A little light relief.

Coming out of (hopefully, fingers crossed, etc.,) the doldrums of a sore shoulder, the sun shone today!
Well, of course it shines every day here but well, when you're concentrating on an ache it could have snowed an avalanche outside for all I looked at the weather.

To add to that ray of sunshine I tuned in to the BBC, radio 4, Afternoon Play from yesterday and found a touch of whimsy in 'Hoffnung - Drawn to Music".

Matt Lucas, he of the shiny pate, played Gerard Hoffnung. Wished I had my Thesaurus with me, to describe how he played him but anyway, I thought he was spot on.

Not that I know Gerard Hoffnung. I just have some dim and distant memory of Mum and Dad listening/reading ? ! Gerard Hoffnung; a faint recollection of his musical cartoons.

The BBC describe him as a musical humorist.

Poor lad died in his eartly thirties but he sounded to have had a lovely gentle clever humour tied to music.

Cheered me up now end !

Hurry along ! Only 6 listening days left !

A confession.

So, I found another three English books in the library yesterday. They must have been hiding, unless one of the Filipino or Scandinavian guys has just returned them?!

I got Ángela's Ashes, by Frank McCourt; 'Love Janis', by Laura Joplin and 'Mother Without A Mask, A Westerner's Story Of Her Arab Family, by Patricia Holton.

The last one is obviously drawing me because of my current situation and the one I dived into straight away. Patricia Holton was host to two young boys being educated in London and when they returned to Abu Dhabi they sent for her to visit them and their family. Her trite, almost, Áh bless!', acceptance of the females being behind their masks, they wore the hard leather ones, is really irking me but it's informative.

I've heard of Janis Joplin, obviously being a child of the sixties, but know absolutely nothing about her. I've scanned the pictures already and my appetite is whetted!

I know I've read Ángela's Ashes, before. I do know that, but I have such a shocking memory that I can't remember a darned thing about it. So the plus side of having no memory is that I get to enjoy stuff twice !

I can't remember the last time I read so much ! A library book lasts me a good month! Two pages at night and I'm out like a light.

As a kid I had a friend, Linda Creghan. No, I'm not swanking now.
At the end of each day''s play I think I used to sidle up to her box of comics and wait for her to offer me the loan of a couple. I couldn't wait to get to bed and devour them! Thanks Linda !

Going orff piste, r Rose has alerted me to a game she will admit to playing. Spelling bees! www.timesspellingbee.co.uk One visit and I'm hooked! I think I'm like her in that I enjoyed spelling at primary school. I've always thought how lucky I am to be able to fix the word in my mind, it makes life so much easier.

Even orffter piste, have I told about my knitsib?!
Brenda Dayne hosts a podcast www.cast-on.com. I've been listening to it daily as I knit, it's been fantastic. Brenda has a very friendly voice and has lots of interesting titbits to listen to. Saturday the 19th September she sat atop the 4th plinth in Trafalgar Square and knit. www.One&other.com. should be the website for the plinth project. Go check it out!

Where did the day go?!

My habit.

My name is Hilary and I'm an internolic.

Breathe. . . .

Breathe. . . .

Things are spiralling out of control now I'm planning my life around my next 'net fix'.

At lunch time I agonize with one eye on the screen as Stephen strums each guitar chord. (He's trying to drive me mad with his repetitive sequence of chords - but that's another entry.) I crouch ready to leap onto the keyboard as soon as he's left to return to work; what's happened to Higgins? has the Eiffel Tower paint contractor emailed again? will my 'lover' reveal his true identity?
Do I want him to?

I feel powerless to this addiction that has drawn me down.
I'm in a mercyless cycle of a couple of hours sleep at night, then skulking back to the living room for a couple of hours trawling the internet followed by lying in bed, waiting for sleep again with the next blog entry racing through my mind like tickertape.

It all started so innocently.
I was a typist by trade. I could reach speeds of up to 80 words per minute!
The letters were all there . . . just not necessarily in the right order! (I thank you Mr. Morecambe.)

I believed the typewriter was the one true way to write any message or missive.
"I can't do that!." was my battle cry each time the family tried to envagle me into the intricacies of the computer.
So, to get the buggers off my back I began with emails, no more, no less.

Just a tap of the forefinger and I was posting those emails, reading others and before I knew it I was on the Internet !

Surfing, searching, checking, shopping with just the effort of one finger.

"Oh, you can't break the computer !" they said but I managed it, several times!

Each time they just got it repaired; a couple of days in the shop. They even found 'The Tech Guys', who will fix it as you sit at home in front of the darned thing ! There was no escape.

Now, Stephen and I have become one with the machine. Each Saturday morning, Thomas, poor lad, has a breakfast date with . . .

the grandparents in the laptop ! ! !

He's not yet two but already knows how to close the lid on us!
Snap ! and we're gone !

His father and aunties have been struggling with this maneouvre for years !

Exhausted, blinded, bankrupted, humiliated and vapourised, I need help.

I know I'm in for a long slow climb before I can be rehabilitated; returned as a fully functioning member to the bossom of my family, where I can sue the pants off the buggers who got me started in the first place !

FREE THE WHITE ROCK CITY ONE !

My perfect moments.

As I pick up my needles and reel out the yarn through my fingers to work the next row of stitches;
as I feel the music flow into my ears and head and down through my body, the peaceful rhythm of the intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana;

as I realise that my children and grandchildren are living their lives without me watching over them, I wasn't God after all;

as my music changes to the gentle ebb and flow of Massent's Meditation from Thais;

as I repeat the knit and purl of the pattern weaving the bright green yarn in front and behind the needle;

as my ipod runs on to Max Bygraves and I pick up the pace with I'm a pink toothbrush and I silently mouth the verses so I can spellbind Thomas with it on Saturday, I love his wide eyed rapt attention;

as I feel the yarn grow into the fabric off the needles and imagine the comfort and warmth it's going to give to Lucy . . .

I experience a little bit of heaven on earth.

Anyone want to step up to the plate with their perfect moments? !

Would You Employ This Granddad

Attractive, suave, debonair Englishman of a certain age is actively seeking emplyment suitable to his skills and attributes

Many, many years working in the petrochemical industry has brought him to the level of Field Technical Manager, soon to be Acting Site Manager

His Technical skills are second to none with a nice line in precision drawing which is bordering on the pernickeity

He is willing to relocate but not too keen on daily schlepping

Gregarious personality who will talk to anyone who will listen

Piping Design and Engineering

From One End To Another

For the knitting/dancing sceptics out there.

Could I embarass my family anymore?

I'm working on it.

Heads up guys!

Surf on over to penngj's blog for a treat for the eyes, a symphony in pictures!

I keep trying but I haven't a clue how to work this thing but if you click on her name on one of her comments it will take you there.

Fyi: Penny is Thomas's Mum!

It's in the blood !

Call me spoiled . . .

This week I've had four guys dash round to fix the washing machine and one lad to turned up to show me how to work the food processor!
This may be Tumble Weed Town but it has it's advantages!

Typecast

Having finished the book I brought with me I browsed through the small library in the clubhouse yesterday. Remember the clubhouse is being renovated and the restaurant is now in the lounge (laaynge as Linda Snell would say) (hold the lips open like a horse whinnying)?
I love the idea of you all trying that one out as you read! Laugh out loud, as they say!

I digress. So the library is housed in bedroom number two. Snug! Three walls of books and a computer. One neck crick later, (that is the only thing I don't like about libraries) I emerged triumphant with the three English text books hidden amongst the Swedish titles.

I love a picture book, so I gave a yelp of joy as I found, Decorating With Tiles.
The dedication? To all those who have ever been awed by the possibilities contained in a lump of clay.
Not really me, but it was the only picture book.

Beginning to doubt now that I would find something to read, in English, my hands feverishly tore this title off the shelf when I saw the English text twinkling like a diamond amongst the coal lumps, Make More Friends. The Key To Success.
Page 63, half way down, 'Death is a natural course of events. It is the breaking of a habit - the habit of living. Habits - unfortunately - die hard.
This is going to be a hoot!

Leslie Crowther & Jean Crowther. The Bonus of Laughter. An Autobiography. I'm now reliving the days of Crackerjack ! ! ! ! I loved that show with the cabbages and funny little Peter Glaze. As Leslie was lying unconscious in the neuro-surgery unit at Frenchay Hospital, Bristol his daughter Liz suggested to her Mother that they speak in French to him so that he would be bilingual when he eventually woke up!
You didn't know he'd been in the hospital? Well, you'll just have to get the book to find out why!

So I'm now wondering, if these are the only English text books in this compounds library, what do they say about the British?

We love d.i.y. It's said that we now worship at the church of B&Q on Sundays!

There's a bit of a problem in the friendship department?!
St.Helens is now probably classed as a 'hospitality town'. I bet we have more pubs, clubs and bars than shops! Thursday through to Sunday will see these places teeming with people out with their 'friends' . Do they need alcohol to find friendship?
On Facebook you can boast of having hundreds of 'friends'.

Leslie Crowther? Not sure about this one. Is he a symbol of the need to look back at the rosy coloured past?

I'm now going to put the kettle on, staring at the white kitchen wall tiles, deciding how I would have decorated this compound. (The colours of the Swedish flag, white and pale blue are everywhere here.) Try to figure how I'm going to work that 'habit' quote in to the lunch time conversation with Eoin, the Irish guy and devour a bit more of the rosy hued past with another chapter with Leslie.

Re-think

I've tried my best to keep this light.
Nothing heavy; nothing controversial; nothing to get me or anyone else in trouble.

Today was shopping day again.
For the first time I really was loathe to put my abaya on.
I've had it a number of years now and the few times I've had to wear it, it was just another piece of clothing. It just happened to be black and polyester and apt to restrict my stride. I was respecting the custom of the country. It was no biggy.

Keep with me here! It may seem as if I lose the thread (pun intended, to lighten the mood) but it should all gather together by the time I get to the end.

White Rock City is hardly cosmopolitan now. Yes we have a handful of men from different countries but nothing moving but the tumble weed.
Al Jawa the small town down the road where we shop is not cosmopolitan. More tumble weed.

As we drive along the highway towards Al Jawa I must draw the veil up onto my head. I'm respecting the custom of the country again.

Are they respecting me?

I'm respecting the custom of the country as I constantly pull my veil forward and try to tuck as much of my blonde hair as possible out of sight.

Out of sight.

This is obviously where women are supposed to be.

I'm aware that I've forgotten to put my black longer length leggings on. As I climb in and out of the car I try to do so without showing too much bare leg. I have to wear slip on sandals or my feet swell in the heat and become really uncomfortable. I conciously try to take smaller strides to keep my bare feet under the abaya, out of sight.

As we enter the small supermarket I now keep my head down, my eyes not catching anyone elses. I try to keep up with Stephen as he pushes the trolley around the aisles. I don't want to embarrasse anyone by entering an aisle unaccompanied probably forcing them to skidaddle fast.

At the checkout I stand to one side of Stephen in the queue aware from the corner of my eyes of the men shoppers holding back. The usual push and shove on the roads seems to prevail in supermarket queues with the trolleys.

A man packs the shopping, in way too many plastic bags and pushes the trolley to the car for a tip.

I'm respecting the custom of the country in becoming a non-person. Mrs. Invisible.

Over the past 6 weeks I've been reading a book that researched into women in Muslim countries over the centuries. I'm a slow reader! I've trawled the internet devouring any blogs written by women of any nationality but based here in Saudi Arabia.

There are plenty of women, it seems, who are happy to keep the custom of the abaya and more! I drew the line, as soon as I got here, over the face veil, the niqab.

What I want to say is, each to his own.

Yes, I can remember as a child being expected to cover my head in church with a hat, mantilla or scarf as a sign of respect. This was a head covering not a means of blotting me out. Our society has moved on with the times and women no longer have to remember their hat, mantilla or scarf before entering church to pray.

Yes, I can hear at least one of you saying but what about that time in Rome when, Pol's I think, bare arms were giving offence. Old habits die hard with some old folk.

I'm looking forward to being respected as another human being, by the majority of people, as I walk down the street and push my trolley into Morrisons.

Idon't feel quite so sad having vented for a bit. I'm still looking to experience the culture and customs of Saudi Arabia while I have the opportunity.

Sofa surfing

I've just indulged in a cartoon.

Well, I'm not sure if that's the correct title for this type of film. It was animated drawings, I guess, with actors voices but it was made in 2007 so it was far away from the Tom and Jerry type of cartoon.

Of course, I've just got it! It was digitally, computerised cartoon imagery, if there is such a term.

Anyway, I caught it a third of the way in, so no title. It was set on a polynesian island and the main characters were penguins.

The story line was about the run up to the BIG surfing competition and it was being filmed by a documentary crew, who you never saw but the view was always from the camera man's . . . camera.

Cody Maverick, a young dude desperately trying to get the champeen of champeen's, The Big Z (pronounced zee) to help him to win the competition.

The Big Z had dropped off the face of the surf when he was about to lose many years ago. Cody discovered him through his friendship with Big Z's niece, Lanie or Lawnie or some other cutie name.

The Big Zee's interest is sparked by this little guy who's desperately trying to rush out and win the trophy without any preparation but lots of enthusiasm for the blessed sport. The veteran teaches him how to prepare his board, count the waves and the vibe of riding through the big one!

Chicken Joe, an actual chicken is Cody's friend who races through the film looking for his bud, getting captured by tribal penguins and prepared for the pot for their celebration meal! There are pretty girl penguins hula-huing as carrots, onions etc., are chucked into the pot with him.

'Dinner and a show!' Does that sound classic Marx brothers?!

All through this I was thinking how Tom Hanks was the perfect voice for the old pro, The Big Z. His rich deep tones were, The Big Z! He was this old dude who's seen it all, has nothing to prove
who just might stretch himself to bring on the little feller. As I watched the closing credits I was amazed to see The Big Z was played by Jeff Bridges!

I guess I just have a thing for Tom Hanks and will watch or listen to him in anything.

The music played throughout the film was laid back, sun, sea and surf mood. Perfect!
The images were a delight and had me in the tunnel of the big one!

Pity I didn't catch the title but if you ever come across a film about penguins and a surfing competition, don't miss it!

Sleepy town.

It's Thursday which is equal to our Saturday, if you know what I mean.

Most of the guys have worked this morning and the rest of the weekend is theirs.

So it's a rush into the restaurant for yellow pea soup, followed by 'lasange' as it's written down with french fries and pancakes topped with cream and jam.

This is a standard Thursday lunchtime fare. It might even be standard on all the AVB sites here. It's a Swedish tradition. I must look up the reason for it.

Then the guys actually say 'gutten nacht' to each other as they leave the restaurant and head for their respective settees !

Can you hear the snoring?!

There goes the tumble weed.

See !

I told you how important dates are !

I've just read a small article in the paper which shows how popular they are here in the month of Ramadan.

In Madinah a 'trickster' thought it a 'fun' idea to climb onto a building with a megaphone and begin the call for the Maghreb prayer five minutes before the actual time of sunset! I'm afraid I can see the Monty Python-esque alure of this idea. However . . . in Saudi Arabia ? !

Although many people were astute enough to realize it was a tad early to break their fast, timing must be extremely important it seems about this, there were others who 'jumped immediately on the dates as they heard the call.'

The reporter suggests these pilgrims were 'perhaps delusional from a day of no food, drink or tobacco.' Maybe the heat played a part as well.

The 'trickster's' motive is unclear and the poor guy has been described as 'mentally deranged.'

The mental picture of the rugby scrum over the dishes of dates is appealing.

Go grab your dates !

Some knitting nonsense.

I'd always thought I'd love to have a fee paying job knitting from nine to five.
Imagine getting paid for doing something you love and not having to find holes in your day to have a quick burst at it?!
Until recently I'd never thought of the design side of it and was just happy knitting other people's designs for me or more usually, anybody else I thought 'needed' some handhewn love.
This year Polly, daughter no.3, graduated in, knitwear design and I have had a wonderful time working with her and learning from her.
I'm hoping to get on the payroll! Eh, Poll?!
However . . . . . . since arriving here I've sat and I've knitted morning, noon and yes, night, every day.
I can see light at the end of the afghan tunnel but at what cost?!

My left arm had a slight twinge in it when I arrived. My left shoulder has a permanent ache in it now.
Complete inactivity, apart from the wrist action has left me stiff all over and moving around like a . . . . . . well let's just say my 80 year old Mother in law will leave me in the starting blocks.

On the plus side, because of this I've discovered I can knit walking around and even dancing, well bopping to Russell Davis on radio 2 !
I'm especially thrilled with this latest talent as I came across a picture in a knitting book some years ago. It was a photo from the late 1800's taken somewhere like Cornwall, showing four girls/women in their long skirts and working pinnies, knitting as they stand outside a cottage. I've wanted to be able to do that ever since.

I remember a visit to my sister Rose's back in the 70.s. We had tucked our kiddies up and were lingering as usual over the dinner table, dinner long since finished but where else do you get good crack? I know that isn't the correct spelling, but you know what I mean.
I've never been a night bird and so my eyelids were up and down like yo-yo's. Nothing unusual there, except I had my knitting in my hands. Rose, Hubes and Stephen's laughter woke me up.

Is this, suffering for one's art?