I was born and brought up in London, as many of you already know.

Being the second to youngest, and born soon after WWII, meant that most of my siblings lived during the war, as young children. Some were too young to know what war was, and would have been protected from all the fear that must have gone with it. Some were old enough to know exactly what was going on, and were evacuated for a time, when the bombing of London was taking place.

It must have been unbelievably scary for people who lived in the bombing areas. I can’t even begin to imagine it.

I was chatting to my sister Sandie the other day, and we were talking about our hatred of spiders. This led on to our other phobia – thunderstorms. Sandie told me something that helped me finally make sense of this unnatural fear of thunderstorms that us younger girls have.

You may have read some of my 50’s posts, and realised that bomb sites were often our playgrounds. Bombs were dropped all around our house. Some very close by.

Sandie, who would have been about 3 years old at the time, remembers that dad would often put all the children, along with mum, under the large kitchen table. “Stay there until I tell you to come out.” They would all huddle together and Sandie instinctively knew this wasn’t for fun, but was something very scary. “What’s that noise?” Sandie would cry, and dad would answer “It’s only thunder, but you’re quite safe under there” Of course it wasn’t thunder, but bombs dropping around them. This went on until the bombing of London stopped.  The table, in many a household, was the shelter from possible falling debris, if you didn’t have time to get to a shelter, so I’ve been told.  I wasn’t actually around then.

However, the hiding under the table continued long after the war had ended. I can remember, as a toddler, Sandie saying “Quick, it’s thunder. Get under the table” Us girls would rush under the table and sit terrified, purely because that’s what Sandie had been taught to do, and she had passed her knowledge on to us younger girls.  The rumble of thunder triggered fear and hiding.  We had no idea what thunder would do to us, or what it was.  That didn’t matter.  The noise was the trigger.

Can you imagine dad trying to explain that it was all untrue, and being able to stop this learned pattern of behaviour? It wasn’t going to happen. Under the table was our refuge. Our safe place.

We did eventually stop hiding under the table. Can you imagine grown women, running and crouching under a table whenever we heard thunder? The fear is still there, and even now I like to close the curtains so I can’t see the lightening. I have improved a lot over the years, and no longer dread every little rumble of thunder. It’s only when a storm is overhead that I get scared now, and my fear is logical.  The lightening could strike me.  Couldn’t it?

Sometimes a phobia is born out of a natural, protective love for a child, in an unnatural situation.

Have any of you discovered the root cause of a phobia?

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“Tea’s ready!”

There was the usual rush to the table.  These were the days when the whole family sat around a table to eat every meal.  It was unheard of to eat a meal while sitting on a sofa.  Not even a tea time sandwich. It just wasn’t done.

We had a large wooden table. Large enough to seat all of us kids.  Mum, dad and the oldest siblings ate their meal after we had finished.

It was winter time and we needed something warm in our tummies.  A nice hot soup was in order, and the hissing sound told us that it was almost ready. Mum had cooked the soup in her pressure cooker, probably because she had used dried peas that needed more cooking time to soften.

We all took our seats, mine was behind the table with my back to the wall, and sat waiting for the hissing to stop and the soup to be ladled out into our bowls.  Lovely hot soup with chunks of bread for dipping.

HISSSSSSS HISSSSSSSS HISSSSSSSSS………

Mum removed the little weight from the top…………..

WHOOOOOOSHHHHHHH!

The clatter of chairs and squeals of kids rushing out of the kitchen didn’t drown out the noise of the fountain of hot soup gushing out of the small opening like a geiser.  It hit the ceiling, spread out and came down like hot rain all over the kitchen.

When the rain finally stopped, mum and the kids all crept back into the kitchen and started laughing uncontrollably.

Was I laughing?

No I was NOT!

Was I was covered all over with pea soup?

You bet I was.

I was trapped behind the table and had to await my fate.

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OK, these drops I have to use, that will make my eyes beautiful.  I must tell you what’s been happening – and I make no apology for repeating the subject matter of the previous post.

10 steps

I will assume you have taken your glasses off at this point.  If not, then please do so.  This renders you pretty blind for a while, until your eyes adjust, and even then you can’t see clearly.  This is how it’s done.

1. Pull eyelid down and out.
2. Rest nozzle of  bottle on  eyelid – This enables you to know it’s in the right place, because you can’t see it.  At least you can feel it.
3. Gently squeeze bottle.
4. Squeeze bottle harder.
5. Liquid flows down face but nothing goes in the eye.
6. Repeat these steps until your hand is also running with liquid.
7. Lay head right back, hold bottle downward and squeeze one more time.
8. Your eye is *flooded, and more liquid runs down face.
9. Grab tissues and clean face, hands and working area.
10. Repeat this process for the other eye.

* It clearly states on the label that you must NOT use more than one drop a day.

These aren’t the first drops I’ve used, and I had no problems before.  It was like a walk in the park.  Why was I having all these problems? More to the point, how many drops was I having each day?

How was I supposed to see that the bottle was split, with no glasses on? I could hardly see the bloomin’ bottle!  When I squeezed it, the liquid poured out of the neck of the bottle and not from the nozzle!

I have now got another bottle from the doctor and hope this time it’s not faulty.

The results of my treatment so far?

See for yourself.  Do you think it’s working?

I expect most of you remember this post.

I have Closed Angle Glaucoma and I go for regular check ups at the hospital so they can keep an eye on my pressure. I went today.  Well it may not be today by the time I post this, but never mind.

I have been getting a bit of pain around my eyes, particularly the one I nearly lost the sight in, but each time I go they say the pressure is fine.  I am always a bit nervous as I was having regular check ups before the emergency, so I know the pressure can shoot right up in just a few short weeks.  Today, I decided to ask a few questions.

“I have a few questions”

“OK, ask away”

“Why was it that immediately after my laser treatment my eyesight was so lovely and clear?  I hadn’t had clear vision like that since I was a young girl.  Then it slowly went back to how it was before”

“What were the other questions?”

[silence while I have a grey cell moment]

“Oh, I’m sorry, it’s gone.  I’m having one of those moments. It’s my age”

Doctor smiles “OK, I’ll explain about the vision once…….”

“Oh! I remember now!  Each time I have my eye test the results are different.  The first test I read the bottom line.  The last time I could only read half way down the chart.  This time I read the second from bottom line”.  Can you explain that?”

“Lets take your pressure and then I can answer you better.”

I noticed he was spending much more time, and looking at all sides of my eyes.  Then he brought in another light.  I just knew something was wrong.

“Your pressures are up.  Higher than the last reading (They’ve been creeping up by one each visit)  I think it’s time we look at more treatment.”

“Oh, and I’ve been getting pain around my eyes, but thought it may be sinus trouble.”

“I think you can be sure that any pain around your eyes, along with the fluctuating vision, is due to high pressure.  I’m going to prescribe eye drops.  We start everybody off with these.  We’ll see how you get on with them.  There are a couple of rather unusual side effects with them though.”

Remembering the awful pain and nausea I had with the other drops, I was dreading what these side effects would be.

“One of the side effects is that your eyes will go a darker brown.”

“What the whites of my eyes, or the iris?” I had visions of looking like some evil, black eyed zombie.

“No, not the whites of your eyes.”  He looked a tad amused.  “The second side effect is that your eye lashes will grow longer”

Silence for a nanosecond

BRING IT ON!

“My eyes will go a darker brown AND I’ll get my long lashes back?” The colour of my eyes has faded over the years, and I’ve lost my long, thick lashes.  I’ll be great to have them back.

Gimme the drops…. Gimme the DROPS! 

Doctor smiled  “You know in America the ladies are using these drops purely for the side effects.”

I am now using my cosmetic eye drops.  It clearly says in the information sheet, that the lashes will grow longer, darker AND thicker!  I’m thinking that I’ll be able to blink a few times and keep Mo cool without the use of a fan.

Of course they will hopefully rid me of  high pressure and pain around my eyes too.

Before you ask.  Yes, I have taken a ‘before’ photo so I can show you the difference.

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On Thursday we were going to be treated to a spectacular sight.  At least that’s what the experts said.  It was the annual Perseid meteor shower, which occurs each August.  They said it would be one of the most spectacular in recent years.

This was taken from Yahoo’s UK News web site:  Every August, the Earth ploughs through a swarm of dusty particles shed by passing comet Swift-Tuttle.  As the particles, each no bigger than a grain of sand, hit the atmosphere at 135,000mph they burn up, producing trails of light that shoot across the sky.

We were going to be able to see these at the rate of one every half a second.  Imagine the beautiful sight!

We had patchy cloud, but we had some lovely clear skies in between so, at midnight, and with a clear sky, Mo and I decided to go up to the highest point around with our video camera.

Just take a look at this!

Mo was sitting in the garden the other evening, and there was a big black cloud overhead.  I thought I’d sneak out and take a photo of her, as it looked so funny.

Just for your information, I don’t wear slippers as such.  This is what I wear.  slipper socks with non slip under the feet.  I usually pop my garden sandals on over the top to go outside, but I was only standing on the step so didn’t bother.

I noticed the sky had cleared, and looked rather interesting.  I aimed the camera but the view was no good.  I moved down the steps and aimed….. Still no good.  I moved further down the path……nope, still further…….

“Stand over there”  Mo said.  “The grass isn’t wet” (remember I only have my slipper socks on)

“Are you sure?” I said, feeling the grass with one foot. It was dry.  “OK, that should do it”

I moved over to the centre of the lawn and stood up (camera poised) on the weighted base of the rotary washing line that was behind me, to get an even better shot……..

CRAAAACK!!!!!

A sudden cold, wet shock to my foot!  I almost dropped the camera.  I looked down and saw that my foot was immersed in a horrible, wet sludge.

“Oh you’ve broken it” Mo said, laughing at me.

I stood with my mouth open, looking at what I’d done.

“What IS that stuff in there? I asked.

“Only sand”  Mo said.  “But it’s been there for years so it’s soaked up a lot of rain”

“But there’s grass growing in there too!

“Yes, It’s grown up through the bottom” said Mo, grabbing the camera from me.

“Re-enactment please!  For blogging’s sake, of course”  She said with a grin.

I had to do it all over again, just for you lot!  Mo finally got me back for all the posts I do of her mishaps.

And I was worried about a bit of damp grass?  It was not nice landing in it unexpectedly, I can tell you, but I did laugh.  I expect a new base is in order now.  I’ve either put on a lot more weight than I thought, or it’s gone brittle with age, because I used to stand on it with no problem.

And the photo I was attempting to take?  Here it is, in all it’s beauty.

Was it worth it?

I still have nothing interesting or funny to write a post about.  Why is life so boring at the moment?  I think I need to think out of the box, and come up with something a little different.  But until I do…..

Remember the painting by blackmail post?

As some of you asked me to post a photo of the finished painting, here it is.

It’s not a painting that I am proud of, or even like, but it makes a pair, so I am pleased about that.  More importantly, the person who it is for says she loves it, so that’s all that matters.

Sindie’s painting is on the left, and what you can’t see is the maroon patch in the corner that’s hidden.

I think it passes as a pair, don’t you?

As I seem to have writers block at the moment I decided a re-post was in order.  I first posted this three years ago and had totally forgotten it, so it made interesting reading for me too.

My nightmare

I was staying at a camp site with lots of strangers (as you do). I needed to go to the loo and a kind person had given me directions to the nearest one. It turned out to be a lot further than I expected.  I trudged for miles to what seemed to be a two story shopping centre.

Nothing is simple, or normal in dreams and this dream was no different. I searched the whole building for ages, eventually I asked someone and was told it was down one floor. To get there I had to perform real Indiana Jones tricks as it was now like a bombed building and one floor had turned into several.  I had to find my way down all the rubble and dangerous drops.

I landed nicely on the bottom floor and saw the block of toilets. A long, black (it had to be black) painted, block of about twenty cubicles. I made my way into one, shut the door and proceeded to do my business. Everything so far was fine. It wasn’t a bad dream, just weird. At least I made the toilet and I was fully dressed in this dream – So often I have no clothes on and in an awful state trying to get from A to B without being seen.

It was all about to change!

As I was sitting there I heard a noise above my head and looked up. There was a man hanging over the dividing wall of the cubicle, who can only be described as a look-alike for Hannibal Lecter. He had that sickening leer and was slowly crawling over the wall hands stretched out towards me. I tried to scream out for help but no sound came out. I took a deep breath and screamed out “Help me!” again. This time a muffled barely audible noise came out. I just couldn’t get my voice box to work, no matter how hard I tried. I screamed “Help me” over and over again. Each time I was more desperate, and each time it was as silent as the first.

He was getting closer and closer to me, and now had hold of my hands.  His grip was like a vise. I mustered up every ounce of strength and screamed “Help me” one more time. Still no audible sound, then…….

I woke up.

I had to get up to go to the toilet, which is very unusual for me, but when I got back to bed I was in a real hot sweat and couldn’t get the dream out of my mind. I had to wake myself up completely and even then it was running round my mind. What I would have done, and how I would have gotten the upper hand. Well you always get the perfect outcome when you plan things out in your mind, after the event that has usually failed miserably.

I think I fell asleep about 6:30 or 7am. When I got up Mo was out but when she came home she said I had been screaming out in my sleep.

Next time Mo, WAKE ME UP!

How many of you scream silently in your dreams, or are caught out naked with nowhere to hide?

To be read with a British accent.

I can’t think of anything humorous to post about at the moment. Well nothing humorous has happened with us, so I’ve decided to tell you about something I have to do for somebody else, who hereinafter will be referred to as ‘The friend‘.

I was asked….. no I was cajoled….. no actually, if I’m being honest, I was emotionally blackmailed into doing this thing.

“Sindie would have been so proud to have her painting hanging next to yours”

These were the words that were used in order for me to absolutely have to say yes.  The friend knew I couldn’t say no to that.

Once I had agreed to paint the one that makes a single a pair, what do I discover?  I’ll tell you what I discover.  It’s a flippin’ great 50 x 40 inch canvas, that’s what I discover.  AND I have to go in search of a matching canvas.  Can I find a matching canvas?  No, I flipping can’t!

I had just about given up on my search and decided that the friend would have to get a canvas made to measure – and pay a small fortune for it, when the phone rang.

“I think I’ve found the right size canvas”

It was Mo calling from a shopping warehouse.  It turned out that she had found the right size canvas, with one problem.  The canvas was supposed to be a ‘block’ canvas (40mm deep), and this was just an ordinary canvas of about 18mm.

I sent an email to the friend “You’ll need to put wood battening around the back of the frame to thicken it.  Hubby can do that easily” I said.  What happened?  They flippin’ well bring the wood here and leave me to it, is what happened.

Are you still in the British accent?

This is not thin wood.  It’s thick, and hard to saw, and bowed, and it was a nightmare to do, and my hands are killing me now.

Then I had to fill all the gaps with flexible wood filler.  Then I had to paint it with two coats of emulsion to prime it.  Then………….

Then…..

Nothing!

“I can’t do it”  I moan.  “I can’t paint like Sindie did.  She used a brush and I never use brushes.”

“Of course you can.  Just paint it”  Says Mo, who doesn’t understand the finer things like ‘creative juices’ or ‘inspiration’ or that you need to be in the mood for painting.

The canvas sits for a week.

“When are you going to do this painting?” Mo calls from the utility (cats) room.  “I can’t move out here, it’s so big”

I finally work out a system for doing this monster.  I get my pot of Gesso and paint it all over the canvas with a brush, in the design of the painting, to get the brush mark texture.  I will start laying on the paint tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes and we have a visitor.  It’s Michael and he wants me to design and print the order of service for Pam.  I’m more than happy to do this, but it’s a long job.

I’ll get to the painting eventually.

This post is in memory of our dear friend Pam, who lost her fight against cancer this morning.

She was a fun loving person, who shared much laughter with us over the ten years we knew her.

This was Pam playing the ghost of Christmas past in our comedy take on ‘The Christmas carol’.  She was a disco queen.  She also played the ghost of Christmas future, and an angel, so a lot of costume changes were needed. As always, she got plenty of laughs from the audience.

This next one was taken during Pam’s hilarious performance as Jahlil, the slave of the fourth wise man, in the show of the same name.  She managed to maintain the difficult accent and exaggerated Arabian character throughout the show, and was a great hit.

Pam and Michael clowning around as part of our puppet theatre.

Pam was a kindhearted, caring and fun loving friend who will be missed terribly.