brissiemaz

14. A rest day

Posted on July 28, 2012 by brissiemaz

Chelsea Flower Show

The day after my Croydon sortie I had a fairly restful morning that involved mostly massaging my legs and getting the washing on the line.

The advantages of renting this place are many. The living is entirely self-contained and I have the luxury of my own private back garden – with a washing line so I can dry my clothes in the sun.

Now before you start laughing about England and its lack of sun I must mention the fact that I was extremely fortunate as far as the weather was concerned and in the 6 weeks I was there I had one overcast day and two days of light drizzle. One of those turned out to be one of my rest days anyway. The remainder of the time I had blue sky and sunshine – how lucky can you be? Towards the end of my stay when I was based in Poole we had wonderful summer temperatures in the mid to high 20’s.

Later in the day I decided to have another go at finding a free car park as I needed to buy a pair of slippers and wanted some fresh bread and milk. When I reached the shops I did my usual driving around the block a couple of times and was on the verge of giving up when I accidentally turned left one street sooner than I should have. I cursed my stupidity but by the time I had seen the No Through Road sign it was too late to do anything other than keep driving to the end of the road and do a U-ie to get back out.

Lo and behold! What do I find?

The afore-mentioned multi-storey car park that caters for the shoppers and workers in the area. I knew there had to be one somewhere!

My mistake was in not guessing that it was at the end of a road that discourages you from entering by having a No Through Road sign on it and does not bother to have a sign telling you there’s a car park to be found at the end of it. So, thank goodness for that mistake. Parking problems solved.

Thank goodness too that I’d hired a very small car. The parking spaces were miniscule – just enough room to park my tiny car and to half-open the car door to get out. Makes you realise that space is at a premium in cities that have existed for such a long time.

In the shops I was puzzled by the shop assistants reaction to my request for slippers. I still haven’t figured out what the problem was. After a while I was on the lookout for a middle-aged Caucasian woman to serve me as I started to think it was a cultural difference that made them look at me strangely when I mentioned slippers. I had no luck and went home without having sighted a single pair – in England! Who’d have thought?

I did manage to find some cheap sheets as I called them. Whenever I used the term ‘cheap sheets’ the assistant became a little agitated and politely corrected me – apparently, the politically correct term is ‘budget sheets’. So I’d ask where I’d find some cheap sheets and I’d be firmly told that the ‘budget sheets are in aisle 4, Madam’.

I simply wanted to use them as curtains to cover the rest of the big glass doors that opened onto the garden as the trendy blinds only covered half the area and I felt a little exposed at night. Admittedly, I am a little thingy about privacy and preventing people from peering in my windows at night. I must be a light sleeper as I seem to hear every sound during the night. I can be wide awake for hours trying to figure out what the noise was that just woke me while other folk around me are sleeping soundly without a care in the world.

I remember one night I thought might be my last after being woken up by a particularly chilling sound – but ….. more of that later.

Posted in England, London, parking | Tagged free car park, humor, humour, sheets, slippers, travel | Leave a comment

13. Oh to be in Croydon, now that April’s there!

Posted on July 15, 2012 by brissiemaz

Where was I?…….Oh, that’s right….. the tail-gating in England (with a couple of shots from the Chelsea Flower Show for good measure).

OK so they’re up behind you very, very close then someone in a side road on the left wants to join the traffic so drives right up to the side of your car and urges into the traffic. Because you let this car in, the driver behind gets crappy and decides you’re a bad driver, drives out into the on-coming traffic and pushes in between you and the car you’ve just let in. If, at that moment, you happen to be approaching a green traffic light, like as not, any number of pedestrians, fed up with waiting, will surge out onto the road and try to cross in front of you against the lights.

Once that nightmare of slamming brakes and cursing is over there’s still the horror of having fast-moving cars and trucks break out of the line of on-coming traffic and hurtle towards you – on your side of the road – so they can pass a car that they think isn’t travelling fast enough. It’s heart-stopping stuff until you realise they’ve mercifully pushed their way back into the line of traffic and are now happily one whole car-length further ahead than they were before, seemingly unaware that they’ve performed a very dangerous manoeuvre to get there.

All this as well as people, market stalls and double-parked vans invading the road space is a recipe for a very big headache indeed. I decided to duck down a side-street in Norbury as I couldn’t stand the traffic anymore and thankfully found my way to Pollards Wood Road – another house of happy memories.

Surprisingly, it was one of the few streets in the area where there were places to park on the side of the road. Most of the houses had yards and garages. What was not so fortunate was the human drama occurring right outside my old house. A mother had a baby in a pram and was stopped in front of the house screaming at 2 shame-faced toddlers on the footpath. I waited a while but there were no signs of the torrent of abuse abating so I drove away to look over the area and came back after what I thought would be a suitable interval, giving her time to move on.

She had other ideas though and as I was starting to feel the need for food (not to mention the use of a loo) I decided to press on to Croydon, stop at the shopping centre (there HAD to be one didn’t there) and visit Pollards Wood Road again when I was feeling more refreshed after lunch (and screaming Mum and offspring were long gone).

Orchids

I headed off and chose to drive past a couple of other places I’d lived in before rejoining the main road.

Well I chose to TRY.

Silverleigh Road was as bad as any road with the roadside parking and after a couple of goes trying to drive down the street – which is VERY long and lacking in cross-streets – I settled for a fast drive past the old house and was happy that at least I had SEEN the place. So much for all those hours I’d spent sorting through photos and carefully deciding which ones to take with me – as well as imagining the interested and appreciative comments that these photos would undoubtedly generate. Photos of the garden ( Ooh, what lovely flowers!), the back shed (Yes, we built that!), before and after shots of the dining room and the kitchen (Gosh, you did a lovely decorating job!).

Then it was on to Headcorn Road – the last place on my list. I spotted the house at about the same time as I spotted a small blue car literally barrelling towards me. I had nowhere to go – reversing was not going to save the day here – not enough time! AND there’s nowhere to pull over AND I’m hemmed in on all sides by bloody parked cars!

As I start swerving to my left and await impact she (yes it’s a she) swerves to her left, slams on her brakes and mounts the footpath. I notice in passing that there’s an elderly gentleman walking along the footpath on her side of the road. I quickly wonder if he will die today. Slowly it dawns on me there’s been no metallic crunch of impact anywhere and as I’m marvelling at this and wondering if the old man is still alive I notice a number of things. The woman is driving an impossibly short car – I’ve never set eyes on such a short car before – and has managed to squeeze enough of the car between 2 parked cars in a miraculous fashion sufficient to avoid a collision. (I am later to learn when my son visits Italy that the car is about half the length of an average sedan).

She’s done this before, I think to myself. Also the old man is alive and well, if a little dazed, and resuming his walk somewhat shakily. The most amazing thing I see though is that the other driver is shouting at me from inside her closed car and, mercifully, I can’t hear her. The look on her distorted face seems to indicate that she is in a hurry and will I please get out of her way (this being an approximation of course as I don’t want to scare off any readers by relating a more accurate version). It seems as though this is a regular occurrence for her and she has no time for shocked drivers who sit there like stunned mullet while she shouts at them. We go our separate ways and I wish I could pull over and have a short rest from this dreadful trip.

But..there’s nowhere to pull over…ever.

I still hadn’t found a loo or anywhere to stop, park and have a drink or a bite to eat. I pulled myself together and struck out for Croydon full of hope as I used to shop there in the good old days and knew the area was full of places where I could find lunch and freshen up.

I was soon back out on the main road but in no time I found that the traffic was moving at a snail’s pace rather than the slow walk it had been before. Finally we ground to a halt and only inched forward occasionally as if in the worst of peak hour traffic – and it was only the middle of the day. Way up ahead now I could see that there were road works – only one lane of traffic moving– and I began to think about the fact that it was one o’clock and I still hadn’t reached Croydon having set out at 10 o’clock. Up ahead I could see that the situation was even worse (impossible though it seemed) as other traffic was joining our road. I had a slight moment of panic. I could see myself trapped in this #$% traffic for hours more if I didn’t turn down a tiny side street I’d just past on the left. I had a feeling as I drove past the turn that perhaps I should turn into it and try to escape this traffic madness. Only the fact that I knew I’d have no idea where to go next had prevented me from leaving the main road. But what to do? I was half a block past the turn already. Then I noticed an interesting thing. There was some sort of traffic hold-up behind me. There was a gap that extended right back to the side street at least. The lights back further were changing and any second now the waiting cars would race each other to fill up the gap so they could wait for hours for the next inching forward that kept the hope alive that they would eventually get to where-ever they were going.

I hesitated. Was I judging the distance correctly? The side street was about halfway back to the lights. Would I get to the corner before the ravening beasts were upon me? (well….they were drivers who’d been held up for hours and this was their first opportunity to accelerate even if only for a very short distance). I knew I’d be given no quarter.

I went for it. I reefed it into reverse and gunned it. I almost stood on the pedal. I knew I couldn’t afford the luxury of losing time and distance by doing sine curves backwards up the road, so fast and straight it was and just in time, and, as approaching drivers flashed their lights at me, I threw it into first and squealed around the corner.

Phew!

No time to congratulate myself, though, on the precision of the manoeuvre or the fact that I’d succeeded in NOT gaining the attention of a number of policeman who were in the offing. Let’s find somewhere to pull over and get my bearings.

Do you see what I mean??

You’d think I’d have learned my lesson. But no, I hadn’t.

It takes a second to dawn on me yet again.

THERE’S NOWHERE TO PULL OVER…EVER!!!!

But I’ve GOT to pullover …….I don’t know where I am or how to get to somewhere else!!

I’m not sure any more where I want to go. Croydon is hopeless. The traffic is impossible. As I’m thinking this I see a break in the parked cars – quick pull in. Oops! A school driveway – but what choice do I have?

I park in the school driveway and open the A to Z.

Bonzai

When I see my predicament re getting anywhere else I make a quick decision to head home. So then my only priority became getting back out on the main road but facing north instead of south.

To cut a very long story short I ditched the idea of eating, drinking, going to the loo or even stretching my legs and retraced my steps back to Ealing, getting there two and a half hours later.

I’m sure I must have creaked as I got out of the car for the first time in five and a half hours; my legs were stiff and sore and I was a bit of a nervous wreck as I staggered back into the house. I gratefully collapsed in a heap on the bed – it was so marvellous to be able to straighten my legs again.

I raided the fridge, tried to unwind and watched the snooker on telly. That young Aussie bloke Robertson sure can play.

Later as I crawled into bed I felt I had achieved little all day and yet been totally exhausted by the experience.

BUT ……..tomorrow is another day.

Posted in Chelsea Flower Show, driving, London | Tagged Croydon, humor, humour, orchids | 2 Comments

12. Tooting Bec (Robert Lindsay and Wolfie Smith notwithstanding)

Posted on July 14, 2012 by brissiemaz

The traffic crawled along Trinity Road which is a major road linking Wandsworth Bridge to the southern suburbs of London and I must say I was very pleased about that for a while. The road passes through Wandsworth Common and this is not your average town park. It’s an enormous area, truly enormous, with a wild rugged look about it. None of your well-manicured lawns and rose gardens here. It covers as much ground as a small rural town in Queensland and I wouldn’t want to go walking in it at night – mainly because I’m a scaredy-cat in the dark.

Anyway I had plenty of time to admire the common and crane my neck looking for a loo coupled with somewhere to park. But having no luck I drove on, down to Tooting Bec where I used to live when I first stayed in London. My excitement grew as the traffic inched towards my old stamping ground.

I want to digress here (What!?…not again!) as I had to think twice about the use of ‘stamping ground’. So many people these days use ‘stomping ground’ – in error – that I had to stop and make sure I was using the correct word. Nobody seems to care much any more and I know I’ll sound like an old fart for daring to mention the subject.

AND while I’m at it the correct phrase to describe a blunder is ‘Gosh, I put my foot in it ‘.

Foot in ‘it’.

NOT….. ‘Gosh I put my foot in my mouth’. What a bizarre sentence.

‘Put my foot in it’ refers to stepping in dog do-do or other unsavoury substances on the ground. Because the mis-step is a verbal one some people have confused the issue and completely fouled up the expression. Maybe there’s a touch of snobbery involved too…. perhaps it’s considered indelicate to make reference to nasties underfoot. Whatever the reason we should use the proper expression or not use it at all.

AND…. no….no…. I’m on a soap-box and a slippery slope at the same time…….must get back to safe ground…..want to mention ‘champing at the bit’…..not ‘chomping’……help…..get me outta here.!………………..

Umm…chomping…..stomping…..stamping…..that’s it! I was heading for my old stamping ground in Tooting Bec. I wondered about the house in Holderness Road.

Would it still look the same? Would there be someone home to let me have a look around? Should I go to the bakery and buy a few tasty nibbles in case they ask me in for a cuppa?

I turned into the street and was shocked by how small and narrow everything was. The street, the footpath, the houses – not how I remembered it at all. Why did it seem so different? No time to think about that now – there are cars with impatient drivers waiting for me to get a move on so I drive on conscious of the fact that I’m not too sure which house I used to live in. Let’s face it; terraced houses all look the same sometimes. I didn’t actually have the house number in the car with me as I was quite sure I’d recognize the place. Now, I’ll have to pull over and walk back to get a good look as I know I’ve gone past it.

But – guess what – there’s nowhere to pull over – ever!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

@$##

I’ll have to find somewhere to u-turn and drive slowly past again.

IN YOUR DREAMS, BABY!

The problem, I now realised, was that every skerrick of roadside was taken up with parked cars – both sides of every road. Londoners don’t take their cars to work – because there’s nowhere to park there either. Most don’t have front yards in which to park their cars. The cars stay parked on the side of the road all day and all night and that leaves a one-lane space down the middle of the road for anyone who actually wants to drive their car. If you meet a car coming the other way you have to back up to the nearest corner to let it through – and fast. Patience behind the wheel is sure in short supply here.

Anyway back to my old house. Having done the backing-up thing a couple of times and finally finding a cross-road to u-turn I rather exhaustedly attempt to do my slow drive past (the thought of actually finding a parking spot and visiting the house is so daunting that it’s now gone by the board). As I near the house two things happen. Firstly, I realise with a sinking feeling that I can’t tell any of the houses apart – they all look depressingly terraced and grimy and identical. Secondly, a van has appeared on my tail and I know there’s no time to slow or stop in the middle of the road.

And of course, in case I hadn’t mentioned it, there’s nowhere to pull over. So I disappointedly drive past ‘the house’ at a moderate speed and a few seconds later come to a dead stop for quite some time waiting to join the awful traffic on Trinity road and resume my crawl south. Oh well! There are plenty more houses to visit.

A block or so further on is Tooting Bec Underground Station. Many’s the morning I waited for the tube here to go to work near Victoria Station but I don’t remember its looking so….well….filthy. I’m talking only about the outside as I was stopped at the traffic lights with plenty of time for a good look. As I sat in the car I was amazed by how dirty and ramshackle all the shops were. They looked the equivalent of derelict buildings back home. It was hard to believe it was a main shopping area. Broken and crumbling concrete walls, wires dangling out of walls, filth on the footpath and grime all over the shop fronts – unbelievable. And what’s more, I was to see lots of areas like this in London. I guess coal-fires are to blame for a lot of the grime but what about the rest of it? Is it so hard to put your rubbish in a bin?

A couple of friends from London who visited me in Brisbane were astounded by how clean the place looked. Whenever we drove anywhere they used to play ‘Spot the Litter’. I was amazed by how impressed they were. I had forgotten London’s litter and I believe it’s a lot worse now than in the 1980’s.

The next station on the line is Tooting Broadway – the old stamping ground of Wolfie Smith and his comrades. If you’re old enough you might remember the TV comedy Citizen Smith (played by Robert Lyndsay – a marvellously versatile actor). I always enjoyed the show enormously and living at Tooting made it mandatory viewing at our place.

[I have no photos from this day trip but I want to include this gorgeous one from the Chelsea Flower Show to relieve the grim picture I seem to be painting of London. In spite of everything I say, I love the place!]

English Rose

I pressed on past Tooting Bec Common, another lovely spot and instead of reaching Norbury in 15 minutes as in the past it now took me one and a half hours.

Driving in London traffic is appalling. The first thing I noticed is that patience is a thing of the past. No doubt that‘s the case all over the world but it’s scarier in London as it’s all so cramped. When you’re in a line of traffic there’s always – and when I say always that’s not poetic licence – I MEAN ALWAYS a car tail-gating you – very, very close. I think for them it’s called ‘driving’. I’m sure most drivers would say “Yes, I know there was only a hair’s breadth between the back of your car and the front of mine – so what?”

There’s really no answer to that.

I need a cuppa now to re-group. More traffic chaos to come.

Posted in driving, England, London, narrow streets, Wandsworth Common | Tagged Brisbane, Chelsea Flower Show, humor, humour, litter | 2 Comments

11. Checking out where I used to live……but (sorry) mainly toilet talk!

Posted on July 12, 2012 by brissiemaz

I was very eager to set out on my drive today – I have such fond memories of my earlier times in London that I was keen to be underway and heading south. What a gorgeous, warm sunny day. I envisaged a peaceful drive from Ealing to Surrey, stopping as the fancy took me to check out places I remembered – maybe even knocking on the occasional door and asking if I could have a look at one of the houses I used to live in. I took along some photos of each place taken in the 1970’s and 1980’s thinking that the present day owners might find them interesting. I know I would if the situation were reversed.

I set out about 10 o’clock on Friday morning conscious of the fact that peak hour traffic is a little later than we have back home and I wanted to give myself every chance of having a most enjoyable drive. Little did I know what London had in store for me!

I had a hellish drive through Shepherd’s Bush and Hammersmith but I knew things would improve after I crossed over the River Thames at Wandsworth Bridge and left the City behind. This was easier said than done as there is now a major one-way system in place so I reached a point where I had no idea where I was. I had an outdated version of the street layout in my brain and didn’t recognise any landmarks. After a certain amount of what seemed to be retracing my steps repeatedly – accompanied by some colourful language, I might add – I decided to go with my gut instinct and to hell with the signs – none of which seemed to even MENTION the bridge anyway.

YES! I shouted at last. SUCCESS! as the bridge appeared in view.

Phew! Thank goodness that was over. I foolishly believed at that point that I had got through the worst of the day and I breathed a sigh of relief as I crossed the river. Who needs a Tomtom …. or SatNav. I know the way.

I’d been driving for an hour now and decided to keep my eye out for a loo – public or otherwise – figuring that it would be fairly easy to stop once the traffic thinned out in the suburbs.

Silly me!

And now – an interruption of the narrative: what word to use for ‘that place’.

‘Loo,’ as a lot of us know, is often used instead of lavatory in the UK and often in Australia.

A more commonly used word, at least in public, these days is ‘toilet’. I believe it’s a perfectly adequate word but am aware it’s not favoured by some (important) people.

So …..what to do?

U or non-U…….Pardon?….er…. What? (Google it!…..you’ll be amazed.)

‘Restroom’ seems a little understated as how many of us can honestly say we go in there to rest?

My main point here though is to take issue with the ever-increasing use of the word ‘bathroom’ instead of ‘toilet’ (or …….. I don’t know – perhaps we need a vote on it). Some people are being a little too delicate here I think in refusing to say ‘toilet’; they seem to believe that it’s uncouth to say ‘toilet’. Most of our public buildings in Australia have ‘Toilet’ signs. After all, I may simply be wanting to wash my hands, comb my hair or – as on one occasion – pull up my stockings as the elastic was a bit iffy and I was in danger of finishing up with my stockings around my ankles. If elimination of bodily wastes is also involved at some point … so what?

I was at a conference in Brisbane not too long ago and the parent company running the show was American. The fellow who welcomed us and told us where the amenities were kept using the word ‘bathroom’ instead of ‘toilet’ and he was an Aussie. The more he said it the crankier I became. At the first break I went up to him and asked why he didn’t use the word ‘toilet’ and he looked at me with utter contempt and replied that he was just being polite!

God help us.

Question: Since when is it a crime to say ‘toilet’ in Australia? Answer: Since we became swamped by American entertainment.

It’s all totally crazy. We are expected to say ‘bathroom’ to pretend that our bottoms aren’t going to be involved in any activity when we’re in there. We all KNOW there ain’t no bath in there – or a shower – so what’s the problem?

Let’s not take it any further. Toilet and lavatory both have washing/cleansing overtones and are one step removed from bodily functions therefore each should be considered proper enough to use in general conversation.

If we keep going along the ‘bathroom’ path then in 30 years time it’ll have become ‘laundry’ or ‘parlour’ or God-knows-what so that we can pretend that no private activities of any sort occur in there. And 60 years down the track? Maybe we’ll have to say ‘I’m just ducking out to the corner store’ to indicate properly that a number 1 or 2 is on its way.

My mind almost turns to custard as I try to make sense of this hypocrisy. We are letting American movies and TV programs dictate how we use the English language. Let’s stick to our way of speaking and keep our slang rather than give it all away in an effort to copy the US.

After all, the Americans, I’m sure will be quite happy if we keep our own unique take on the English language. They don’t want us to slavishly follow their example all the time. What a boring world that would be. Vive la difference!

That does mean though that school-age children in Australia will have to learn their vocabulary from sources other than American movies, TV, games etc.

Therein lies the difficulty no doubt.

Reproduction Crapper Toilet

Maybe I’m being a little disingenuous here as I know I’d feel uncomfortable using the word ‘crapper’, as in,

‘Please excuse me, Ma’am, I need to visit the crapper.’

Even though it’s simply the name of a maker of fine flushing lavatories called Thomas Crapper it just doesn’t sound too proper, does it? Yes I know that the word ‘crap’ has been in use since at least the 15 century but it would be very difficult to NOT associate the word with Thomas Crapper after he improved the flushing toilet. A modern-day firm even specializes in reproducing his designs.

Just check out the website if you don’t believe me. I love it. Thanks to them for the images too. What a peculiar lot we humans are.

Gosh……. talk about getting side-tracked! Enough with the ranting!

I’ve just crossed Wandsworth Bridge and am hopeful of finding a loo – and somewhere to pull over.

But……guess what?

There is nowhere to pull over – ever!!! (Sound familiar?)

Posted in England, London, toilets | Tagged bathroom, humor, humour, loo, restroom, wandsworth | 2 Comments

10. Settling in at Ealing

Posted on June 27, 2012 by brissiemaz

Bloomin’ London

I awoke to find that I wasn’t sure what country I was in and whether it was day or night. As it slowly dawned on me that I was in London I felt a thrill of excitement as the joy of being there ran through me. It took a little longer for the brain cells to register that it was pitch black outside – a fact made perfectly obvious by the blinds that covered only half of each glass door. I reached for my mobile phone praying that it was at least close to dawn but was disappointed to find that I was as bright as a button at 12.30am (9.30am Brisbane time).

Oh well best take the positive view and get a few important things done – like eat some decent food and watch a bit of UK telly.

As it became obvious that I wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon I decided to start writing a journal of the day’s events and these daily jottings became the emails that I sent to all my family members back home. It made me feel not so far away and I knew they wanted to know that I was safe. This was the reason for carting the ‘God have I made a big mistake bringing this?’ Mac laptop with me and from the moment I took it out of my backpack I began to believe that I had, in fact, made a HUGE mistake.

The damned thing wouldn’t work!

Damn and blast! I thought to myself – or words to that effect.

I sat and had another cuppa and tried to take a Zen-like approach to the problem.

No use getting angry, just relax.

And then I had the answer. (Note to self which I hopefully will remember – use Zen approach more often)

Take out the battery and put it back in.

I was extremely pleased with myself for recalling this bit of info which had been passed on to me by my son – he must have said it to me 45 times in the past but this was the first time I’d recalled it without aid.

So…. I took the battery out, put it back in, turned on the laptop and…hey presto!…a functioning computer again. On the strength of that I had another cuppa and numerous biscuits.

I began my computer fun by sending emails to my family describing the trip over and my traffic adventures. This was rather time-consuming as it turned out and it was 5am before I was ready to fall asleep again ; and then I had another good 5 hours of sleep. When I woke up it was a relief to feel human again – and to find myself in a sunny London.

* * * *

I had a very leisurely first day in London. Knowing I’d be tired from the trip I’d allowed a few days of taking it easy and getting settled. There’d be plenty of time later for being a tourist. I had brekky looking out on a wonderfully sunny day and the lovely blossoms in the back yard. I turned on the laptop with a view to planning my days and was overjoyed to see that I already had responses to my email – imagine! Not like the old days when a trip overseas meant no communication with your loved ones for months unless it was a matter of life and death.

Nowhere for legs = back pain!

The only problem was that to use my laptop I had to perch precariously atop a trendy stool with the laptop resting on a trendy central bench which also accommodated the kitchen sink.

This ‘island’ doubled as a dining table and all-purpose junk-resting surface and underneath were a lot of storage cabinets. As a result there was nowhere to put your knees – or any part of your legs for that matter – under the bench. Last night this resulted in a severe backache after a couple of hours sitting with my spine twisted through 90 degrees at the waist. No wonder my back complained – it puts my teeth on edge just to talk about it now. Something had to be done.

An alternative, though equally unacceptable, idea was to sit on the futon that was enormous and was no doubt a very roomy double bed when not being used as the sofa. My afore-mentioned (see!) little, short legs don’t stretch far enough to let my feet touch the ground and because of the design of the futon and it’s propensity to bulge at the outer edge (no matter how many times I tried to change it) after a short time I would lose the blood flow in my legs (especially with a 2-ton laptop resting on my lap) and soon lost all feeling in them. Therefore – not a good idea.

The only ordinary chairs in sight were out in the garden and had a light covering of leaves and cobwebs. Maybe I could bring those in? and the glass-topped table? Why not!

Garden table and chair to the rescue!

In half an hour I had the table and two of the chairs cleaned up and installed in the dining area and was mightily pleased with myself. It was a great relief to have somewhere to sit, eat and write in comfort.

I sat for quite some time admiring the range of blossoms in the back garden.

The trees in London are gorgeous with their fresh spring growth and looking out at the peach blossoms I knew I’d made the right decision by not staying in some dodgy hotel or B&B. It costs a fortune to stay in them for 4 weeks and I would have gone barmy being confined to a single room with shared facilities.

Needless to say the high-end establishments were well beyond my means. I wanted to be not too far from central London and close to a tube station for my sight-seeing jaunts. Ealing Common fitted the bill to a tee – and it’s close to the North Circular Road when the time comes for me to brave the London traffic in earnest.

Now…..enough of this enjoying myself….time to duck out and get a bit of food and do a reccie of the area and – where the hell am I going to park while I shop?

Yesterday I had to pay £30 for the privilege of chatting with the council and then £3.50 to park behind some buildings in the open air while I dashed in to get a few groceries. At this rate I’ll be broke in no time at all!

Somewhere around here thereMUST be a supermarket that has its own car park. Yes, that’s it – there MUST be. All I need to do is find it.

So, off to the shops I go but have no luck finding such a car park. A few times around the block (easier said than done) and 40 minutes later I surrender and go to the place I used yesterday – and pay my £3.50.

‘Goodness gracious me’ (or words to that effect) I say aloud as I display the ticket on my dashboard ‘this is costing me a fortune’.

Apologies for the quality of the first 2 photos – snipped from a video with poor resolution. Images will improve soon as I took quite a few good ones in London.

Posted in England, holiday rental, London | Tagged blossoms, humor, humour, images, laptop, laptop battery, parking | 4 Comments

Reblog – Eva – Amber Fort, Jaipur, India

Posted on June 25, 2012 by brissiemaz

From Brissiemaz Amazing photos! India here I come! Double left click on the main photo and then scroll down page to view Eva’s photos. Captions will come up too.

where'smyT-backandotherstories

Amber Fort sits like a crown atop the shallow Maota lake

The facade of Amber Fort and the Ganesh Gate

The courtyard

The palace garden, cause way or char bagh style, is kept lush and green despite the frequent lack of water

The rugged terrain leading to Jaigarh Fort. A tunnel connects the two forts

The meandering walk ways, Maota lake and garden seen from above

The ruins in and around the Amber Fort

Centuries old mirror inlays on walls of the Mirror Palace or Sheesh Mahal glisten up until now. Five hundred years old and shining.

The typical floral inlay and Indian art on the ceilings

Fortified walls of the fortress depicting the traditional dome and chattri seen in typical Rajashtani architecture

One of the many labyrinthine entrances in the fort

The courtyard framed by a window

It was a humid and cloudy afternoon

The rocky knoll framed by…

View original post 34 more words

Posted in India, Travel | Tagged Amber Fort, images, Jaigarh Fort, Jaipur | 1 Comment

9. OK to park here?

Posted on June 25, 2012 by brissiemaz

London Buses and Taxis

I was beginning to wilt at this point so I was very happy to detect signs that the owner was about to leave.

Finally we walked together to the front of the house as I wanted to get the final bits and pieces out of the car. I assumed she would be getting into her car and driving off.

As it became apparent she was not getting into a car but was walking away up the road I asked if I could drop her somewhere – at the train station or bus stop perhaps? No, she was fine, she said and just then I thought I’d be extra fussy and check that it was OK to park in front of the house all the time. It seemed a bit over the top to ask this as the blurb online where I’d booked had stated that there was a place to park and I asked the question more for something to say than for any other good reason.

It was now 1pm on Wednesday and her reply to the question ‘It’s OK to park here, isn’t it?’ astonished me.

‘Oh yes, it’s fine to park there’ she said.

‘You only have to move it between 8 – 9am, 3 – 4pm and 6 – 7pm every weekday’.

What???

Had I heard correctly?

Did she say move it 3 times everyday during the week…or had lack of sleep scrambled my brain completely?

And since when does ‘You only have to move it between 8 – 9am, 3 – 4pm and 6 – 7pm every weekday’ mean the same as ‘Oh yes, it’s fine to park there’.

What planet is this woman from? I ask myself.

This is definitely not good enough. This does not qualify as ‘parking space available’ and I remind her of this in a shouty kind of way as she is, by now, a few doors up the road from me – hoping, I think, that I won’t pursue the subject.

I ask where I move it to if I shift it. ‘Oh you’ll find somewhere to park a few blocks over there’ she says as she casually waves her hand in the direction of …..where?……Acton, perhaps. How do I know? I don’t know this part of London and am still reeling from the shock.

Surely there’s something else I can do isn’t there? What about a permit of some kind, I ask. ‘Well you could try the local council. It won’t hurt to ask them.’ She says this as if she doesn’t hold out much hope of a positive result on that one and I stand there in utter disbelief as the little energy that I have left drains out of me.

I don’t want to ask the next few questions but know I must if there is to be a satisfactory resolution to this parking problem.

I ask her – the name of the council – the address of the offices and how to get there – where to park – do people often get such permits.

My heart sinks as I listen to her replies and I know now that there is no rest on the horizon because, if I fall asleep at the moment, I won’t regain consciousness in time to shift the car and, knowing my luck, will get a parking ticket or, who knows, maybe even be towed away. So I go back inside, get my handbag and head off to find the local council building.

After driving around the streets for some time I realize that there is nowhere to park near the building and no car park for public use that I can see……. so it’s a matter of driving further and further away from where I want to be until I find somewhere to leave the car. Finally I see someone pull out of a space and gratefully take it, walk a mile to the council offices, tell the girl on the enquiries desk what I need and follow directions to the area in which I’m to wait clutching my numbered piece of paper.

I turn a corner and am terribly depressed to be confronted by a sea of faces sitting in row after row waiting for attention and they’re all clutching similar bits of paper with numbers on them – and most of those numbers will be called ahead of mine.

This can’t be happening I think to myself and to help me cope I pull out a book I was reading on the plane and try to get the words on the page into focus – anything to stop me from thinking about the predicament I am in.

It’s times like these that I dredge up all the old sayings from my childhood. The sort of stuff Mum used to say to make us stop complaining. Things like ‘what about the poor starving children in Asia – they don’t have enough to eat and here you are grumbling about eating up your veggies’. Then I assure myself that not having to dodge AK47 gunfire every day in some war-ravaged country is a far worse fate than sitting in a comfy chair, in complete safety reading a good book – and I try a bit of deep-breathing for good measure. There’s nothing more likely to make you feel stressed than long periods of holding your breath while imagining that fate has conspired against you – again.

After what seemed an eternity and was in fact about an hour my number is called and I hurry over to the appropriate desk where a friendly looking, fresh-faced girl of West Indian origin greets me. I explain the situation and my heart sinks again as she looks at me rather sceptically, waiting for me to finish. Well, I don’t think we can help you, she starts….. but in desperation I pull out all the stops and all the bits of paper I have – passport, hire car papers for 6 weeks, accommodation rental papers for 6 weeks and as I shower her desk with these I sense a slight softening of her features. ‘Oh yes, this will help’, she says, ‘and this’.

I hardly dare breathe or look her in the face as she comes to a decision. I don’t want her to feel that I’m putting pressure on her at all and it seems, finally, that I’ve read her correctly. ‘Yes, that should be fine’, she says, ‘I’ll just have to photocopy these’, and she walks away to a copier. Thank you God, thank you – and I almost burst into tears as I know this will make a huge difference to my stay.

Unbeknownst to me, all this time I was parked in a pay and display zone – I am not used to them where I live and hadn’t spotted any signs. To make life especially easy for the uninitiated the pay and display machine was thoughtfully painted black and half hidden amongst the shrubbery.

Yes, you guessed it. While I was queuing for a parking permit they stuck a parking fine for £30 on my car.

#^^#*.

It didn’t end too badly though (she said bravely putting a positive spin on this turn of events) as they did give me the permit for £5 so that’s a total of £35 for 4 weeks parking – not too bad by London standards I can tell you.

Then…at last… I allowed myself to look forward to some rest. I got back home about 3 o’clock and, 42 hours after I’d last been snuggled up under my bed covers at home, I fell totally exhausted on the bed in London and within minutes I was sound asleep.

zzzzz………………

Posted in holiday rental, London, parking, Travel | Tagged humor, humour, parking fine, parking permit | 2 Comments

8. ‘Home’ for a weary traveller

Posted on June 24, 2012 by brissiemaz

Parked outside the front door – at last!

So there I am, at 10am, knocking at the door of my new London ‘home’ looking forward to some long overdue rest.

Now, previously, a flurry of emails had passed between the home owner and myself about my early arrival and I was under the impression that this was quite acceptable to her.

For whatever reason there seemed to have been some misunderstanding about the subject and when the owner finally came to the door looking very hot and bothered she said I was not expected this early and could I come back later as the place wasn’t ready. I was greatly disappointed as I was looking forward to putting my feet up and getting some rest as I’d had only 2 hours sleep in the past 37 hours and was starting to feel a bit the worse for wear.

I managed a weak smile however and said I’d be back later….. in an hour or so.

Oh, she said.

Could I make it 12.30, ….or 1 o’clock?

My mind went slightly numb at the thought of having to aimlessly fill in 3 hours but I nodded glumly, decided to give it my best shot and headed off for the local shops.

As it turned out, the time was useful because I wanted to buy a mobile phone as soon as possible and I also needed local currency. After sorting these out I went to the supermarket for a few provisions and, realising I still had a couple of hours to fill, I sat down at the local café and ordered food and drink – I can’t even remember what I had – I was rapidly falling into a stupor as the adrenaline surge of my arrival wore off.

I do remember a few things about this event though.

I sat outside the cafe which was in a pedestrian mall and after some time became aware that the three young male staff – who were all good-looking with what we used to call ‘swarthy’ complexions – appeared to find me very interesting. At my age it had been a long time since anything like this had occurred and I found myself sitting up a little straighter, tidying my hair and generally aiming to look a little more fetching than I obviously already did.

I dallied over my drink and food but there was no way I could stay there for another hour without falling asleep so I made up my mind to go back to my house and, if need be, sleep outside in the car.

I slowly gathered up my purchases from the morning and made what I thought was a very satisfactory exit from the shopping centre and was sure that those 3 pairs of eyes were following my every move. I felt very happy with the situation as I strolled past a lovely church next door and was trying to remember where I’d parked the car when I heard someone call out ’M’am’ behind me.

I swung round to find that one of the swarthy young chaps was running towards me up a slight incline – what could he want – surely he couldn’t know who I was.

‘Excuse me, M’am’ he said, puffing. ‘You left without paying your bill.’

Oh no.

Please, no.

I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me.

What a stupid, conceited fool I’d been. Of course they didn’t find me interesting; they were keeping an eye on me to make sure I didn’t leave without paying the bill. God, how embarrassing.

But how could this happen?

As I stammered apologies and hurried back in to pay my bill it dawned on me that back home we do things differently at cafes. We order the food, pay for it and THEN sit down to eat.

In my semi-comatose state I took it for granted that as I was finished the eating phase I must also have completed the paying phase. How could I explain all that though, coherently and convincingly, to 3 chaps whose grasp of the English language was a little shaky. I felt utterly mortified and after paying and mumbling further apologies I made a very hasty and red-faced exit the second time round.

I was now at a point where I felt that if I didn’t lie down I’d fall down. I wandered slowly back to the car and drove as slowly as I dare back to the house. English drivers have no patience whatsoever with a slow driver so I trod a fine line on the way back. It didn’t take long to reach ‘home’ and I was determined to stay, even if I had to camp in the car outside the house.

However, much to my delight the owner was ready for me to take up residence and in no time at all I had my luggage out of the car and inside and she was showing me around a rather lovely apartment which was quite modern with a pretty garden out the back – and I had it all to myself.

As she was showing me how everything worked and where the spare sheets were – I was renting this place for a month – I prayed that we would finish soon and I’d be free to crash on the bed; never mind any unpacking.

Must be off now…things to do……people to see……seedlings to talk to…….more later.

Posted in Coffee shop, England, London, Travel, Uncategorized | Tagged conceit, humor, humour, jetlag, paying the bill, swarthy | 2 Comments

Don’t laugh!

Posted on June 20, 2012 by brissiemaz

My work of art protecting the plants

Finally mastered the image uploading!

As you can see in the photo my veggie patch is a bit high tech (apart from the wire cover, of course)……trying out these grow boxes which store water in the base and the plants draw up the water they need by capillary action. You just have to fill up the white tube at the front occasionally.

I cheated and bought one very large tomato plant as I’m tired of eating the red round things that masquerade as tomatoes. I swoon at the very thought of a mouth-watering, home-grown tomato….. not to mention strawberries!

Gorgeous strawberry seedling

Will keep you informed of developments!

Posted in gardening, Uncategorized, veggies | Tagged plants, possums, seedlings | 2 Comments

My veggie patch

Posted on June 19, 2012 by brissiemaz

I am now the proud owner of a wire contraption to keep the *$#^ possums away from my veggie patch. I made it myself and it would have made a good prop in a Ma & Pa Kettle movie. There are few right angles to be found in the framework and the wire is too tight in places and bulges oddly in others.

I had visions of the neighbours giggling behind closed curtains as they peeked out to watch the old fool next door creating who knows what from the mess on the lawn. (Paranoia runs deep in my family). Having said that, I have delightful neighbours who , more often than not, offer to help me out when I need it. We live in a great country.

I have definitely outsmarted the possums though.

It only!!! took me a week to build and at one stage you’d have been forgiven for thinking that I’d decided to make a mock-up of the Sydney Opera House – the front yard was awash with wire, various candidates for uprights, tools, tent pegs (don’t ask!) and the remains of a tree that I half-chopped down and foolishly thought I could remove completely.

The tree constantly fouled the power lines and kept my veggie patch in the shade so….it had to go. I was very fortunate to have the help of Tom, a very kind friend, to finish that part of the job for me.

It is such a relief to have the veggie cover in place. It means I can plant out the seedlings I have and no longer have to cart them inside each night to ensure they survive the marauding possums.

Will add a photo when I figure out how to do it.

Happy gardening!