France Wales Match - An Amazing Rugby Experience

Once again, I exhort you to visit the BBC homepage and look at the highlights of this tremendous battle. It was so exciting I now have no nails left at all and drank a whole bottle of Cava! I mean, at half time the scores were 13 points each and the hearts and souls of both teams were heroic. As they nipped off to the dressing rooms, one French player stood dripping blood like a veritable gladiatorial fighter, just one example of the ferocity of the game.

The French took on the Welsh dragon and slayed it, despite some rather unfair referee judgements against the Gallic squad in the first half. They came out fighting in the second, and thanks to strength of resolve and big chaps, a few unforced blunders by the Welsh, they won. Though I would say I supported Wales, my admiration for the French made me glad they were victorious. Especially since there is a player, whose name escapes me, with the looks of the late, great JC, bless him. I must end now, as kick off for the next 6 Nations game starts at 3.00p.m. I had better stock up on chewable items, just in case this game is as good as the one I write about.

In a Rush

I came here to write a wee story of my adventures in the NHS today, but had to find out about putting a link in HTML. After several hours and three broken nails, plus a couple of bad words only, I have become rather shell shocked. I am going to do a proper job tomorrow, when all will be revealed. Besides, Wales is playing France tonight and they are about to kick off. I need to watch them, assisted by a glass of wine, so hasta la vista, babies.

Big Noises in A Tube

Today I had my third MRI scan, on my right hand in fact, but I still had to go in the big white sausage and be bombarded with all manner of interesting sounds. There I lay, on my front, arm extended and taped to a board so it would stay still. I imagined myself looking like John Travolta, you know the way he extends his arms in "Saturday Night Fever?" Great mover, John is but I, on the other hand was still as a rock. The pain was indescribable, from the shoulder to the finger tips, and as for the back and legs, well, I won't even go into that.

But it was in a good cause, as part of a research programme on the drug Arimadex, which will keep my breast cancer at bay, but make my bones fall to bits. You can't win 'em all. At least I am contributing to the field of medical science, as I pretend to be Mr. Travolta. Just to let you know that the lids are still on the tins of paint and may remain that way till I regain the power of my hands. Meanwhile, I'll just keep on taking the tablets.

Big Tins of Paint

Me and the cat are saying nothing, simply because, for once in our lives, we appear to have nothing, or at least, very little to say. I have purchased several big tins of paint and will be very busy over the next few days be-daubing myself with said material. There will be a lot of cleaning involved, which always makes me depressed, both before and after the brushes are wielded. I have an offer of help from my daughter, but may not take her up on it, in the interests of family harmony.

I like to slap paint around willy nilly and just achieve a "general" impression of decor, while she is artistic and meticulous. There could be trouble ahead. I have abandoned rugby while I work out colour schemes and find my paint trays. As you can see, I am becoming obsessed and I still haven't stained the doors.

On top of all this, my computer was down and I could not get onto the Internet or access my Inbox, the latter of which matters not a jot or tittle, there is rarely much of interest in it nowadays since the Viagra salespeople have left me to my own devices. Still, I am hopeful of some surprises some day soon. If you read this, thank you, if you feel a comment blossoming thank you. If you did not, I do not blame you one little bit, as there are so many more interesting people telling more life enhancing stories out there. Be good, be careful and have fun.

Warning - Blogging - Is It Dangerous?

This is a dire warning! Take heed, because since I opened this blog, I have received several emails, proporting to come from MY bank. After the first few, I recognized them as scams, simply because I have no account with the bank in question, Co-operative Bank, UK. Never having been plagued by threats to my pennies before, I rang the bank and was told to forward immediately with the address ihaveseenascam@co-operativebank.co.uk. So I did, wondering why me, why now?

More jollifications followed when another little billet doux popped up, this time trying for another bank, who advised to forward to suspiciousemails@alliance-leicester.co.uk which I did. The hook in both these buggers lies in the "fact" that somebody is trying to steal your money. OH, yeah and we all know the senders are those very somebodies.

I await further developments, and messages from many more banks in which I allegedly deposit money (I have none!) who will be telling me my non-existent account is under threat from thieves. As this has just begun since blogging, I am wondering whether I am paranoid or merely involved in coincidence. Whatever the reasons, I thought it best to warn anybody who gets such nasty little tricks in their In Box to ignore all pleas to click on links and to find out where to forward them to. Be careful out there, and let's do it to them before they do it to us. (Courtesy of Hill Street Blues)

Cursed by Friday 13th

Well, not really, more cursed by lack of inspiration, energy and motivation. This here blogging lark demands some cohesive and clear thinking, the ability for which has deserted me entirely. Yes, I watched the rugby, and yes I was rather sorry that England lost, as they played like heroes. But the Welsh defence was just too good. I missed a couple of matches through lack of planning and talking too much, always something that was going to happen. Meanwhile, I have to prepare for a visitor, still have not stained the new doors, and must take the nail scissors to my hair. That last little effort might well see me sitting up at midnight knitting a balaclava to hide the effects of my creative hairdressing.

Rugby Again!

This is a quickie, as I must sort out my door-staining activities, with which I won't bore you. But if anyone is interested in sharing my passion for the Six Nations, I have a link for you to the BBC homepage, where you can re-live last weekend and get yourself all excited about the forthcoming England/Wales match. There is a big blue button on the right of the page, last time I looked, it was just below two tigers in the snow - everybody say "Aah" You can find it at http://www.bbc.co.uk and will be able to enjoy the highlights. SMG wanted me to link to the anthems, but I don't know how, perhaps you will hear them if you go to BBC, if not try YouTube, and good luck to you all.

Incidentally, I have noticed more followers, thanks to you all and Eric Lester, bless his little cotton socks. How on earth I get to follow back, remains a mystery, but give me time. As I write, I have just remembered, I wanted to tell you about a great band we have here called Elbow. I must hie me to Amazon to order their album, before I forget. It is titled "Seldom Seen Kid" and I would urge you to have a listen.

Overstretched, But at least I'm Not a Scrum Half

It strikes me that I have overstretched myself by joining Triond - here I am at http://www.triond.com/users/annielundy then up and starting this here blog. Not to mention writing things like "How to Clean a Teapot" or "How to Clean a Cat's Ears" on Helium. Dolores Moore there, of course, at http://helium.com/users/46921. Then, I have been so fortunate to meet up with some good old friends from TIBU, and want to get around to writing to them all. So I am going to go to www.TIBU2.com and see what I can see.

The trouble is, I have to take a wee pill everyday and it is not a nice wee pill either. It affects the bones, muscles and joints, particularly the hands, and while it is a life saver, it means I will never play rugby for Ireland. Not that I could anyway, being as how I am over the rugby playing hill, the wrong sex and totally unfamiliar with the meaning of the offside rule (in that, I am not alone, dear reader). But typing and moving a mouse are becoming somewhat painful to say the least, yet I must soldier on. Aaah! Possibly I can get hold of some carrier pigeons and when I have written my pieces with my quill pen onto the best vellum, I can post that way. Meanwhile, I thank you for looking, commenting and apologise for the absence of inspiration, I think I had too much to eat at teatime. Or maybe it was defrosting the freezer as the snow fell on frozen ground.

Deep Shock! HOW much?

This edition is rather late, chiefly due to the shock I sustained at the dentist's today. I have a craggy tooth that she attempted to mend a few weeks ago and her dental plaster or whatever it's called fell off after three days and a packet of toasted almonds. So today, she was fixing it again, but suggested the only positive step would be a crown. When I asked her how much that would be, given this is our National Health Service dentist, she said £198.00, around $300 I reckon. I told her to stick a bit more plaster on and high-tailed it out of there. Since it has been broken for about 2 years and is giving no pain, I will put up with it a wee while longer, or until I win the lottery. What a cheek! For one tooth! I would expect a complete mouth refurbishment and a set of dentures for that kind of money. So instead of bleating on about it, and boring you all into a coma, I thought I might share this letter with you. It has proved very effective and was written by A Member of My Family, whose anonymity I must protect, for fear of reprisals. Apologies to Peugeot owners.

"Dear Peugeot Owner,

While we the residents of This Road appreciate the rustic French charm your vehicle lends to our humble little street, we feel that other streets are being sadly ignored (your own included) when you randomly abandon your little green eyesore for entire weekends. We therefore propose a rota system whereby neighbouring streets can also enjoy the delights of a smashed up shit heap parked at a rakish 45degree angle to the pavement.

On the weekends when This Road is sadly devoid of such aesthetic wonders, we were all in agreement that a substitute in the form of a large, steaming dog turd would suffice.

We look forward to your assistance in the implementation of our new parking rota.
The This Road Parking Committee

What more can I say?

TIBU! Oh Thank You All and Hallelujah

First, thanks to Eric Lester, a gentleman of the Internet if ever there was one. He has told me what to do in responding, has brought you all to me, and though Facebook seems not to be my forte, I might have to get on over there. Bear with me, I am taking a long time with buttons and things in this blogging lark. Still, Eric has sent clear instructions, and I might be able to master the art of talking back to you all.

SMG is asking for audio links, my God, does he not fear for my sanity? Links, dear friends are sausages to me. NDR, Blueroses, and all the rest of you have gladdened my heart to be meeting again. But to return to sausages. Today, I met a friend for the naughty Full English Breakfast. Sausage, beans, egg, mushrooms, tomato, bacon, toast, tea, strawberry jam, an extra cup of coffee, and I thought I might be sick on the bus home. It was delicious but rather a lot for a smallish frame to cope with. Which is not to say I won't do it again. But not for a while, methinks.

A sobering yet interesting phenomenon is taking place in our great city. Several shops have sprung up that sell everything for £1. 00, yes $1.40 at the current exchange rate. They are absolutely heaving with shoppers as they sell everything from pillowcases to pilchards. I myself feel rather smug for purchasing some tinned salmon of the skinless, boneless variety, for almost half of the price it costs in a regular supermarket. It is not just poorer folk looking for a bargain that can be found in these outlets, but all kinds of people, seeking ways to make less money go further. Good idea, but a sure sign of the economic times.

Well, I am not going to dwell on that, but after visiting the dentist tomorrow, I am going to follow Eric, catserv109's advice and master the art of adding your blogs to mine and sharing comments. Please be extraordinarily patient, this may take some time and a lot of tears. Thank you for reading, commenting and supporting, I am over the moon, where I think the little green men must be getting ready to add comments.

More Collecting

Onwards and upwards with the oul blog - something the Welsh rugby team must be telling themselves after yesterday's win at Murrayfield. If I had been in the Scottish dressing room at half time, by God those lads would have had some inspirational tongue-lashings. What on earth were they doing during the first half? It is one of life's sweet mysteries. I thought for a while they must have been practicing the steps of the Highland fling, rather than playing strong, strategic rugby.

Maybe a wee tot of the Tallisker or Glenfyddich wouldn't have come amiss, or a buttered oat cake. Now, they gathered themselves brilliantly in the second half, scoring one try, having plenty of possession of the ball, almost a second try, but for a bouncy knock-on. If the Scottish team had played as well throughout as they did for the last 20 minutes, a victory would have been theirs.

As a Celt, it is really hard for me to decide who to cheer for. Another thing is the powerfully moving anthems of both Wales and Scotland, so musically pleasing and so rousing. I know the words of "Flower of Scotland" and I can belt out the tune of "Land of My Fathers" while pretending to sing it in Welsh. Sure Welsh is a difficult tongue, harder than its cousin Gaelic, but it always sounds great.

Anyway, it's Monday so I have to make Irish stew. That needs plenty of preparation and careful attention, something some rugby teams would do well to emulate. I am looking forward to the Wales/England match next week. Bet you can't guess who I want to win?

Sunday - Day of Rest and Rugby

Well, I notice that not a single soul found its way to my musings, and once more onto the web, dear friends, or close the mouth up with all thoughts denied. Or something of that ilk. I have to admit to becoming addicted to the 6 Nations Rugby, though it only started yesterday. The England/Italy game was like watching paint dry, though the Italians were using their brushes with more artistry than the Brits. Much more exciting and amazing to watch was the Ireland/France battle in Dublin. How I chewed my nails down to the knuckles, wishing for Ireland to pull it off AND THEY DID. Well done lads, you cheered me up. I always get a lump in my throat when they play the Soldier's Song - I sing along too. But when the crowd roar out The Fields of Athenry, I reach for the kitchen roll to mop up my tears.

I have to sort myself for this afternoon's Scotland/Wales match, but I am sure it will never live up to the wonderful game from yesterday. I never saw so much blood, so many bumps and bruises, so many limping men, such bravery on both sides. We shall see what today's match brings. A word to Ireland's team, "Keep it up lads, you were bloody great."

Into the Blogging Void - Rambling Randomly

Well, no little green men have deigned to read my blog so there goes my chance of fame and fortune. Nobody has looked at it, in fact, but what the hell, it's my own thoughts I'm collecting. If I'm sharing them into a void, all I can say is "pearls before swine." A few swine offering feedback wouldn't go amiss. Following the master of the stream of consciousness, my fellow countryman, James Joyce, perhaps I'll just ramble through my brain awhile. As he was monumental, so it is that monuments come to mind as art forms and inspiration.

There's that great big rocky thing in the USA, Mount Rushmore; it's full of presidential faces, and very impressive it is too. Not that I've seen it in the flesh, or rock, so to speak, but I have seen the Angel of the North by Anthony Gormley. If you want to see an honest, forceful, meaningful piece of art, look at his Angel, preferably in the relevant setting of the real North of England. Be blown away.

I'm not working for the Yorkshire Tourist Board, I promise, but if you ever need your soul cleansed and your heart lifted, you will have to take a ride on the steam engines on the Worth Valley Railway. Get off at Hawarth station and take yourself into the Bronte parsonage, the church and the moors behind them. There you will feel the presence of Charlotte, and if you're lucky, like me, catch a fleeting glimpse of Emily and her little dog, far up the hills.

See how your stream of consciousness can move you from one rocky outcrop to another? I must go and put the washing machine through its paces. Hasta la vist, piggies, y hombres verde.

A Virgin Blog

Nothing to do with Richard Branson, though I do admire the man. It's just that I decided to try this blogging lark, despite being computer illiterate. I have no idea what will happen, but await the outcome with some degree of fear and a tiny atom of excitement, if atoms are excitable. Of course they are, they have proved it in the past.

So today, I have leapt headlong into the water without the skills to swim, and look forward to some response from somewhere. Even little green men with zips up their backs would be something. Talking of which, I would be famous and become an expert on extra terrestrials and be invited to speak all over the world. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to speak, well actually, that is not quite true, writing is my biggest pleasure, so we shall have to see. More later, and if you looked at this, I hope your sanity is still intact. x