It was that sort of day when…

It was that sort of day when:

 

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All the music you listened to on the radio sounded as if it were being played by depressed dogs on violin.

You waited for your toast to toast in an unplugged toaster. You plug it in. And the toast is incinerated. Not quite to the point of flames, but sufficient for carbonised particals to drift in smoking testiment through out your house, hours after the event.

 

The cat decides that what your house lacks is a bad tempered Adder in the living room. An Adder, to those who need to know, is Britain’s (exclude Northern Ireland – St Patrick got rid of them apparently) only venomous snake. 

 

StrikingAdder
Striking picture

Your 16 year old daughter wants to discuss “that after the prom sleep over” with Jack (new boyfriend) The same conversation you thought had been satisfactorily exhausted at least twice before. But apparently not.

 

The dog thanks you for leaving the chicken to defrost at the right height for a snatch grab and run exercise.

 

You loose your patience with Mr Heinz Ketchup, having not noticed that the ‘anti tamper’ membrane hasn’t been removed. Verbally venting your frustrations as you unsuccessfully tried to sqeeeeeze the f**king contents from its rediculous unecologically sound stupid plastic body. And equally, you never noticed that the window, you threw the still full and unyealding bottle out of, had blown shut. But, you did become very aware. Very very aware!

 

The day that the £45 unpuncturable tyre on your bike split, the inner tube previously pressurised at 120 psi exploding against your carbon forks with catastrophic results. A “personal best”, “elegant dismount” apparently, so the other guys said. Or tried to whilst unsuccessfully attempting to control their mirth.

 

Yes. It was one of those days.

Mt.-Baw-Baw-ride-22.01.12-124

A Fathers day of a day.

 

 

 

 

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16 thoughts on “It was that sort of day when…

  1. Haha oh gosh. Sounds like one hell of a Father’s day. The toast thing sounds like a bit straight out of my own life, though the 16 year old daughter thing is beyond frightening. Good luck with that.

  2. Strangely enough it was the window v bottle that got me the most.

    The house is currently festooned with graphic / explicit medical books on STD’s. I’ve no idea where from or why they’re there. Also seems to be a volume about child birth complications.

  3. Maybe you could use the medical books during your next discussion with the daughter. STD’s and childbirth are the BEST birth control. 😉

    Sorry about your day! And your bike. And your window. But, I have to laugh at the ketchup bottle; I did that very thing this past week with the mustard, though I didn’t toss it out the window, just across the counter.

    Days like this give our lives color. Ugly color, but color none the less.

  4. I once had an altercation with a toaster, which resulted in it going into the garden. In my defence it was on fire at the time. I used the door on that occasion 😉

    It is funny the way these things happen together (funny haha and funny peculiar). From the contents of other bloggers work, I don’t think I’m unique in this regards though 😃

    Give me colour over grey any day (is grey a colour or is it a shade…let’s not get tighed up in shades of grey…haha)

    • Life has a way of throwing curve balls that either make us laugh, or shake our fists at the heavens. If we’re lucky we laugh anyway.

      Grey is what we use to describe feelings, usually. Not too many people proclaim they’re feeling Yellow (Though blue does sometimes slide in there… which is almost a shade of grey, isn’t it?) Having grey eyes, or various shades thereof, offers me a lot of opportunities to argue shades of grey with strangers – some insist they’re blue, others say green. I just call them big. 😄

      • The eyes have it!

        I’m not sure what the colour of my eyes is (are?) I’d go with grey/blue/yellowygreen…with flecks of red (depends on the time of day/events 😉)

        Curved balls. You mean spinning the ball? Haha. When I was 19 I decided, on a spur of the moment type thing, to go to North America. I’d never been abroad before. Never had a passport. Never flown in an aeroplane (well not if you don’t count a Gypsy Mouth biplane, but that a whole different story). Never travelled alone. I got a visa, bought a plane ticket to NY City and off I went. Anyway. I’ve two things (material things) from that trip, a one dollar bill and a first base baseball glove (oh, and a ball so that’s three things. The ball was smashed into the crowd and I caught it! The game was the Boston Red Sox v I can’t remember 😮) Anyway. I was hooked. Even though the game was cut short due to a monster massive thunder storm!

        Good grief where did that come from?!

      • Sounds like you have the same eyes I do! I have to laugh, because everyone is always telling me how they’ve never seen the color before. (It shows up about every three generations on my mom’s side. I have a sister with the same eyes – family calls them the ghost eyes – not sure why, but there it is) Grey/blue/green w/ flecks of a rusty red, and change with the mood. Awesome!

        Spur of the moment decisions are what life is all about. I would do it a lot more if money weren’t so tight.. maybe a good thing! haha Or I might be all over the place. That’s a fantastic story; glad you did it! Far too often people don’t give in to their hearts need to wander.

        Is “curve ball” an “Merican” thing? – I never know what slang translates and what doesn’t. 😉

  5. Don’t every hold back (I sort of feel you never would 😊) on the slang (or anything else for that matter. Love the living language.

    I ended up north of Toronto on that trip. Met some colourful characters on some lakes. Started my love of Indian canoes (go out in mine regularly) And as for the North American native Indians girls (😘) pheweee (sorry if that’s not PC but its a fact)

    • Argh! Those canoes! Tippy as all get out! If I had a dime for every time I had to haul one of those back to shore after swamping it, I would be sitting pretty. I highly recommend one does not rough-house in a canoe. They are good for sneaking up on fish though… and beavers – the beavers hate it when you do that BTW.

      Those Native girls; you’ll either love them or hate them… you’re forgiven. 😁 (My mother is a direct descendent of Squanto, not to mention her family settled southern Utah, thus I’m somewhat familiar with how people tend to lean one way or the other.) — Utah; Mormon men would leave for several years to go on missions and come home to a few new kiddies with remarkably dark skin. Nobody ever said anything, because that would mean something was going on while the men were gone. To say we have a few mysterious ancestors would be putting it mildly. –The rest of my siblings tend to get pretty dark in the summers as a result of that little gem; however, I inherited the pale face of the Scots and German ancestors … 😐 figures, but damn if I don’t have the frustratingly straight as a nun dark hair.. ::sigh:: (But that’s okay, because I love being a little of everything.= more holidays to celebrate, right?) Even my daughter leans towards the dark side (haha)😈
      -One time our family had gone to Tijuana (no idea why), and while crossing back over the border from Mexico they stopped my mum as she was pushing my little brother Jason in a stroller. He was the darkest of all of us, even had the black hair. Between her and my brother, they nearly didn’t let her back across. I thought it was pretty funny; she didn’t…. Aaaahhh. Memories! We still tease her. (Funny how little snippets of conversation can bring those back.)

      Anyway. Point being; lake. Colorful characters. Welcome to North America. We’re all here because we’re not all there.

      Wow. I’m kind of all over the place on this one. ::Sets coffee down. Backs away::

  6. Too much coffee in the blood myself early on today. Not gooood 😓

    Do you mean the Squantum as in Tisquantum? Wow

    I’m a mixture, Welsh (maternal grandparents – miners & stone masons), Irish (paternal side – soldiers. My great great great grandfather fought in the American War of Independence as he was in the Leicester 17th Regiment of Foot and was at the the battle of Princeton 1776 and Stony Point if records are correct There after each generation of W’s joined up) The rest of me is a mix of Cornish, Scott and an illegitimate off spring from Lincolnshire. This ancestorial story line takes my family back to 12th Century if its to be believed. But hey, we are all one under the sky.

    There’s a genetic characteristic in Britain, in which the women have long dark straight black hair, pale skin, and amazingly intence pale blue green eyes. They say they’re of Pict origin. The Picts were displaced by the Celts to Scotland and Ireland. The Celts in their turn were displaced by the Romans.

    And so the story goes on.

    My gran was a great conversationalist, passing on the narrative history of the family in place time and event. I do miss her.

    Canoes. Yes! The wind here can take your boat and spin you round in a trice. And the wind on the Broads is its own master! I canoe on my own. ‘J’ stroke single blade paddle. Makes my arms ache like buggary. I’ve never taken to the sea…yet. Might be the last but one thing I did 😉

    • The very one; there is a gigantic statue of him at the capital building in Utah, and every year my mum made us take a picture next to it.
      Not many in the U.S., save a few, know him as Squantum / Tisquantum, so good on you for that one! Around these parts he’s just plain old Squanto. That’s what all the little school kids are taught in regards to Thanksgiving. Not that they really get into how things actually went down – that’s a whole other can of worms. So yep. Wampanoag. (Also a name / tribe people don’t know.) Some regard him as a traitor, some as a good guy; his life was interesting, that’s for sure. (Also lines to Massasoit.. as happens in tribes. More people like to claim Massasoit over Squanto – the two didn’t exactly get along and Squanto is seen as a bit of a rebel; I’ll stand by either.) As for the rest of the Native lines, those are Paiute and Navajo.
      …blah, blah, blah 😏

      I had no idea about the Picts, that’s very interesting! I wouldn’t say my eyes are intense, nor overly blue, but like I mentioned, it really just depends.
      I had to Google these Picts and their eyes! The really bright blue ones look like some family member’s eyes, but mine are much lighter, more along the grey ones I found in the same search. Interesting! Now I’m wondering about all of that… Mormons are big on genealogy, and I know we had plenty of influence from the region, as my mother tells it. My biological father’s mum was “English”, but that could mean anything from Scottish to Welsh to lord knows what… I never got specifics on that one, just “English”. (The paternal side there was all German. Maybe that’s why he was crazy 😄)
      12th century – Amazing! I love hearing about all these amazing ancestors and the fascinating things they witnessed. And yes, we are all under one sky – but oh the things that sky has seen!

      Take a cano out on the ocean and it WILL be the last thing you do! The ocean here is a wild thing as well, and I would never, ever take a canoe out on her. Probably couldn’t get past the break anyway. But a sea kayak, now that I would love to do!

      • Rush rush rush. Its Sunday morning. Cycle training day. It was 6am when I got up. An hours gone…where I have no idea. If it passes your way enjoy it.

        Sea kayak. Brilliant fun. Yes yes yes

        There’s a long explanation why I am aware of Tisquantum. I’ll come back to it.

        Got to dash 😀

        Wow you have an amazing ancestry. Really.

      • I’m going to have go read about those tribes. As a kid I always always backed the Indians. As I got older my sense of injustice, at what the incomers (the English and all the other countries) did to the indigenous peoples grew. I’d like to think that had been there then, I’d have gone native. Easy to say. Suffice to say my votes for the native indian. But. What do I know.

        I guess my fascination started when I was 9 yes old. My mum bought me a small wooden replica of the Santa Maria (in 1492 Christopher Columbus sailed the ocean blue). That simple boat was the catalyst to so many things, maybe worthy of a blog (probably too abstract though). Travel. Discovery. Courage. Determinism. Injustice. Survival through cooperation. Exploitation. Treachery (white man against the indigenous population). Racism. These things leapt from the pages of the history books as I read.

        I’m ‘English’ I have a sense of what that means to me. I’ve only a slight grasp of what ‘being’ English means to Americans. I probably have a greater understanding of what it means to be a native American Indian than what it means to be American. Does that sound strange?

        I think Tisquantum had a very good grasp of what the white man was about. I bet he’d still recognise him/her now, were he to be alive.

        And so.

        I sit.

        Post exercise (cycling 😉) My body suffused with that glorious cocktail of endorphins.

        The sun shines.

        My dogs sleep on the grass.

        Sounds of nature in my ears.

        I’m on my own. But definitely not alone

      • “Being” English to me (here) is detached. Sort of like never knowing a parent; you know you came from somewhere, but it’s a mystery. Which is probably why I’ve such a burning desire to travel Europe and visit those places where generations of feet have roamed. I’ve been to a few places unrelated; Holland, Austria, Belgium, Switzerland – and felt nothing but a sense of history. When I went to Germany I knew the place. Flying in I knew it. Felt to be coming home after a long absence. It was certainly an awakening. There is something pulling me to Scotland. Like the migrational flight of a bird across thousands of miles of water and land …. it’s just calling. Weird as that might sound. I always wondered what it would be like to live surrounded by so much history though. To know the place you came from. I guess I have to settle for the history of a gypsy. Always wandering. Never lost.

        I most relate to the Native. I could claim my Wampanoag membership if I lived closer and was more involved, but that’s not where my life has been. As for the southwest, those members were never claimed. Like so many Natives, displaced. Left to wander. Unclaimed. But it’s an internal thing.. you feel it, like the thing that stitches your soul to this funny little mortal body…. but it is a thing I don’t share with the world. Some of those experiences. I won’t lay them out for criticism or scrutiny. Personally maybe, but not online.

        My family has ancestors on those boats that sailed to this “new” wold. Invaded it. We also were a part of the Mormon migration across America in covered wagons. Before there was a way. (Being chased and persecuted.) I think to wander and explore is my genetic code. As far as religious, I have always gone the way of the Native. Raised my kids with those stories and understandings. And always. Always. I was the Indian at school around Thanksgiving. It was a scandal every time, but I refused to be a Pilgrim. My parents always backed me when the teachers called. I wore feathers. Not a proper bonnet. No musket, but arrows. Still I walk in bare feet. (Even to school and running cross country and track. Such a thing for a young Mormon girl to do! 😵 The shame was liberating, and I wore it proudly.)

        Where I live right now is thick with the culture of the local Natives. Chief Sealth (Seattle) lies just down a quiet road from here. I visit him often. I would imagine were it possible to visit Tisquantum, it would be a similar reunion… and yes, they do still recognize what it is about…. how tired they have got to be at this point!

        Part of leaving this culture is why my heart is so torn with the move. But, I’ve many memories of those backcountry reunions amongst the “Indian ruins”. Those hidden red rock sanctuaries only the locals know. I will be happy to have that reunion.

        ……. I went out yesterday and explored a few new valleys. A river. Far up in the alpines, where the rocks have only been seen by the eyes of eagles. The only sound is the roaring silence. And it was pure bliss.

        ….. as for that naked bike ride.. I couldn’t see myself doing it, but those that have the daring to give it a go, more power to them! 😄 I’ll keep my jay bird antics confined to the remote, unseen wilds!

        I’ll be visiting an old friend today. Bring him a shell from his home beach. I’ll talk to him. We’ll see if he talks back. ….. the sun is high and bright; time for wandering is at hand.

    • Okay, proof that coffee is bad and I suffer from a serious lack of attention…. was just talking to the mum about “The Indian” in Utah in front of the capital. (Somehow the memory was rekindled; gee, how did that happen? 😉) I mentioned “Squanto” and she laughed. All the schools tell the kids he’s Squanto, because that works into the Thanksgiving lesson we got every year. (Honestly, I don’t think they realize he’s not.) He’s SUPPOSE TO be Massasoit. The lesser known. (Bit of a controversy for Utah, but what else is new.) Seems us kids were always calling him Squanto, despite how many times she told us otherwise. I think as a kid the memory that installed itself was what we heard the most…. kind of sad, really, now that I think about it. Along the lines of “They all look the same”. … and now I’m all worked up. I feel like I threw my cap in with the biased ignorance that wipes whole civilizations from the face of the earth.. good lesson for me. “OPEN YOUR EYES, not just your ears.” Time for penance.

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