Lovely friend is 60. A group of us bunched together, as we have for each other over the last 30 years, to buy her a present. A bench. With a smart green cushion.
Two of us take responsibility for this, and are chuffed to bits that the bench is ordered, to be delivered on the day of the birthday. We've even ordered a plaque with all our names on it. Result!
I think we ought to knit her a blanket, says one friend.
No, no, I think.
With lots of squares of different colours, says the friend.
Oh, sweet Lord, I think.
We could all do about 4 each, says the friend.
Over my dead body, I think.
Great! say all the other friends.
Bollocks, I think.
Friend sends each of us a ball of wool, a pair of knitting needles, and some instructions of what to knit.
I read it.
Cast on 28 stitches.
Cast on? Isn't that what you do in sailing? (Perhaps I should mention here that I have not knitted since I was 11 years old, when in the Spring Term of each year we were required to knit bootees, cardigans or some other such article for Babies in Africa).
My offering each time was always grey and holey. The nuns (convent school) would sigh with exaggerated frustration at my poor efforts. And then finish it off for me. Every time!
But would someone finish off this offering? Would they heck.
And so I started. I found a YouTube video of someone casting on. I watched it avidly. I cast on one, two, three, four stitches.
I'm knitting! I bellowed, to whoever wanted to hear me in the house.
Daughter came and inspected.
Well done, Mum, she said kindly.
28 stitches. All cast on.
Now what!
I read the instruction. Knit four rows. 
How incredibly unhelpful, I thought. How do I 'knit 4 rows'? And so back I went to YouTube and watched a kind lady knitting.
Bingo!
I knitted 4 rows.
Only to find I hadn't read the full instructions. Knit 4 rows making sure you purl 4 at the beginning and end of each line. 
I looked at the 4 rows I had done. Could I get away with it?
With a sigh, I pulled the 4 rows off the knitting needle and started again.
Cast on 28 stitches. 
28 stitches cast on! I'm getting so good at knitting!
Knit 4 rows making sure you purl 4 at the beginning and end of each line. 
Right, I thought. This will be a doddle.
Only it wasn't. Because every time I got to the end of a row, my knitting seemed to get longer and longer. I counted the stitches. 32! What the heck?!
I rang the friend.
Explained the problem.
Don't worry! she said. And after all, it's the fact that you're TRYING. That is more important than what it looks like.
I very much doubted that. My 4 rows looked like a triangle.
Righto! I said. I'll get going with the next bit then!
And so I did.
The triangle bit did not improve, and what was even worse, holes started appearing either side of the knitting.
I pulled it all out and started again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
9 times I started again. 9 times it went triangular and got holes.
Bollocky BOLLOCKS, I said, rather a lot. And maybe some worse things than that.
My children found it very amusing.
So did my Husband.
Har har har har har, he said. Needless to say, I didn't find it in the least amusing.
Until I worked out the holes situation.
I wasn't putting the wool forwards (or backwards) after changing from knit to purl.
Ta da!
Oh, the joy.
Oh, the satisfaction of knitting 4 rows and it looking just like a square!
Oh, the joy of not having any holes!
I love knitting!
And so I continued on, completing 2 whole squares, even managing the casting off with the aid of yet another YouTube lady coming to the rescue.
I took my squares proudly up to London where we had a 'gathering to sew all the squares together' evening.
I think I'd rather sew my fingers together.
Friend looks at my squares. I look at hers. They are literally twice as big as mine. Mine are small and tight. Hers are big and generous.
LOVELY, she says. Look, it's NO PROBLEM. I'll just knit some more around the edge. LOVELY.
Another friend, usually very chatty and smiley, is sitting in a chair in the corner of the room muttering to herself as she knits a square. Bollocks. Bloody, bloody hell. Sort of thing. Apparently she hadn't 'had time' to do one before. Aha, I thought. Another rebel against this knitting lark.
Around the room a selection of friends are knitting. All with enormous glasses of Prosecco. That's more like it, I think.
I sit in a chair. And knit furiously. The glass of Prosecco makes it much more pleasant and in no time at all I show my finished square to all and sundry.
Brilliant! they say.
And it is. It's the right size, shape and colour. No holes.
What AM I? Knitting queen?
And I proudly chuck my square to join the other squares waiting to be sewn together. And grab another glass of Prosecco before offering to sew some squares together.
Flipping heck. I've become a domestic goddess.
That will wipe the smile off Husband's face.

Clearing out the cobwebs

Wow. I'm peering into this old blog and can see a few cobwebs and spiders lurking. Time to blow them off, shoo them out and get writing again.
To my delight, following on from my last piece of drivel posted a few weeks ago, I see a few old blogger friends are still here. How lovely is that! I shall go and visit after posting this.
Blogging is a funny old business, but so much more rewarding than the instant Facebook, which  becomes duller the more scrolling down you do. How much of LOOK AT ME NOW can I cope with?!
So. Here are a few details of the latest.
I've had a spot of breast cancer. Lumpectomy. Lymph node removal. All clear. Radiotherapy to follow. This is a new 'club' I am now a member of. One I didn't ever want to join, but oh, my goodness, the people in this club are so amazingly nice and kind and generous and brave. And I'm totally in awe of the NHS, who deal with truckloads of women like me per week, all pale and wan from worry. Each person is dealt with so kindly and wisely. Made me feel very grateful indeed. And the support! I had to ring the Breast Clinic to ask a couple of what I termed 'stupid questions'. The patience! (Can I walk the dog yet? Can I put ice cubes on my armpit as it feels all 'burny') All in all, top marks.
Children are all growing up. Well, obviously. That's what they do! From Eldest to Youngest, we still have overwhelming bouts of laughter. Wish I'd written more of them down, but I still get such a lot of joy (and so do they) when I read what I've already written in this blog. Memories that warm the heart! Even the really poo'ish ones.
I've written a book! And got an award! And I still do far too many exclamation marks!
Very happy about book. I'm trying to keep this blog anonymous, so that I don't have to edit what I say, hence not saying what the book is about. Or what it's called. But it's been a lifelong ambition to write one, and now I have.
And am now on to my next book. How fabulous is that!
Right. Off visiting some of you folks now. I'll leave a calling card as I go. (Hoping that isn't rhyming slang or a weird idiom for something unsavoury).
Have a beautiful day, one and all.
xx

PE kit retrieval

Youngest is now 14.
This morning we hugged fondly as he made his way to the school bus.
'See you later, Mum. Love you,' he says, as he leaves the house. I wave and wave as he trudges up the drive and round the corner. I can still hear his crunching feet on the gravel.
The phone rings a few minutes later. It's Youngest.
"Oops. Have you missed the bus?" I say.
"No. But I thought it was Monday."
I think for a bit. It's Tuesday.
Youngest continues. "And on Tuesday it's PE."
Oh, dear, I think.
"What shall you do?" I ask. Our parental mantra is not to dash about and save the situation.
"Can you bring it down to school?" asks Youngest.
So I dash about and save the situation.
"Where's your kit?"
"Go into my room, " says Youngest. Which I do.
It's chaos. Clothes are scattered everywhere. Piles of them. I sigh deeply.
"My PE shirt is on the floor. Under a grey sweatshirt. By the chair. At the end of the bed."
I look on the floor. By the chair. At the end of the bed. I pick up a grey sweatshirt.
There's the PE shirt!
"Found it!' I say. "Where's the shorts?"
Youngest's deep voice (did I tell you his voice broke? He sounds like my dad now) tells me to go to the pile over by the window and look under the blanket next to the chest.
I go to the pile by the window, and look under the blanket next to the chest.
There are the shorts!
"Got 'em! Shoes?" I ask, deeply impressed by his chaotic order.
"Downstairs by the front door," replies my boy. "Next to the mat."
I thump down, two stairs at a time. There they are!
And cram the whole lot into a bag, and drive the 3.8 miles to school.
"Thanks, Mum," says Youngest, lifting the bag out of the passenger seat. "Love you."
"Love you too," I say.
And off I go home. PE kit delivered. Situation saved.
And a new sense of awe that despite the live ecosystem that is his room, Youngest can remotely direct his mother to locate and assemble a forgotten PE kit.
Impressive.

Wasp Mystery Solved at Last

It appears that we have some wasps in our kitchen. 15 or 20 seem to be having a right old time climbing up the window, sliding down and then climbing up the window again. I am having a right old time catching 15 to 20 of them as they climb up the window, and hurling them out into the garden, only to find 15 to 20 of them climbing up the window again.

WHERE DO THEY GET IN? 

Sat for several minutes staring at window yesterday, attempting to use peripheral vision to work out their entry point, as it were. Must have looked a little bit Special, sitting there staring so hard at nothing, one eye slightly out of focus and looking decidedly to the right. 

Heard buzzing! 

Jumped up and threw self towards area of sound. There was a wasp! Looked up, down, left, right.

WHERE DID IT GET IN?

Sat again. 

Stared at window again.

Buzzing AGAIN.

Leaped up again, and saw ANOTHER wasp, doing its thing on the window. 

Had brilliant idea that I could take video of window as I got on with something very useful.

Got iPad out. Spent some minutes setting it up. Put it on. Pressed little red button to start video. 

Brilliant, I thought. Saving lots of time! 

Went off and wasted lots of time, and then came back to watch video.

Watched blank window on video for 5 minutes. 

Right, I thought. Time for some action. 

Rang Pest Control at our local council offices. 

Kind lady explained that the wasps would all be dead by the end of November. 

Oh, I said. 

The Queen, she went on, had gone off to hibernate.

I hoped she wasn't talking about our dear Elizabeth.

All these other wasps would drop off slowly as it got colder. 

How much to get someone out? I asked.

£50, she said.  

And then I saw it. One dastardly wasp COMING OUT OF THE LIGHT FITTING! 

Aha! Gotcha!

Said brisk but fond farewell to kind lady from the council, grabbed chair under light fitting, and yelled to Middle Son to come and help. Made him stand on chair and remove light fitting.
Wasps.
Lots of them. Oozing out of light fitting and dozily careering off across the kitchen to climb up the window. More and more. Kitchen thick with buzzing.
Had most satisfactory time opening window and wafting them all out in the cold night air. The lazy ones who lay on the floor were swept up and thrown out too.
We are now officially a Wasp Free kitchen.
Now to deal with the rats in the chicken run.

NOTE: This was written a year ago last October. But I forgot to post it. And so I'm posting it now.