It's over a year since I sent a load of short stories about my childhood to 'Best of British' magazine. They accepted five for publication straight away, but as I hadn't heard from them in such a long time, I thought the rest weren't suitable.
However, I have just heard that another, which is about our trips to the local theatre including a disastrous trip to see Jack and the Beanstalk, is in this months 'Best of British Magazine' and I shall receive the small but welcome payment in January. Patience is the name of the game I guess.

Well another Christmas is upon us.
This year as well as the other half's pet hate advert for Boots, I can include the Iceland ad. I don't mind the Boots one, but I have to agree with him on the other. Jason Donavan must be really hard up for money to appear in it.

I wonder if the advertising agencies realise just how many people press the mute button during the commercial breaks, but at least here in the UK we don't get as many ad breaks as they do in the States.

This year I'll be boycotting Quality St. Macintoshes who used to make them, were taken over and now if you're faced with a Christmas tin of Roses, Celebrations or Quality St, there's nothing to choose between the three, whereas Quality St, the more expensive and different, was heads and shoulders above the other two.

I hate that we're letting the multi-nationals suck us into a world of sameness, and although for the rest of the year, I'm lazy enough to let them get away with it, with my memories of Christmas past and the sheer pleasure of the taste of a Quality St. chocolate Praline, I refuse to lower my standards...I'd rather go without! The shame is our younger generation will never know what they're missing.

It's going to be hot today, so I thought I'd get the cooking out of the way first thing.
Mike, Bill, and two friends are going to an air show tomorrow, and I always cook and make a tasty picnic for them to take.
Because Mike doesn't eat gluten, and supermarket gluten free cakes are pretty nasty, I bake a sponge with gluten free flour and also coat the fried chicken with it.

My hard work today, means I shall have a day to myself tomorrow, but what to do with all those quiet hours will be an agonising decision. A couple of months ago, I resumed my family history research, but sitting at a computer for hours going through indexes isn't good for the circulation, or my eyes.

I should pick up my writing again, but can't seem to get my imagination working properly for short stories.
I've just re-edited a book I wrote last year. It began as a short story and at the last count was around 19,000 words. Occasionally I think of a snippet to help round out the characters, whilst remembering 'show don't tell', which is the most important rule of all.
I've also written a children's book that I've never done anything about. I guess I'm too lazy for all the hassle that goes with trying to get a book published these days...The thought of seeking publicity makes me want to curl up and die.
Oh well, perhaps one day my g.g.granchildren might get a kick out of reading it.

So, England's finally dragged itself into the 21st century. Opticians are opening on Sundays now and in a few hours I shall be forking out an inflated price for another pair of glasses. No one will convince me opticians and while we're at it dentists, aren't rip off merchants.

I miss the weekend being distinctly separate, when you had to relax because you didn't have much choice. I remember the bliss of not having to get ready for school; the sound of a joint of lamb sizzling in the oven, the sweet yet sharp smell of Gran's home made mint sauce permeating the kitchen and once we'd eaten, sitting around the fire laughing at Tony Hancock and Frankie Howerd on the radio.

And if that little trip down memory lane doesn't date me nothing will!

Not in my Dotage - Yet.

It's rather awe inspiring how, when you hit retirement age and without a single admission of being a pensioner ever passing your lips, winter fuel allowance application forms arrive, the pensions people bombard you with all sorts of forms and information and a glossy magazine for retirees drops through the letterbox.
The only thing that’s been missing is a congratulations card from the Conservative party.

As it was free I had a quick look through the magazine, but there was little that I could relate to. Glamorous mid forties models extolling holidays abroad in luxurious locations, an informative, best value feature on hospitals and what they offer, and how Camilla has her face made up.
Thrilling reading for some you might say, but it’s a far cry from going to the chemist to get your prescription, shuddering at the price of hair dye, returning it quickly to the shelf and then coming home to do the washing up.

These days as always when you open any newspaper or magazine, a myriad of brightly coloured leaflets fell out, including a little home shopping catalogue for the elderly.
Looking a bit more down to earth than the glossy magazine, it only has sixteen pages and is printed on cheap paper. Cunning of them making the worm of temptation look more within reach of our shallow pockets, but after checking the items for sale, I'm glad to say hubby and I aren't in need of most of it.... Yet.
When we do sink into our final dotage, it's comforting to know we can purchase an Easy Ear Cleaner, but if wax isn't the problem a Super Mini Ear will restore our hearing as good as new. There is also a Ceramic Posture Support with Magnets; Clip on Magnifiers; a Re-usable Incontinence Shield and a Knee Strap. A 'must have' Portable Urinal for him, a Portable Bidet for her, or how about a Magno Massager Seat? I should think the seat is worth its weight in gold after you've developed cramp trying to use the urinal or the bidet, without anyone seeing what you’re doing.

It was heartening to see a few beauty items including toenail softening cream, but the best buy of all and subtly illustrated with a pair of bright red, pouting lips, is a cream called Maxi Lips that will improve the texture and outline of lips and fill them out.
Two pages further on they are selling a blood pressure monitor. In my opinion they should have put the monitor right next to the lip cream because they are leaving themselves wide open to being sued, but there you go.

And then, finally, if you think it can’t get any worse, while you are waiting for your old man’s blood pressure to go down after he's clocked your new sexy Maxi Lips, you can amuse yourself de-lousing the cats with an electric flea comb.
It's all go when you're a pensioner.