Tuesday, April 29, 2008
He was average sized, average looking and in his early sixties. Yet he had the confidence and poise of a man in his later years who has travelled the world, talked with eminent people and experienced both joy and despair. A natural warmth and friendliness emanated when he spoke. I wondered whether he ever relaxed with his feet up on an old stool whilst reading the newspaper, sipping tea and glancing at Match of the Day; a man comfortable in his retirement.
But I doubt it, because I saw fear in his eyes.
His name is Paul Brown and he worries for the existence of the human race.
Paul has spent his life working as a journalist in the UK. For the last sixteen years he worked as the environment correspondent for The Guardian one of the most respected newspapers in the country. He has talked with politicians and scientists the world over, he has read and written article after article all indicating one thing; the human race is on the edge of a major disaster, possibly even extinction. Not today, not tomorrow but sometime soon the earth will be plunged in irreversible climate change that will cause chaos, starvation, death and destruction.
The climate is already changing. Have you noticed? Maybe you haven’t. Maybe you thought that the freak hurricanes like Katrina, the droughts in Africa and even here in the UK the increased flooding and flash floods were just isolated natural incidents in our long history.
The evidence suggests that they are not.
This is just the beginning of a changing world which if we don’t act fast will change irreversibly, forever.
Paul was giving a talk to a local society; he lives in the same area as I do. We’re lucky we live in central England, far from the seas and with a temperate climate. This is still our Green and Pleasant land. Here, in our little oasis the impact of global warming will take longer to reach but reach it will for this is not a disaster that will only affect only the Third World it will affect us all. Its grasping fingers will reach to the core of civilizations with an ever tightening, ever destructive hold.
Paul explained that there is a 30 year delay in the accumulation of greenhouse gases so that in 2038 we will still be suffering from increasing temperatures caused by present omissions. The effect of this will be continued melting of the ice caps and rising sea levels. At the same time, the decreasing land masses will be affected by aridity and expansion of the deserts. Extreme weather will cause immense flooding. Climatic chaos will reign.
These huge environmental disasters will in turn trigger economic difficulties affecting each and every one of us. Power and food supplies will be threatened. There will be economic migration as whole towns and cities are forced to move as their homes and livelihoods become victims of the elements. Low lying islands and even some great cities will fall prey to increasing sea levels. Whole civilizations and cultures will either be displaced or die.
It is not the first time civilizations have died. We know that; history is awash with societies that have been wiped out. But this time round it maybe on a much grander scale. For whatever we choose to believe we are now a global community. We have abused our resources, our ecosystem and our planet and now we will suffer the consequences of our actions as a global community.
For those of us, like me, for whom the impact will come later the changes will also pose serious moral questions. Where will the homeless go? Will neighbours who have fought over land, religion and seemingly irreconcilable differences suddenly change? Or will we all fight over food and resources? Will we as a society perpetuate the very selfishness that has brought us to the very point or will we work together as a global community to save our world?
Your guess is as good as mine.
Have I scared you? Good. Because it is time we all woke up and worked towards to preserving the future not just for children or our children’s children but for us. Right here, right now. There is still time to change our ways and change we must. For time IS running out.
The good news is that all over the world scientists and engineers are working on numerous projects to help counteract the effects of warming. Realistically, Paul believes there is a 10 year window of opportunity for society to stabilize greenhouse emissions. Whilst temperatures will still continue to rise for the next thirty years we can limit the impact beyond that if we act quickly. We can, if we put our minds to it and act as a global community, put into place some of these ideas and inventions. We can make a difference to our future. We can bring about change.
If we want to.
If we care enough.
If we stop being selfish.
This means that Governments all over the world will have to choose between human survival and short term political expediency. The British Government is already working upon a new Climate Change Bill. However, Paul suggests that The Bill and indeed the actions of politicians and governments the world over do not go far enough. It is now the responsibility of every individual to conserve resources and pressurize politicians into making more fundamental changes.
Each one of us must think about our daily lives and what we can do to alter the fate that awaits us. Have we done as much as we could? I know I haven’t. I’ve been recycling for a number of years but yes there’s been times when I couldn’t be bothered to clean a dirty tin and I’ve put it in the normal household waste. I’ve driven a car that consumed too much petrol. I’ve left lights unnecessarily on because I couldn’t be bothered to check whether the children had switched them off.
But not any more because my conscience will not let me.
Maybe there is something more you can do too. Maybe you could recycle more, walk when you could drive, replace your car, invest in green technology or lobby politicians. The list is endless.
Let your conscience lead you too. Maybe together we can make a difference.
Paul has published a book called Global Warning; The Last Chance for Change which has already been a bestseller in the United States. If you only get the chance to buy one book this year, this should be the one; read it and learn what the future holds.
The time has come to act and act we must.
Before it is too late.
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Well friends and fellow Bloggers I’m feeling in a frivolous mood lately; I don’t know why but those new size 18 knickers have certainly released some tension.
Before I start, please don’t forget to read my previous post and enter my stupendous competition. Now both Eve’s Lungs and Onedia have raised concerns about the cost of posting the prizes. Let me assure you ladies and gents that I shall be able to afford it; I have worked out that if postage is approx £10 to distant shores if I save 50p out of my very generous allowance that Mr T gives me of £2.50p a week it will only take 20 weeks to accumulate enough pennies for the postage. With any luck the star prize winner will receive his/ her gift in time for Christmas! (The downside to this is that I will have to drop from 4 bars of Galaxy down to 3 a week but you know – where needs must.)
Now I must just recount a little story from Friday morning. I was bending over (yes, I know; a very worrying situation if you’re top heavy but unfortunately I’m not and with my general sturdiness I was rooted to the floor like a concrete post) looking in Master Jacob’s rucksack for his lunch box when naughty Master Benedict started pummelling my buttocks;
“I’m going to box your bottom mummy; your bottom is SO flexible!”
What kind of description is that?
Humph, being insulted by 7 year old is NOT a promising start to the morning. I think what he actually meant was “flabby” but (and I say this with some degree of pride) I’ve bought me boys up to talk proper like. None of this colloquial gibberish. Just the good old Queen’s English with perhaps (cough, cough) a little bit of colourful expression thrown in for good measure. (Yeah, you’re right – usually on The School Run.)
Now I had a little bit of a rant on Friday too … yes, it doesn’t happen often but I rang the School Transport Services and complained furiously and pronounced I was going to write to my MP. Why? Because I received a demand for £300 pounds. Yep that’s right; 300 smackers… and all because Master Samuel is 16 and is going onto higher education so he will no longer be entitled to free transport to school even though we live in a village.
This policy makes me laugh (in a sort of maniacal way) because the government has been discussing introducing compulsory education until the age of 18 - So I think I can safely say that this isn’t going to be a popular policy with those who aren’t the least interested in education anyway. Oh, here’s another thought; if you haven’t learnt to read and write by the time your sixteen another 2 years isn’t going to make much difference; unless of course the whole education system is rethought and delivers what it should do. So fat chance then. Although with all those lovely certificates that are issued is still looks like we’re all doing really well. Hooray!
Anyhow…back to that phone call; my blood was boiling, steam was coming out of my ears, the zip was bursting on my jeans (Well, it does that anyway but even more so.) and I was ready to KILL. (Oh yes, and the horns on my head weren’t that comfortable either.)
But you know what? I didn’t get a decent answer…. Nothing but complete indifference… nobody could care less if I have £300 pounds or not and whether I could actually get my son to school because everyone is so INDIFFERENT. Oh, yes and I’m “middle class”. Why, that means I must be rolling in cash; so much so that I can afford not only to support my family in the lap of luxury but also the rest of the entire country.
Needless to say without even a good argument to console me my Uzi fell limply to my side… doesn’t anyone care anymore, about anything??
Yep, Mrs T has finally had enough of this attitude particularly towards the middle classes and she is mad, mad, mad. I’m gonna get a saucepan, stick it on my head, hold a broom stick in one hand and my rolling pin in the other and march on London. To the Houses of Commons I will go and force feed my Spaghetti Bolognese to Mr Brown (Huh, I’d like to see him get out of that without messing his kilt up) AND I’m gonna stick my toilet brush up the Education Secretary’s backside just so he gets a good idea what else I have in store for him.
Yep, Mrs T who has been supplementing her children’s education to the tune of £190 a month is well and truly fed up. Hey, I’d like a holiday MR BROWN but guess what I’m buying my kids extra lessons because the education system is fundamentally FLAWED.
It’s time to for the middle classes to rise up and protest! In fact I think I’m going to launch my own electoral campaign and stand at the next General Election.
I call it “Let’s Put England back on the Map and some Money Back in Mrs T’s Wallet Society.” (But if you’ve got any other more workable suggestions please leave a comment and if they insinuate general incompetence of the present government it would certainly guarantee my deliberation.)
Here are some of my proposals;
1. Send all politicians back to school to experience the current state school system. (By the way they will have to walk there cos the bus service will be cancelled.) Yep, since most of our MPs have come from privileged backgrounds that should be a real eye opener. Whilst they sit arguing over whose turn it is to use the textbooks they can look forward to their school meal produced at a cost of about 35p per child. Yum, yum that lumpy mash potato is really rather delicious.
2. Force the Prime minister to stand in the corner of the House of Commons wearing a huge hat which has emblazoned on it;
“I’ve been a really, really silly boy and now Mrs T is going to make me suffer a vastly protracted and horrifyingly gruesome death.”
(Hmm... I think that one could be a real vote winner.)
3. Just for old times sake I’m gonna wipe that smile of Cherie Blair’s face by producing a law that says no MP, or their spouse may produce a book, diary, television show or lecture until at least 20 years after finishing their term of office. The punishment for breaking this code will be imprisonment in The London Dungeons with a tape of Alan Sugar and Gordon Ramsey repeatedly telling them they are a) fired and b) to you know what. (They may however perform…cookery recipes… for the amusement of the general population.)
Oh cripes, Mrs T was thinking something else there; oh she is being vitriolic today! (That’s what happens when you overdose on 90% proof dark chocolate.) And now that I’ve thought about it… Cherie Blair…cookery recipes.….. UGH!!!!!!! My mind is stupefyingly numb with the sheer horror!
(Note to self; get a grip on yourself Mrs T that was way too naughty. Write 100 lines; “I must NOT insult Cherie Blair, I must NOt insult Cherie Blair, I must N…o…t insult Cherie Blair….I must insult Cherie Blair……I must insult Cherie Blair…..)
4. To continue… I propose that all politicians be strapped to a hospital gurney for at least 24 hours and left in a hospital corridor to wonder whether they are dying or not. If they aren’t and manage to exit the hospital without contracting a deadly strain of MRSA I propose that they have all their teeth pulled out using some rusty old pliers because of the lack of availability of NHS dentists. (Whilst sitting in front of a bar of Green and Black’s Organic Chocolate placed just a fraction out of their reach…. Oh lord, I am cruel!)
5. All politicians must have a lie detector strapped to their chests which will be remotely connected to my laptop. In the event of them lying a large flashing icon will appear on my screen showing a thumb in the down position and a message will speak which says “ Political incompetence detected, abort term of office.” Whereupon, I will press the destruct button (The exclamation key) whilst casually eating a praline and sipping sherry from a finely cut crystal glass.
Hmm, I fear Mrs T is enjoying the prospect of absolute power rather too much.
Perhaps she should talk about something else for a while……before she starts lying herself. (Which, of course, is something she never, ever does.)
By the way, did I tell you I’m an excellent cook?
Now here’s some exciting news; yesterday Mr T and I celebrated our 17th wedding anniversary! Yes, yes, I know this means I only got married when I was 12 but I’ve always been a bit of a rebel. Blimey, old Mr T in his long johns is a lucky guy having a hot young chick like me! With any luck he’ll keel over soon and I’ll be a hot AND rich young chick.
OW!!! THWACK!!! (Sound of reverberating flesh.)
Hmm, the punishment for being too cheeky about Mr T is very, very severe.
Crikey, you would have thought after 17 years I’d have learnt by now.
Anyhow, what did we do to celebrate yesterday? Well…we went on a tour of the new Wembley Stadium with my boys’ football (soccer) club. Grrrreatt! You know those latrines were really rather fascinating. And that grass? You know what? It was…green. Yep, it was absolutely riveting.
Ah, I’m being a tad cruel; I really rather enjoyed it; especially as Mrs T is really rather fond of a bit of ball play from time to time.
Anyhow, on the subject of football, I think I should inform you that I am at present putting together a CD of footballing songs which we will soon be available for very little money from your nearest charity shop. Here are some of the tracks;
Another Window Bites the Dust. (Rock) by Queen
Another Football over the Wall (progressive Rock) by Pink Floyd
Oops I did it again (over the Neighbour’s Wall), (Rap version) by Britney Spears.
Ten Green Footballs sitting on the Neighbour’s Grass, (Traditional) Anonymous.
The Sound of Footballs (Musical) by Julie Andrews and the Von Trapp Family.
Last Christmas I gave you my Football (Traditional Xmas) by George (I used to fancy him until I knew it wasn’t just footballs I was interested in) Michaels and three other talent less people.
Gimme, Gimme, Gimme a Football after Midnight (Sick perversion) by Abba featuring Gary Linekar.
I’m not in Love (with a Football) (Classic love) by 10cc featuring …Gary Linekar.
You’re the one Football that I want (Even sicker perversion) by Olivia Newton John and… Gary Linekar.
I wanna hold your Foo…oo…otball (Sixties shite) by the Beatles and you’ve guessed it… Gary Linekar.
Let me entertain you (with some Footballs) (Raunchy rock) by Robbie Williams.
Two Little Boys had Two Wooden Footballs (and boy did their toes hurt) (Traditional Folk) by Rolf Harris and a psychotic parent.
Tears of a Clown (more sixties shite) by Smokey Robinson and Paul Gascoigne.
It’s Raining Footballs, Halleluiah! (Pathetic cover version) by Geri Halliwell.
Don’t Cry for me Sven Goran Eriksson… the truth is I’m only after your money (Duet) by Elaine Paige and Nancy Dell’ Olio.
F-F-F-F- Football (Classic stutter) by Paul Hardcastle.
I’ve got a Brand New Combine harvester… and I’ll swap it for a football (Just for the hell of it) by the Tribute Worzels featuring, Gary Linekar, Alan Hanson and Mark Lawrenson.
I appreciate some of these songs might go unrecognised by some of you folks abroad who don’t perhaps have the same dedication to football as we British. (Oh yes... apart from Mr Intrepidideas who seems to have a fetish for 80s British music including Duran Duran …to which I say…someone pass me the sick bucket.) So apologies if these marvellous songs pass you by.
Now if anyone would like to add to this collection please leave a comment. In the meantime I’d like to dedicate this CD not in the true artistic fashion to a long lost love (or possibly a prepubescent crush) but to Master Sy and Dear Floogie being as they're English and they're blokes. (Well I hope so …but you never know these days…)
In the meantime friends I leave you with this thought…
Should I go for the chocolate covered digestives or the chocolate chip cookies? Hmmm… tricky…maybe I should sample both…….
Ps..Before you all think I'm incrediably shallow, I realise that I don't really have much to whinge about and that millions of people the world over would probably like to be in my shoes. However, as a premenopausal woman with a severe personality disorder and a love of naughtiness it is my duty to point out the failings of the government, especially Mr Brown.( But I try to be subtle about it.)
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Anyway I’m just going to waffle and we’ll see what happens which is pretty much like when I cook; at first when I crack those eggs I dream of lovely pert yolks and handing Mr T his fried Sunday breakfast with the eggs beautifully placed aside a lovely piece of finely charred bacon. But alas they always seem to end up scrambled. I’m not sure why although I’m still not certain about the difference between spatulas and whisks. I quite like poached eggs myself but the last time I tried that the farmer got really, really cross.
However, I suppose I could pop down to Mrs A’s house to find out about spatulas and such like. Now Mrs A, who has commented many a time on my site, is in the unfortunate position of living down the round from me. In fact her dry, acerbic wit frequently pulls me out of my deep depressions which happen when I’m contemplating my future life alongside those lovely aluminium saucepans. Indeed a few weeks back I tripped down there (there was a crack in the pavement) to moan about Mr T making me stack the pans in descending order of size.
“What’s the use in that?” I cried “I only have to get them out again tomorrow and nobody sees them!”
“What are you blubbing about,” replied Mrs A, “I have to hang my kitchen tools on exactly the right peg or Mr A goes up the wall. He is so finicky and particular! And the dratted things have to be colour coded as well!”
Well, you can imagine my sheer and utter…. Delight! Mr A is as bad as Mr T! Well, that’s a very, very, very satisfying situation. It’s extrememy therapeutic knowing that there are woman like me not just down my street but probably all the world over being harassed by their psychotic husbands!
Now I’d like you to read this link below (if I can I’ll link it but if not you’ll have to cut and paste it). Now this link was sent to me by the knowledgeable Mrs A who was obviously trying to stir me up into some sort of vitriolic, abusive tirade and I might add she has succeeded……
“CLEANING IMPROVES MENTAL HEALTH.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah; it’s entirely obvious to me that this is another male ploy to try and convince us women that staying at home and attending to all the cleaning, cooking and ironing is a valuable job.
To which I say;
WHAT A LOAD OF ABSOLUTE UTTER, RIDUCULIOUS TOSH!!!!1
Yeah, if cleaning improves mental health how come I’m stark raving bonkers?? Point proved… without having to waste thousands of pounds on ludicrous research at the taxpayer’s expense. In fact why do they keep doing all these daft surveys to tell us what invariably we already know? You know ones like; “Short Fat, Women Who Eat Too Much Chocolate Die Younger.” I want to be told something I don’t already know; for instance like “Short, Fat Women Are Better in Bed than Skinny Women Because They Have Better Reserves of Energy.” Now that would be an investigation I would be interested in knowing the result. (And moreover, I would be happy to offer my services, provided of course it is tastefully done. (i.e. Pierce Brosnan is among the male sample group.)
Now on another matter; at last, I have a new cooker! Yep, Mr T finally made his decision and after having duly irritated, harassed and persecuted retailers all over the land the new cooker has been fitted. (The suicide rate has, unfortunately, dramatically risen in the UK recently.)
And guess what? I can actually see through the cooker's glass window. Remarkable. Now I can actually watch the food burn instead of having it sprung on me when I open the door. I feel this will work wonders for my mental health; I do so hate being taken by surprise. (Unless it’s by Mr Brosnan; where I would be happy to omit foreplay.)
So the Turley Pizza surprise is no more and it’s back to the usual dismal offerings. Now I know I do say the occasional caustic remarks about the charming Mr T but as I am sure you are all aware he is indeed a lovely man (although a little too house-proud for my liking) and to this extent he very honourably decided to christen the cooker by cooking Sunday Lunch for The Turley Tribe. Alas, all did not go well - for the new cooker seems to be much hotter than the last and the roast beef was somewhat “hard”. Mind you it proved very useful for my shot-put lessons this morning. (Oh by the way, did I tell you that I’m hoping to compete in the 2012 Olympics as England’s champion Shot Put thrower? I’m in heavy training already.) And as for the Yorkshire puddings – they were “crispy”. However, we did have a good game of Frisbee later in the garden.
Now I’ve had a very busy day so far, scribing, scheduling tennis matches, sampling a nice array of cookies and toffees and corresponding with the lovely young Master Sy of The Wheel is Turning But the Hamster is Dead fame.( http://www.wheelturninghamsterdead.com/)Now if you haven’t checked out the Young Master yet then I suggest you do. Put it this way; he often tickles my fancy and if you fancy yours being tickled I suggest you pop over for a feather duster or two. Now Master Sy has told me that I have won his competition and duly won a tee shirt of the lovely hamster and soon it will be winging its way by harrier jump jet (or possibly an old bike) from the depths of some mouldy old haversack where he keeps his old vests and pants to the Mrs T’s infamous abode. Where I will first wash it, shrink it and place it upon my heaving bosom for photo opportunities. Master Sy says I must post a picture, which I have agreed to, although this time I’ll try and remember to airbrush some of the wrinkles (and fat) out.
Anyway, I kinda feel a little mean because my answer to Master Sy’s competition was so brilliant (What would you do to win his tee-shirt?) that after my entrance it all went quiet. Oops. I’m not saying I was enthuasstic about winning but I did leave several bodies in my wake and I even forgot to eat my chocolate (for half an hour). So I think it’s only fair that I have my own competition in order that Master Sy has the opportunity to win something back. Now I’ve thought, really, really, hard about this… about as hard as I do when I’m cooking…. And I’ve come up with this…
I will give 3 prizes for the three people who come up with the best time saving ideas to reduce the amount of time I spend labouring in my kitchen and cleaning my house.
Now these can be tried and tested labour saving devices but I’m happy to receive new ideas (whereby I will claim them as my own and patent them so becoming enormously rich and able to afford my own housekeeper.)
In order to encourage you to enter this fabulous, once in a lifetime competition I have some absolutely astounding prizes which are, in ascending order;
3rd place. A wonderful and fantastic array of dishcloths.
2nd place. A wonderful and fantastic array of dishcloths AND a high quality plastic scrubbing brush.
1st place. A wonderful and fantastic array of dishcloths, a high quality plastic scrubbing brush AND...
A box of THORNTONS CONTINENTAL CHOCOLATES!
Now I’m expecting ALL you ladies to come up with at least one good idea and I’ll be awarding prizes on merit. I will positively welcome contributions from my gentlemen readers too, especially Young Master Sy because I know deep, deep down in those male genes you would rather us ladies would be doing something a little bit more interesting.
Know what I mean?
So let’s hear the best you’ve got and make ‘em good; I need a distraction from cleaning.
Yours as ever,
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Now Mr T would obviously like me to be dead because he would no longer have to endure my feeble attempts at cooking and he would also get a big payout from the insurance company which would enable him to hire a proper cleaner which for him would be sheer unadulterated bliss. Now I’m not saying Mr T is obsessed with cleaning, tidying and all things of a household nature but he’s rather partial to that film Sleeping with the Enemy, starring Julia Roberts in which the psychotic husband (Patrick Bergin) lines up all the jars, tins and towels in order. I’m rather partial to the film too but I can tell you this; it’s bloody cold in The English Channel at the moment and every time I chuck my wedding ring down the loo it keeps bobbing back up. (Yeah that’s what happens when your ring came out of a Christmas cracker.)
Of course the feeling is reciprocated because I would have an even BIGGER payout if Mr T was pushing up the daisies. Ho, ho, how delightful; what I could do with all that cash! Why I could;
1. Invest in some top of the range 100% recyclable, fully automated dishcloths.
2. Purchase a self cleaning and self emptying bin.
3. Hire a (very) personal trainer to reshape my body in to a model of womanly perfection. (I would of course require assistance with my press ups.)
4. Hire a personal masseur to soothe my weary (but cellulite free) limbs; I have a little problem with cramp in my thighs which requires some close attention. (Oh how terribly, terribly tedious but I feel I should at least look into the matter.)
5. Employ my own personal chauffeur to drive the young masters to their appointments in a big black Cadillac so I can get plastered by consuming the contents of the drinks cabinet whilst decadently reclining on the leather seats eating grapes and studying a copy of “How To Look Taller and Fail Miserably” by T Cruise. (Second Edition; the first edition was way too short.)
6. Hire a personal dresser. Now in the true tradition of makeover shows I would end up wearing more or less the same clothes as the presenter and not what suits me so I’d take the precautionary measure of not employing Vivienne Westwood. (Although to be honest I’m running out of dustbin liners so perhaps she might come with some hidden benefits.)
7. Recruit my own Chef. Now I quite fancy the idea of a bon-bon talking Frenchman but alas all those frogs legs, snails and horse burgers are not really my thing. (Nobody else’s either but you just can’t tell the French anything can you? Look, we told them the Germans would just go around the Maginot Line but they just wouldn’t listen and look what happened.) I wonder if Gordon Ramsey would work for me? Hmm, I feel it would be most enjoyable telling him to…….remove himself from my presence.
8. Secretly employ an assassin to “Take out” Mr Bush and Mr Brown. I will instruct the assassin to enter the White House dressed as a court jester. Mr Bush, who has as they say in the Britain has “A slate missing off the roof” will merely think he has seen his own reflection and when the assassin draws out his poison blowpipe disguised as a Jester’s stick it will be too late……
As for Mr Brown, the assassin, disguised as a chef trained by Gordon Ramsey, will seek employment at The House of Common’s Restaurant where he will serve up Mr Brown’s favourite Scottish meal of truly gross ingredients (haggis obviously.) Now that Mr Brown’s Official Taster (John Prescott) has been dispatched back to Loch Ness, Mr Brown will bite directly into that mouth watering animal stomach filled with delicious offal….and it will be too late… for it will have been cunningly contaminated with a vicious and deadly strain of BSE (Dolly The Sheep’s remains) so ensuring his slow and miserable decline. (Yeah, rather like the British economy…remember that gold bullion we used to have before Mr Brown SOLD IT when prices were really, really low…)
To the right is pictured John "Two Jags" Prescott; a slob amongst MPs. I'd like to say something nice about him but alas can't think of anything. However, I did ring him and ask for his advice on how to get paid a fortune for doing very little. Unfortunately, he couldn't answer because his mouth was full.
Now back to my list;
9. Fund my own Bond movie called On Mrs T’s Secret Service. As co producer and director I will re employ Pierce Brosnan as 007 and Daniel Craig as his sidekick 008. Sean Connery will appear as Pierce’s father 006. Regrettably Halle Berry who will be the mysterious and deadly Double Agent known as “The Housekeeper” will meet a tragic and unforeseen accident the day before shooting begins. The only woman agile enough and familiar with the array of deadly dishcloths, household sprays and aluminium saucepans that unscrew and reassemble as a sniper’s rifle will be Mrs T herself. Yes, regrettably I will have to step into Halle’s shoes and be forced to duel, wrestle and of course submit to the lovely Pierce before being trapped in an underground (bed) chamber …where there will be an almighty explosion thus saving the world from The Housekeeper’s evil and conniving employer Dr T who resides above in a dormant volcano……..
10. Find myself a toyboy who must be at least 5ft 8 and carry a loaded weapon. Early applicants are welcome. Please leave your full particulars and I will happy to audition you.
Now back to other matters.
Now I shouldn’t admit but Mrs T is a bit of a luvvie. When I was young I had theatrical aspirations but exchanged them for a tall, handsome guy and later 3 annoying kids. However, I still quite help myself from doing slightly madcap things (although fortunately they are becoming rarer) and getting myself into embarrassing situations. Indeed I often find myself in the kitchen, rolling pin in hand, talking to a lump of dough in the vein of William Shakespeare.
“To be or not to be a pie; whether tis nobler in the mouth to suffer the crusts and rims of outrageous carbonization…..”
Yes, it’s a sad world I live in, I know.
Anyway the other day I was having one of my flights of fancy during a tennis committee meeting, when tired of saying the same old thing, I decide to exit the meeting in a dramatic fashion. So in true thespian mode I theatrically swept my papers off the desk, grabbed my laptop and handbag and headed for the doorway, pulling the handle fervently in the style of Laurence Olivier…..
….but alas the door remains shut!
Unfortunately, the meeting place was also a children’s playgroup so a second handle had been placed at the top of the door.
Dramatic exit ruined! Mrs T foiled!
Dame Judy would not be impressed. In fact she might be so disappointed that she would decline her role as M in the next Bond movie and a suitable substitute would have to be found…….
Anyway I’m not that popular at the tennis club at the moment. Have you noticed in life how many people are resistant to change? Perhaps the source of a lot of conflict in the world. I prefer to move forward; it’s my policy and I’ve been steadily moving forward on those weighing scales for some time now. I wish I'd not bought talking ones though; being told to “•••• •••” is quite disheartening. (Particularly when the voice belongs to Gordon Ramsey.)
Now of all sports I’m rather fond of tennis which is one of my favourite alongside cricket, boxing (there’s something deeply satisfying about two grown men beating each other up isn’t there?) and Rugby. Of course cricket is much more civilized and requires less washing than rugby and indeed football. (Mind you those grass stains can be a real bugger.) I also prefer the more physical side of rugby than football; let’s face it football is for boys not men. Look at those supposedly grown men weeping and rolling around after a tiny little kick in the shins; what a bunch of girls. (To which I say…. Try having a hockey stick on the head mate; then you’ll know what really hurts or failing that, try giving birth without any painkillers.)
Here’s a rather interesting fact about Rugby which I’m sure most people aren’t aware of; Rugby originally started off as a round ball like a football and then one day when the ball was on the sidelines, along came a short, fat lady with large thighs. Suddenly sliding on the mud, she tripped over the hem of her rustling skirts and fell upon the ball….
And so the famous elongated rugby ball was made….
Yeah, my great, great grandmother was a remarkable woman. Later she became a suffragette; this was when she realised she wasn’t going to get paid for all that housework and couldn’t even vote for a pay rise.
Anyway folks I think I’m gonna have to leave you for the moment those little chaps are calling but I think I’m going to end on a reflective note for a change.
Last night I was travelling through the neighbouring village at dusk to pick up young Master Benedict from his karate lesson….
The sun is low on the horizon, the last few embers of sunlight fading in the deep blue of the early night. The air is warm and speaking of life, of nature. A local farmer is crossing the country lane with his cattle. It is a long time since I have witnessed this event and I watch, mesmerized, as these majestic beasts plod slowly in front of my car. Their black and white markings are still visible in the coming night, their udders already full and gently swaying and with their melancholic movement somehow they seem at one with this peaceful environment…….and then
….. I remember…
….Burning piles of cattle, feet upright in the night, smoke permeating the air, the stench of burning corpses and trenches dug deep…..
…. The cruel suffering inflicted on these beautiful beasts in recent years; BSE and Foot and Mouth have devastated entire herds…
…. I remember…
… How much I dislike the tasteless banality of Macdonald’s burgers…
Must we destroy everything we have in the pursuit of commerciality? Of economics? Of greed?
Nature is our mother and I fear that, as any good mother knows, there is a time to show the children who is boss.
And that time may be coming sooner than we think.
Copyright Jane Turley 2008
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