Still waiting

English: Protestors at the June 30 pension dem...
Protestors at the June 30 pension demo in Nottingham. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I had awoken at five o’clock on Tuesday after only three hours solid sleep and a couple of hours sleep that wasn’t quite as solid meaning I was restless during that part. I can remember being restless but don’t know why because I went to bed very tired. Anyway the long and short of it meant I got up early and made the decision to take a walk. It was still quite cool at six-fifteen and it remained that way for at least an hour. I took no coat or warm clothing and wore only a top and skirt, it was just perfect for me. I was able to eat breakfast at eight-thirty on my return home and soon after E came down to join me. Once breakfast was out-of-the-way I got out the mower and cut the lawn. There was still dew on the grass but the mower coped with it. Following that I again watered both gardens and prayed that we might get some rain soon. E and I found time to sit on the patio before lunch after she had washed her hair and had a shower. She had a hospital appointment at two o’clock and I would be driving. Soon we were on our way and by two-thirty she had seen the physiotherapist and could leave but first we took the opportunity to visit our next-door neighbour who was still hospitalised. It had been a couple of weeks since she had been admitted (see previous posts) and the promises came and went but she was still left waiting. As I write this she remains in hospital and hopes to be able to leave at the end of the week. She may have to be placed in a private care establishment for a short time before she can come home. Nobody seems to know exactly what will happen at this stage. Whist E was waiting to see the physiotherapist she and I sat in the waiting area and I noticed a free publication regarding pensions lying on the table. It was a small booklet filled with information about pensions, how to set them up and later how to receive them when eligible. I opened it up to a page whose headline read ‘ What happens if you die before receiving your pension?’ and I immediately remarked ‘Don’t worry, we’ll post it on to you’. E, myself and a couple of other people couldn’t stop laughing at the irony of it all. Well what will you do if it happens to you?

Shirley Anne


Daft ‘apeth.

Daft Club
Daft Club (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

For those not familiar with the saying (title above) the second word is an abbreviation of ‘half penny worth’ as far as I can gather. It was used for many a year in my circles as a child growing up in Liverpool and I suppose it was used in many other parts of the land too. I still use the phrase sometimes even now. It is used in jest in response to someone’s foolish act, usually someone known personally of course. ‘You daft ‘apeth’. Having checked to see the origin of the phrase I drew a blank but I’m sure it will be listed somewhere. E often calls me a daft ‘apeth whenever I do something silly and I often call myself the same after doing something silly too! With lots of time on my hands lately I am able to do things I haven’t done for a while, making cakes is one and I baked a lovely cake a few days ago. That has all been eaten of course, they don’t last long in our house! On Wednesday morning last week I had the idea of making a curry for a change. It had been many years since I last prepared a curry. I had to check to see if we had any ingredients, that is spices in store. E and I checked for any that might be stored in the cellar for we have a room there in which we store many foodstuffs as it is a cold and dry room. We found several containers with spice in them but not all could be used because of their age. However we did have some spices in the kitchen cupboard too, spices such as cumin, coriander, chilli powder, ginger and a few others and of course black pepper. We had enough of the correct spices with which to make a curry. Now as it happens E and I have a small collection of cookery books and one of them is dedicated to Asian recipes. She brought them into the kitchen thinking I was going to use one of the recipes. There are recipes from Japan, China, Indonesia, Vietnam, Thailand, Myanmar (listed as Burma), India and Sri Lanka in its pages. I was spoilt for choice though I didn’t wish to prepare anything special. Turning to an Indian recipe in order to jog my memory as to amounts of spices to use I was reminded how much and which spices to use. What I hadn’t realised was how hot the recipe would be. Daft ‘apeth! So I prepared the curry and yes, it was hot! Gosh it was hot and I don’t really like hot curries. Out came more cream to quench its potency but it wasn’t enough, I had to dispose of some of the liquid until finally I had it right. E also reminded me I was a daft ‘apeth too. I’ll know better next time. The (chicken) curry was delicious by the way.

Shirley Anne

Deserving another posting

Originally posted on February 9, 2013 by Shirley Anne

I was just reminded about this little story a friend sent me over three years ago when reading about another girl’s experiences visiting a toilet for handicapped people ( )…… Each time I read it I am in fits of laughter………I simply had to post it again……enjoy

English: photo of toilet seat
Photo credit: Wikipedia

Thank you Jakkie for this gem.

When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a
line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once
it’s your turn, you check for feet under the stall doors. Every
stall is occupied.
Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the
woman leaving the stall. You get in to find the door won’t
latch. It doesn’t matter. The dispenser for the modern “seat
covers” (invented by someone’s mom, No doubt) is handy, but
empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook, if there
were one, but there isn’t – – so you carefully, but quickly,
drape it around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if
you put it on the FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume
“The Stance.” In this position your aging, toneless thigh
muscles begin to shake. You’d love to sit down, but you
certainly hadn’t taken time to wipe the seat or lay toilet
paper on it, so you hold “The Stance.” To take your mind off
your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be
the EMPTY toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear
your mom’s voice saying, “Honey, if you had tried to clean the
seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!” Your
thighs shake more. You remember the tiny tissue that you blew
your nose on yesterday – the one that’s still in your purse.
That would have to do. You crumple it in the puffiest way
possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn’t
The door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in
front of your chest and you and your purse topple backward
against the tank of the toilet. “OCCUPIED!” you scream, as you
reach for the door dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled
tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing altogether,
and slide down directly on the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of
course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it’s too late.
Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ
and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down
toilet paper – not that there was any, even if you had taken
time to try.
You know your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because, you’re certain, her bare bottom never touched a public
toilet seat because, frankly, dear, “You just don’t KNOW what
kind of diseases you could get.”
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is
so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like
a fire hose that somehow sucks everything down with such force
that you grab onto the toilet paper dispenser for fear of being
dragged in too. At that point, you give up.
You are soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat.
You’re exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found
in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.
Now, you can’t figure out how to operate the faucets with the
automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry
paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting. You
are no longer able to smile politely to them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of
toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you
NEEDED it??) You yank the paper from your shoe, plunk it into
the woman’s hand and tell her warmly, “Here, you just might
need this.”
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered,
used and left the men’s rest-room. Annoyed, he asks, “What took
you so long, and why is your purse hanging around your neck?”
This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public
rest-room(REST??? – You’ve got to be kidding!!). It finally
explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also
answers their other commonly asked question about why women go
to the rest-room in pairs.
It’s so the other gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse
and hand you Kleenex under the door.

Another of life’s mysteries solved….

Thanks again Jakkie

Shirley Anne


No sense of humour

Smiling can imply a sense of humour and a stat...
Smiling can imply a sense of humour and a state of amusement, as in this painting of Falstaff by Eduard von Grützner. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

To my American friends….’Is you in humour’?…well that may take some time  for some to realise the meaning in the pun. For a laugh I might have written ‘To my American friends and anyone else who cannot spell’ but that might have been taken the wrong way. It all depends on the recipient’s reaction. It is all intended as a joke, a humourous intention. I consider myself to have a good sense of humour and I feel that those who don’t are sadly missing something in their lives. I was lying in bed a few nights ago waiting to nod off to sleep and I found myself laughing so hard at something I’d heard that day. I had been watching a game show called ‘Pointless‘. I remember writing about the show in this blog some time ago. One of the contestants had been asked during the preliminary introductions about his hobbies and he replied that one of his hobbies was riding a unicycle. The host then asked how long he had been riding a unicycle and the guy proceeded to tell him the period in years but at this point I was laughing my head off thinking to myself the answer I’d have given, ‘Ever since the front wheel was stolen from my bicycle’. I wondered why the guy hadn’t thought of that as his answer but obviously he was less quick-witted as me I suppose. Either that or he just didn’t have a sense of humour. Like the guy who was asked by his friend, ‘How long have you been wearing women’s underclothes?’ when he had been discovered wearing them. His answer was given as, ‘Ever since my wife found them on the rear seat in the car’! On Thursday this week the country went to the polls in order to vote not only for their local Councillor but also for their chosen MP (Member of Parliament). the polling stations were open between the hours of 7am and 10pm to enable everyone to have the opportunity to vote outside their normal working period. I chose to arrive at 7am just as the station opened. One or two others had decided to do the same. The polling station is less that a quarter-mile from my house, a local church building, and I thought I would go there before breakfast. Two other ladies were there and I greeted them with a ‘Good morning’. I then said, ‘Gosh I didn’t realise there were two 7 o’clocks in the same day’!  One lady immediately smiled but the other just didn’t get the joke. She turned to me and said, ‘I thought everyone knew there were two’. The first lady then said to her, ‘She’s telling a joke’. I couldn’t stop laughing to myself. How could anyone think I was being serious? Obviously the second lady, else she just didn’t have a sense of humour. I don’t think I would like my life to be empty of humour, it must be awful going through life with a sombre look on your face not knowing what a joke is. I want my life to be filled with laughter, life is too short don’t you think?

Shirley Anne

The old ones are the best


Two lunatics broke out of their rooms in the asylum and found themselves on the top of the high perimeter wall in the middle of the night. Fortunately they had a flashlight with them so they could see where they were. ‘How are we going to get off this wall safely?’ one said to the other. They stood there for some time pondering their predicament when finally the other inmate came up with a solution. ‘I know what we’ll do’, he said. ‘I will shine the flashlight beam down to the ground and you can slide down the beam to the ground. When you are there I will throw the flashlight to you and then you can shine the beam up to me so that I can slide down it too’. After a moments though the first inmate said to his companion, ‘ I’m sorry but I cannot do that’. His mate replied, ‘Why not? It’s the perfect solution’. ‘You may think so’, the first man replied, ‘but I don’t’. ‘Why not?’, said his mate. ‘Well’, came the reply, ‘I don’t trust you’. Again the second man said, ‘Why not?’ ‘Because you will switch off the beam when I am half-way down’!

E and I dined out again on Tuesday and we went to our favourite place. Our youngest son turned up at the house just prior to us leaving and wanted something printed out on E’s printer but he hadn’t yet transferred the information from his tablet computer to E’s laptop from which she could connect to the printer. After solving a few problems she finally managed to print out the six sheets he needed. We were delayed from going out for about an hour as a result and by the time we reached our destination the place was almost deserted. This meant we had the waitress pretty much to ourselves, not that we needed her constant service. However, we get on so well with the staff that they like to sit and chat with us whenever they get the opportunity and we have a laugh together. I get the feeling we brighten up their day and they always say how much they have enjoyed us being there when we are leaving. Anyway I am always passing some funny comment which keeps them laughing and something reminded me of the joke above but could I get to tell it? The thought of the joke caused me to get the giggles, so much so that I could hardly stop laughing enough to eat my dessert! I was in tears laughing which set the waitress doing likewise. Eventually I regained my composure and was able to tell her the joke. It was all she could do to stop laughing herself and she had the giggles for some time afterwards. The joke itself is an old one and not particularly funny but when thought over when already in a laughing mood, it became hilarious. I guess you would have to have been there……..

Shirley Anne

A story to tell

English: Young seagull with a sense of humour ...
Young seagull with a sense of humour On the quayside at Mevagissey.

This story is actually in the ‘Your Own Stories’ page above but I thought I’d give it an airing here. Incidentally if you have an interesting little story you would like to tell I would be happy to include it on that page, you can email it using the address shown on the left of this page.

Recently I came across this item written by Jillian, a girl I met whilst on holiday in Canada last year (2009). I kept it for sentimental reasons at the time but now I have found it again I thought I might share it with you.
Jillian was a couple of months away from her operation when we met and is now enjoying her life as the woman she knew she was all her life.

On the Town

Shirley Anne has quite the sense of humour, as the citizens of Quebec who cross her path are learning. Today, Shirley Anne, her friend E and I visited St. Sauveur — in the Laurentians north of Montreal. It is very much a resort area, particularly in the winter when its many ski hills are in operation. But it is popular all year round, with arts festivals, the current Saka horse show and so much more. And it’s teeming with boutiques and fine restaurants.
Our first stop in St. Sauveur today was at the renowned Pagé bakery on Rue de l’Eglise. It’s full of delicious breads, pastries and other yummies. Of course, I’m watching my figure, so declined the calorie splurge, but my two guests indulged in something sweet. While they were choosing and munching, I strolled across the street to the local Catholic church, which was open to tourists. I sat in a pew for a little while and prayed. It’s a pretty rural church, though not anywhere near as ornate as Mary Queen of the World Cathedral in Montreal (my fave). Still, it’s a quiet place for reflection . . .
Next door to the bakery is a medieval clothing shop I very much wanted to visit. So, once Shirley Anne and E had finished munching their pastries and I was done in the church, into the shop we went to look over the creations of gifted designer Anne Larochelle. Well, you gotta know that we didn’t leave the shop empty-handed. Shirley-Anne bought a beautiful full-length medieval-style coat, while I bought a black medieval-style skirt (50 percent off) — with slits on the sides to show off a bit of leg! Even we medieval gals like to provide a peek, yes? Smiles . . .
By this time, Shirley Anne and E were thinking they would like a drink in “a pub.” And “pub” we found not far away, on Rue Principale. Shirley Anne and E made themselves at home immediately at the bar, and Shirley Anne was soon regaling the locals there with stories and her humour.
I don’t drink alcohol (bit of wine once in a while), so decided to check out some of the boutiques while my pals relaxed in “the pub.” Lordie, there are soooo many nice boutiques in St. Sauveur — and there were so many items I would have liked to have purchased. Sigh . . . But I exercised amazing control over my shopping urge (addiction). I ended up buying a very long silver necklace with silver leaves and dangly matching earrings for a mere $30 (plus tax). Hey, I could have spent thousands on some of the beautiful jewelry and clothes I saw there . . .
Back at “the pub” with Shirley Anne and E, I discovered them in full gaiety mode with the locals, who had suggested a restaurant at which we might dine. So off we went . . . to Restaurant Le Rio on Rue Principale, which opens for dinner at 5 p.m.
Well, where to begin? With Shirley Anne’s sense of humour? Or with the owner who came to our table to greet us (and who had my heart fluttering) . . . Sigh . . .
First things first: the menu. Shirley Anne and E chose to have rib-eye steaks. Shirley Anne went the table d’hote route and had some delicious deep-fried mushrooms (yes, I had a taste) and soup as entrees. I passed on the table d’hote and chose a tilapia filet meuniere from the fish menu. The fish was cooked in a tasty thin batter and was served with homemade fries, garden salad and rice. The portions were huge — too much for a weight-conscious girl like me. But it was delicious, even if I did leave some of the fries and most of the rice on my plate.
Now to Shirley Anne’s sense of humour: Not only was our French Canadian waitress excellent at her job, but she was also a good sport. Shirley Anne kidded her — kindly — with odd British-isms and such whenever the young lady came to our table. I told Shirley Anne that the young lady deserved an extra special tip . . .
I was quite touched when the owner came to greet us before our dinners arrived. He chatted with us for a while, thanked us for coming . . .
Not too long after our dinners had been served, the chef paid us a visit: “Is everything to your satisfaction,” he asked. When we told him everything was excellent, he replied, pumping one arm in the air: “Wonderful! I still have a job!” Another sweet guy. Sigh . . .
Not too long afterward, the owner returned to ask if all was well. Shirley Anne told him everything was terrible — kidding, of course. Oy. That British sense of humour . . .
And the restaurant owner was sooo nice . . . sigh . . . When he found out I live in Ste-Adele, he urged me to come back to his restaurant . . . Smiles . . . (Did I say I was off men? Oy.)
Well, to make this very long story a bit shorter, the food, the service, the welcomes were wonderful at this restaurant, and I recommend it to my readers.
And off we went back to my house . . .
As is always the case for me these days, everywhere I went today, I was called “madame.” Obviously, that is how the world at large sees me, and it feels so good. All those people today helped me shake off a depression that had set in during the past week. My prayers in that small church were answered.
Shirley Anne and E are in Montreal until the 20th of this month, so if any of the local regulars who frequent this blog want to see them, write to me and I’ll give you their contact info.

Shirley Anne

I’m my worse enemy!

English: The Forgetful Professor
English: The Forgetful Professor (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

On Tuesday I had an appointment to carry out some work about twelve miles away. Arrangements were made for me to get there at 12.30 last week when the lady of the house called me. Evidently she would be at work until then as she works a shift pattern. On Monday evening she sent me a text message to my phone to let me know that she had the necessary parts for me to install. They had been placed on order and were scheduled to be delivered on Monday. I got to the house in plenty of time, about fifteen minutes early, so I expected to have to wait. She didn’t turn up at 12.30 but I waited, I had nowhere else to go. She arrived at 1.15. I asked if she had been delayed and she said no. I wondered then why she was late arriving until she reminded me that the appointment was for 1.15! When she sent me the message confirming that she had received the parts for me to install she had included in the message an adjustment to the time I was to arrive and had asked if it was alright. Thinking she meant that I would be coming as originally planned I simply replied with a ‘yes’, not noticing the rescheduling of the appointment time! Well it was my own fault and I should be more careful in such things. No harm done, it simply made me have to wait that little bit longer. One problem with that though was that I began to feel the urge to visit the ‘ladies room’! Thinking she may not even turn up because she hadn’t arrived on time I began to wonder if I could hold it in! As it happened all turned out alright. I do some daft thing at times but they are usually only minor irritations. I think I am just an absent-minded professor but some say I’m just a silly old sod!  I missed out on lunch that day, too early to eat before I set out and too late after I had returned home. At least it made my evening meal more enjoyable as I was quite hungry by then.

Tuesday also marked the anniversary of my starting work exactly fifty years ago. I have now been in the electrical business for fifty years!

Shirley Anne

I can’t help it

laughter (Photo credit: withrow)

I can’t help it so people tell me but they jest, well I hope they do! No, what I mean is that I love a good laugh. Rib-tickling laughter is something many of us would benefit from, it is healthy and adds years to an otherwise boring and dull life. I find I can laugh at many things, even myself, that is important, to be able to laugh at one’s self. I love comedy in any form, especially slapstick comedy. I was watching a movie, well several of them lately all with slapstick comedy as a main theme, I couldn’t stop laughing and at times I was in real pain but couldn’t help myself. Sometimes one thing leads me to think of other scenarios and makes me laugh even more. E has a bit of a problem when she doesn’t see the same funny side of things as I do and looks at me wondering why I am still laughing ten minutes after seeing something or hearing something that has tickled me. Tears would be dripping from my eyes and she sits there pan-faced which makes me laugh even more! Laughter they say is the best medicine. I remember years ago when I worked for the electricity supply authority which had a contracting department, a plumber who walked about with a constant smile on his face. He was always laughing about something and his work never gave him reason to moan. He simply found life enjoyable and you could see it in his face. I haven’t quite mastered my work being totally enjoyable and free from causing me some annoyance but by and large I do enjoy my work. I must be doing something right. I find that by just stepping back from a problem for a moment and seeing the funny side often helps me get through it. After all, what is the point in moaning about things all the time? I can’t help laughing, I like laughing and it is usually contagious, a bit like yawning but at the opposite end of an enormous pole. Go on, have a laugh today and see what a difference it makes to your day. I will, I do it every day.

Shirley Anne