The Plot

We lived at number 5, my grandparents lived at number 2. My Nana and Taid owned the “plot” that ran along the back of all 6 of the houses in the terrace. My earliest memories involved the plot. Planting lettuce with Taid, he always maintained he planted them and I pulled them up, to sawing wood with Nana for the fire that stoked the cast iron boiler that heated the pipes that ran around the greenhouse to ensure they always had the earliest tomato crop. When I was 5 or 6 the “new” greenhouse was built and me and my brother were allowed to draw our initials into the concrete step. Bearing in mind I’m almost 49 I often wondered why it was still known as the “new” greenhouse. As we grew up we had many an adventure in the plot. It was the most amazing place for hide and seek with it’s mish mash of sheds an kits, bushes, trees and compost heaps. I remember absolutely hating the ferret kit. The smell was disgusting. My Dad, who was the bravest of the brave, squealing like a girl when a rat ran out of the chicken kit and jumped over his shoulder. My Nana had sticks strategically placed all over the plot as a weapon in case the errant cockerel attacked. As we grew up there were several mysteries. The peas, despite being covered by nets to prevent the birds still had empty shells. Oh how I love peas straight from the garden. The strawberry and raspberry crops never did very well either but we did get told off frequently for having red ringed mouths. One of the highlights of the year was bonfire night. Half term was always the week before and by leaving the plot, going under the railway bridge we were in the enchanted territory of the woods which in those days was quite safe to play in from dawn until dusk. We’d drag as many fallen branches it’s possible for a gang of kids to drag and build the biggest, bestest bonfire in the area. What I failed to mention was the plot was tiered and all the kids were banished to the bank where we still had a perfect view whilst my Dad let off the fireworks safely by the fire. Spuds roasting in foil in the embers, beans and sausage to warm our cockles and treacle toffee to polish off the evening. My grandparents passed away many years ago and my Dad took over the mantle of running the plot and my elder kids and nephews took over getting into trouble playing football and breaking the bean canes or making divots in the cricket square lawn. Sadly my Dad passed away in April 2011 and the plot has become somewhat neglected. With panes missing and the roof bowing badly we were forced to admit defeat, that the greenhouses really were a health and safety hazard and would have to come down. Today’s the first day of half term. Transporting myself back 40 years, with my husband and brother’s help we began the monumental task of emptying and demolishing and building the biggest bonfire ever. We discovered the riddle I’d used as a tiny child to riddle the ashes. The ash to go back on the ground, the clinkers to go over the hedge and the rest to go back on the fire. We found the tub where Taid kept his special brew (sheep poo fermented in water which was his secret tomato feed – He made us collect this by hand and then take us to the pub for pop and crisps – without washing our hands.) The bottle to spray the tomatoes with Jeys Fluid (I think!), the pewter teapot used to water the geraniums and my Dad’s Council ID badge. And all the time my youngest, and my youngest nephew and niece ran around screaming playing hide and seek. I ache in places I didn’t know could ache. Incredibly hard, satisfying work. We have the biggest, bestest bonfire ever. All that remains is to decide who will light the fireworks on Saturday night.

I’d only just started working for my present Company when it was last year’s Children In Need. They had a cake sale which raised over £150 which is good except… not really knowing what was expected of me I’d called in Asda on my way to work and spent a tenner on cakes. Got me thinking that with 75 staff if everyone had donated the money they’d spent maybe a bit more could have been raised.

This year’s going to be different. We’re having our cake sale but also a tombola and a boys versus girls footie match. It’s a couple of days before my next 10k so I don’t want to pick up a knock so have volunteered to referee (Have I ever mentioned I am a qualified football referee and when I took the exam came top in Wales, consequently beating every man?)

We’re also having either wear yellow or wear fancy dress or pay a £1 fine.

A quick rummage through my wardrobe revealed the only vaguely yellow piece of clothing I own is my Hi Vis running jacket so fancy dress it is. My team leader stole my original idea of a banana then I thought about being LaLa from the Telletubbies. The head was a bit difficult and as official costumes are copyrighted or whatever it’s called they worked out a bit expensive.

Lying in the bath contemplating, as you do, Morgan’s rubber duck quacked at me and a plan was hatched. (terrible I know!)




There’s plenty of duck costumes out there for about £25 which seems mightily reasonable. Just before I pressed the “buy it now” button got to thinking, surely it would be better to donate the £25 to Children In Need?

Decisions, decisions.

Snowdon

When I decided to “do” Offas’s Dyke I was discussing it with my younger brother, Alan, and he said that he’d always wanted to climb Snowdon. Obviously “ever ready” herself said “Well why don’t we?”

We very quickly hatched a plan that we’d all do it October half term. All being our parents, our other brother and his partner, Alan’s wife and all 6 of our kids.

Bearing in mind it’s virtually on our doorstep none of us have ever got close to climbing it.

My sister in law put her sensible head on and said it would be too much for the little ones. My big brother decided he couldn’t do it. My parents were having their loft insulated, my eldest nephew was in work, Cait was ill so yesterday that left me Alan, my son Jim and Alan’s son Haz.

I’d pulled off quite a bit of information from the internet. Del an old school friend suggested we do the PYG route, Phil a work colleague suggested we do the easier Llanberis route and Alan in his infinite wisdom decided we should do the Snowdon Ranger route.

I’d had an email from Sue a couple of weeks ago asking if I’d managed much training for my Snowdon trip. I must admit I was pretty dismissive after all it’s ONLY 3¾ miles. 3,046 feet of ascent – how wrong I was, I know I should ALWAYS take Sue’s advice.

The forecast for Snowdon over the weekend had been pretty bleak with gale force winds. Yesterday looked the best day but there were warnings of hill fog.

We decided on an early start and for once in my life it wasn’t my fault that it didn’t happen. It was however my fault on the navigation to the mountain. I haven’t quite mastered this sat nav system on this new iphone. Consequently we didn’t start the ascent until noon.

All the signs and all the info suggested it would take 3 hours up and 3 hours down.

Start at the Snowdon Ranger youth hostel beside Llyn Cwellyn about a mile and a half further along the A4085 from Rhyd Ddu. Cross the stile and follow the track of the Welsh Highland Railway until you can turn right onto the metalled track going up to Llwyn Onn Farm. Beyond the farm the trail climbs steep ground but is well graded on a series of long switch backs eventually reaching more level ground as it enters Cwm Clogwyn with Yr Wyddfa towering above. The path crosses a couple of streams and skirts round the edge of Llyn Ffynnon y Gwas before beginning another zig zag climb to gain Bwlch Cwmbrwynog, the ridge connecting Yr Wyddfa with Moel Cynnghorion (see route 8).
From the ridge there are tremendous views north across the Cwm of Brwynog to Llanberis and Lyn Padarn. Behind you to the south and west are the lakes of Cwellyn and Gader, the peaks of the Nantile Valley and the forests of Beddgelert. The path ascends the ridge passing above the brooding cliffs of Clogwyn Du’r Arddu, the forcing ground of a generation of talented rock climbers in the sixties and seventies. The cliffs rise above the small Llyn Du’r Arddu. On the other side of the ridge to your right you can see the three lakes of Cwm Clogwyn. With more zig zags the Snowdon Ranger ascends to meet the Snowdon Railway coming up along the north ridge. There is another finger stone marker here. Cross the line and follow it for the final 15 minutes and 350 feet to the summit.

By the time we got to the railway track I was totally out of breath and of the opinion we should turn back now with all that mist coming down. The views were stunning so we carried on. The path was narrow and quite wet underfoot as it did follow numerous streams. It soon became apparent that I was seriously slowing the boys down. I urged them to press on but they kept waiting for me.

As this was one of the easier routes I think I was expecting a stroll in the park. I was very wrong. The ballast was quite hard underfoot but was nothing compared to what was to come. We literally had to scramble up rocks, I’m not sure what the surface of the path became, rock or slate but I know it was loose and you had to watch your footing.

When we eventually could see the café I was exhausted and it still seemed a very long way off. There were lots of people now making their decent, all urging us on and telling us it was worth it. One girl actually told me that she was crying on the way up but wouldn’t have missed the experience for the world.

At around 2:30,when the boys had waited for me yet again, Alan was of the opinion we should turn back to ensure we got back before dark. I asked the next group of people coming down how long it would take to get to the summit and as their reply was 20 to 30 minutes I made the executive decision that they should go on without me and I’d turn around when they met me on the way down.

I don’t know if it was the sight of the summit but I managed to get a spurt on and when they met me on the way down said I was so close I couldn’t possibly not make it. The last part was particularly difficult with what looked like concrete steps. I fell over a couple of times but eventually, on my hands and knees managed to reach the Pinnacle.

The feeling of euphoria is difficult to describe. The views were spectacular; the only dampener was the thought of a 3 hour climb down and the light beating us.

So off we trotted, literally. We jogged were we could. My confidence in my footholds grew with every step. I ended up on my bum on numerous occasions, dignity went out the door. We just needed to get down quickly. I hadn’t actually hurt on the way up but coming down my knees really felt it. About half way down my boots suddenly became too small as my toes tried to force themselves out through the front.

The thing is you’re halfway down a mountain and no matter how much it hurts there is no alternative you’ve got to get down the rest of the way.

Fortunately we were off the shale/rock/ballast and onto the stream paths by the time it got dark, and the dark did close in on us pretty quickly. It was no fun. We could see the road so knew we were pretty close but it was still quite a hair raising experience.

We got to the railway track and Alan offered to go and get the van to pick me up. There was no way I wasn’t going to complete. I ended up walking sideways as the pressure of my toes against my boots going forwards was extremely painful.

I had to be manhandled into the van as I couldn’t drag myself up the step.

It was without a doubt one of the best experiences of my life. I will definitely do it again. I’d like to do the other 9 routes. I thought I’d given it respect by being properly equipped. I hadn’t. It was pure stupidity coming down in the dark and I should have heeded Sue’s advice climbed some hills in preparation.

At the end of the day I’ve climbed Snowdon and I’m very proud of my achievement.

Mike Evans RIP

It was early 2003 when I first met my future in-laws Pat and Mike. I was 39 and rather out of practice meeting “boyfriend’s” parents. I was extremely apprehensive was made to feel so welcome. We had such a lovely weekend that on the way home I just knew me and Mark had a future together.

Mark had told me about Mike’s Parkinson’s. I’d totally forgotten until I caught a glance at his clasped hands – to disguise the shaking. It didn’t matter to me but it did to him. Such a very proud, dignified man.

Mark also told me that when Mike had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s rather than curl up and accept his fate he’d gone out and bought a computer, had lessons, researched all he could on the internet, learned exercise could slow its progression and joined the gym. If that doesn’t show a strength and determination of character I don’t know what does? A strength and determination which left him fighting to the bitter end.

There’s so many good things I’ll remember about Mike. The way no matter what the weather Oscar would always get his walks. His bowling green lawns. His beautiful garden. His appearance was always immaculate. He was a perfectionist. He had one of the sharpest minds I have ever encountered. He had a wicked dry sense of humour which would leave me chuckling for days after thinking about his comments.

When Morgan was born – I have never seen a more proud Grandad which is captured beautifully in the photographs the way he is staring down at him with pure adoration, joy and love. Looking at all the photographs of Mike and Morgan each one Mike is holding his hand like he never wants to let it go. He was always so very proud of his family.

Mike With Morgan a Day Old



Dawn, Mark's sister, Mark, Mike, Morgan & Pat For Mike's 71st Birthday last October



Mike Morgan & Pat




Mark and his Mam & Dad last Christmas








Mike was diagnosed with a brain tumour two years last October. They operated but weren’t able to remove it all. He basically had to learn to do everything again from walking and talking to basic social skills. He deteriorated quite rapidly since Christmas and its just short of a month ago that Mark got “the call.”

We live in North Wales. His parents live in Chesterfield and his sister lives in Warwick.

Mike fell at home in the morning. He went to a hospice once a week and they found him on the floor in the bathroom. In the afternoon he fell again and Pat called for an ambulance. They called for the paramedics who were able to stabilise him but whilst they agreed he should be in hospital they didn’t want to take him to A & E as they felt he should be taken to the local hospital which had no A E . A GP came out and agreed to get him admitted on Wednesday morning meanwhile he had another fall on Tuesday night and had to be admitted. Mark left here Wednesday morning. His Dad was transferred to the local hospital by ambulance.

He was suffering from the brain tumour, from Parkinson’s and from dangerously low blood pressure (75 over 33 at one stage).

People would ask ne how he was and my reply was

“He has good days when he knows what’s happening and responds – he’s like the old Mike. He has bad days when he’s completely oblivious to the outside world. The worst days though are when he knows what’s going on and can’t make himself understood.”

Always fiercely independent he tried to get up out of the chair last Monday and whether he stumbled or fainted we don’t know but the outcome was he cracked his head against the corner of the wall and fractured his skull.

He was taken to the Royal Chesterfield hospital. His condition deteriorated rapidly on Tuesday and he was given a matter of hours. His dogged fighting determination remained until the end. Whilst he remained unconscious he lost his battle for life at tea time on Friday.

Pat, has been very fortunate to have been married to such a wonderful man for almost 50 years it would have been their Golden wedding anniversary in September. No one can take away her memories. She has lost her husband, her soul mate and her best friend. Dawn and Mark have lost a wonderful Dad. Faye, Matt and Morgan have lost an amazing Grandad. The world has lost a truly dignified “gentle” man. My life has been enriched for knowing him. He will be sadly missed.

Pat doesn’t want his funeral to be a sombre affair. It was quite cathartic for me searching yesterday for Morcambe and Wise’s “Bring Me Sunshine.” One of the saddest things though is Pat will be 70 next Sunday.

BRING ME SUNSHINE
Willie Nelson


Bring me sunshine in your smile
Bring me laughter all the while
In this world where we live
There should be more happiness
So much joy you can give
To each brand new bright tomorrow

Make me happy through the years
Never bring me any tears
Let your arms be as warm as the sun from up above
Bring me fun, bring me sunshine, bring me love

Bring me sunshine in your smile
Bring me laughter all the while
In this world where we live
There should be more happiness
So much joy you can give
To each brand new bright tomorrow

Make me happy through the years
Never bring me any tears
Let your arms be as warm as the sun from up above
Bring me fun, bring me sunshine, bring me love

Bring me sunshine in your smile
Bring me laughter all the while
Let your arms be as warm as the sun from up above
Bring me fun, bring me sunshine, bring me love

I Have Seen The Light

Since I was about 5 I’ve worn glasses. I can remember having my eyes tested in school and the indignity of pointing out the letter shapes rather than saying “A” “B” “C.”

It was discovered I had a lazy left eye and with hindsight I should have been mortified about wearing blue NHS specs with a patch over my lazy eye I really couldn’t have cared less.

I only needed the glasses for reading or close work and often they would remain in my bag until I got a headache.

When my Mum started wearing glasses permanently I asked “How do you know when you’re sight’s deteriorating?”

Pretty soon after I can recall watching the end of some TV programme or another and thinking “Those credits look a bit blurred.”

At the grand old age of 41 when I was pregnant wit Morgan I realised I needed to get things checked out. Expecting the optician to say that it was a side effect of being pregnant I was quite shocked to learn that it was “an occupational hazard” of being over 40 and “Things would go downhill from here.” I comforted myself with yet more reading glasses and soldiered on.

By the time of my next examination I could no longer avoid the obvious. I needed glasses all the time. I was suitably despatched with a pair of variofocals with a stern warning to watch out for steps and pavements.

On leaving the opticians I asked my husband was it particularly sunny on this crisp October morning. “Nope” I was told “It’s just that you can actually see now.”

So that was it. Glasses became as much of my everyday routine as brushing my teeth or getting dressed. If I sneaked downstairs without them on the odd occasion to make the coffee Morgan would soon remind me to “put your glasses on Mummy.” In reality he can not remember seeing me without them.

All was well until I got my reminder last October. I had the feeling things had deteriorated somewhat. I couldn’t read texts without my glasses and things became quite acute when I couldn’t read the private registration advert s in the paper without taking off my glasses and using the bad eye as a magnifying glass.

I realised I was on a slippery slope after starting this new job and having to do the same with invoices and reports.

I had my eyes tested last week and it was confirmed – my distance vision had improved but my reading had worsened.

I no longer needed variofocals but readers were essential. Fine except that I had no intention of not being able to read my phone or popping into Tesco and having no idea of what I was buying.

I opted for a pair of readers and a pair of variofocals. I picked up the readers yesterday and once again the sunshine has been switched on. I’ve read 2 books and completed the crossword. Good people out there. Don’t suffer. Vanity is a terrible affliction. Look after your eyes.

Computer's Carbon Footprint Nearly

My husband is not impressed with my fanatical recycling policy. Plastic, glass, aluminium, newspapers – all separated and lovingly put out in the blue boxes/bags. We’ve even got our very own composter for the garden waste. So I’m pretty pleased with myself doing my bit for Global Warming and the Carbon Footprint. My husband’s argument is – I do all this and then… leave the computer on 24/7. He has got a point but I have a wonderful relationship with my PC. You could say a typical love/hate. I love it. It hates me.

I’ve gone back to the PC quite often recently and it’s been switched off. Of course I blamed my husband doing his bit for the environment. He denied all knowledge so then Morgan got the blame and as he’s too young to confirm or deny. It was left at that until this week.

So there I’d be emailing away job applications and it would switch off. Extremely annoying to say the least.

When I bought it, about a million years ago I took out this protection thingy but I couldn’t find the receipt. I rang PC World and after about a million options got through to a very nice man who traced me by my post code (Big Brother is watching, scary really.)

I explained the problem and he got me to go into the BIOS and he asked me to read off the temperature. “113.5C.”

The poor man screamed down the phone “Hit the power switch! Turn off your machine! Hit the power button! NOW!!”

He went on to explain that how the internals of my machine hadn’t been frazzled and caused a house fire he had no idea and went on to arrange for a very nice engineer to come out yesterday.

Well the very nice man did come out and diagnosed the problem immediately. Dust. I was absolutely mortified . A family of mice could quite happily have lived there very comfortably, thank you very much. I asked how it could be avoided and thankfully he said it couldn’t and this was “Normal”. He worked his magic with his paintbrush and my Dyson and I’m now left with a machine that’s running sweet as a nut.

He also reminded me that with this insurance there’s a free annual health check – I think I’ll be taking full advantage of this in the future. I read this week about a laptop being left on and setting fire to a settee. There’s a global warning in this house now – SWITCH OFF.

Credit Crunch or Infantile Radio DJ's?

Ok so the whole world is pretty fed up with the whole Russell brand /Jonatha Ross debacle but here’s my tuppenny worth.

Leaving obscene messages on anyone’s answer machine is pretty juvenile. On a 78 year old is pretty stupid. To do it publically on National radio is pretty much signing your own death warrant so what do you expect?

Andrew Sachs was due to give an interview and didn’t answer his phone which is at the least pretty rude and at best totally unprofessional.

The main complaint seems to be that Russell Brand alleges he slept with Andrew Sachs grand daughter Georgina Baillie. From what I am led to believe this is a statement of fact for which the said granddaughter was paid an obscene amount of money for “selling her story” Said granddaughter is also I am led to believe known as Madam Voluptua, is part of a group known as Satanic Sluts and has been seen on stage promoting lesbian sex. I doubt very much whether this publicity has harmed her in the least.

Going back to the content. I addressed a group of 14 year old English students last year and we basically discussed humour and what they found amusing. After a swift question and answer session they identified Roy “Chubby” Brown as funny. When I asked why they were quick to point out because he was “rude.” What I quickly found out was because he swore. I asked the group if I stood in front of them and swore would it be funny? Yes was the overwhelming reply. Then I asked if their English teacher stood up in front of them and swore would that be funny. They nearly choked and agreed that would be hilarious.

Then I asked them to explain why? We laugh because we’re shocked. The problem we’re getting is once the “F” word was shocking it has now become the “norm” so comedians have to look for ever increasing shock value top become amusing.

Let’s face it any one person can stand up and swear. It’s not funny anymore. What is funny is observational humour as demonstrated by the GREAT Peter Kay What Peter Kaye demonstrates is there are the funniest things going on in everyone’s life all the time. The stories he tells are so funny because we identify with them because let’s face it they’ve happened to us.

It’s slightly strange that I am reading Alan Carr’s autobiography which is highly entertaining however it comments about a show that Russell Brand was doing in the Edinburgh festival in 2003. The show wasn’t going too well so he decided to wave around a rather personal part of his anatomy. The response was minimal.

This I believe is a far worse offence than has hit the headlines recently.

I used to love Jonathan Ross. I found his Radio 2 show to be highly entertaining and amusing. Hindsight is a wonderful thing but I honestly found his “Tonight With Jonathan Ross” to have gone down the pan of late. The lavatorial sense of humour had outshone his obvious talent as a great talk show host.

As for Russell Brand well he’s basically gone as far as we’ve let him. To me he’s always been an overgrown public school boy who’s pushed the boundaries of public decency.


Like most people I honestly feel the great loser in this whole unfortunate affair is Lesley Douglas, who in fairness has shown outstanding loyalty to her team. She has taken full responsibility but what a loss to the BBC, particularly radio and especially Radio 2. I wish her all the best for the future and hope that her prospects as an unemployed 40 something female are not as bleak as mine.