Bjorn found a bed ... and lost a bike :-(

Today was working out well if a bit chaotic .

I was recovering from an svt episode at the dentist yesterday ( heart going into overdrive as a result of an anaesthetic ) and trying to cope with "doing everything" as D on a rare overnight away . Wondering how I would cope again as a single parent , though reflecting that the main problem was the dog not to mention broken glass all over the kitchen floor ( cats ) .

After seeing Nat off to school and Catcalling followed by some serious F(lea)busting , I repaired with Alice to the local coffee place to meet Deb and hear all about her " holiday" taking in relatives' funerals and house clearance en route as is the way once one reaches a certain age .

On my return I heard the news that Bjorn found a bed in a hostel in Amsterdam but ... his bike was stolen ...if anyone can donate a bike or a bed for the night visit www.theshirt2010.net or just visit anyway and leave a supportive comment . Imagine having cycled all this way to raise the profile of refugees only to have your only means of transport stolen ? The final stage of his journey through Africa will be a lonely and at times dangerous one . He is not asking for money or sponsers , only football shirts and friends . Not a lot to ask !

Bereft ....And we dont want Bjorn sleeping on the Streets !

Bereft we are indeed now that our houseguest Bjorn Heidenstrom has departed over the horizon in the blink of an eye on the North Shields-Amsterdam ferry .

As we said our goodbyes Nat asked last night Cant we just keep him and I eachoed the sentiment . Such an amazing raconteur and with quite an incredible ability to engage anyone and everyone arriving at the house . Within hours of arriving , having cycled from Edinburgh , where he had stayed at Fish's home ( Fish the lead singer of the rock band Merilion ) he seemed fresh as a daisy and was chatting away , having set up a sort of base camp in one tiny corner of D's office , with a laptop for his essential communications , a camera and tripod to capture stills and video footage of his endeavours , a few bits of clothing that disappeared into our washing machine . He ate and drank everything that appeared in front of him with great gusto and responded with huge gratitude to our hospitality . Having a Persian cat at home he understood our Birmans and Alice was his friend within minutes though as they both loved to stretch on the sofa there were a few battles over territory , fascinating to observe .

If my fleas bit him , he was too polite to mention it .

I can't imagine it , as I continue to be bitten ....

So , Bjorn is off to Amsterdam this afternoon, this evening he will be sleeping on the ferry . Tomorrow morning he will arrive .

By tomorrow evening he has nowhere to sleep , and his tent will not be welcome in the city .

If you know anyone who can offer a bed there , please make contact .

We dont want Bjorn homeless and sleeping on the streets ! www.theshirt2010.net

Pearl contemplates cycling to South Africa

.. but decides to rest awhile first in a box and consider her options .

Meanwhile she and every other feline with whom I come into contact harbour small hopping beasties and I now have thirty two bites about my person . I have scoured t'internet for remedies and short of wearing a flashing flea collar myself ( there! Ive said the F word on my blog inadvertantly ) can think of nothing further I can do . I have dosed everyone and everything with Frontline , Spot_On , Right On or whatever it calls itself , and I'm even wearing lavender poultices in my underwear . Believe me some of the bites I have of of such a size and succulence that I would try anything .

Moving swiftly on , Bjorn has arrived complete with bike and trailer . Travelling from Oslo to South Africa by bike pulling a trailer , he is collecting football shirts which will be sewn together in time for the World Cup , in time to highlight the plight of Refugees everywhere but particularly in Africa . You would thought that starting from Oslo the penny would have dropped with me that he was Norwegian rather than Swedish but ...... I suppose the football connection menat that when D said A professionall footballer is coming to stay is that ok ? I said yes and kind of switched off . But Bjorn is doing a great trip and is a wonderful guest , great fun to have around .

D has managed by sending out press releases etc to get Sunderland football club to donate a signed shirt and now Nat through her contacts ( thanks Georgie and Jonathon ) has mobilised a shirt from Bradford . Liverpool are sending one through . Newcastle has one ( allegedly ) in the pipeline . Bjorn stops off in Tynemouth - News Guardian A story has appeared in the local press .

There are photos coming out and videos will appear . Bjørn Heidenstrøm - a knol by thisisspain

Watch this space if you are interested ....The story is not finished .....

Unwelcome Visitors

One of my friend's cats is living a semi feral existence at the minute despite my best efforts to coax her back into the house. No surprises there , she has always loved the great outdoors and they have a wonderful garden with great nesting potential including an air raid shelter from yesteryear , fruit canes , apple trees , and young pigeons careering about the place . Not to mention mice and all manner of wildlife out there . Far more interesting than the silence that is the house with no one living there at present , my friend holidaying in warmer climes.
On the odd occasion I am pottering out there in the dusk , watering plants and enjoying the late sunshine, and I come across her lording it on the bench , we stop for a friendly chat . I note that she is scratching well and edge further along the garden bench . But her friendly demeanour is hard to resist and soon we are sitting side by side watching the world go by .

The following day I am in attendance at another favourite , reading a note which tells me that my charge is suffering from an infestation and that although she has been treated there may still be some stray beasties lurking .

No surprise then that at four am I wake scratching my head off and when I investigate , I am lined with bites from these unwelcome visitors . I cannot bear to use the F word on the CatCalls website.

FastForward two days and my own dear Pearl is stewing happily on my lap when I notice a black critter burrowing through her fur . A further invesitgation reveals that she requires a dose of Frontline . I hurry to check her companions and yes , they are all crawling . Mm.
I hardly know who to blame .
The weather I think is the safest , hot and wet and September is the worst month for the offenders .
We purchase more Frontline and an F comb .
I am itching so much myself by this time that I am tempted to dose myself but the instructions do not mention this . Instead I move away from the windows and comb my hair out carefully and ( very) fully with the Dog F comb before I start using it on the animals . After all no one will ever know . I then check the comb ( with my spectacles applied ) and satisfy myself that there are no F s in my own hair , and no F poo , which is much in evidence on the cats . I feel better , but the itching continues . I satisfy myself with further applications of antihistamine cream which the pharmacist prescribed after a curious glance at me when I mentioned having a(n) F infestation .
As I write D is arranging for Bjorn , an ex footballing Swedish cyclist who is cycling from Oslo to South Africa to publicise the plight of refugees , to stay with us tomorrow evening as he passes through , and for the media to publicise his stopover , for which Sunderland Football Club have donated a football shirt . Bjørn Heidenstrøm - a knol by thisisspain ( Read about The Shirt here )
Let us hope all our Fs have all died by then .

Step Envy ?

I managed to train myself ( almost ? ! ) out of wanting things a while back by the simple method of focusing on the desired object long enough until the point of recognition that it wasn't going to help me achieve Nirvana. This worked with various cravings .

Readers of this Blog will recall longings for the Roomba , eventually resisted and indeed assisted by Bettejo pointing out in one of the Comments sections that it would only take one session after a cat-vomit with the Roomba doing its Thing for me to be well and truly fed up ( and on my hands and knees no doubt , or hoping D got home before me ) . Other items so far avoided have been a very expensive Man-Bag spotted variously in Fenwick , Debenhams though John Lewis didn't have a nice one ( so far , though I live in hope that they will come up with one that I can then turn my back on ) and All Saints though theirs was more of a Messenger-Bag . I think there is a difference . But they are all to be avoided being completely unecessary . And of course the hundreds of books I see every day on my travels and avoid buying , knowing I can get them second hand from Barter Books , borrow them or find them in charity shops .

However recently I think I have found something else to angst over ... I seem to be suffering Step Envy . My sister occasionally reports the number of steps she has clocked up in a day on her pedometer and I find myself then staring balefully at my hopeless low numbers and thinking mournfully why cant I even achieve five thousand these days when I used to do ten most days . CatCalling seems to need me to fly about in my teeny car . That's one excuse . I love the teeny car so much . That's another. I cant think of the third one but there must be at least twenty reasons why my step count has dropped so abysmally of late . And its not even Winter . I must get cracking .

So today I flew into Ikea in order to purchase four mugs ( each at £1 79 each , hardly likely to break the back , yet stylish and perfectly apt for the morning coffee machine business ) which always clocks up q few steps and anyway who can help but love Ikea , unless of course one has a Big Purchase to make then its a different story requiring that the protagonist needs to be In the Mood ( to say the very least ) .

And then we head for the marina at Newburn and despite the rain , take a long sheltered walk protected by the avenues of trees , culminating at the birthplace of George Stephenson where we find refreshments courtsey of the National Trust .

And , on our return , by which time Alice is barely speaking she is so exhausted , and is threatening to ring Wendy the Greyhound Rescue Agent or failing that to call a taxi to have her delivered safely back to the car , I note that I have completed 13193 steps or thereabouts and recognise that my excitement at this achievement far exceeds any normal sense of pride in completing a walk . Oh dear . Step Envy . Now what ?

All my best friends are Zombies?

Whilst at the hairdresser last week I lay back and tried hard to relax in the washing chair . This was always the best bit . Hairdressing and Shiatsu seemed to have formed a gentle alliance and I was accustomed to a solidly built and competent young woman who would tuck my head under her arm , sweep soothing drafts of soft warm water over me in tune to fine music , encourage me to close my eyes while she kneeded and massaged my scalp and neck . The shampoo smelled of oranges and the conditioning treatments were rich and luxurious. I would drift in and out , occasionally glancing at the world of hairdressing , the twinkling lights , the beautiful people and their shiny faces and perfect hair as I slid in and out of consciousness. What more could you ask ?

For nothing to change , really , is all .
For change it did .
At my last appointment I was allocated the trainee washing person , a delightful smiling young woman . I slipped into the chair fully expecting my usual fifteen minutes of rest and recuperation and bang , the shower spray slipped and clouted me over the eye ! No serious injuries but I was quite wet . Not a good start .
I felt myself slide lower in the chair in a vague attempt to escape as the water temperature began to creep up , and up , and up and .... it stabilised just as my face began to boil .... oops there goes that spray again , spouting water in an arc to the ceiling . As is my wont I start to feel hysteria rising in the form of giggles and I feel embarrased though I am not sure whether it is for myself in my soaking state or for the young woman who clearly has no idea of the mayhem she is causing .
Before we are done I have lost an ear ring and it is not only my bra that is wet through but God help us my knickers too ( how did she do that ? ) .
I am relieved that she is oblivious , as my desire to laugh hysterically is very close to the surface . Ms CatCalls becomes Ms Rather- Wet- Tee -Shirt.

This time I groan inwardly as she approaches me with the gown and two towels . I wonder about asking if I could have a plastic sheet or two but think this would be unkind . Perhaps she will have been on a course? Perhaps that was her first week ? I am sure if I was to wash her hair I would make a complete pig's ear of it too ? Now there' s a thought?

Things are slightly better ( just my bra gets it this week ) but I am still somewhat anxious as I lean back in the chair and I find myself glancing from side to side , again rather peculiarly hoping my public humiliation is not being witnessed .
In front of me the two young men are snipping hair with great aplomb , merrily chatting to their customers . I watch idly reflecting on how happy they look, how animated.
One of them is wearing a tee shirt with a slogan on it and I crane my neck to read it . I feel like my Great Auntie Gertie trying to get a look at the slogan on my sweatshirt or some such when I was a child and screwing her face up with the effort .
I seem to be positioned upside down somehow and it takes a while before I can figure it out ..... it seems to say " All my best friends are zombies " .
I consider this for a while . Mm . I feel I may want to suck my teeth and think on this and eventually it may mean something or make some sense . Am I getting old or something?
I consider texting Nat , far away in Plymouth and seeing what she says about it . But I don't want to lose face with her either . Perhaps I should just let it go .

Later , reading a Margaret Forster novel "Mothers' Boys " it occurs to me that never in hospital have I been offered a sleeping tablet .
I was first on a hospital ward at the age of seventeen , and as the nurses approached with the medicine trolley in the evening , I saw that they offered every single other woman on the ward a sleeping tablet . Many of the patients were elderly , granted , but not all . I formed an opinion at that age that women in Britain took tablets to help them sleep . I wondered whether they would ask me if I wanted one, and was mystified when they passed me by , though I was given a pain killer .
Years later , this experience was repeated several times.
Ward rounds. Medicine trolleys .
Every single other woman on a ward given a sleeping tablet . Did they offer me one ? Never ? How did they know I have never taken one ?
So what was it about me , at all those different ages , 17 , 30 something , 40 something , whatever , that said to them , here is a woman that doesn't take sleeping tablets when every single other woman on this ward does/ will ? I find that odd , and wonder if it somehow connects to the tee shirt " All my best friends are zombies " .

We step out of the car to walk by the river at Hexham in glorious sunshine just as the first of the day's bad news arrives by text. A sudden bereavement for one of the CatCalls families. We walk for a mile or so thinking of the implications and hoping the burglars will keep away ( so far so good). Alice is on form though slinks shiftly past two tiny terriers much to their owner's amusement . Almost back at the car and quite exhausted she suddenly sees a flat circular patch of grass and races round in greyhound mode . We walk into Hexham in search of a bank , lunch and a dustpan and brush and ideally , something for Auntie Laura as we are paying a visit to deliver her Hen Feed Bin , a splendid item purchased some time ago from Pets At Home , the squeezing of which into the new teeny green car ( black) was not without logistical challenge) . Almost a relief that the advertitised Free Scoop was missing , though irritating nontheless. One hopes Laura will write to the company to complain . A free scoop is not to be sneezed at in the current crisis .

D spots a rather ramshackle looking art gallery yard announcing lunch and we sit down on a dishevelled looking sofa . An artistic looking chap in an erstwhile white linen suit appears and asks us charmingly to vacate the sofa ( he clearly owns the place and has designs on it himself , for wine drinking purposes , as no one else appears ) stating that the sofa has been ear marked by another . We agree and move to a cobwebbed garden bench , somewhat the worse for wear but reasonably serviceable .

A young woman appears and we order lunch . Alice is provided with water in a bowl so dirty she stares in horror at everyone , then makes an attempt on the garden bench despite the slatted seats . I am feeling the same , though it is my weak coffee that is offending me . And I am not easily offended by food . And my scone is quite perfect . D had hoped for a larger sandwich . We love the general ambience , the fin de siecle shabbiness and the friends who finally show up to drink wine with the proprietor .

Moving on , the bank is closed , and I find the perfect dustpan .

At Auntie Laura's the dog does twenty laps round the trampoline and the hens crane their necks to watch this odd lanky creature.

Later in the day there is more bad news . A family member has called off her engagement . Oh dear .