Miracles Of New Technology

On-Line BFF has recently up-graded her old clunker of a computer to a shiny slick, all-bells-and-whistles new Mac. Although we keep in touch almost daily through "chat", in all the years we've known each other, I believe we've only spoken together once or twice by 'phone, and we've certainly never spoken over a live web cam link before.

I logged on to chat, as per usual:-

She: Hey, click on the smiley icon, I've got a web cam!

Me: No way, you're not seeing me, I've got my flies undone with my belly hanging out, besides, my hair is sopping wet.

She: Do them up, who cares if your hair is wet?

Me: No. Give me five mins.

(Logging off.)

Me, re-booted (hair fluffed, flies done up, and a slap of make up freshly applied): Where's the smiley icon??

One hour later..

She: Ooh, I can see you!

Me (slightly paranoid): How come I still can't see you.. ?

She: Am I not there?

Me: No.. hang on, what does this button do - ?

(Yikes, a loud ring-tone explodes over the speaker.)

Me (talking loudly, instead of typing now): Hello?????

She (answering verbally, too): Hello??? How did you do that?

Me (big, wide grin) : I dunno', but it's cool, isn't it?

She: You dial my number?

Me: No, I don't have your number logged on the computer, not your land line. Hey, can you see me still? (Waving.)

She: Uh-huh, I can see AND hear you now.

Me: Oh, wait a min, I think I need to use this request thingie to see you..

She: Ah, okay, I've accepted it..

And there she was! Amazing, we were talking face to face, from right across the time zone. It was almost as if we were in the same room together, well, better really, 'cos it isn't in smell-a-vision (wink). I even got the hound to bay over a hello to her, I'm telling you, folks, this is the way to go!

Alright, yes, I know, this is nothing new, my kids have been doing it since forever - but it's new to me, and I am proper impressed, I am. And here's the kicker, you can chat on the web cam from anywhere in the world, and no matter how long you are on, it's completely FREE OF CHARGE!

Wow-oh-Wow, I just lurv's it (hugging myself).

Mind you, she doesn't half have a funny accent..

So, tell me, have any of you tried this thing? If you haven't, you really should (unless you are a guy masquerading as a woman of course, because then it might not be quite such a great tool to use). If you have, come and tell me what you think of it. do you find it a pain, or is it the bonus I think it is?

Fun and Games

Typical.

Just like with buses, you wait all year round for your family and friends to show, but then when they finally deign to favour you with a visit, they only have to all turf up at once, en-mass, don't they?

I knew well in advance of my big sister's up-coming visit, and have been virtually counting the days down - oh yeah, I'm looking forward to it no end. As it happens, the timing is perfect - my eldest is off to Spain on the day she arrives, conveniently freeing up sleeping quarters for her.

Less than one week after my sis' departs I also have Andy and his new wife coming over, but that's fine, we have almost a week to relax and recuperate before slotting the next round of entertaining in, haven't we? No worries.

But that's when the phone rang from my dearest mate, Little Ally - and guess what? Her partner is only going off on a fishing trip, isn't he? What a perfect opportunity for her to slope in for a quick visit, eh? And it is. I haven't seen her in yonks, and it'll be wonderful for us to catch up again.

It's just.. sigh.

Well, I'll have three continuous weeks of playing hostess, won't I? See, Hubby is not the most sociable of creatures, bless him. He likes a quiet life, and in all honesty, he's happiest when he has me all to himself. I know he's gonna' sulk. He doesn't mean to, he just does. It gets embarrassing (eyes skyward) there are only so many excuses I can make for him. He doesn't set out to be rude, but he usually succeeds. He's horrified if I tell him he's upset someone (again), he never quite gets it, and is genuinely, honestly, hurt and puzzled as to what he has done wrong this time. I can see where Sam gets it from - wink.

Ah, well.

Still, there is an up-side - the only time this house sees any "Spring-clean" is if it's under threat of imminent invasion. I have but one small week left to turn this midden heap before me into the gleaming palace I like to kid my guests we live year round in.

Oh, it's not as though they'll be donning any white gloves to check out the dust levels, nor any such thing. These folk are laid back, they are my friends, it's me they are coming over to see, definitely not the state of my house. I know this, of course I do, I do.

Doesn't make a scrap of difference.

My family hates it before anyone comes to stay, they walk around on egg-shells. I transform into a stalker, scowling and muttering, I lurk about spitting through gritted teeth, "Don't you dare to make a mess!" Or screaming, "I just cleaned that!"

The kids develop nervous tic's. I don't know why I get so anal, but I do. I'm back to my slovenly self the moment the first house guest crosses the threshold, it doesn't bother me in the least if the place is then subsequently trashed - just so long as it is absolutely spotless on the day they arrive.

I guess I really am my mother's daughter, she was more than a little compulsive herself - but er, wasn't she also completely nuts? Oooh Lordy, it's a bit worrisome really, isn't it? I could get the family to help, but they never do it right, well, not right enough for me - it's quicker and less stressful to simply do it myself.

Ah, it's only the build up that's bad, we always have a wonderful time in the end. I have a fantastic few weeks in store, I simply need to slip on my old rags and to charge up the i-pod. There's a little scrubbing, cleaning, fumigating, polishing, washing, airing, sterilising and bagging up to do around this place..

(Sheepish smile.)

The Replacement Crew

"But, you always come over for T.T. week.."

"Sorry hon, no can do. Some of the lads have lost their jobs this year. Still, the Missus' and me are coming over for the Grand Prix in August, aren't we?

(Whining) "Seven years on the trot you and the lads have come - it just won't be the same."

(For those of you who know me, you'll be aware my best mate's big bruv' always turfs up annually with a bunch of his biker mates to bunk down in the "shed". And for those of you who don't know me, rest assured the shed is not as bad as it sounds, it's fully kitted out with bunk beds, electricity, Sky TV, and a fully operational kitchen.

It's virtually written in stone - they ALWAYS come over for the super bike races.)

"Hey, that reminds me, I have a mate who is coming over with a bunch of his buddies, is it okay if I tell them to look you up? He's heard about all the wheelies by your drive, and he was wondering if you would mind if they camped out up there for a race or two? They'll be on their best behaviour.."

"Nah, s'pose not." (Still pouting.) Yeah, well okay, I guess so - but just make sure they give me a bit of warning first, okay?"

And so it was that I found seven different bikers perched out on my doorstep yesterday. They arrived just before the roads closed around 9am, and due to several delays, they were shut in with us until the early evening. It was a beautiful sun-shining day, they had brought along their own food and beverages, and just as Andy had promised, they also turned out to be on their bestest of best behaviour. Better still, each and every one of them had arrived riding their very own impressive bikes - even Andy's mate's girlfriend, the drop dead gorgeous Tiffany, came riding on her own.

As it turns out, she is not only beautiful on the outside, that girl has a heart of gold! When she learned Andy and his friends have NEVER taken their bikes along (being as how they much prefer to drink and to spectate than to ride machinery on the week they come over), she very graciously offered to lend me her "lid" today, so's I could ride pillion with none other than with one of their own, the venerable "Racy Rodger". He and his friends escorted me over the mountain route this morning.

(Which, oopsie, has no speed limit).

OH MY GOD!!


EeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeK!!!!!!!!

I have never wrapped my thighs so tightly around a man in my life. He took it easy on me (only'cos it was windy mind) and reluctantly slowed to 120mph.

Oh, look out for those hair pin bends - yikes!! (I squeezed my arms around him hard enough to puncture a lung.)

It's a tad scary being glued to the seat of a rocket.

I haven't had so much fun in months (even tho' it bruised certain delicate parts of my anatomy). What a way to see the island.. ach, it's been well worth it, 'tis but (if you pardon the pun) a small price to pay, walking about bandy-legged for the next day or so.

Ah, don't panic, I'm only messing about in my drive here.. I'm not insured nor safe enough to be let loose on my own on the road (yet). Yup, you heard me, nodding. If Tiffany can do it, why can't I? I just LOVE biking - I want one!! She's advised me to start small, get a Scooter first, then work up to my biker licence. Hell, it makes sense to me. Think of all the places I can access without having to first park up the Tardis!

So Andy, me mate (assuming you are reading this) you'd best beware my old friend, this here younger, prettier crew you sent along may well go and usurp you in future years, take heed! (Ha, you think I jest?) Seven bloomin' years I've been waiting for you to take me over that mountain - less than two days it took for your replacements to get there. Best buck up or watch your back, I'm serving notice!

I can't wait to tell hubby about the Scooter..um, oh yeah, he's in the Middle East right now - hmmn, ah well maybe I should just up and surprise him, eh? What do you think? (Giggle).

Coolest Shirt on the Planet

In London, I took in an Andy Warhol exhibit. I didn't know too much about his work, and was curious. Truth be told, I wasn't overly impressed (it was mainly his short production films on display, and they left me a bit cold). I'd maybe be convinced to give a few of his paintings a bit of hanging space - though probably more in the hall as opposed to anywhere too prominent, yknow? (More as something to impress than to enjoy.) Still, it was worth a visit, I am glad I went.

My bested buddy is a talented abstract artist, she is always hoping to educate me away from my Philistine tendencies, I knew she'd be proud I'd made the effort. Besides, it was fun to rub shoulders with the arty set, young students, serious beatnik types, earnest scholars and the odd perv. My travelling companion had flatly refused to accompany me there on the day before, so I'd decided "stuff it" and had gone on my own.

These galleries are a crafty lot, after taking your tenner for admittance, they won't let you leave without filing past their shop at exit. Well, as luck would have it, my best mate happens to have a birthday coming up, so I was half on the look out to find something she might like anyway.

And there it surely was.

Hanging right at the back, waving and yelling her name out at me, lay the coolest shirt in the universe . Oh yes - belly flops of delight - it's perfect!

So chuffed I was. Um, I kind of liked it as well. A lot. An awful lot as it happened. So much so, I wanted one. I really did. BUT, and here lies the conundrum. This shirt is the only one for sale. The only one in the entire bloomin' shop.

Bugger.

I bought it anyway, and resolved to be noble. But I really did like it. A lot. It wasn't until returning to Craggy Island and getting it out to wrap that I started to feel torn. She could always get something else couldn't she?

It wouldn't be as perfect as this though. Talk about a test of friendship.

Yeah, but. Sigh. She is my best mate, after all. She'd understand, wouldn't she? I needn't even tell her! (Huh, who am I trying to kid? Blabbermouth here tells her everything, course she'd know.)

But it is a very, very nice shirt.

What to do? I wrestled. I did, I did. .

Well, I decided to offer a compromise. She being her, I was sure she wouldn't mind. Naturally, she was all grace itself with my proposition.

After assuring her I had no intentions of hanging on to it (as she was selflessly urging me to) she cheerfully agreed to let me have it for just one day. Whey-hey!

And so it was as luck would have it, also having a convenient sick child off school, I even managed to seize the photographic chance for a permanent record of my brief, but cherished, ownership. Taken in Matt's bedroom (God, did he groan at being dragged out of bed) there is junk strewn all over the floor; please don't blame me, alright? It's the boy who's the slob.

The angle he took it at makes me out a dwarf with stumpy legs, but who cares? At least I have proof positive of having owned the coolest shirt on the planet, albeit if only for one day.

It's winging itself towards her as I type. (Hope she doesn't notice the teensie-weensie bit of make-up smear on the collar, and even if she does, she'll forgive it, after all it's got to be the smallest price to pay for ownership of the coolest shirt in the world).

Sigh. .

Call Themselves Bikers?

Here they are - the lads. I don't quite recall, it's either their fifth or sixth annual visit now to Cassa Shrinky. That's Andy on the end, him with the beard, the one looking about to scratch something he truly ought not to, um, well certainly not on camera.. He's my best mate's big bruv', I've known him since forever (or it feels like it sometimes). You may recall him from one of my earlier posts, you know - the one where he left me stranded high and dry at Gatwick airport..? (Not that I bear grudges.) Hmph..

There are usually five of them, but this year Greg and his dad had to drop out, family stuff or something. The one taking the shot is Army Ken, a mutual friend of ours that I haven't seen in close to twenty years. Good old "Army Ken" - he earned that nickname due to the camouflage trousers he always wore, lord knows why. He was part of the crowd Little Ally and I used to hang out with down at our local watering hole. I had no idea he was visiting the island, but the lads met up with him and dragged him home for me. It's good to see he's finally lost the camouflage trousers (sadly, along with most of his hair). He's a bit camera shy, but he took the one above for us, complete with me in my fluffy slippers and all.. cringe.

Umm, think I'd better put a disclaimer in here - I don't actually drink beer (I'm a wine girl myself, honest Guv'). These were solely generated from the shed dwellers corner. One of several basket loads too, I might add. Do you think that's got any influence on how I was able to run them ragged, shooting hoops? (Big girls blouses, teehee I wasn't once the Captain of my school netball team for nothing, y'know.) Fact is, sad but true, the guys are just not as young and able as they used to be, bless 'em. Take the second night they arrived, they'd had a fine old time n'all what with watching all the bikes racing past the drive. Guess it was the combination of all that sun, beer and excitement that gradually took it's toll, necessitating a small shed siesta before their night out on the town. No good blaming Sam, it's part of his charm how easily he gets distracted. Anyways, of all people to ask to wake them up, you would think they might have at least had the good sense to choose someone who can read the hands of a clock. Not that it mattered much in the end, seeing as how he completely upped and forgot anyway. I honestly believed they were all out partying, it wasn't until the next day I learned they had slept like babes right through into the wee small hours of the morning. I would have tucked them up with a hot cup of cocoa had I known (giggle). They were out barbecuing their breakfast by 4.30am, by all accounts..

The lads have all packed up and gone now, but not before treating us out for a slap up meal. We ate at an Italian restaurant overlooking the prom, where we were able to watch all the stunt riders perform. The strip is sealed off at night, and we viewed from our window as a running commentary played out over the loudspeakers. Unfortunately I have a weakness for grilled sardines, and as everyone knows, using cutlery with them is a complete and utter waste of time - well, how on earth could you fillet out all the bones? Apparently, I reeked of sardines for the entire duration of the night, which may not have been TOO big of a problem had we not then moved straight on to the fair.. I usually don't often get to go on the scary rides, 'cos hubby is a-scared of heights and the kids normally refuse to be seen out with me. But the lads saw me proud - they took me up on each and every one of them, INCLUDING the bungee jump (whey-hey)! However, sealed in a small capsule within close proximity to someone reeking of fish really can stretch the limits of friendship ( so I'm told).

Here we are watching the bikes thunder by. This is the gatepost at the top of my drive, see that crack running down the middle? Nutty Nora reliably informs me that this is where one of the racers met a regrettable early end. Thankfully, that was well before our own time here - but I guess this vantage point does hold certain risks. The BBC cameras were filming opposite, this is a great place to watch all the wheelies fly past. I came up for a peek, but to be honest, if you've seen one race, you've just about seen them all as far as I'm concerned.

The lads usually camp out down in Matt's shed, with the girls Summer House given an airing for any extra overspill that happens along - not that we needed it this year. Here's a couple of interior shots of their living quarters - the kitchen area lies just beyond the bars at the back. NO idea how all those road signs and worklamps magically appeared. Matt says the fairies dragged them in, but he shouldn't talk about his friends in that manner..

Aside from coming up to the house to shower, they are pretty much self sufficient here - it may be pretty basic, but it does have Sky Sports on tap. There is a chronic shortage of accommodation on the island over the racing season. Calls go out over the local radio urging residents to let out any spare rooms they might have. It seems every field is turned over to a campsite for a couple of weeks, and the hotels are always fully booked out months before any arrivals pile across. I keep threatening to one day charge some rent (grin).

It's always a carnival environment over this period, lots of events and shows are laid on, beer tents and burger stalls spring up, and there is very little trouble overall. Last year "The Who", "Madness", and many other big acts came over to perform (most of whom I saw). This year we had another fine line up to choose from. It usually ends with a fly over from the Red Arrows across the Prom, or an acrobatic air-stunt - this year it was "Wing-Walking". To round everything off, a magnificent free fireworks display is set off over the bay, it is quite stunning ..

Mind you, when all is said and done, although I enjoy most of these festivities immensely, when it rolls round to the last race and all the banners and bunting start to look tired, I am usually more than happy to wave our boys and all of the hoopla off again for another year. There is something to be said about getting back to a little normality. The kids are now back at school, hubby is over in London for the week, and the tourists have all drifted away again. Shhhhhhhhhh. Can you hear it?

Peace.

Cabin Fever

Here I am sandwitched between Little Ally and her mum, taken last month. I've known them forever. I miss my friends. Since moving from London I've kind of isolated myself a bit. I know lots of folk, but it's not the same. Nutty Nora next door drives me demented, as do most of the "ladies who lunch" set that I feel oblidged to tolerate for the sake of my kids.

But Little Ally, she's my sister, and I love her to pieces. I've been to her eighteenth birthday party, cried at her wedding, and again over her divorce. She's nursed me through a broken heart, my mother's suicide and the acceptance of my child's mental disability. I can pick up the phone day or night and know she's there for me. It cuts both ways.

I usually either stay with her, or she stays with me when I visit London. We revert to teenage delinquents, stay up all night and drink far too much. We interrupt to finish each others sentences, giggle like school kids. and hatch evil plots to execute a Thelma and Louise type getaway together. She's seen me at my best, and has healed me at my worst. But the thing is, distance is a barrier and I can't just pop over for that coffee and a chat like I used to.

I've been on my own for most of the week, and as I had no car I was also housebound. The family took off to our place in London, leaving my eldest and me behind. He has some serious exams to sit after Easter and needed to hit the books. I had a sneaky suspicion that if left to his own devices he and his mates were more likely to hit the Vodka and our phonebill over any swotting up, so I elected to stay behind to "help" with his revision. Went down like a lead balloon, but I wasn't born yesterday.

Anyhows, he buckled down, did a fair bit of studying, and when he wasn't in his room doing that, he was off out with his mates. I barely exchanged three sentences a day with him, I usually woke after he'd left for the gym, and didn't see him unless he and his mates were cluttering up the kitchen.

I'd kind of looked forward to this week, a chance to write, pamper myself, contemplate. I'd planned to take long walks with the dog, potter about in the garden, read some of those books I've always meant to but haven't quite yet got around to picking up. Except. We had rain and storms all week, the telly was crap, and I couldn't seem to settle in to much of anything.

It got boring.

The first couple of days were fine. It hit me, I have no friends over here. It's my own fault, I beat people off with a stick, it's too much of a hassle to get to know them. I want to find an intant Little Ally clone without laying down all the time and energy it took for us to get to know each other so well. It's not going to happen. I guess I need to make the effort for that (sigh).

I can feel another London trip building.. (Wink)