pog is only an Auntie rather than a Mummy.  And this is why:

Little Pea came to Beachville for a short stay this weekend. Nanny and Grandad brought him down and they stayed for a day too.  We decided to get the bus into town but the road was closed after a rather bad accident we had to walk past before we could get to the diverted buses.  There were a lot of blue lights and people and Little Pea was rather concerned that ‘people might have died and gone to heaven’.  We talked about the fact that everyone was being looked after very well and that I was sure nobody would have died.  End of story?  No.  After a stroll along the seafront taking in everything from Darth Vader to a smoking rhino to a ride on a carousel we hopped off the bus on the way back for me to show Nanny a rather different looking church (Nanny likes her churches.  We think she’s been to every one on every Greek island she’s ever visited).

I had to tell Little Pea to whisper; not because as he suggested ‘the monsters would hear and come and get him’, but because of the rather uptight looking ladies beadily watching everyone who came in from their official beady eyed table.  Unfortunately it all got a bit chaotic then.  Little Pea asked Nanny about the lady at the front, Nanny explained that was Jesus on the cross and that Jesus died and I panicked that we were about to relive the concern over the accident.  I wanted to remind him that when people die they go to heaven and asked ‘what happens when you die?’

Well, that question was way too literal for a 4 year old and he demonstrated death to us right in front of the alter, to the consternation of the beady eyed ladies.  Because it turns out that dying is very loud and involves throwing your body around a lot while clutching your throat.  We left Nanny, Granddad, the beady eyed ladies and a man who told us to ‘shush’ in the church while we went out to run around in the rain.  And that was example one.

Example two was Sunday morning when I left Little Pea playing downstairs while I had a shower.  I thought that was ok, I really did.  I got out the shower, opened the bathroom door and smelled burning.  There was smoke.  ‘Are you ok?  What happened?’ I shouted as I ran down the stairs, imagining a fire and wondering if I should try to put it out or just dial 999 (nothing like ‘skipping to the end’ as Himself puts it).  ‘I’m ok Auntie Pog.  Just my chameleon died.’ (Chameleon is a much loved rubbery toy).  How did he die?  ‘He jumped on the light, Auntie Pog.’  Yes, Chameleon had indeed ‘jumped’ on the light that Little Pea had turned on, but other than a slightly poorly leg and a singed tummy, he was ok.  He’d just smoked quite a bit…

Phew.  House fire averted.

When I took Little Pea home I got to have dinner with the whole family.  So not only did I get to see my lovely Little Wisp with her eyes open, finally:

(She doesn’t seem terribly impressed by her Auntie Pog)

But I got to hold her the whole way through dinner.  And dropped cabbage all over her.

Yes, thank goodness I am only an auntie and only do part time little person chaos. :o)

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The recognised link between cake and running

Posted on July 18, 2017 by thepogblog

Himeslf is a runner.  I am a lolloper.  Before I moved to Beachville we talked about –  once he was all London marathoned out – getting me to a level where I could attempt a half marathon.

Weeellllll…talking and doing are a world apart and as we got closer to the doing (and I just mean the training rather than any actual race) I started to feel a bit panicked.  I finally admitted to myself and Himself that the idea of having to run so far was taking the enjoyment out of any running (and as most of the enjoyment is when I finish, there isn’t that much to take…).  I decided to just go back to running for the ‘fun’ of it.  And to allow me to eat vast quantities of chocolate and biscuits and cake.  Mostly the chocolate and biscuits and cake thing, if I’m honest.

Anyway, that was before we went on holiday and I suggested that Himself read a book some of my lovely running friends bought me when I moved.  It is a book of stories from a runner who doesn’t take herself seriously.  My plan was to help him appreciate running for the sake of running rather than to complete a marathon in a stupid time that requires months and months of training.  What actually happened was he discovered the 100 Marathon Club and decided he’d quite like to join that.  So that plan worked well then.

Somewhere a compromise was reached which means Himself will not be training every available hour and I wont be standing at the side of a race every other weekend carrying a bag of clean clothes and wet wipes (runners are, not surprisingly, VERY stinky after a marathon).  We are trying out this compromise next month when Himself will be running a relaxed marathon and at the same time, in the same place, I may or may not manage a half marathon, but neither of us will be taking things too seriously, because we are signed up for:

The cakeathon

It’s genius:  ‘The loop we have developed for this event will be about 4.37 miles, so each loop will burn up around 500 calories. A modest sized bit of cake we are thinking per lap! The event will have an eight hour time limit for you to run as many, or as few laps as you wish.’

If I make three loops, that’s great, but if I don’t it really wont matter.  Himself can go for a full marathon number of loops, and hopefully get to enjoy it a bit more than his previous big runs.  We’ll probably finish at the same time…  And we both get cake on every lap we do.  And the training for this one?  Well, it will mostly involve cake, I think :o)

(There are still spaces if this appeals to you.  There are heaps of others they organise too.  For the record, I’m nothing to do with the organisation – just quite excited about the direct link between cake and running :o) )

Norman is not terribly taken with the whole idea…

 

 

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Smiley signs

Posted on July 12, 2017 by thepogblog

As well as quietness and  loveliness, Ibiza does signs that made us smile lots.  It seemed wrong not to share these, so here you go:

At this beach, only red trunks or teeny tiny bikinis are allowed:

And definitely no very pert, very circular red boobs:

The male and female toilet signs that work in the rest of the world clearly don’t express the level of discomfort felt by those caught at Ibiza airport:

At first glance there is nothing wrong with this, but Himself spotted what the model failed to mention, the photographer never noticed and presumably a heap of people signed off on before the image was plastered all over the side of drinks machines.  The image of a model holding a cup of coffee…

….with a manky plaster on the finger that’s the focus of the image:

With this one the obvious question is ‘It’s ok to drink everyone else’s though, right?’

And our personal favourite.  There were about five of these on a stretch of road that took around 10 minutes to walk.  There was no sign of any animal that required a warning.  Other than cicadas and seagulls, there weren’t actually any animals.  It wasn’t really obvious what animal the sign was supposed to be, but it was apparently quite small based on the size on the sign.  We decided it was obviously warning of pygmy donkies.  With udders:

We also decided the pygmy donkies were parachuted in at night from China.  I have no idea why we decided that.  I suspect a glass or two of wine may have been involved…

:o)

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