It tickles my fancy

Humour is no joke.

Over the past couple of years, indeed, since Covid hit the world, I began posting inane quotes, jokes and comic illustrations that had tickled my sense of humour.

We were undergoing a world crisis that could only have been something we see in fictional sci-fi movies.

Those first few month of Covid truly had most of the world’s population feeling shell-shocked, helpless, stressed, anxious, fearful, angry, disbelieving, protective …  so many emotions, so many based on not totally knowing or having predictions of the future. 

So nothing better than a good old laugh.

At least, that’s what I thought. 

I love laughter.  I love laughing.  I love movies or TV shows that make me laugh.  And I love one liner quips that bring an instant laugh.  Or giggle.

Despite many of you denying it – you’ve loved my comic quips and quotes.  And I’ve loved the comic, sometimes droll, often sighing quips that have come back.

Nothing wrong with a good laugh.

Did you know that laughing burns calories?  True.

Just 10 to 15 minutes of laughing a day can burn up to 40 calories – hence I try to laugh more than 15 minutes a day.  Despite some days finding it a bit of a challenge. 

Reality is when you see someone else laughing it almost always puts a smile on your own dial.  That’s the brain reacting.  Even just hearing a good bout of laughter has your brain making you smile.

I’m not sure if I should mention this, but scientists have proven that monkeys AND rats laugh.  We all knew monkeys did, but rats?  True though.  I read it somewhere on the internet – so it’s true. 

So I love it when I know I can make someone laugh.

That is why I have had a continual flow of one liners posted on FB.  If one person smiles at the inanity of it, then I have succeeded.

I am at my happiest when I have others over for dinner and around the dining table are reels of laughing throughout the meal.  Warm fuzzies abound. 

And we all have a varying sense of humour – that we all know – I cannot stand watching comics who unnecessarily use the f….. or other fowl words they consider makes a good comic.

My sense of humour is wider than most.  And despite Big Son’s ever going sighs at my attempt to humour him, I know he really does enjoy my quips on FB – especially the more inane ones.  Cause despite his denying it – he’s got the same sense of humour as humour is genetic.  There is a gene we all have that creates our appreciation of laughter.  You’ve got it son!  And I so vividly remember you laughing as a tiny wee baby ….. 

Since travelling to the UK there has been a break in my posting the comic quips.  Never fear, I feel the need to return to it.  Helped by a random visit to a random wee village in The Peak District this week, I discovered my own Tardis!

Couldn't believe my good fortune

Look, see …..  if you want to know more, check out the FB posts in the next few days.

Not only was I already in a happy place, walking over some of the most beautiful countryside in England - but someone in a tiny village has a sense of humour just like mine.

A phone box, covered in laugh out loud quips .....

My quips will be back .....

And now for Eileen

It is no coincidence or convenience that I have begun my blog project by writing about the likes of Dot.

In life friends come and go.  But good memories always remain.

The sadness about life and people passing on is many of their classic stories go with them, forever forgotten.  I'd like to think I can keep some stories still alive - to me the Dot ones were magic - yet there we many more of her I could share. Not enough room or time.

Not all blogs will be about people.

And yes, some blogs will eventually, be short.  Meanwhile I cannot move on to other topics and shorter blogs before sharing some classic moments about my champion marathon and Ironman friend.

And now for Eileen 

My old mate, Eileen. 

She’s still alive! 

And even at her now 84 years I can see her outlasting many of her mates who are decades younger. I first met Eileen in 1977. 

The other day

Like my meeting Dot, meeting Eileen was also in the women’s YMCA changing rooms. Not with the YMCA running club this time but the ‘Businessmen’s Health Club’ which was, and still is, set up in the basement of central Auckland's inner city YMCA buildings in Pitt Street. 

There weren’t too many fitness centres, or ‘health clubs’ as they were commonly known then, in the country in the 60’s and early 70’s. Well not ones that catered for men plus women. The old establishments such as The Atrium Club and The Northern Club were well established but truly chauvinistically male only. In the late 60’s New Zealand’s renown athlete opened his Les Mills gym – a gym catering for both men and women - which had the YMCA and its Businessmen’s Health Centre management contemplate adding female membership to the male dominated centre at the Young Men’s Christian Association. 

However the women were not to be highly visible to the male membership so a small, adjacent dungeon room was kitted out for where women could workout and Jazzercize well away from the sights of the ‘business men’. 

In 1975 I ran my first ever running event, the Auckland Round the Bays 11 kilometres from downtown Auckland to St Heliers beach. It was at the after event social tent I met an attractive women with a ‘die for’ body who had completed the run in a much quicker time than I who told me it was due to her belonging to the YMCA fitness centre as they had inspirational gym instructors. She suggested said go along and join. 

So I did. And there were encouraging and inspirational gym instructors there who gave the gym an addictive energy, especially for the new trend of 'jogging'.  

Thus it was in those women’s changing rooms I first heard the lightly sing-song lilt of the Welsh accent. 

A short, stocky women in her early 40’s – in a pair of tight fitting running shorts and tight fitting sports singlet; this woman was obviously known to all members in the gym and seemed to be a person of interest to all those in the changing rooms. 

Within a matter of months I too was donned in a pair of tight fitting running shorts and tight fitting sports singlets, cringe worthy fashion now, and was running the central streets and parks of Auckland city training for my first ever half marathon with this short, stocky, Welsh woman and her other running friends. 

Our training was interesting. Across the road from the gym is Myers Park and the fitness instructors had drawn up a large coloured map of the park’s footpaths to show how we would easily train for Round the Bays by running these loops. Which, if one knows the park, means running up several flights of stairs, up steep asphalt pathways, down steep ones, in and out of the local drunks and vagabonds, around the statue of David, up the steps to St Kevin's Arcade, around the old, now historic Auckland Kindergarten building then straight up the side of the park into Vincent Street. Running and training in the park meant us women did not initially have to toss ourselves out onto the Auckland streets where truck drivers, construction workers, rubbish men, all sundry males who stopped their work, stare, wolf whistle, call out and basically embarrass and belittle these self-conscious women in their 20’s, 30’s and for Eileen who was in her 40’s – Eileen was the oldest, by some years. Thus these times and days began my now 45 year friendship with Eileen. 

Now, like Dot, Eileen was/is a bit of a character and one that people warmed to due to her enthusiasm to talk to anyone and convince many they were more physically competent than they probably really were. And she had good reason to seem convincing, for at 45 she had completed her first marathon run and had returned to the Businessmen’s Health Club on the week after as a mini-hero for what many had condescendingly pondered impossible. 

A whole book could be written on the subject of Eileen in those days. But I am going to focus on two non-running stories of Eileen’s that will forever be etched in my mind and now hopefully yours. 

The two of them

Eileen and her husband, Gerald, had moved to New Zealand in the 1970’s on a 6 monthly basis, returning to Wales every New Zealand winter. Their reason for this is a really interesting one, involving the first warehousing system of running efficient supermarkets in New Zealand. Anyone remember 3 Guys? Gerald was a 3 Guy. 

Must not Segway though. Their coming out to NZ was solely due to Gerald and his business interest with Albert Gubay to set up NZ's first major warehousing supermarket, 3 Guys. They lived in New Zealand for some of the year then returned to their home base in North Wales for the rest of the year before returning to their New Zealand home a few months later. 

In Wales they lived in a modest bungalow in a quiet village. Eileen had become an icon in her village – she had joined their local athletic club, ran all over the Welsh countryside with them, ran marathons, then later began to ride a bike, buy a wetsuit and become an Ironman athlete. 

With Gerald & Eileen spending their New Zealand winters in Wales and returning for the New Zealand summer, it was perfect for Eileen and her athletic interests.

When in Wales it was the tradition of Gerald and Eileen to have family around on Sunday afternoons when Eileen would wait on the relatives with tea and cakes, food and beverages. One Sunday Eileen had had enough of being the one tending others and the two of them decided to let the family arrive but they would go driving in the Welsh countryside, find a quaint tea house that were dotted all throughout the country lanes and enjoy a quiet cup of tea and cake, just the two of them.

With Gerald driving along the hedgerow lanes and Eileen navigating they saw a hopeful gatepost sign and driveway – “this one looks good,” says Eileen and Gerald points their brand new and polished Mercedes Benz up the beautifully manicured sweeping stony driveway to the front steps of the grand old two-story stone house. 

“You go in Eileen and I’ll park the car,” says Gerald as he indicates to where other vehicles were parked alongside the driveway. Eileen walks up the grand stairs and enters through the grand doorway to the entrance of the tea rooms. 

“Ah,” thinks Eileen, this looks perfect as her eyes scan the beautifully decorated Tudor home with the lushness one expects of a high tea reception house. Over to one side was a charmingly set dining table, laid out with silver tea set, Dorchester tea cups and even the 3-teired cake stand. 

Sitting at the table were four women in their mid 40’s supping their cups of tea.

As Eileen entered and contently look around for a table to sit at the four heads turned her way. On seeing Eileen approvingly scan the room one of the ladies enquired, “Can I help you?” To which Eileen replied, “Yes please, my husband is parking the car and we'd like to have afternoon tea for two.” There is a momentary pause. 

“This is a private house, I am the owner, these are my guests,” says the woman. Eileen looks, then looks again, scans the room again and realises, there are no other tables, this IS a private house, this is not a tea house. 

Just as reality dawns on her Gerald enters through the door, all set for his afternoon tea and cakes. Eileen blusters some form of apology to the lady, spins on her heels, grabs a stunned Gerald by the arm and rushes him out of the door ….. 

In later years they took me past the beautiful house and yes, it did have a sign on the roadside, with the name of the house - it sort of looked like a tea house sign. 

Gerald - the short one.  

Gerald 

In his younger days he was a bit of an Arthur Daley was our Gerald. 

In his early married years he was dubiously buying and selling carpets to local folk in surrounding Welsh villages. He drove a battered, old van with a sliding side door and had taken out the passenger seat to enable him to fit more of his long carpets rolls in the van. 

One busy day he was heading to a village on a carpet delivery errand when Eileen decided she would go along for the ride. It meant Gerald had to temporarily put the passenger seat back into the van - and Eileen grabbed her knitting and happily knitted away while Gerald drove through the country lanes and villages. 

They came to one village and Gerald, who was known to have a heavy foot on the accelerator pedal, approached the village roundabout a good few kilometres an hour faster than the road signs indicated. As he drove into the four-road intersecting roundabout at speed the passenger sliding door instantly slid open and as Gerald continued to accelerate through the intersections out of the van popped Eileen, still sitting on the unsecured passenger seat, still knitting, and landing upright in the middle of the roundabout. 

The unplanned maneuver happened so quickly Eileen had not comprehended what had happened, nor had the eye boggling drivers and passengers of the on coming vehicles, those who saw before them a woman, sitting on a car seat, in the middle of the roundabout, knitting, as though it was the norm in this little village. 

It was not until Gerald exited the roundabout that he turned to look at the open sliding door and realised Eileen, and seat, were missing …. 

Fortunately it was in the 1960’s, not a lot of heavy duty traffic in the 60’s. 

Gerald, getting his priorities right, firstly checked his carpets were still safely in the van then went to retrieve his knitting wife and her seat – and delivered his carpets.

This is a replica of Gerald's van

Nostalgia photo below

Early 1980's - Eileen in middle.

As an epilogue - Eileen ended up running many marathons and in her prime was turning out sub 3hr 30 marathons.  She was one of the early age group New Zealand women to complete the NZ Ironman in the days when it was held on one of the toughest courses - the Auckland course.  She was 54 when she did her first Ironman.

A true legend of those times.

Blog: 3       Of the project 

Continued from my previous blog:

More lovely Dottie memories 

The tattooed lady

Over the years Dot had completed a few marathons overseas after travelling with fellow club members.  We were always bemused with her travels overseas while her husband John remained at home looking after the dog and the cat. 

I recall finishing a Sunday run at the club and going into the ladies changing room for my post run shower.  Among the many full, half or totally unclothed members in the changing room was Dot.  My gear was on the bench next to hers and she walked out of the shower room to the bench without anything covering her body and as she turned I noted a couple of tattoos on Dot’s somewhat dropped buttocks.  “Dot,” I said, “you’ve got a tattoo on your butt!” 

“Yes,” she replied with a proud grin, “it’s a four leaf clover. I got it done after I did the Dublin marathon.  And this other tattoo on my bottom is an apple which I got done after I did the New York marathon.”

Somewhat between shocked and bemused I said, “What does John think about them?”

“Oh, he doesn’t know.  I never let him see me naked!”

 

She certainly tri’d

It was in the summer of 2005 when an event organiser had planned a series of women’s only mini-triathlon events, called Special K Women's Tri.  One was to be held at Mission Bay in Auckland.  To encourage some women to ‘give it a go’ (and to support the event organiser) Tony and I offered to coach some of the Y ladies to train for it as their first ever triathlon event. 

Dot was 74 at the time and jumped at the chance, as only Dot could. She had much faith in Tony and I as coaches so considered herself safe in our hands. 

It saw Tony & I at Okahu Bay on Saturday mornings running training sessions.  What a hoot that was. And what an ever-rewarding experience, helping women learn to properly swim and seeing some overcoming their fear of the sea water. The youngest in the group was 20 years old, oldest wasn’t Dot but one other who was 77.  We had them swim in the bay, transition to their bikes, cycle along the waterfront, come back to the bay and transition to the run.

The triathlon event was only a 300 metre swim, a 10 km bike and a 3 km run.  This seemed totally feasible and doable to everyone in the group, including our Dot.

Many had watched Tony & I compete in Ironman events over the years and noted swimming the 3.8 km swim for us Ironmen was always done in wetsuits so most of the ladies deemed it only right that they also wear wetsuits for their 300 metre swim.  Including Dot.

Three days before the event I answered a knock at the front door, it was Dot, full of enthusiasm.  All excited that her grandson had offered his boogie-boarding wetsuit for her to use, she’d tried it on and it fitted, did I think it would be ok for her to use?  I chuckled internally, especially in the knowing that the 300 metre swim was in waist deep water and we would most probably see Dot walking much of that distance anyway; and in our warm Waitemata summer waters any wetsuit would be of no advantage at all to anyone.  But I smiled and said, “Perfect Dot.”  She did seem greatly chuffed at the thought of wearing grandson’s wetsuit.

“But,” she said, “I don’t know what to wear under the wetsuit.” She then went into great detail that she wasn’t sure whether to wear her running bra for all the events, swim/bike/run, or to change bras between the bike and the run.  Or whether to wear her running shorts on the bike or borrow bike shorts from someone then change in transition into her running shorts.  And if she wore bike shorts should she wear knickers under them?  Or not?  Or if she wears either bike shorts or running shorts should she wear them under the wetsuit during the swim, or change into them in transition?  Or should she wear her swimsuit under the wetsuit and use that under her bike gear and run gear? 

Being both bemused and excited for Dot and her enthusiasm, and not wanting to dampen excited spirits in any way I said, “Dot, the swim is short, as is the bike and run so it won’t matter which or what of the choices you are thinking about, they would all work well.” 

“But I’m worried that if I wear my swimsuit for the bike and the run what people will think seeing my boobs bouncing up and down?”  To be fair, Dot always did have a lovely, healthy set of breasts so I understood her thought pattern.

Not wanting to deter Dot or have self-conscience blot her enthusiasm, I said, “Look Dot, it doesn’t matter what you wear under your wetsuit, you could wear nothing and nobody would care or notice, all they care about is seeing you out there, on the course, having a great go and a great time, so relax and do whatever you think you will feel most comfortable in.”

I could see the instant wave of relief fall over Dot’s demeanour.  “Oh thank you Verna, I’m so pleased I came around and talked all this through with you.”  And with that she scurried off to head to grandson’s place to pick up the wetsuit.

Come the morning of the event, Tony and I headed to Mission Bay early and enjoyed helping the twenty-plus women we’d had under our wing set themselves up in the transition.  This was one of a series of a number of women-only triathlon events and we felt so impressed at the numbers, the enthusiasm, the excitement and the adrenaline all these women setting themselves up in transition had.

At 7 a.m. the first of the many waves of women competitors began the event.  Tony and I stood on the sands at Mission Bay watching our various friends enter the water at one end and exit the water at the other then head to bike transition.  There was the 20 year old going, the 34 year old, the 48 year olds, the 56 year olds, somewhere in the many waves was Dot and her 74 years of excitement.  The two of us decided to wait on the beach and watch the waters until the very last wave of competitors entered then finished the swim. 

There were only 4 competitors still in the water when a non-competing friend of ours came running up to with an almost frenzied look on her face, “Oh my God,” she blurts, “you’ll never guess what I’ve just seen.  Over there in the swim to bike transition there’s a women, a really old women, who has come out of the swim in a wetsuit then stripped it off and has absolutely nothing on underneath, she’s completely starkers and taking her time to get her bike gear on!”

Tony and I looked at one another, and in unison, said, once again, “Dot!”

Rest in your happy peace Dot. 

                    Post event photo                    

                    Dot, front row - 2nd on left.    

Others in that row:  Liz, Dot, Mel, Julie

Back Row:   Marion, Flo, Michelle, Lynette, Casey, Barb, Self

 

    

All Dottie ....

This is the first of the blogs that will come under the umbrella of the Toastmaster project I was outwitted into doing.  Happily so, I will add.

On posting in Facebook what I was doing and why I received some terrific suggestions on the theme to make it - e.g. How to live life in retirement ...  Women running over 50 ... The not so ordinary people I have met ...   A Kiwis view of the British lifestyle ...  Travel is the spice of life ...  or, to be, just me.

Loved all the suggestions - guess they could be regarded as the first of my comments for my first blog.  So I've decided to use them all.  And thus retain the title I have always had for my blog - A Blog About Life.  That way it incorporates it all as I can certainly write on every topic suggested.

The first topic will come under the umbrella 'The Not So Ordinary People I Have Met'.  Thanks Daniel.

So, today's first official blog:   All Dottie

My lovely friend Christine rang me recently to tell me that Dot had passed away. 

Christine & Dave & Me

The news did not come as a real surprise as Dot was in her 90^th year and for some years had been in a physical state of decline, but as is always the case in these situations, it still deeply saddened me that someone who had a special niche in many people’s lives, and certainly in mine, is no longer with us.  My heart was very heavy. 

I would suppose to a number of Dot’s friends and family she had not actually been with us for some considerable time, years even. 

Last time I saw her was in a café in Avondale in Auckland, it was November 2019.

Dot was in her early 50’s when she walked into the foyer one Sunday morning some decades ago to join the YMCA Marathon Club.  And she quickly became a notable member.  The November cafe occasion was organised by a mutual friend with the purpose of having a number of ‘old’ marathon clubbers come together to enjoy a lunch and catch up, as for many our lives had gone in different directions; the lunch was considered a lovely way to ensure the link of friendship continued.

Dot was among those attending.  She was there in body and spirit but not quite there in the mental capacity we had so loved. The cruelty of dementia had picked on Dot over the previous few years and had slowly worked its way into ensuring she was unable to look after herself.

The organising friend ensured Dot would not miss the get together occasion and had picked Dot up from the care home she was residing in.  Facially Dot looked no older than she had done for her previous 20 years, but bodily her mental health debilitation was obvious.  Unable to care for herself, even unable to walk unassisted it was certainly sad to see that irrepressible, fun-loving, silly, giddy lady be doomed to her final days in the sad world of mental and physical decline.  The saving grace was the fact she was unaware of her own decline and looked truly happy to be surrounded by faces she saw as maybe familiar, be she not able to work out from when or where. 

She spoke in inaudible whispers, and one could barely glean one word she would utter, but she looked happy, and smiled at each person that went to chat with her, she was clearly happy to be in her world in our world.

On hearing of Dot’s passing I was saddened that consequences meant I would not be able to travel  to Auckland to be at her most important event, her final crossing of her life’s finishing line. 

I yearned to be there for the end of her life’s marathon race.  To cheer her through and tell her well done. I was sorry to not have the chance of saying a few words of farewell to her.

Whilst pondering the sadness of her declining years and eventual passing I reminded myself of those unique and unforgettable Dot events that epitomised the character she was.

I cannot recall the exact date of first meeting Dot and so wish that my Tony was here as I am sure he would remember first meeting Dot.  I was on the committee of the marathon club at the time and Dot came along as a new member to train to run a marathon.  She must have been in her early 50’s at the time.  Not such a notable age for us then as the marathon club catered for the widest age group of runners than any other athletic club in the country.  During my time as President of the club it had over 600 active members, probably with an average age of 35 to 45 years, with many in their late 50’s and early 60’s.  Good runners, fit runners, runners who held their own at national marathon, road racing and cross country championships. 

Dot wasn’t quite in the latter category but she quickly fitted in well with those on the Sunday morning runs in the 10 Minute pack.

And she quickly became quite a popular, if bemusing, character.  She loved to chuckle and certainly gave her fellow runners much to chuckle about.  Not long after Dot joined the club her daughter became a member, one of a few mother-and-daughter pairings within the club at the time.

I am sure there would have been marvellous stories being remembered at her post funeral cuppa – stories of Dot and her ‘dottiness’, her ditheriness, her love of running and her love of being involved in everything the club did.  Over the years Dot became a club treasure. 

Our Mrs Mops

During a busy period when both Tony and I were working corporate we were involved in a great many other activities that meant our days were full so we decided to ask Dot if she would become our weekly house cleaner. She was already cleaning houses for folk as her way to earn the dollars to fund many of the overseas trips she regularly planned.  Many of those trips were with fellow marathon club members to run marathons around the world:  London, Paris, New York, Dublin - I’m unsure what others.  Therefore, Tony and I felt we would be doing both parties a favour by hiring Dot to come in Fridays to have a lovely clean house to come home to pre-weekend and at the same time helping Dot earn the monies for her many travels.

It worked well.  Very well.  Dot was studious, conscientious, and never let us down. We trusted her implicitly and always looked forward to driving home from work on a Friday to a tidied and clean home.

Sure, there were some glitches.  But we chose to overlook them.  Afterall, what’s wrong with intermittent fibres of cat fur left all around the inside of the hand basins or shower, or bath?  Yes, Dot’s eyesight wasn’t the greatest so we could overlook this odd, Dot-like glitch. Plus, everyone knew Dot adored animals, and we had a friendly family cat and as all cats do when Dot is around, it would rub itself against Dot’s legs wherever she went and Dot would pick it up and give it the adoring strokes and pats it was seeking.  But of course, as we all know, cat fur flies everywhere, particularly when you have a wet cleaning cloth in your patting hands, resulting in neatly spread intermittent cat fur on the personal cleaning surfaces. 

No matter, Verna’s usual chore when arriving home on a Friday was to grab a clean cleaning cloth, zip around the house quickly and rinse those hairs down the drains.  Afterall, at least the surfaces the hairs were stuck on were clean surfaces.

Dot did get paid by the hour for her cleaning.  It bemused us both that the hours we paid for did include her compulsory cup of tea break.  Which, being Dot, would not have been the standard ten minute stop to boil the kettle, make and drink the tea, then return to work.  Her tea breaks included a good, comfy sit and a read of whatever reading material she’d been tidying up.

There were many an occasion we would arrive home to find our running or Metro magazines left on the tables opened at pages she last read.  No matter.  We were still very happy to have Dot as our character cleaner.  Afterall, they say charity begins at home.

Having her cake and eating it

I did once make the mistake, although at the time it was a genuine offer of sharing, in telling Dot that I had made some biscuits which were in a tin in the pantry and she was more than welcome to have a couple with her cuppa when next in cleaning. Gleeful Dot happily told me the following Sunday how lovely they were.  That’s when I actually made the real mistake.  I responded to her comment in saying, “You are most welcome to help yourself to any biscuits that may be in the biscuit tin Dot.” 

From that time on the biscuit tin was the recipient of Dot’s reaching hand every Friday afternoon.  As was the cake tin next to it.  And the one next to that.  Indeed, I’d often have to zip out on a Thursday evening to the local shop to restock the tins just for Dot.  We frequently noted that not only were the biscuits depleted but that banana or chocolate cake that may be in another tin had had an extra large slice cut from it.

It was all fine by us.  We just chuckled, shrugged and enjoyed regaling the story of Dot and the cat fur and biscuit tins to those who knew her.

Until the day I went to go get that last piece of delectable Christmas cake that another dear friend had made for us some months earlier.  It was the best Christmas cake she had made us and we savoured every bite of it and never shared with anyone.  Our cake was for us and us only and we would bring it out on days when we truly felt we deserved a self treat.  We’d make ourselves a cuppa, bring out the cake tin and sit and salivate over the treat we were about to devour.

We’d had a hard day out doing whatever and Tony was unloading the car while I went and put the kettle on.  Coffee made and poured, we reached for the cake tin knowing the very last piece of that scrumptious Christmas cake was stored awaiting the very moment for us two to enjoy every crumb.  Open the lid.  Empty.  Gone.  Nothing.  Zilch. 

Faces shocked we look at each other.  “Dot!” we exclaimed, in unison. 

Yes.  Dot.  She had enjoyed the last piece of our preciously stored and saved Christmas cake.  That particular cake tin was stored on a separate shelf to the usual ones, always was, because it was so special we tucked it away one shelf higher.  That particular Friday cleaning day the biscuit tin was running low with only one biscuit in it and nothing in the other tins.  Dot had clearly felt the one biscuit was not her usual weekly fare so would have used the kitchen stool to stand on and reach our ‘special’ tin and without any malice or thought of trespassing our treasure, found that one, lonely last piece of Christmas cake.  It was months after Christmas so knowing Dot she probably assumed it was past it’s use by date and that we’d clearly forgotten about it, so she ate it.

To be continued next blog:   Dot and her other enjoyable legacy memories ... it's fun ... because Dot was fun.  😊

As yet untitled - seeking inspiration

 

FACEBOOK POST FRIDAY 13th

I need you!

I have been wangled into a project. A challenge, I guess. It’s a Toastmaster thing – could almost say I’ve been conned by a HOJO. With the implication it would be a good challenge for me.

It’s to write a blog. To “introduce me to the skills needed to write and maintain a blog”.

Ow, that will be hard… me says, with a sly grin ….

Project says have to post a minimum of 8 blogs in a month. Aww, shucks, that’s tough.

I must follow a list of competencies which include ‘demonstrating an understand of basic writing structure for blog posts, to develop well written material, identify and manage information appropriate to share and to display an understanding of how to properly engage and communicate with readers’.

Hence, I need you.

I need comments, criticisms, praise, condemnation … whatever it takes to show I have ‘properly engaged with readers.

The instructions tell me it is important I choose a theme or topic that is based on my interests.

Well, I’d do gardening. Or hedge trimming. Or swimming. Or running. Or housecleaning. Or bed changing. Or Ironmanning. Or Toastmastering. But, each of those topics would draw yawns from my small audience.

And it’s suggested I have a ‘theme’. Apparently it is a good idea to search my chosen title or theme on the internet before making a final decision.

And no matter what my opinion I’m to be prepared to have readers disagree. But they usually do anyway. So nothing different there.

The content should reflect my goals, interests and personality. Think I have something of each, be they debatable by some.

Topics can change – can be inspiring, instructive, entertaining, humorous, informative but consistent. OK. Can work with that.

And I’ve got to be visually appealing. Probably a bit of a hard ask for me at this period in my life.

I’ve got to be regular (something I’ve often had problems with), can post daily or post couple of times a week. Am to be succinct (which many people consider I’m far too adept at) and engaging all with the goal of gaining and maintaining followers.

I’ve spent a couple of hours searching the internet for ideas of ‘themes’. Not successfully.

So went back on the internet to see what the most search engine topics are at present.

Remember, I’m in the UK at present. Some of the most search topics at present include:

- Men looking at combine harvesters …

- Menopause & HRT health inefficiencies for women

- The Euro

- Premier League

- Covid

- Inflation

- Prince Phillip?

- Covid

- Boris

Methinks none of those is going to blend into something I will write.

So I’ll just stick to – me, my thoughts, my opinions (that should stir a few!)

I start tomorrow … need your feedback, please.

• • Carol Robbins

    Good luck xx

    

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    • 23 h
  • Murray Chapman

    Just be you, that's always worked in the past so why change a winning formula ,

    

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    • 23 h
    • Rog Robbo

      Murray Chapman 

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      • 23 h
  • Carleen Gibbons

    Got tired reading that, seems like ‘travel is the spice of life’!!!!! no better topic

    

    • Haha
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    • 22 h
  • Helen O'Shaughnessy

    Eat lots of fibre, drink water  and exercise, you’ll be regular in no time at all ….. and carry on carrying on….you got this !

    

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    • 22 h
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      Verna Cook-Jackson

      Helen O'Shaughnessy  Thanks Helen. Will take your advice.

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      • 18 h
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      Verna Cook-Jackson

      Helen O'Shaughnessy Today's fibre.

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      • 18 h

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  • Susie Liddle

    A Kiwi’s view of British lifestyle

    

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    • 22 h
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      Verna Cook-Jackson

      Susie Liddle There's a thought! 

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      • 17 h
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    Daniel Frost

    What about the theme of “the not so ordinary people I have met”

    

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    • 20 h
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      Verna Cook-Jackson

      Daniel Frost Bingo! Great idea. 

    • • Daniel Frost

        Rumour has it you have met “a few boring people”

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        • 1 h
    • Tony King

      Geez Verna that in itself was quite a blog. U do have talents with blogging for sure… I will try to make comments feedback. You want honest feedback and that’s awesome.

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      • 9 h
    • Carolyn McCutcheon

      You could write about “how to live your best life in retirement”? I find your Fb posts very inspiring!

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      • 9 h
    • Linda Strilciw

      Verna Cook-Jackson that will come as second nature to you dear friend. Xxxxx

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      • 1 h

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