My Diary 22nd September by Valerie Kalves

7.30 a.m. Awakened by mobile phone alarm as usual (otherwise I’d sleep much longer) and put on the kettle for our morning pot of tea with the precious York tea brought back from UK. We both take our mugs of tea (with later refills) to our laptops and spend an hour or so catching up, at least trying to! A very rainy, grey morning. 

8.30ish. Time to prepare our regular breakfast; banana, apple, Brazil nut and blueberry salad with yoghurt and Accai powder sprinkled over it. First coffee of the day. A few Scrabble moves on the computer before getting ready to go into Tampere, 30 kilometres away.

10.00 a.m. Leave for town taking lunch (homemade Finnish cabbage and mincemeat casserole) with us. We haven’t actually ‘lived’ in the house in town since April so the fridge is rather bare. Many Finns migrate to the countryside whenever weather/work permits in the spring and often move back for when schools start. But hooray! we’re RETIRED teachers so can please ourselves when we return to ‘civilisation’.

Arriving in Tampere, Yrjö does some important shopping while I water all the house-plants, collect the post that has accumulated over 4 days and lay out our dark clothes ready for the funeral of a friend of ours.

Once again, I’ve been sent a packet containing cod-liver oil capsules despite having phoned and cancelled my membership. These sellers are like leeches! Re-addressed package to be returned.

Midday and the sun starts shining. Lunch, change and leave for the church. On the way, we realize that we’re a little too early and while away the time watching a dog show taking place in a car-park by the ice-stadium.

Our friend was brought up bi-lingually, so the funeral service was in Finnish and Swedish. The hymns were sung in Finnish. One of Markus’s daughters is married to an Englishman and lives in Essex and had come over for the few days. It was nice to meet her family and speak to the children in English at the reception, which was a very unusual one compared to normal Finnish funerals where there is often a very formal atmosphere. This was a very Markus-like reception for an unusual man; an artist, composer, musician, actor, chemist and friend to all. He was also the chairman of the art society. 3 different groups of musicians performed while we were having a buffet meal. The first soloist accompanied himself on the piano singing jazzed up songs. The first group (piano, guitar, bass and violin) in which Markus had normally been on the piano, played some of his compositions. The first piece was so moving. Markus had once mentioned to his friends that this was one that they could play at his funeral, not realizing it would be so soon. It was so beautiful and poignant.

Other groups played Markus’s favorite music and then one blind lady stood up and told us how she’d met Markus; in the café of the indoor food market. He’d befriended her and they’d often have a coffee together when he tapped her shoulder and said hello. She made us laugh describing Markus’s spontaneous personality – one day he’d asked her to accompany him as he was off to buy a second-hand piano. She agreed and had fun. When she started to play her guitar and beautifully sing, a tribute to her late friend, we realized just how talented she was.

Many folks stood and spoke warmly of Markus. One person read out a long poem of Markus’s life that she’d written specially.

We drove back to the country via our townhouse feeling happy that Markus had had such a good send-off. He would have loved the music and seeing his friends enjoying it.

Back home and feeling invigorated, I did a load of washing and hung it out in the evening sun. So seldom the sun shines nowadays so had to make the most of it.

After a few hours of reading the newspaper we’d collected from the postbox that morning and enjoying a drink or two, I wrapped up a birthday present for grandson, Konsta. We were going to his eighth-birthday party the following day. Life goes on.

TV news and then bed

A different sort of Saturday!                                                                                                                                                                             

My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Kate Wills. Of cats, stars, and slugs...

Looked to the skies on my way to and from feeding the cats near the homeless shelter, which I often do on these excursions, as news reports mention people across the nation having spotted a meteor shower. The skies are crystal clear with an unusually generous sprinkling of stars. Some I recognise, such as Orion and his belt. Returned and doled out another helping for our own Desmond and Jeremy and went to bed, where night-time reading is Bill Bryson's Notes from a Big Country, to the accompaniment of a variety of respiratory noises from Martin.

Saturday resumes at about 9:30 for me, with Martin getting ready to pay a social call on a friend who is not well. He asks me to do something while he is out. "Have you got that?"

"Yeeess" I mumble in a semi-vegetative state, and drift off again to Brahms German Requiem on Building a Library on Radio 3. I haven't slept well again this week, so happy to be snoozing. Emerge into consciousness to discussion of Debussy's wonderful Preludes. Don green trousers, and red and white striped T-shirt. Good late summer weather shines through the windows.

Breakfast is a mug of coffee, slice of wholemeal bread and dark marmalade and two ageing bananas, consumed to Debussy and Beethoven on Radio 3. Tiddle around doing a few oddments, then do something similar upstairs in the bathroom. While seated, recall Martin asked me to do something while he's out. What the hell was it? Come to think of it there's a card by the front door...A sudden burst of inspiration!! Funny, this often accompanies a trip to the loo.

What's the time? 12:19 Ah, thank goodness. Finish what you're doing Kate, and hotfoot to the Post Office.

Slippers off, trainers on and a few minutes later I return home with a bubble-wrap envelope whose lumpiness indicates another element for the Northampton tram model that Martin is building.

Satisfied to have escaped a lecture from my nearest and dearest, I put the kettle on when he arrives home half an hour later.

"Thanks for getting the post. Who won Brahms German Requiem this morning?" I say I was too tired to notice. I make tea in a glass pot with loose leaf Assam, and consume it while engaging with the wider world via pc, and listening to Radio 4 news, Any Questions and Any Answers, which elicits much huffing over the airwaves on the pros and cons of capital punishment. One caller makes the not unreasonable point that it is hypocritical of successive governments to quash calls for a national debate on the reintroduction of capital punishment when they are quite happy to send our soldiers off to war knowing that many innocent lives will be lost in the resulting mayhem.

Biscuits going down at an alarming rate. The Malted Milk bought yesterday are two thirds gone.

Not much amongst the e-mails (despite there being around 18 new arrivals). Log on to the Great War Forum, clear the new registrations validation queue and post this in the social section called ‘Skindles’:

Reading Bill Bryson's Notes from a Big Country (published in the USA as I'm a Stranger Here Myself) he recounts how he insisted on buying a house with a screened porch, where he whiled away the summer evenings. However, he failed to notice a gap in the mesh until the cat joined him on the porch one night - then he noticed a skunk had joined them too. He related how neighbours (neighbors) were obliged to burn all the soft furnishings in their house in an attempt to eradicate the smell when their visiting skunk took fright.

When I visited New England many moons ago I expressed a wish to see native animals such as beavers, raccoons and the like, and one night my hostess took me off on a walk in search of skunks, which she said was quite a perverse thing to do really. We didn't encounter one (or beavers, raccoons, moose etc during my stay), but Bryson's tale made me Google skunks, which led (to my surprise) to this

http://www.petskunks.co.uk/Home.html

Where I learn:

"Domesticated skunks can legally be kept as pets in the UK. However, the Animal Welfare Act 2006[13] has made it illegal to remove their scent glands (it is considered to be a cosmetic operation), thus making them impractical as pets. Many owners abandon skunks in the wild when they discover that vets will no longer perform the operation to remove their scent glands. Without its scent glands, a skunk will have difficulty defending itself from predators"

Now, I have to say I have no intention of joining the ranks of pet skunk keepers (the reaction of my cats and husband (note order) being prime considerations); however, I do envisage some benefits of becoming a social outcast in my own home, imaging no more bills as the postman won't come near; no more representatives of wandering religious groups, guaranteed seats on buses and trains etc etc

Your thoughts and experiences please.

::::::::::::::::::::

Also log on to Northampton Past, my only reason for frequent visits to Facebook, where my recent post has attracted nine 'likes' from kindred spirits:

“It took a lot of cajoling from different people to get me on Facebook. Initially it was disappointing. Do I really need to know that Jim has just opened a bottle of ketchup, or that Jane has just emerged from Primark with a pair of tights? Yes there are good things about Facebook, like keeping in touch; best of all is Northampton Past - a shining beacon on a lapping sea.”

Martin departs again to watch Saints v Worcester. I decide this is too good a day to waste indoors, so at 3pm depart for a stroll across The Racecourse to have a rummage in the Kettering Road charity shops. It is my theory that at any one time, one particular title will be found on the bookshelves of every charity shop in town. It used to be Hilary Mantel's Fludd (which I have never read). Now it seems to be Lynn Truss's Eats, Shoots and Leaves, which catches my eye in the Shelter shop. This should mean that lots of people are reading it to the betterment of written English. Actually the proliferation of copies and continuing abysmal standards of written and spoken English seems to indicate that it was either bought by people who cherish our language and agree; or by people who haven't a clue what the fuss is about. Also on the shelves is another once in vogue bestseller Captain Corelli's Mandolin.

There's a nice pair of new shoes my size on the footwear shelf, but not nice enough, and my finances emerged unscathed, which is often the way in the Shelter shop. I seldom find anything in there, and sustained research shows that some shops seldom yield finds, whereas others nearly always house something that says 'c'mon, buy me - it's for charity' and out comes my purse.

Next stop, the yellow-fronted charity shop just below the Music School on the corner of Clare Street. There, on the 50 pence rail, I find a new pair of Next trousers, a shirt in shepherd's delight dusky rose, a pair of navy shorts and a purse. I ask to try these on (except the purse) and go to their combined loo and changing room. Great! A Cinderella moment. Everything fits; but due to the main purpose of the room have a Pavlov's Dogs moment too. The sight of a loo triggers a need to use one. Something to do with my age, or bladder.  Probably both.

£2 splurge complete, I cross the road to the Samaritans shop, where a customer in the changing room needs a tie for a school-themed party. I help the assistant by finding two items on the tie-rack that fit the bill, one of which, a short maroon with gold stripes affair, could well be a school tie anyway.

Look at the CDs, nothing doing; and the books. Decide against spending 50p on a little-used copy of how to get your head around MS Vista. The original owner seems to have parted with £18, and here it languishes for 50p. Time and computer programs move on. Do however find another purse, and a more serviceable one that purchased 10 minutes ago, for 75p. Also deplete their stocks of photograph albums for my postcard collection. Total bill £2.80.

Return home well laden, noting skip at the corner of Hood Street containing a carton which seems to indicate installation of a new toilet. Honestly, what is wrong with people nowadays! Throwing rubbish into skips!

The Racecourse was busy, with plenty of kids in the playground, on the swings and playing basketball. A family seems absorbed looking at something on the path. It turns out to be a baby hedgehog, and they tell me there is another one nearby.

"Well, if they are out during the day at any age something is very wrong", I say, and we agreed they may come from a disturbed nest. The father nips off and returns with the other hoglet. Looking at the comings and goings along the prom, and the kids nearby, I decide to take them home, and place them inside my bag with another cotton bag on top. A Bush-make TV stands in next door's front garden, with a note that it is free to take away. Better to say it's £10, I thought. It would disappear quickly then.

Arriving home, head straight for the garden and dole out some well-mashed meat catfood, and place hoglets either side. They both lose little time tucking-in, then decide to inspect their new location. Desmond (our white cat) appears and shows much interest. The hoglets gain confidence by the minute and scuttle about with the speed and velocity of radio-controlled cars. Desmond is aghast, indeed affronted. Shouldn't two rodent-like creatures dart way in fear? And he jumps away from an oncoming hoglet. The robin shows close interest too.

Martin arrives, pleased with a Saints 37:31 win though disappointed it wasn't the demolition it promised to be. He's advised to tread carefully and we take some pictures. We leave hoglets out awhile to continue with the grub, and to arrange a box. We devour some pre-cooked sausages and slice of Bakewell tart, and a cup of coffee. I notice the bag of dates I bought yesterday is well down.

8.41 and it's high time I went out to see Josie and Sandy and the others again. Gather my cat-feeding bag and go. Also gone is the TV from next-door's garden.

Josie is awaiting my arrival, and wraps herself around my legs and the bag. I tell her that tomorrow's weather will not be as agreeable. I often talk to the cats of such things, of the passing seasons and life in general. If I had to be a stray or feral cat, then Josie's situation is about as good as it gets. Bid goodnight and head across the Racecourse.

I've always been against building on the Racecourse, but I can see how the Dragon Mounds might fire a child's imagination. Its silhouette stands humpy and monster-like in the darkness. Pop music resounds from the Bat & Wickets.  Two men, probably foreign, are smoking outside newsagents; meanwhile business seems slow at the takeaways opposite. Daresay it will be a different once the pubs close. Further on I witness a private jive by two youngsters through an uncurtained window at the corner Oakley Street, to some appalling rap-cum-reggae noise. Cannot abide rap. Glad I don't live nearby.

Tonight's sky is quite unlike the one that overhung my entry to the day. This is laden with cloud, the moon diffused as if seen through a bathroom window. Mrs Feisy the black cat emerges from her hedge and I give her a handful of biscuits to enjoy while I wash her dish. Mrs Feisy's cavortings are the chief reason for Maureen Cook's Save the Strays daily activities here. Her identical triplets appear, and three others too. Having washed Mrs Feisy's dish, espy a slug underneath and seek a stick to dislodge it. I'm always stamping on slugs and snails around here. Everybody tucks in, and I bid goodnight. Tell Mrs Feisty to expect rain tomorrow. She probably knows anyway, and enjoys supper from her clean dish.

Martin occupies the pc driving seat, delaying further work on this diary, while I watch TV news and listen to Poetry Please on Radio 4.

Midnight news (and other news bulletins throughout the day) carry report of last night's sky, and the unusual lights that prompted phone calls to the police and fire brigades across the nation. It seems there was no meteor shower, but a mundane pile of space-junk burning-up as it entered the atmosphere.

At 00:39 Mick Cox posts on Northampton Past, encouraging participation in the Diary project with the pithy message "Why not join in?"

If I'm typical, because they are still all busily tapping away. Log off, and so to bed, and Martin, and another session with Bill Bryson.

How did people like Virginia Woolf manage to churn out novels and literary criticism and write copious daily diary entries? Perhaps because she didn't feed strays, rescue hoglets, visit charity shops, Google facts, join online social networks, run errands, chomp dates, visit skips, impart weather reports to felines....

My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Fran Reeves

I woke up twice during the night the first time by my teenagers coming upstairs to bed and leaving the landing light on – I don’t know if that is just a parent thing or a condition inherited from my own parents creating a strong desire to waste not want not, or it may be because I don’t want the direct debit for the electricity to be increased this year. The second time was because I have a dreadful cold and I woke up coughing (sympathy please) I took a couple of Lemsip Max- the new ones that are really horrible to swallow with a sore throat and then snuggled back under the duvet. I remember when I was young Dad always swore by whisky and hot lemon for a cold, as we got older he would make it for us I hated it and to this day I still can’t abide the smell let alone the taste of whisky sorry Dad x. When I eventually surfaced from my bedroom the sun was shining and Jack dog was ready and waiting for his morning walk, today I made him wait a little longer and had Sugar puffs and a cup of tea before venturing out, he wasn’t very impressed with the change in routine but cheered up when we eventually headed up the road to the woods. I love our walk it can be so peaceful with just the birds singing and squirrels in the trees warning each other that we are about, Jack has a “thing” for squirrels but they always manage to evade him.

When we got home both the boys were downstairs and had made themselves omelettes and left a trail of devastation through the kitchen and a smell of burning oil pervaded the house, fortunately they had opened the windows. They both disappeared quickly when I voiced my opinion of the mess they had made.

I only ventured out once more and that was to Morrisons to get the weekly shop, it’s a 6 mile drive, there is one locally but it doesn’t have the same choices or a petrol station so it’s worth the drive, today the roads were clear and the sun was shining so it was a pleasant journey, although I don’t consider food shopping to be a pleasantry in any shape or form. It’s only September and they are already pushing Christmas. Mum used to shop in the local co-op on Newnham Road and we used to carry the shopping back in two large bags, they were heavy! She used to treat us all to a bar of chocolate every week, when she began her nursing training I was 13 and it became my job to do the shopping when she was working, the first week she wrote a list but after that I was left to my own devices. I admitted to her years later that I always brought an extra bar of chocolate for myself and her reply was that she knew – how did she know I never gave her the receipt, obviously a mum thing.

My eldest son was out when I got home and my youngest went off to spend the night with his dad, so after putting the shopping away I settled down to revise for an exam I have next month. I am studying for a degree with the Open University simply because I can, I should have done it when I was younger but school was boring and I couldn’t wait to leave, if I had done it in the 70’s I am sure I would have found it easier. The revising didn’t go well it conflicted with Grand Designs on catch up TV.

When the eldest son came home we settled down to watch Dr Who together. This was always a family moment in the 60’s and I used to sit on the floor next to my mum’s chair (we didn’t have a settee then just a chair each) so that I would be well placed to hold her leg if I got scared – which did happen on occasions!

The rest of the evening was spent doing very little other than watching TV and catching up with emails and Facebook and I went to bed early with the intention of revising – that didn’t happen either the Readers Digest monthly magazine was far more interesting.

My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Karyn Chilton

4.10.  Give up on trying to sleep. Might as well get the kettle on and start the day.

Two cups of coffee whilst scanning my emails and catching up with facebook the normal start to any day.

5.15. Washing machine loaded. Quick shower then on to the house work. Really must try and remember not to put the washer on before i shower, the cold water can be a shock to the system when your not expecting it.

5.45. mowtown album on cd player and i set about the ironing. Not my favorite job but with my steam generator iron its done in double quick time, helped along with good music. Considering i live on my own the amount of ironing is crazy. Mental note to myself...learn my sons to iron...Perhaps then my dinning room would not be like a chinese laundry.

6.30. Grabbing another coffee. Really must try to cut the caffine down.

7.00. House work starts in earnest. Thank heavens for my Dyson, makes light work of hoovering through the house.

9.00. Welly's on now for a stroll around Delapre Abbey with my dog Izzy. Really cold morning but a bit of speed walking soon sorts that out for me. Izzy now resembles a drowned rat, she's a small dog and the grass is soaking.

10.00. The dog has been dried and she scurries of to her bed. All-right for some, wish i could sleep at the drop of a hat.

1.00. Spoke to my mum to check she's okay. Mums 87 now and very frail, saturday's i dont visit as on sunday's i spend most of the day cleaning her place. My eldest son rang thats another hour gone. Really dont know what we find to talk about.

3.00. Managed to watch qualifiers for grand prix, i'd recorded it so i can watch it when i have time and can speed through the bits between.

4.00. Quick visit to Asda's, top up shop, its very busy but i use the self check-outs.

5.00. Youngest son arrive's followed by my brother-in-law. Three rounds of coffee's later and my sons gone.  More coffee and a good chat and my brother-in-law leave’s.

7.00. Tidied up again. Can’t be bothered to cook so make do with a sandwich and yet another coffee.

9.00. Put the washer on yet again and settle down to watch n.c.i. all recorded earlier. Computer on at the same time... love multi-tasking.

12.00.  Time for bed, wonder if I'll manage to sleep for long tonight, 

My Diary Saturday 22nd September 2012 by Christine Jones

I really must be mad! The insistent bleeping of the alarm clock woke me at 4.30am, I stretched out to turn it off and then remembered that I had moved it out of reach the night before to make absolutely sure that I woke up. I sat up and reached down to silence the alarm clock, my husband was still sleeping soundly so I gave him a prod and told him that it was 4.30am and if he wanted to catch his train he needed to get moving right now, then I dashed off to beat him to the bathroom. When I got back to the bedroom he plodded off to get ready while I sneaked back under the covers for ten minutes, after all 'normal people' would still be fast asleep. The next thing I knew it was almost 5am and he was back in the bedroom showered and almost ready to go. It is surprising how fast you can get ready when you really have to. 

When I got downstairs he was just packing his lunch into his rucksack, but by the time he got outside I had already started the car and we were all ready to go. The car knows the way to the railway station, we do that journey so often. On weekdays we are up at 5am so that he can catch his train to Birmingham just after 6am, so I look forward to a more leisurely start to the day on Saturdays and Sundays. Unfortunately the lure of the railway gets the better of him and he just can't keep away. Today he is going to the Deltic Gathering at the East Lancashire Railway, he is absolutely passionate about Deltics, especially his favourite Royal Scots Grey. I would have gone with him because I like Deltics too, but I have a terrible cough at the moment, it is exhausting and I haven't been sleeping very well, so I just don't have the stamina to cope with a long day on the railways at the moment.

He waved as he slammed the car door and walked towards the station. I felt a sense of relief, I had fulfilled my promise and got him there on time, now the rest of the day was my own and if I wanted to I could go back to bed. I clicked the radio on, Radio 4 is the soundtrack to my life, I always have the radio on at home or in the car. I only half listened to the discussion about TB in cattle and the pros and cons of culling badgers to limit the spread of bovine TB, as I drove along St Andrews Road and up Grafton Street towards the traffic lights. I was thinking that my ancestors were closely  linked with this part of the town. My great grandfather was orphaned when very young, he grew up in the work house, but when he was sent to be an apprentice to a cordwainer in Leicester Street, he found a trade and a family and he spent the rest of his life in Leicester Street. His daughter my great grandmother grew up in in Leicester Street, had her first home as a married woman in Nelson Street and brought her large family up in Monks Pond Street and then Campbell Street. The area as they knew it is now long gone, but there is still one landmark that they would recognise, the spire of Seps Church still points heavenward and the clock still measures the relentless march of time in hours and minutes. The church which for centuries has witnessed the joys and sorrows of the people, stands strong and defiant amid the 'here today gone tomorrow' buildings of our modern town, reminding us of lasting values that are too easily forgotten amid the demands of modern life.

When I got home I put the kettle on for a much needed cup of tea and while I waited for it to boil I sorted the laundry into piles and put on the first load of the day. I was too awake to go back to bed and sleep, but I felt bruised and exhausted from all the coughing so I took my cup of tea and my laptop up to bed. I may not sleep but at least I could sit quietly with the radio and my laptop to occupy me. I enjoyed a couple of hours catching up with email and facebook and I began to write my diary entry for today. I must have fallen asleep at some point because it was mid morning when I woke up. I enjoyed a long relaxing bath while listening to Radio 4, a shower is fine most of the time, but there is something special about a nice hot bath. 

It is unusual to be at home on my own, but today was very quiet, my son stayed at his friend's house last night, my older daughter had gone to Milton Keynes with her boyfriend  and my younger daughter was shut in her room writing up notes in preparation for her post graduate course at Leicester University which begins on Monday. I like my own company and I never struggle to fill my time. There was a whole list of jobs demanding my attention today, but I only did the laundry and the routine tasks, I decided that the peace and quiet was too precious to waste, the other jobs can wait until I feel better, this cough is so exhausting.

The only problem with doing nothing is that you have too much time to think and this was one of those days that provided a lot to think about. Nine years ago today I sat with my first husband in the Three Shires Hospital as the last hours of his life slipped away; then I went home and told my children that their dad was dead. Life goes on but those memories don't  fade, it is not something that you forget despite the passage of time, the details of that day are imprinted on my mind. I found myself wondering how he would feel about the way our lives have changed. I hope that I have done a good enough job as a parent, it hasn't always been easy. He didn't want me to be on my own if the worst should happen but it must be hard at times for my (second) husband, living with a ghost. Perhaps it helps that they are very different. 

My son came home and my daughter emerged from her room, she had finished her work and was ready to fulfil her promise to paint my nails with crackle nail varnish, silver base with black crackle on top. It looked very nice. I hardly ever wear nail varnish, but it is nice to spoil myself once in a while and it is lovely to share moments like this with my daughter.

Time went on, we ate early because my daughter was going out later. I left my son to feed the cats while drove to the station to pick my husband up and on the way back we popped into Morrisons for a printer cartridge and one or two essentials. I was glad to get home, but I had to go straight out again because my daughter wanted a lift into town. She looked amazing. We picked her friend up on the way and I dropped them both off at The Goose in St Giles Street. By the time I got home again my husband had a cup of tea waiting for me and I chatted to him about his day for a little while, he'd had a lovely time. 

Later on my husband wanted to watch a film, it wasn't really my sort of thing so I decided to head up to bed with my laptop to listen to Radio 4 Extra and catch up with my friends on facebook. The cough was impossible, I couldn't stop coughing and I couldn't get my breath, it was a very frightening feeling, I was exhausted but I knew that I had another sleepless night ahead of me. Thank goodness for the internet and friends who stay up late and are happy to chat at 2am. How different from my childhood when my mum considered it very bad manners to make a telephone call after 9pm. 

My Diary 22nd September 2012 By Frank Baverstock

Pretty much a run of the mill day for me and no surprise with having to get sleep in between working 12 hour shifts nearly stretching to 13 with travel. Oh well, such is life!

5.40am arrived home from my night shift and quickly caught up with the Sky news whilst having a drink. I know I will regret that, needing the loo will all most certainly break my sleep!

6.00am Jumped in to bed to Angie stirring but she quickly drifted in to a deep sleep. I lay there forever trying to sleep envying Angie and all the others who only have to close their eyes to do so.

6.50am still not going off yet so I decided to watch an episode of Ice Road truckers to see how Alex the very large, lovable God fearing trucker gets on with his big headed rival, “The Bear”

7.40am was possibly the time I managed to drift off. Phew!

11.50am something stirred me but I don’t know what! I thought to myself,”oh no, I hope I can sleep again”

When I was a child of 11 or 12 my parents would awake to find me fast asleep down stairs with all the housework done. I have had a lifelong problem with sleeping especially at night and so much so, at times it has caused me illness and stress.

I often imagine that people like myself are viewed in a way that because I work nights, I must be the type to not want to get up in the morning! Funny enough, when I don’t work I am an early riser because I love the morning, especially the dawn. I rise early even if I have had little sleep.

One thing for sure, whatever woke me up did not come from inside the house as Angie & Stacey are very considerate to my problem.

12.00pm was a little worried because of being wide awake at this point but fortunately managed to drop off again.

1.30pm Woke up again but this time for a good reason. As predicted, the drink did its worst! It’s time for the loo!! I was curious at the same time if I was alone in the house. Sure enough, I was so back to bed.

1.50pm I lay there for a while knowing full well I would not get any more sleep so decided to get up.

2.00pm Decided against a shave which is rare for me but hey ho, it’s weekend. Showered and dressed I went down stairs. I made a coffee and turned the TV on for the sky News Whooooopeee I have a result........... I forgot I had recorded the F1 Qualifying and I have lots of time to catch up on it. Well done Hamilton lol and roll on Sunday’s race.

2.45pm Angie came home from shopping and talked over the racing! Hey Ho bless her. Just a thought though, she would kill me when reading this when I admit to not having a clue what she said! Oh dear!

4.00pm had to pop to my neighbour’s house to give them a DVD with some special footage on it, a video scan of their tiny child inside her. Whoops! I was not the cameraman; I was just converting it to a new format so she could share it with her family lol.

4.15pm I was still sleepy and for the life of me I can’t remember what Angie was watching on the TV whilst holding my hand!

4.45 polished my shoes, put on my tie and said our good byes Time for work.

Oh well, I work a lot of hours and as you can see it is pretty mundane but I can smile about it now. I have Sunday night off lol.

My Diary for 22nd September 2012 by Ann Amos

As my first little blog, I wish I could say that I was doing something exciting but, sadly, that is not the case! Instead, I am waiting for the British Gas engineer to take a look at my boiler as it gave up the ghost yesterday afternoon. It was only serviced a month ago so the situation is a little tiresome, to say the least.

Being without heating makes me wonder how on earth we coped years ago as children when the only heating in the house was a coal fire in the front room and a Raeburn in the dining room. Goodness, so much rubbish was disposed of on the fires and my father even had his own set of brushes to sweep the chimney - a very messy laborious job with smuts of soot everywhere which annoyed my mother but it was good fun for me to stand in the garden waiting for the brush to appear from the top of the chimney and then shout to Dad that I could see it! Yipeeeee! There was no heating in the kitchen, bathroom or bedrooms and the only conclusion I can reach is the fact that we dressed for the cold! Picture the scene. First there was the vest, followed by the liberty bodice with rubber buttons that eventually perished, got sticky and then squashed when forced through the mangle! On top of the liberty bodice was the underskirt (full length) and then a dress and cardigan (or skirt and jumper). Long socks completed the outfit with elastic garters around the top which held them up (hopefully without cutting off the blood supply to the lower limbs). Off course, a good winter coat was essential for outdoors and my favourite footwear were sheepskin boots – dark brown with a zip up the front. Oh they were so lovely and warm in the winter!..... I also had mittens which were attached to each other on a long length of tape which ran up one sleeve, across the back, and down the other, simple but genius really – no fear of losing them. Needless to say, a hat was also essential, as was a scarf. So there we have it, a typical 1950s child dressed for winter.

Writing about all these layers of clothes has done nothing to make me feel any warmer so, hurry up Mr Boiler Engineer or I may have to resort to 1950s tactics. Anybody know where I can buy a liberty bodice with rubber buttons?.........