A couple of days ago someone clicked on a post of mine where I got salty about people from The Royal Kingdom of Fife being inter-bred…
I’m related to…
Samuel Greig married Sarah (1752–1793), daughter of Alexander Cook. Their union would give rise to children and grandchildren who later married into the Russian and German nobility.
Mmmn. In the 20th century the Greig’s and the Cook’s married again.
My Dad’s sister, Joy, married Archie Cook. Both of them local.
They had three daughters and the last time I went to a full Scottish Ceilidh was their eldest daughter, Fiona’s, wedding in Kinghorn. We don’t do pompous. FUN and Family are the Name of the Game
OMG. LOTS of men in kilts. Lots of music. Lots of dancing. My Dad even asked me for a dance but I was 8 months pregnant with my first son and felt like a heffalump. I couldn’t even toast the bride with a dram :o(
I swear to God that Frazer was a deeply entrenched Scottish Presbyterian.
Dour….rhymes with sewer.
I grew up with these Dour….rhymes with sewer…family members. My mother was afraid of NO-ONE. Except Lily. My paternal grandmother. Mum admitted that to me several times.
Me, myself & I am/are (?) more of an Epicurean.
Eat. Drink. And be Merry. For tomorrow we die.
I KNOW this to be true. In real life. My Mum was there one day. Gone the next.
You can be the healthiest, fittest, most sober, most select person in the whole world but get on a bike or in a car or on a plane or walk down the street and it’s……Oh. Pearly Gates, eh? Hi, St. Peter. WTF am I doing here?
Never go to bed on an argument with loved ones. NEVER disrespect/denigrate/deny/dispose of dearly loved ones.
Talking of FEY. I was living in Ulster with an 18 month old and newly pregnant when an urge came upon me to go home. I HAD to go home. No hindsight here. My Mum and I had been estranged for over a year with no contact but -still – this feeling was strong. I KNEW that it would be the last time that I’d see someone in the family. I thought it was Nan (Nana-Anne as my boys called her.)
So I went home for a week. Told my parents that they were going to have their second grandchild in 7 months.
6 weeks later my Mum died very suddenly.
Don’t be an egotistical/I’m always right/what the eff do you know? arse.
My home is surrounded by trees. We live in a secluded oasis, not visible from the roads or fields.
This morning, Himself took all his chain saw gear out with him to work. He’s on the third week of Emergency Response/Rescue and when the weather is like this – they can spend all night clearing fallen trees.
I love the sound. It’s much like living by the sea.
Very relaxing :o)
Oh. And free wood for the burner makes up for 3 weeks of seeing each other for less than an hour each day.
Altered Images were a Glasgow band from the ’80’s and their song Happy Birthday was a favourite of mine.
Day After Tomorrow is my late Mum’s birthday.
Next month BFF & I will reach an iconic birthday….though hers is exactly 3 weeks before me :o)
Yeah. She knows. Having been BFF’s since we were both 11, I may have mentioned it once or twice (!)
Bloody Scorpios. Tchss!
One day – when me and she reach 100 – we WILL celebrate like this. Because everyone’ll think we’re old and demented.
Apropos of nothing – I HATE OCTOPUSSIES. Himself used to snorkel off the Rock of Gibraltar and catch the horrible things. Once he brought one home and put it in my freezer. The bastard sea creature squirted black ink everywhere. Calamari? I’d rather eat all four of my car’s tyres, thank you very much.
Oh and btw : Travis are Scottish too & poor wee Greta is still aLive&KicKinG arse.
The slow cooker is paying for itself already. Yesterday I cooked a chicken in it and had the foresight to leave all the juicy juices, chicken stock and leftovers in said pot.
I NEED CHICKEN SOUP FOR MY SOUL.
Jackie recipe :
Randomly dice up one onion, a few carrots, a few potatoes and fry them gently in olive oil for some time. Add the juices from the crockpot plus more Chicken Oxo cube stock and a splash of herbes de provence. Simmer until all the veg is tender.
Let the pan cool, add a few chunks of rescued chicken then bash it all about a lot with a whizzy thing until you get a smooth something – I had to add a bit of milk here to help the whizz.
Season to taste. Lots of salt and pepper.
Fry off some bacon lardons. Add to the mix.
I have some double cream to hand and may go a bit creamy when I add the rest of the chicken and reheat everything about 5pm.
It’s been almost 2 years since we lost Tsar. He was our 4th GSD and my baby.
I’m just about ready for another dog in my life. The boys would love one too so that’s 3 against one.
Our first GSD was with us when my eldest was born. Doggy came to Ulster with us and him and the little boy had such a wonderful relationship. To this day I can’t figure out how the two of them worked the scam but one or ‘t’other would distract me when my son was in his high chair eating and I’d suddenly find the dog finishing off the kid’s meal, on the floor, amongst loads of baby giggles.
There are NO bad dogs. Only bad owners. And GSD’s will protect their human family from all and everything.
Way back when I was a kid (around 11/12) my Dad was on a huge child murder enquiry that took him away from home for weeks.
At the time Mum worked in the restaurant (where I went to work aged 13) next door to us and every Thursday – her late shift – my brothers and I would come home from school, get washed and changed and go to the restaurant for our tea.
I ALWAYS chose gammon, pineapple and chips. Something we very rarely had at home.
On the menu tonight, plus the egg, plus petits pois, because I can…….
P.S. My traveller-in- crime girl is a pina colada fan. Whereas I prefer a Bloody Mary. Sweet is she. Sour am I :o)
We have an “antique” shop in town called Great Expectations and I visited it for the first time in about 4 years this morning.
Jeebuth. What a mess. Replace Antique with JUNK.
But I did find the book above. An old accounts book with beautiful marbling, some pages missing but mostly empty.
I rarely go out and about anymore. It’s so hard to socialise and be what my parents taught me to be. Polite and friendly and interested. Though I can say the words and smile the smile whilst inside is silent and still and a hundred thousand miles away.
It’s quite sad to realise that the beauty of an old work book, the binding, the feel of the paper, the real ink page numbers written by someone long ago gave me more pleasure than any person did.
My family know me. They understand but get extremely frustrated at times like this. When “I” disappear and they are left with an automaton.
My thanks to three Wonder Walls :o)
P.S. I still have nightmares about double entry bookkeeping as taught to me when I was 21 and working in a hotel in Amesbury.
This is a smell that was part of my life for a few years.
I was once told as a child that every country has it’s own smell. Well – UAE smells of oud.
Everywhere you go, they burn this incense. I bought loads home with me, along with charcoal blocks. My traveller-in-crime and I even got lost and abandoned in the souk in Old Dubai searching for the best oud. Absolute True Truth.
Recently I came across the product above on ama z on. Nag Champa has been my go to incense for almost a quarter of a century so I knew it’d be good.
WOW. The house smells like the Middle East right now :o)
The Fourth Way addresses the question of humanity’s place in the Universe and the possibilities of inner development. It emphasizes that people ordinarily live in a state referred to as a semi-hypnotic “waking sleep,” while higher levels of consciousness, virtue, unity of will are possible.
Someone is now preaching togetherness. The same someone who has had me banned for 3 years from their channel. Mmmmn.
When I think of the Fourth Way – these three come to mind (after Abba of course)
It’s when a number of completely different people come together and make something bigger than the individuals could ever do alone.
Agnetha had a voice. Frida had a voice. Bjorn and Benny had the music. Together they made something unique and ever-lasting.
Clarkson, Hammond, May – on paper these three are a disaster waiting to happen. Something no one in their right mind would ever even contemplate….
Another ever-lasting, unbelievably stupid, totally bad idea that is still alive and well and much loved by many :o)
The hole in the roof has had babies. They are now Holes – plural. And we’ve run out of buckets.
C’est la vie. Que sera, sera.
I saw Annie and Dave live in a tiny backstreet club in Berlin. They were at the height of their fame but chose that over the Olympic Stadium which was right beside our RMP Unit and had hosted the likes of U2, Michael Jackson, Bowie etc.
This is the follow up to Cold Calling which I finished about 2 weeks ago. Third time listening.
Who is stalking Seffi Callard, the world’s most fashionable celebrity medium, now a paranoid recluse at her father’s home in the Costwolds? Her old mentor, Marcus Bacton, editor of an ailing journal of the paranormal, sends his assistant, Grayle Underhill to find out – unaware that he’s thrusting them both into a nightmare… and the attentions of a vicious career-criminal for whom getting rich is less important than never getting dead.
I’m two weeks into listening to this at night. Yup. It takes me forever because I’m so knackered at the end of the day. And next night have to go back at least 10 chapters.
Mine own humble review of Mean Spirit :
The team from Cold Calling (minus Glaswegian Gobby Nursing Sister Andy Anderson – middle aged woman) is back together.
Grayle Underhill, the New York journalist, has decided to stay in St. Mary’s. Close to Marcus Bacton whose magazine The Phenomenologist is sinking fast and Grayle is helping to revive it as The Voice.
The gorgeous and cool Persephone Callard, of a black, late mother and a living upper-class white Sirship father, is a famous medium who has known Marcus since she was a child, attending the school where he once taught.
Cindy Mars-Lewis, South Wales Shaman and Cross-Dresser with his totem bird/puppet Kelvin Kite, is now on TV twice a week hosting The National Lottery.
The late, but revived by Sister Anderson policeman, Bobby Maiden is in line for promotion to Detective Chief Constable. Bobby had a very negative NDE (me too) and is still very wary of anything beyond the 3D.
Bring all these together with a famous TV hypnotist, a bloke who makes the Kray Brothers look like Nuns, an extremely bent high-ranking policeman forced (!) into retirement by Bobby and a huge “haunted house” once owned by a seriously deranged Victorian Spiritualist and things go somewhat awry.
Cindy is slammed by the public for taking the piss out of lottery winners who buy Barrett homes and BMW’s and “suddenly” all die. Marcus has a heart-attack. Grayle takes on a pseudonym after thinking that she’s killed a man and Seffi (Persephone) is haunted by a stinking, scarred, dead gangster who was once the best friend of reformed and now TV famous London Gangster.
I’m NOT a fan of Seffi. For me, she stands out as a cold and calculating madam who uses Marcus, Cindy, Grayle and Bobby without conscience or regret. All of whom then find themselves facing death by trying to help her.
Even the ending, and what happens to Seffi does not warm her one little bit.
We have no video for this post. All I can come up with is the one below.
Marcus Bacton is a short-tempered, foul-mouthed, but strangely loveable character who calls EVERYONE – apart from Persephone – by their last name.
Underhill. Maiden. Lewis. Anderson. Everyone else is just BASTARD :o)
We watched this this morning and I learned something new!
Katina eats an Ulster Fry….a big one. Yeah. Whooopppeee. It makes her famous.
Way back in the day when eldest was 18 months old and we lived in Ulster and Himself was in charge of the G.O.C’s protection team, working a 20 hour day……..me and the little ‘un used to go exploring.
OMG. Nobody told me at the time that taking the train from Lisburn to Belfast for a jolly day out was #banned by a “wife of.”
Me and my baby son did it regularly.
He’s just had a truly explosive moment about my life without him in Ulster.YOU DID WHAT?
Baby and I loved it. But in those days an Ulster Fry was sausage, bacon, eggs, beans in a separate bowl (NEVER on the plate) and soda bread.
The NI peeps have strange customs. NEVER had a waste bin in the house. Kitchen bin always outside the back door. Didn’t display knick-knacks in house. Never tainted a meal with baked bean juice. Loved the colour ORANGE (check that out???)
I loved Belfast. The people were great. The city is awesome………….oops :o)
Note to Self : Buy some Bicarb of soda to make soda bread next week.