Tuesday 31 December 2013

Coin Count for 2013 – Not a Bad Year ….


Today I completed my coin count for 20131.  This is what I found (in brackets the numbers from 2012):

Currency

Face value
Number found
Total value, coins
£ Sterling
£5 (note)
0 (1)
£0.00 (5.00)

£2
1 (1)
£2.00 (2.00)

£1
10 (8)
£10.00 (8.00)

£0.50
4 (1)
£2.00 (0.50)

£0.20
20 (29)
£4.00 (5.80)

£0.10
4 (14)
£0.40 (1.40)

£0.05
85 (90)
£4.25 (4.50)

£0.02
25 (25)
£0.50 (0.50)

£0.01
96 (124)
£0.96 (1.24)
Total £s

245 (293)
£24.11 (£28.94)




Euro
E1
0 (2)
E 0.00 (2.00)

E0.50
0 (1)
E 0.00

E0.20
1 (1)
E 0.20 (0.20)

E0.10
6 (2)
E 0.60 (0.20)

E0.05
5 (10)
E 0.25 (0.50)

E0.02
10 (9)
E 0.20 (0.18)

E0.01
25 (14)
E 0.25 (0.14)
Total E

47 (38)
E 1.50 (E3.22)




Other currencies


US dollar
$0.10
1
$ 0.10
Ceska Koruna
CK 1.00
1
CK 1.00
Polish Groszy
G0.10
1
G0.10
Swiss Frank
SF0.05
1
SF0.00
Total others

4 (12)

   Total Total
296 (343)


As you can see, the coin count dropped for the second year running.  I blame the economy, people are dropping fewer coins because their pockets are empty.  Luckily I managed to find two more £1 coins than in the previous year, otherwise I would have been seriously down value wise.  I bet George Osborne never considered the serious repercussions of his cut-backs, and the effects on the country’s coin collectors.

If you are reading this blog, David Cameron, DO SOMETHING!!!!



Les Toits de Paris - Hermes Scarf

Title of scarf


Life is full of coincidences .... This morning I get my roof fixed, and this afternoon my new scarf, Les Toits de Paris, or, the Roofs of Paris, arrives in the post.  I had lusted after this scarf for quite a while.  It came out in 2006, and rather reminds me of the movie Amelie.  It comes in all sorts of colour-ways, most of them not to my liking, so I had to wait a long time before this little number surfaced on Ebay, at a reasonable price and in my dream colour - night blue!

I love the dark blue, the red chimneys, and of course the cat!  This is a very well balanced/composed scarf; notice the cat on the roof, shadowed by the cat in the window?  One person, two cats, four mice, eight pigeons.  And they all smile!  Lovely lovely scarf!

I have taken lots of photos including close-ups, to help others who may want to buy this scarf in future avoid fakes.






Artist signature

Black label sewn at the back top left hand corner

Hermes copyright, in the top left hand corner










Hole in my Roof!

Like a hole in the head ...


Whenever something goes wrong with the house I appreciate even more how my body fixes itself!  A few weeks ago I shifted some furniture, and as a result my muscles were in a bad state for a few weeks.  But slowly they recovered and now I am as good as new.

Not so with a house!  The house is old, and the roof is, too, and it is only a matter of time until I need a new one.  Since new roofs are expensive and a lot of bother, I am putting it off as long as possible.  Anyway, I have other expenses to meet.  Between dentists, asthma cures, new eyeglasses, etc etc new roofs are low on the list of priorities.  Nevertheless I realise the importance of a sound roof, and have kept a beady eye on mine for quite a while.  During the recent storms I eyeballed the roof every morning, which is a good thing, because Sunday I noticed that it had sprung a leak!

Shock Horror and Despair!  I felt I was doomed.  That's how I always feel when something goes wrong that I can't fix myself, like teeth or medical problems or plumbing issues.  Because I never quite trust the so-called experts to do things properly, having been cheated on more than one occasion .....  I allowed myself to panic for five minutes, then went to the local corner shop to discuss the matter.  The proprietor knows lots of people and can be relied upon to recommend someone or something.

He did not let me down, offered a spare tile from his own house and to contact several builders.  Somewhat comforted I had breakfast and read the papers.  Unfortunately the shop owner's friends were all out on this occasion, and I was desperate to sort things out quicklike, so I had a Google and found a firm in Abingdon who promised to swing by and have a look today.

Well, they came, looked, scaled the roof, and sorted the problem for £150.  They also recommended a new roof soonishly.  Apparently my tiles are crumbling.  A new roof would cost £3,500 or thereabouts.  That's not too bad.  Maybe next year.  I want a self-repairing house!

I took some photos for your delectation, it was quite scary watching the man up on the roof - at least the wind and rain had stopped, but it was still quite slippery.  They came just in time - finished an hour ago and now it is raining cats and dogs!






All done!

Thursday 26 December 2013

The Tiny Visitors - Fatty Messerschmitt Gets Promoted

Fatty Messerschmitt and one of the Red Reihers


Many many years ago there was a small group of little sailplane models that dwelled near the town of Hamburg.  They thought they were toys, tiny models of large gliders, destined to spend their time in the care of some small child.  Most of them were quite small, 1/200th of their life-size cousins, but one, Fatty Messerschmitt, was huge, hence his name.  He had to put up with a certain amount of teasing on account of his size.  All the others were slim and elegant, but Fatty was huge and ungainly and unable to fly unaided.  He remained the Ashputtel of the group, and always tried to hide at the back of the shelf, hoping his bulk would appear smaller in the shadows. 

One day a rotund man in a uniform with many glinting buttons and decorations came to see them.  He looked the little group over, nodded appreciatively when he saw Fafnir, and seemed generally pleased with them. 

“Very nice little models you have here, Herr Gruneberg, very nice indeed.  Just what is needed to get our young boys interested in flying.  But what we really need is recognition models, and since small one or two seater gliders aren’t used much for enemy action we don’t need little models of them, either.  Don’t you have anything else?”

Herr Gruneberg slowly took Fatty from the back of the shelf where he had been hiding, as usual, and offered it to the visitor.  “What do you think of this then, Herr Reichsminster?”

“A Messerschmitt Gigant!  Yes, that is exactly what I was looking for!  What about He 111s, you have some of those, too?” 

“Of course I have!  See here on the next shelf I keep the bombers.” 

“Simply splendid, Herr Grunewald, I am so pleased I dropped by your house while visiting the area.  I will send you a few more recognition models of both our own and enemy aircraft, and then you can start with your training sessions.”

The little group of model gliders did not understand any of this, except that the visitor had approved of Fatty.  Shortly afterwards a few dozen model airplanes arrived and joined the bombers in the shelf below.  There were also a few new gliders, all much bigger than the rest of them.  But none were as big as Fatty.

After the arrival of all the new aircraft life changed for the little gliders.  Every afternoon a group of children came into the room, and Herr Grunewald showed them his collection of toys.  In the evenings there often came a few grown-ups to look at the aircraft.  Fatty was always the star at these occasions, and grew quite conceited because of it.  But the slim gliders were rarely taken off the shelf anymore.

Under normal circumstances gliders are happy-go-lucky creatures who don’t think overly much and live for the day.  This is true for the little models as well as for the big sailplanes.  But the situation the little gliders found themselves in was very unusual.  Instead of being taken off the shelf by a small child during playtime, they were stuck there all day long with nothing to do except watch the demonstrations Herr Grunewald gave to his visitors, and listen to the conversations of the bombers on the shelf below.

Generally speaking gliders have very little time for airplanes.  They pride themselves on being able to fly without the aid of motors, on gliding through the air silently on a thermal or a breeze.  And although the little models had only ever ‘flown’ in the hands of a child, they nevertheless shared the prejudices of their larger brothers.  So at first they paid no attention to the talk of the bomber models.

Meanwhile Fatty was learning a lot from his daily sessions with the visiting humans, and also he was getting very chummy with the He 111s who were always shown together wit him.  Whenever he returned to the glider shelf after a demonstration he told them what he had heard that day.  That’s how they found out why Fatty was so big!  He was not a sports glider, like the rest of them, but meant for real work.  He was a model of the biggest transport glider in the world, the Me 321, a glider bigger than the biggest airplane, and so huge that it was called Messerschmitt Gigant (German for ‘giant’)!  It was designed for transporting troops and equipment into enemy country cheaply and silently.  Since the Gigant was too big to fly like a sports-glider, just by using wind and thermals, three bombers – including He 111s – were used to pull it up into the air and then drag it towards its final destination.  A few miles before its landing spot the bombers would detach the cords they used to pull the Gigant, and the transport glider would slowly circle downwards and land, hopefully unnoticed by the enemy. 

No wonder Fatty was becoming so self-important!  He was the model of a glider that did real grown-up work, while the rest of the occupants of the glider shelf were just little models of sports-gliders that were themselves just toys, fun to play with but essentially useless.  While Fatty grew ever more big-headed, the rest of them became deeply depressed.

But one evening Fatty returned from a session in a very serious mood, and instead of his usual bragging said quietly, “My friends, we have to talk.”  And then he told them what the training sessions held by Herr Grunewald were all about, and what role the toy models played.


Wednesday 25 December 2013

Merry Christmas Day!


I have been having a splendid Christmas so far.  Today I slept late, had a light breakfast, a large lunch (duck), and listened to any amount of funny entertainment on the wireless.  I also spent some time trying to match the colours of my new cardigans to my scarves (new and existing ones).  For some strange reason I am becoming increasingly attracted to strong green tops, which I pair with bright yellow scarves - my ambition is to look like a dandelion in a field in the sunshine.  I found two green cardies under the tree last night, and also a green pullover, so there are all sorts of flower imitation possibilities.

There were any number of other presents as well - thank you my generous friends!  Arguably the best gift is the above pictured Monkey Mother and Child bronze.  It is 5 inches tall and quite heavy.  The mother has a very sweet expression on her face, and her posture is slightly anxious, protective of her child, which latter looks a bit afraid of a world it has only entered recently, tightly clasped by and clasping its mother.  It is a very tender little statue, and I feel like giving it a cuddle whenever I see it.  It seems a strangely appropriate Christmas present, seeing as we are today celebrating the birth of a child who faced a very uncertain future in a cruel world, and whose mother knew that she would not be able to do much to protect him.

I took many photos yesterday, and as usual when taking photos in a dark room I either use the flash and get a starkly bright result, or use a long exposure lime and get a muddy image.  Nevertheless I think some of the photos, especially the close-ups of the Christmas ornaments, are quite nice.

The weather has improved a little, though I did not stir from the house.  It is supposed to get worse again later in the week, when I plan to travel, worse luck!  I have not been able to do my Bird-Christmas yet, seeds and maggots would blow all over the garden if I tried.  But since it is not too cold and there is plenty of wild food around I dare say the birds won't miss it.  I'll do something tomorrow for them.

I trust you are all enjoying your Christmas dinner!  Don't eat too much!
















Tuesday 24 December 2013

Today is Christmas Eve ....


Today is Christmas Eve - this year went so quickly, it seems like yesterday since I wrote my last Christmas Eve message!  I have been rather more organised this year, so have time to write a blog post.  I also took a photo of (a) my new berry wreath which hangs in the dining room - isn't it a beauty? and (b) the Parlour before it gets the full decoration treatment.   I shall of course take lots of photos once the decoration is completed and the fire is lit! and post them tomorrow.

Currently I am listening to the annual Christmas Carol Service from Cambridge on Radio 4 while drinking tea and intermittently applying myself to the decorating job at hand.  One should do these things in a leisurely manner, otherwise they become just another chore and add to the Christmas stress.  Needless to say I have no Christmas stress whatsoever!  I arrange everything beforehand so have very little to do on the actual day, but plenty of time to eat, drink, listen to the wireless, and even read the off Christmas story.

My life feels very good right now, in a warm house full of food and lots of presents to look forward to - a big Thank You! to all you wonderful friends who have send me gifts this year, and also to all you equally wonderful friends who would have send me a present if you weren't so worried you got the wrong thing - I know I am difficult to please, and am grateful for your good wishes and solid friendship over the years!

Despite my best efforts there is always someone who slips through the friendship net and isn't in touch with me, so, as every year, I wish a very merry Christmas to lost and absent friends – you know who you are! Take care of yourself and remember you are loved.

As Always

Your DB



Saturday 21 December 2013

Webcams Galore!

Today the weather is extremely miserable, so there is no point in venturing out before the afternoon, when it is supposed to get better.  To while away these boring hours I decided to edit my blog list.  I change it on and off, depending  how much interest the blogs seem to attract.

The one from MaiTai which shows how to wear scarves is a perennial favorite, and saves me much time - instead of me having to demonstrate scarf-tieing techniques, I can just direct them to her website.  And the Paris Daily Photo is obviously a huge attraction!  I try to keep the list short, I hate an over-cluttered blog-site!

I have always been rather fascinated by webcams, especially the ones that are continuous - not just a snapshot every so often.  The Oxford webcam is like that, I have actually seen people I know walk by!  The one at La Banne is iffy, and sometimes there is no image for days or weeks.  Still, it is good to know whether there is snow on Glider Mountain.  The Paris one is most useful - I always know how to dress before I go for a visit.  As for the Portland one, it is pure nostalgia.  I remember when Pioneer Square was just a parking garage, and now it is the centre of the city.  Nearby is Portland State University, my emotional Alma Mater ... those were happy days!

Since I am not too busy for the next two weeks there may be more blog-posts than usual coming forth from my keyboard, especially if the weather doesn't buck up!

Friday 13 December 2013

The Tiny Visitors - How I met them



Introductory Remarks

I have been meaning to tell the story of the Tiny Visitors for some time now, but there have been difficulties.  Firstly, they are not all that easy to understand, and now that I can talk with all of them, not just Heini Heinkel, I find that they contradict each other and I am not always able to ascertain which version of the story is correct.  This is OK when one writes a novel, but for a blog this is irksome – I can’t keep going back to earlier posts and revise everything! 

Then there is the fact that new tiny visitors have arrived since I began to write the story, who have their own tales to tell and add to the story – sometimes this makes quite a difference!  I have to decide which parts to reveal in the blog, because on the one hand I have been sworn to secrecy, and on the other I am expected to let their Old Friends Out There know where they are and what they are up to and how they can help.  And each of the Tiny Visitors has her/his own opinion on the matter!

So it is all terribly difficult, and I tried to avoid doing anything at all.  But pressure has been brought to bear, so I have decided to do the best I can and if it is unsatisfactory well, tough luck!  So here is the first instalment; I shall endeavour to post new instalments every week or so.

How I met the Tiny Visitors

As I am writing this, six little scale model gliders are circling around my head, chattering in their strange high pitched voices, which sound more like the swishing of air than real voices, and several more are perched on the top of my laptop.  It took a long time for me to understand them at all!

It all began some time ago when I was sick in bed.  I was bored and lonely, and suddenly a small red flying object landed just outside of the window of my room.  Red?  I knew of no bird of that colour, and anyway it was too slim for a bird.  Perhaps a large dragonfly?  I cannot see well without my glasses, and by the time I had found them and put them on the little creature had disappeared.

The next day it returned.  The window was open a crack, and it perched on the window ledge, looking into the room.  When I reached for my glasses, it flew away again.

The third day I was feeling better, and sat propped up in bed reading.  The window was wide open, and the little red creature flew into the room!  It settled on one of the leaves of the clivia that stands on the little table in front of the window.  The creature appeared to be very cautious, so I took pains not to stir.  But since I was wearing my glasses, I managed to take a good look at it, and finally saw what it was.

It was a little red Reiher, made of plastic or bakelite, with a grey head, so obviously quite old, I reckoned pre-WWII.  But what was it doing here, and how did it get about?  I half expected to hear the giggling of small children who were playing a prank on me!

Before I managed to make up my mind on this matter the Reiher flew away again.  The next day I felt better and got out of bed and back to work, and thought it was the end of the matter.  But it wasn’t!

The following Sunday I was sitting at my desk, busy writing a story about an evil witchcraft master intent on destroying the world.  The story was very exciting, and unfolded as I was writing it, and since I really wanted to know how it would end I was writing furiously and not paying attention to anything going on outside of my window.  Suddenly there was a little tap at the window – the red Reiher had returned and was trying to get in!  And more exciting still, it had brought along several friends, equally red and reiherish!

I got up very very slowly and went to the window.  The Reihers remained on the window sill.  I opened the window as slowly as I could, smiling like an idiot and making reassuring humming noises, of the sort I imagined might put the Reihers at ease.  It seemed to do the trick, because none moved until I had opened the window and returned to my seat.  Then they all flew into the room and settled on top of the photo-frame on my desk.  It almost seemed as though they settled there to tell me their story!

Time passed, and the little Reihers continued to visit me.  And they brought their friends!  Apparently there was a little tribe of tiny scale model gliders living in my defunct bathroom chimney.

One night I saw them, flying around the chimney in the light of the harvest moon, which hung low in the sky, huge and golden and seemingly straight from a fairy tale.  Around and around they went, circling the chimney, like tiny fairies dancing in a long forgotten dream.  But they were real, and eventually I was to find out that their story was real, too – tragic and sad, as so many fairy tales.  And they wanted me to bring about a happy ending!  Me!  But I am getting ahead of myself.

The following Saturday I was typing away again furiously at my Witches tale, when the whole group sailed into the room through the open window and descended on the clivia.  There were ten in all.  First four red Reihers, then a Weihe, followed by a Meise, a Minimoa, a Fafnir, a Rhönadler, and finally, weirdly, a He 111!  When they had all settled themselves comfortably, the latter flew three times around my head to get my attention, and rested himself on the upper rim of my laptop.  “Guten Morgen,” he said in perfect German, and continued in this language throughout (I have translated what he said for the convenience of my readers).

“I am Heini,” he said.  “I have been nominated to speak to you, because I am bigger than my friends and have a louder voice.”  He was indeed much larger and substantial than the others.  “I will tell you the story of my friends and I, and why we have chosen to make ourselves known to you.  The fact is, we need your help in finding our missing friend Fatty Messerschmitt.”  Thus began the strangest narrative I ever heard.

Saturday 7 December 2013

The Cosy Comfort of Old Clothes



I spent the morning introducing a Chinese lady to the mysteries of charity shopping, and ended up buying more than her.  The thing with charity shops is, you never know what you will find.  You may start the day with the determination to buy a sensible winter skirt, and end up with half a dozen T-shirts instead.  Or, like me today, I was looking for a decent cardigan for my friend and ended up buying several light weight spring style waistcoats, and a needle-cord Laura Ashley/Victorian type dress.  I had eyeballed one very similar on Evil-bay recently, but the price-tag of £95 repelled me – the one I bought today needs a bit of work (the hem needs re-sewing) but for £9 I am not complaining!

The great thing about charity shop bought clothes, aside from the obvious advantage of them being cheap, is that they are USED.  To be honest, brand new clothes are uncomfortable and, well, a bit too shiny and innocent for me.  They are rather like a haircut & blow-dry at the hairdressers – you look like a different person afterwards, and more often than not go straight home to wash your hair again and dry it in the slightly inept way which results in your personal inimitable borderline kooky style.

New clothes need to be broken in.  Until they have been washed a few times, and acquired a few imperfections, and a certain patina, they feel like they don’t quite belong to me.  New clothes show one up, like a perfectly decorated hotel room – being surrounded by perfection, one looks out of place, being imperfect oneself.  For the same reason I resist the occasional urge to wallpaper the rooms of my house; once the walls are perfect the imperfection of the floors will irritate me, and once the floor has been done the old furniture, with their nicks and scratches, will look shabby.

New clothes are also often stiff and scratchy.  It is not an accident that the favourite sweaters or cardigans or pair of trousers which we use as a sort of security blanket, the garments we wear when we feel lonely or sick or vulnerable, are invariably ancient.  The clothes we wear at home, when no one is looking, when the need to be comfortable is more important than the need to look good, are always tried and trusted friends – because, as we all know, the more we wash and wear a garment, the softer it will become!

The tragedy is that a lot of clothes become not just softer and more comfortable over time, but also seedier and more disreputable, and there lurks in everyone’s life a certain Other who takes a dim view of the beloved garment.  ‘Why don’t you just throw the ugly thing away?’ you hear them intone, or ‘Aren’t you ashamed to look like that?’  Sometimes they even take it upon themselves to resolve the issue by throwing the offending item into the trash, leaving you to frantically rummage through the communal garbage can to find your long-loved cardy before the bin-men arrive!  I cannot advise strongly enough against taking this course of action.  I have seen marriages dissolve and friendships broken by it, and quite rightly so – if you think it acceptable to invade someone’s emotional comfort zone by tossing out their favourite clothes you are not a fit friend or lover!

The only acceptable course of action is to gift an alternative garment to the disreputable dresser, one that ages gracefully and will look good even after forty years of doughty service – Scottish cashmere comes to mind again, obviously.  Then sit back and hope that your gift will be taken into the heart of the recipient and achieve Favourite Garment status, while the previous Most Loved Item will quietly disappear.

Shopping in charity shops goes a long way towards owning long lasting clothes that continue to look reputable, of course.  Previous owners will have worn and washed their clothes before they are given to a charity shop, so by the time they end up in your wardrobe they will be well worn and comfortable and perfect for use.  Also, while most of us are quite capable of wearing disreputably looking clothes that we ourselves have worn into such a state, we are unlikely to buy clothes that already look like that when we buy them.  Whatever we buy in a charity shop will be Worn & Good Looking which equals good quality, long lasting, clothes.

One hears a lot about young people complaining about their lot in life and the hardships they have to bear, which are reputedly much greater than those of previous generations.  But do they ever consider the debt of gratitude they owe to their forebears who broke-in all those second-hand clothes they now pick up for a pittance at the charity shops?  If it wasn’t for the wrinklies the young’uns would have to buy and wear brand new clothes, itchy and shiny and ridiculously expensive!  Be grateful, I say! 

PS  A friend of mine applied a similar logic when he finally decided to get married, following many years of hesitation.  After much searching he decided to romance a lady who had been divorced three times already, explaining to me that she would be perfect for him.  ‘Her previous three husbands will have smothered her spouse-altering predilections and taken off the rough edges of her character,’ he explained to me.  ‘She will know that she can’t change me, and that she must allow me to have my little foibles!’  Hm.  Yes.  Well.  They have been married these last twenty years, quite happily it seems.  Still.  I mean – is one supposed to be quite that practical? Hm.  Gotta think about that one….