Of kids and carrots

Smallest grandson: Granny, why you don't  got any kids?
Me: I've got four, but they're all grown up. (I tell him that his father, his aunt and two of his uncles are my "kids".)
SG: Where was I? (when they were born).
Me: (sensing problems) You didn't exist.
SG: How did I get here?  (I was right)

There follows a euphemistic discussion about seeds.*

SG: Like Daddy's carrots?
Me; Yes! Just like Daddy's carrots! (Phew)

Those are Daddy's carrots in the photo above, as posted on Facebook. I'm glad to say that his children are better formed than his vegetables. He has some way to go in the horticultural department.

*I'd like to add that I have no problem discussing the provenance of babies, but as a grandmother, I know my place.

What your dog can do for you 🙂

Dogs are soooo relaxing to have around, if you don’t believe me, do watch this

Mugs

I read in the paper that you can tell a lot about someone from their mugs. Apparently, posh people have mis-matched mugs, whereas middle class people have nice, matching mugs. Above is a photo of some of our mugs. We must be posh 😀

Some of our mugs are very old; some not so old. And we each  have our favourites. When they've just come out of the dishwasher, we have a lovely wide choice. But as their numbers dwindle, we're down to the nasty thick football one (sorry, Joe) and the faded Welsh one (circa 1985 - why has this unpleasant mug lasted so long?). My favourite is the flowery one in the middle (a present from a friend), and we both love the one on the extreme right, although it's chipped.

Life is much more exciting with a variety of mugs. What do your mugs say about you?

The complicated way to close a window

1 Make sure it’s a recalcitrant sash window. This is important.
2 For this to work, it has to be the lower half that needs closing.
3 Place your fingers over the edge of the window, and push down. You may need to push hard.
4 If you do this properly, your fingers will now be firmly jammed between the two edges of window. This will hurt. A lot.
5 Phone* the neighbours, who need to be out for this to work.
6 Phone the fire brigade.
7 Wait. This will also hurt. Try not to cry (I’m afraid I cried).
8 After a while, two burly firemen will arrive. With a fire engine. Although they don’t need the fire engine.
9 They will release the trapped fingers.
10 Voila! The window is now closed.

*you will need an accomplice for this, unless you have a phone on you.

For your last hot holiday...

This ad has been banned by London Transport, but I’m afraid it made me laugh (just for the record, I plan to be buried. I’m not a fan of extreme heat).

And another one....

....courtesy of my granddaughter:

Is water wet?

(I’m not mentioning the fact that it’s publication day for
Ruth Robinson today, as I’ve talked about it quite enough recently.)

A question/dilemma/riddle

No.1 son posed this question last week:

If you’re totally immersed in water, are you wet?

Think about it (I did). It’s not as easy as it looks!

Just a snippet...

My new novel - Ruth Robinson's Year of Miracles - is out on Thursday. The Kindle version is still available at 99p, but will go up after that. There will also be a paperback. Just in case you're interested (please be interested!), I thought I'd give you a taster. Once again, apologies for the advertising. But how else do we get our books out there? Ideas, anyone?

 

                                                 PROLOGUE

 

My Uncle Eric is telephoning the zoo to ask how many Thompson’s gazelles a lion can eat in a fortnight.

 Uncle Silas is stuffing a weasel on the kitchen table by candlelight (we have a power cut).

A respectful knock at the front door heralds the arrival of yet another minibus full of pilgrims hoping for a miracle.

Outside it is raining - a typical, nasty, dank November drizzle - and a piglet is trying to get in through the cat flap.

In the midst of all this, I am trying to cobble together something for our supper (the weasel is being prepared for posterity rather than for consumption).

I pause to take stock.

Six months ago, I had a regular job, a monthly salary and a comfortable flat to go home to.

How on earth have I got into all this?