You 'Um It Son, I'll Play It


We started a discussion today about some of our old favourite TV adverts.

This was one of mine.

It wouldn't be allowed these days I expect.

Stress

Moving house.  Stress .

Estate Agent shenanigans. Stress. Frustration.

Potentially selling to a friend's daughter.  Double stress.

Pass me the Valium.


Fish Bone

Friday's supper was baked cod.  As I swallowed my first mouthful I felt a small bone slide down my throat and get lodged halfway. 

Lots of coughing ensued but it stayed put. Then I remembered the last time this happened, many years ago now, when staying at a corporate hotel with a group of work colleagues for a conference . I had jumped up from the table and was about to rush out to the nearest Ladies' when the barman called me over and handed me a pint glass full of water. He ordered me to drink it all down in one without stopping.  I did so and miraculously the bone had gone.

I did the same last night and thankfully it worked again.

Just a sore throat now this morning.

Darned fish bones. They are sneaky little fellas.



Moving On?

We had a little chat yesterday and finally both of us have agreed that we should start planning our move to a smaller, more practical house now, while we are both still reasonably fit and able. rather than later when one of us at least is likely to be more decrepit.

A couple of people I follow in blogland have recently written about their decision to downsize, and one of our close neighbours has just put their house on the market, planning to downsize as the wife has a serious illness and they can no longer manage their large garden.

Unfortunately, our decision has coincided with a boom in property sales which means that, as soon as we see something suitable up for sale it seems to have been sold the next day.  Although we are not in any rush, we feel a little disheartened already before we have really begun the process.  The local property pool is not large so there is a shortage of properties that would suit us.

I think that we should probably wait until the Spring before putting our house up for sale, when the garden has woken up again.  We may have a large garden in a pretty, semi-rural area but the house itself is not exactly desirable.  It is not a charming 17th or 18th century period cottage, nor a glamorous, modern confection. It is just a boring 1920s bungalow with a small extension tacked onto the side and has not been updated for 25 years.  We both feel that any buyer is likely to want to demolish it in order to build something more contemporary in its place. 

I have registered with most of the local agencies and hope to receive details whenever a new property comes up for sale.

In the meantime, I shall begin the process of decluttering and tarting-up each room ready for when we take the plunge.

It will give me something to do anyway.





The Turnip Prize

I found something to cheer me up during all the doom and gloom.

I may be a little late to this one but have only just read about it.   According to the BBC  here ...

The Turnip Prize award, organised by a Somerset pub, is given to the person who has "created something they perceive to be crap art using the least amount of effort possible".  Winners of the competition receive a turnip attached to a wooden base.

Some of the current entries.....

LockDown

Tribute to Bobby Ball

Back to the Fuchsia


Apparently last year's winner was rather rude, but very funny.  Read the BBC article if you want to know more.