Do you think I’m wasting my time by making personalised birthday cards? You wouldn’t believe how long it takes and I’m too embarrassed to tell you; suffice to say I couldn’t spare the time if I was working for somebody else. But I do love doing it. What price happiness?

I thought I would make my task easier today by using an existing digitally toyed image of our Bobbie, disguised as a Berber granny and sat beside an authentic Berber fire. Bobbie loved that image and found it very amusing because she is very beautiful and model-like in appearance in real life (I can say this because I didn’t actually give birth to Bobbie, though I could not love her more if I had). Anyway, I thought I would revitalise the image as a birthday card for her. Of course, when I looked at it again I thought how lonely she looked in the Berber kitchen, with only a black and white cat for company; in went another cat, a ginger tabby this time, and a poodle, and Willy wonka (an Aussie dog – sadly now in heaven), and a hot koala having a cold bath. Even Andy and Flea wanted get in on the act… And it all takes so much time…

But it was all worthwhile because of the smile on Bobbie’s face when she opened it!

It is our youngest daughter’s birthday today. Happy birthday Bobbie! But don’t come for dinner. Well, she could come… You could come too… Anyone could come. All I can say is that you wouldn’t want to come to dinner. Why not? You haven’t looked in my fridge – if you had you would see why – everything is so darned healthy and uninviting!

Having put on a little weight mysteriously recently (in spite of being on the Dukan diet again – permanently) I have done such a thorough job of not having any nice food in the house that I can’t find anything to eat, or rather, anything I would want to eat. I have been to the refrigerator several times already this morning and had to walk away empty-handed. I’m fed up with cold meats and salad. It’s nearly winter for goodness sake!

Eventually, I became so overcome with hunger that I had to extend my search to the cupboards too. I rejected all manner of dried things like pasta (fed up with Italian food after the full on Italian fare all last week), noodles and rice, not only because of the naughty carbohydrates but also because I would have had to resort to cooking. For my quick-fix I settled for tuna in a little low-calorie mayonnaise (how vile!), on a bed of finely cut lettuce mixed with baby spinach leaves, beetroot leaves (pretty but horrible) and watercress. It looked quite nice. It wasn’t very nice or unctuous (not at all actually) because the tuna was in brine, not oil, and the mayonnaise was kind of gummy, not oily, and all I could taste was the overwhelming flavour of watercress, which I thought I liked…but I don’t. I thought I liked tuna too – not any more, I don’t. It was quite as unpalatable on a cold day as it sounds.

Irked, but still hungry, I looked for something relatively sweet. Yesterday both Chris and I had sneered at an inferior apple strudel with cardboard-like, fat-free pastry and hard pieces of apple (not of the cooking variety) without sugar…. today I eyed it up anew and popped it in the microwave. It wasn’t too bad with a dollop of fake, non-dairy cream, and a sprinkle of castor sugar. But now it has all gone and there is absolutely nothing remotely nice in the refrigerator.

There is nothing for it, I’m going to have to make a cake for Bobbie’s birthday. So if you want to come for dinner please be prepared because there will not be any dinner as such, I shall be like Marie Antoinette and say, “Let them eat cake”. However, it will be an exceedingly delicious cake.

A forward like this simply has to shared.

Subject: Fw: What’s In a Name

A good looking man walked into an agent’s office in Hollywood and said,
“I want to be a movie star.”
Tall, handsome, and with experience on Broadway, he had the right credentials.
The agent asked, “What’s your name?”
The guy said, “My name is Penis van Lesbian.”
The agent said, “Sir, I hate to tell you, but in order to get into Hollywood, you are
going to have to change your name.”
“I will NOT change my name! The van Lesbian name is centuries old, I will not
disrespect my grandfather by changing my name. Not ever.”

The agent said, “Sir, I have worked in Hollywood for years…you will NEVER go far
in Hollywood with a name like Penis van Lesbian! I’m telling you, you will HAVE
TO change your name or I will not be able to represent you.”

“So be it! I guess we will not do business together,” the guy said and he left the
agent’s office.

FIVE YEARS LATER……The agent opens an envelope sent to his office. Inside the
envelope is a letter and a
check for $50,000. The agent is awe-struck, who would possibly send him $50,000?
He reads the letter enclosed…

Dear Sir,

Five years ago, I came into your office wanting to become an actor in Hollywood,
you told me I needed to change my name. Determined to make it with my God-
given birth name, I refused.
You told me I would never make it in Hollywood with a name like Penis van Lesbian.
After I left your office, I thought about what you said. I decided you were right.
I had to change my name. I had too much pride to return to your office, so I signed
with another agent. I would never have made it without changing my name, so the
enclosed check is a token of my appreciation.

Thank you for your advice.

Sincerely,

Dick van Dyke

.

…..I’m happy again!

And it’s true, I feel a whole lot better for braving it and cycling in the rain. Of course it wasn’t raining when we set out, but it looked as if it was going to rain this morning so we dressed prepared. I’m afraid I didn’t look very pretty in my rainy day outfit… I hardly know where to start describing it, perhaps from the bottom up? I wore my favourite old gladiator sandals (with the silver studs around the ankles – quite slimming actually) and my all-time favourite black and white polka dot shorts (so far so good, although my legs are not as tanned as they were); the peach top was a bit old yet okay for cycling in; no, it was definitely the bright pink waterproof jacket (supposedly) with hood that was weird – weird worn over polka dot shorts, anyway! The pink sunglasses didn’t look the best either…I was going to include a photo in my blog but I’ve changed my mind – don’t want to draw attention as I’m rather hoping that nobody will have recognised me in my Little Pink Riding-Hood disguise.

Naturally, it rained, and the North Wind did blow – right up my polka dot shorts – and I had to hang onto my hood as we fought our way forwards into the wind.

“It will be agin us all the way,” Chris said like a soothsayer.

“What? Even coming back too?” I always tend to query Chris (soothsayer that he is).

“Yep, I reckon so. That there wind keeps changing direction,” he said in his old cowboy accent (that he hasn’t been able to shake off for some days, seeing as how it amuses me so much).

Before we reached the cycle track at Dawlish Warren we had a lovely surprise; Harvey, the 85 year old (or more) cycle-aholic from Exeter (whom we haven’t seen for some time, and we suspected might have been ill…or worse…) came riding along in his weatherproof latex professional standard garb. We were thrilled to see that he was still alive and well, if even thinner than when we last saw him. Cycling really does keep you trim – just not me because I’m obviously not cycling enough.

Another old-timer called Fred once told us that his mate Harvey cycled at least 300 miles per week  “and he’s a married man!” He hadn’t met his wife but “that could explain it”, he laughed. Harvey has never stopped to speak to us, nor have we ever seen him rest – he is always on a mission. Nevertheless, we had it on good authority, from Fred, that Harvey’s secret to longevity, based on his ability to cycle 300 miles plus per week, is the gel pads that are built into the bottom of his cycle-shorts in order “to stop the callouses on his bottom from getting any worse!” Goodness! You have to wonder if it is ever worth it.

I was still marvelling over the fact that Harvey was still alive, which led onto pondering about the famed callouses on his bottom (and wondering, yet again, whether or not it was worth it), when the skinny old chap whizzed by us in a masterful show of speed and strength (especially considering the size of him), for he had reached his destination already – Dawlish Warren carpark – and come back again in about a minute. Harvey continued to follow the road rather than the cycle path (cycle tracks are for kids and amateurs!) while we were grateful to get off the road, even though we have to share our purpose-built cycle track with deaf pedestrians and sometimes stroppy dog-walkers.

I suspect that Harvey was home in Exeter (eleven miles away) forty minutes later, when we carried our bikes down our steps after a 6 mile round trip. I guess I’ll never get as thin as Harvey… not that I would ever want to be as thin as Harvey, and he’ll never have a nice, naturally padded, bottom like mine… How callous of me to say so! No hard feelings about being the butt of the joke… I hope. Just for that I shall show penitence by letting you see a ghastly photo of Little Pink Riding-Hood! It’s not me…

Firstly, I must tell you that I had an excellent response to the free promotion of my book and I look forward to having some good reviews soon, which should help encourage interest in the paperback version. Thank you in advance for your nice reviews!

In truth, it hasn’t been the most interesting of days here. It’s getting colder, noticeably colder and autumnal (or wintery, to be more exact), and drizzly.This morning I fully intended to go out for a good walk “no matter what the weather” but after spending two hours or so on household chores it seemed to me that I had had a fair amount of exercise for the day, and when I poked my nose outside the door I was sure of it!  I ask you, what joy is there to be had in walking in the rain on a cold day?

I hear it is 30c in Brisbane at the moment – hot enough to not mind getting caught in the rain. When I was a little girl there were many times, perhaps when we hadn’t had rain for a long time or because it was so hot, that we children used to squeal with delight and run out in the rain to get wet. I didn’t feel like doing that today. It is days like these that I miss Australia the most – I miss the out-of-doors lifestyle.

“What shall we do?” I asked Chris, who seemed quite grateful that I’d abandoned the idea of walking in the rain.

“I expect you want to play some games?” Chris guessed right.

“Shall we play ‘Truth and Triumph’ again considering it’s a Sunday?” (You may remember from a previous blog post that that particular game is a sort of religious version of ‘Trivial Pursuit’ invented by a Reverend Paulson in Canada.)

“If you like,” answered Chris.

What a surprise! I didn’t think he would go for it – he must have been awfully grateful not to have to go out walking with me in the rain, or else he must have been incredibly bored!

Two hours later, after a lot of ‘helping’ each other, we somehow reached the conclusion – we concluded that “Truth and Triumph” is the worst game we have ever played! The combined years of our Sunday school education, plus the fact that Chris’s grandfather was a minister, was to no avail for such trivial, and often tricky, questions (one of the -answers was a ‘famous’ quote from the Reverend Paulson himself). I was hoping to get good at the game in order to one day astound my devoutly religious youngest brother with my broad knowledge of religious trivia but, after this afternoon… I really don’t think it’s worth it.

We rounded off our lazy afternoon with several games of Chinese Chequers – our own, and more challenging version in which we play two triangles each (better than three because the board gets cluttered) – and now I’m looking outside at the fading light and wishing that I’d stuck to my guns and gone out walking in the rain. Tomorrow I am going to get up early and go for a walk no matter what!

When we went shopping at Trago Mills store this morning I had no idea what I wanted to buy… and then I saw him. Unfortunately, he was already taken and the customers who had got in first were adamant that he was not for sale. Don’t you just love babies?

By the way, just a little reminder that my book, “The Innocent Flirt Down Under” is still available on Kindle eBooks FREE promotion until midnight tonight. Look on Amazon, co.uk for details about  both the paperback and ebook versions.

I have become a fan of everything Italian recently. It all started earlier in the year when I stayed at Jimboomba, Queensland (no, not Italy, sadly! Or Sicily, for that matter). In truth, I’m not the greatest fan of Jimboomba (although I like the name), which is rather out in the sticks and good for horse people, dog-lovers and those who are not afraid of snakes. However, I shall be eternally grateful for the spell I spent there because that is where I discovered the brilliant television programme, “Il Commissario Montalbano” (Montalbano, The Italian Detective), written by Andrea Camilleri and starring the gorgeous Luca Zingaretti (he with the lovely bow legs – don’t you just love bow legs?).

I was mesmerised and enchanted, not only by the acting, the plot and the players, but also by the scenery; it is set primarily in the Sicilian town of Porto Empedocle, known in the series as Vigata, but such is the popularity of the series and the pride of the inhabitants that the town has been renamed Porto Empedocle Vigata. I even liked the subtitles – that way you get hear the mellifluous Italian language – and you don’t miss a word, especially if you are a tad deaf (like Chris).

Whilst I was still in Australia Chris ordered the entire series of the long-running two-hour programmes and two weeks ago we watched the last episode, which ironically, was the first one I ever saw (back in Jimboomba) and I felt quite nostalgic for the bush. Chris and I felt bereft. What could possibly replace Montalbano? Luckily, a new series of “Young Montalbano” has been produced and was broadcast for the first time on British television on BBC4 last Saturday at 9.00pm. The transition from the not so young Montalbano, played by Luca Zingaretti, to the young Montalbano, rising star Michele Riondino, was made smoothly by a clever script and the inclusion of characters and names that we had come to associate with the original series.

Our neighbour, Ron, who is also a Montalbano fan (but missed it last week) is coming over tonight and we’re all going to watch it again on iplayer (there is something to be said for modern technology, even if I can’t turn on the television myself). In readiness for tonight, and in keeping with my love of all things Italian, I’ve been eating pasta all week – the same spaghetti I made for two actually served seven dinners in all. Which reminds me, Montalbano is a bit of a “foodie” too (if you haven’t seen him already).

Incidentally, when I went to Wikipedia to collect photos of Luca for you to see on my blog I discovered something amazing – who would believe it? Luca was born on my birthday – November 11 – in 1961! I like him even more now!

Just to let you know that I’ve extended the current promotion by another day. Please let your friends know too and remember that there is also a paperback version available (£7.06 and postage free in the UK – not sure about other countries) for those who prefer to read in the conventional way. There has been a good response to both versions. Thank you for your support.

At Lustleigh the other week I picked some tufts of “old man’s beard” from the hedgerow – I just knew that would come in handy for something!

It’s hard to be upbeat when you haven’t had enough sleep. I couldn’t get to sleep for hours last night. I wasn’t lacking tiredness or the will to sleep but neither was I overtired; and it had little to do with the fact that I was sleeping next to a sleeping lion (the lion had his snoring guard in place), although, it has to be said that when you’re just lying there waiting for sleep in the darkness, you notice every single movement and sound. At ten past two I went upstairs to check and see how my free book promotion was going and was surprised to find that Germans were acquiring my eBook in greater numbers than the English, and the Americans and Australians even better still – thank you all! Back in bed at 2.20am I decided to read my eBook for a while in the hope that reading would induce sleep at that hour, but no, I read one chapter and then another two (damned good book, if I do say so myself!). At last I put my Kindle away and sleep came to me after another half hour or so of tossing and turning.

Of course, I knew why I couldn’t sleep.  When on Facebook yesterday I clicked onto the page of an old girlfriend of my brother; she had been ill with ovarian cancer and I wondered how she was. It came as quite a shock to read the most recent few posts from her  – “waiting for an ambulance”, “hoping there will be a bed on the oncology ward”, “on a drip” and “I have been singing ‘Try not to get worried’…” I decided to phone Henry (in Australia) to let him know that his ex-girlfriend was very ill – thought he might want to send his best wishes. Would you believe that he was just about to phone me?

“How amazing, Sally! I’ve just stepped through the door and I was about to phone you…”

He didn’t say why – I told him about his ex before he had the chance – and we both shed tears. I don’t know her well but she is a nice lady. Henry and I took some comfort from the connection between us, which had made us want to talk to each other at precisely the same time.

Chris let me sleep on this morning and I awoke with wet eyes and an aching feeling of loss in my abdomen. Chris says I’ve been working too hard recently.

This afternoon a little ray of sunshine entered my studio and took me away from my sad thoughts. My friend, J. waited patiently for me tell her all my news, and when I had finished she broached the subject…

“I haven’t told anyone else, Sally, but I’ve met someone…”

“You’re in love!”

Suddenly it was obvious, by the pink in her cheeks and the light in her eyes.

She nodded. “But we’ve only met once, three months ago, and have been texting ever since…”

She doesn’t have a computer so she has been saving text conversations by writing every single word by hand. Well, I’m not going to steal my friend’s thunder by revealing all, especially as she may be writing her own book sometime. J. (not J.K.Rowling,incidentally) got up to leave and her mobile phone made a pretty noise; a frisson of pleasure went through her before my very eyes. She laughed. I laughed.

I feel so much better now and tonight I think I’ll go swimming. I need to get out and have some exercise.