Middle Aged Free and Single

Making Hay While the Sun Shines

58andcounting — Wed, 26 May 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Or, more specifically, getting the grass cut before it rains.

I haven’t cut the grass since the last week in April.

Last year I took part in No Mow May – the idea was to avoid cutting the grass in May, to give wildflowers, and in particular dandelions, time to flower. They provide food for bees (and god knows the bees need all the help they can get) at a time of year when there isn’t much else.

This year, as it happens, I haven’t cut my grass again – partly because of No Mow May, and partly on account of the occasional dry day not corresponding with my occasional days off.

And now all the dandelions in my garden have stopped flowering and gone to seed, so either I cut the grass or I arrange a massive dandelion clock event.

As an aside – I like dandelions. I’ve never understood why they’re so disliked. If you had to go and buy them at the garden centre, you’d think they were a pretty little flower. Also – they’re edible!! I haven’t actually tried them yet, but it’s on my to-do list. Apparently you can cook them just like spinach, or have them raw like rocket.

Yesterday was a day off, so I’d planned to spend the morning gardening in general and cutting the grass in particular. BUT – the forecast for the day before was thunder and lightning, so maybe the grass would be too wet. BUT – the thunder and lightning never happened, and the weather stayed dry overnight – so the grass was dry enough to cut. BUT – the forecast for yesterday was a 50% chance of rain before 10 o’clock.

Working on the basis that the previous day’s forecast was wrong and therefore yesterday’s forecast might be wrong as well, I decided to go for it. Outside by 9 in the morning, grass cut by 9.45 (it’s a very small garden).

And right on cue, just as I was tidying the mower away, it started to rain. Well, not really rain – it was very half-hearted, and it stopped after about 5 minutes. So I decided to crack on and trim the edges. And weed, and dead-head the daffs while I was at it. I got about two metres done, when the rain started again. A bit heavier, but not much. What to do? Carry on? Stop?

I decided to make a coffee.

By the time the kettle had boiled, the rain had stopped. Not quite warm enough to sit out with it, but back out as soon as I’d finished it.

The last time I trimmed the edges and did some weeding, I hurt my back – so, being a sensible woman, I decided to be sensible. Do five minutes of trimming and weeding, then stand up and stretch, or have a cheeky sit down. Then five more minutes. And so on. It seems to have worked, although from experience if I’ve done something daft my back will let me know during the next 24 hours, so there’s time yet…

It’s not finished, not by a long way – but it looks better. It looks like someone cares!!

And the forecast for tomorrow (another day off) is dry and sunny. Yay!!

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Man Cave to Covid Cafe?

58andcounting — Tue, 18 May 2021 00:00:00 GMT

It’s 18th May, and more Covid restrictions were lifted yesterday.

But from what I’ve been reading, the smart money is on staying cautious.

Yes, you can meet indoors – but you don’t have to. Stay outdoors if you can, or if you prefer.

Yes, you can hug – but you don’t have to. Stay two meters apart if you can, or if you prefer.

What an absolute nightmare. But – I want people to be able to come and visit me! Whatever the weather!

So, I’m think about adapting my garage into a sort of indoor/outdoor space. With the garage door open, it would be a well ventilated space that could be used as an alternative to the garden if I have people round and the weather isn’t good enough for sitting out.

It’s a decent sized garage, in what is actually the basement of the house. It’s what they call a ‘tandem’ garage, big enough for two cars parked end-to-end rather than side-to-side. And since my husband moved out, there’s very little in there – it used to be his man cave.

I’ve used it a couple of times already, but at the moment it just feels like we’re sitting at one end of a garage…

My idea is to move all the garage stuff into the back part, where it can be screened off. That would leave the front part empty, and ready to be transformed into a useable space.

Imagine garden chairs, bunting, one wall painted a funky colour, a basket for blankets, plants in pots, occasional tables dotted about, a heater, one of those all-weather mats on the floor. Maybe do something with the lighting – it’s a fluorescent tube at the moment. Any other ideas? You can see the ‘before’ – what else could I include in the ‘after’?

If I move the car off the drive, it could be quite pleasant looking out.

There’s water and power down there, so I can even make tea and coffee without having to come upstairs to the kitchen.

The floor is already painted (grey), and the walls are white, so painting one wall wouldn’t be expensive or time-consuming. I own a selection of deckchairs, a couple of small tables, a heater, blankets and a basket to put them in. I’d need to get paint, some potted plants, and a screen of some sort, and the bunting of course – but none of that needs to cost a lot of money.

The question is, is it worth the effort? Will we all just go back to normal without a second thought? Would the space be used, or will we just go back to sitting in the living room like we did before?

And bearing in mind that I’ll likely have to sell at some point, would changing the old man cave into a ‘Covid cafe’ add to the value and/or saleability of the house? Or would people coming to view it just think I was a bit mad?

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

No Tin Opener Required

58andcounting — Sun, 16 May 2021 00:00:00 GMT

I’ve bought a car.

The Mini that I bought just after my husband left is 12 years old now. It’s been a grand little car, did exactly what I needed it to do, but the time has come.

I’d planned to change it this summer, but the final straw came a month or so ago when I was visiting my parents.

I suggested that I could drive them over to one of their favourite walking spots. Now, my Mini only has 3 doors. Dad sat in the back, Mum sat in the front, and all was fine – until we got to where we were going.

Getting my 85 year old father out of the back seat of a 3-door Mini Cooper wasn’t an easy task.

We had our walk, drove home – and then we had to get him out of the back seat of a 3-door Mini Cooper again. And by the time we’d done that, the decision to replace the car had been made.

I’ve bought a Mazda 3. It’s got a bit more oomph than the Mini, and a built in SatNav, and I like the colour – but the important thing is the fact that it has 5 doors. I’ll be able to get the old boy out of it without needing a tin opener.

It hasn’t been a totally straightforward process – I’ve been looking at the Autotrader website for a month.

I had my shopping list – 5 doors, more power than the Mini, built-in SatNav, about 5 years old, not too much mileage. I also had a budget.

I started off looking at cars within a 10 mile radius. There was a nice Volvo V40 – it was at the top end of the budget, but you can’t go wrong with a Volvo. The spec informed me that it had Bluetooth connectivity and a Driver Information Centre, there was a flat screen on the dash. I did the test drive and decided to turn the SatNav on to see what it was like. I accessed the Driver Information Centre but I couldn’t work out how to get to the SatNav.

When I got back to the showroom, I asked the sales guy to show me – and he was as surprised as me to find that there wasn’t one!! So – that was a deal breaker. No point in spending the top end of my budget for a car that didn’t have everything I wanted. Shame.

Back to the drawing board.

All the other cars in my 10 mile radius were either too expensive, or the mileage was far too high. I expanded the search area to 15 miles. Then to 20 miles. And there, exactly 20 miles away, was the Mazda 3. It was new to the market, there wasn’t even a photo of it, but it had everything I needed and the price was sensible.

I booked a test drive.

Due to Covid restrictions the sales guy doesn’t come with you on the test drive. They just have to trust you to bring it back. When I looked at the Volvo, I had to provide my National Insurance number and a utility bill as extra proof of my identity, and the guy drove ahead of me and I followed. With the Mazda they just gave me the keys and suggested I turn left out of the car park.

A nice drive, nippy at low speeds and economical at high speeds. Six years old, within budget. And definitely had a SatNav.

Sold!!

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Putting Tights on a Cat

58andcounting — Mon, 19 Apr 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Molly cat had a little scab on her left shoulder, about the size of a 5p piece. It wasn’t really bothering her, but it had been there a while so I made an appointment with the vet.

That was last year, during (I think) Lockdown Two. Before the appointment came round, the scab disappeared. Fair enough. I cancelled the appointment.

But then, a couple of weeks ago, I noticed it again. Only this time it was about the size of a 10p piece, and it was bothering her.

I made an appointment, and in the intervening two days the lesion doubled in size, became generally more obvious, and – well, basically not very nice.

Our vets have a very good system – you can see the waiting room from the street, so when you arrive at the door you either ring them or just wave like a crazy person and the receptionist comes out to you. There was already someone waiting, so he showed me round the back to a sort of holding pen, where Molly and I sat and made small talk until it was our turn.

Once in the waiting room proper, there is a ‘pet park’ where you leave your cat basket or tether your dog, ready for the nurse to come and get them. There’s also an ‘owners’ park’, with a couple of chairs, socially distanced. The vet comes in with the notes, and you discuss what appears to be the problem. They then go into the consulting room and look at the beast, and come back with the diagnosis – and the bill.

Molly needed an antibiotic jab and a steroid jab. They shaved the area around the lesion, and clipped her claws so she wouldn’t be able to scratch so much. And they prescribed cream to be applied twice a day. The vet told me if the problem had been anywhere else, they would have fitted her with a lampshade, but with it being on her shoulder, it would be exactly where the collar of the lampshade would sit, so it wouldn’t help.

He suggested I could try to make a sort of bandage for her with tubigrip, or an old pair of tights. I don’t own any tubigrip, so sacrificing a pair of tights seemed to be the best option.

Have you ever tried to put tights on a cat?

My first effort didn’t work – I got the ‘tight’ on, but as soon as she moved it just rolled up around her neck.

Someone at work suggested a new-born baby vest – so off I trotted to Home Bargains in my lunch break and bought not just one but a pack of 5 (!) for the princely sum of £5. I tried one on her – she looked ridiculously cute, but it was too big, and didn’t cover the affected area.

Does anyone want 4 unused 0-3 month baby vests in grey and white? Free to a good home.

Third attempt was another version of the tights theme. I cut a longer length of tight, and cut ‘arm’ holes in it, to make a sort of upside-down vest (the armholes are at the bottom rather than the top). That stopped the whole thing from rolling up, and – it worked!!

And today I’ve just made a her a new one because the first one has been on 3-4 days and was getting a bit ragged round the edges.

It’s working a treat. She tries to scratch, of course, but between the clipped claws and the 45 deniers, she isn’t able to do herself any damage.

And doesn’t she look smart!!

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

… And Single

58andcounting — Wed, 14 Apr 2021 00:00:00 GMT

I took my car to the garage the other day, and the guy asked if I was seeing anyone. It’s a garage I go to often enough, and the guy who runs it knows that my husband left a while ago. I know this man, his girlfriend goes to the same gym as me, he lives just up the road. It wasn’t a come on. It was a genuine question.

And the answer is a resounding no.

I’ve thought about it, of course (in a very hypothetical, ‘what if’ kind of a way, thanks to Covid). I know a couple of people who have successful relationships through online dating, that’s always an option.

But – still no.

I’ve been married twice. Been there, seen it, done it. I genuinely can’t imagine wanting to link my life up with someone else’s again.

And let’s be realistic here. I’m 60. That means the guys I’m likely to date would be there or thereabouts. And frankly – nah.

What I miss, though, is having someone to go and do stuff with – but even then, I’m happy to go to the cinema, the theatre, even have a meal out on my own. I’ve flown, stayed in a hotel, driven long distances, solo. Really doesn’t bother me. In fact, under current circumstances, it would be nice to have the chance.

But for reasons that I can’t quite work out, I would feel odd going to a pub on my own. Even then, I’m happy to go into a pub on my own if I’m meeting someone. And if I’m staying in a hotel, I’ll go and have a drink in the bar without a second thought. But to just go to the pub for a drink on my own? That isn’t something I would feel comfortable doing.

It would be nice to have someone to just call and say, ‘Fancy a drink?’

But romantic involvement? One minute you’re looking at the stars together, the next you’re washing his socks.

I’ve always been quite independent. By its very nature, being with someone involves compromise. Sometimes the compromises are quite small and don’t really matter all that much. But sometimes they’re huge and matter a great deal.

It’s one of the things I noticed very early on, when I was newly single – I don’t have to compromise any more. I don’t have to discuss. I don’t have to convince someone else to do the thing that I really want to do. I can just do. I find it very liberating.

And these last couple of years, having to just get on with it – well, I’ve done OK. And I’ve learnt that my independence is important to me – no-one is ever going to be allowed to take that from me.

But if there’s anyone out there that just fancies a drink – let me know…

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by Anete Lusina from Pexels

Quite Giddy

58andcounting — Mon, 12 Apr 2021 00:00:00 GMT

I was wide awake at 4 this morning. Alarm was due to go off at 6 ready for me to get into my gym gear and head to the gym for 6.30.

Yes, I was that excited.

I got up and made myself a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal and took it back to bed. Once I’d had it, I made myself lie down again, on the off chance I might snooze a bit before the alarm went off. Maybe I did, a bit. But mostly I was awake, warm and comfy, and just enjoying not having to get up just yet.

But what I don’t understand is why I was so excited. Seriously, couldn’t wait.

The lovely Jules, who runs the gym I go to, has been organising virtual sessions pretty much three times every day since the first lockdown. She wrote a guest post about it here.

The sessions are then available to download at any time. I have a yoga mat and weights in the spare bedroom. I could have done a workout at ANY TIME.

I fully intended to. During the first lockdown I didn’t do any of the virtual sessions at all and was cross with myself about it. I promised myself that I would do better this time. I did two or three and then – not so much.

I could have done a workout when there was nothing on the TV. I could have done a workout when the weather was too bad for going out. Hell, I could have done a workout in the middle of the night when I couldn’t sleep.

All I had to do was pop into the spare bedroom and turn the laptop on.

Did I?? No. No I didn’t.

But the idea of getting back into the actual gym, even though I have to make the effort to walk down there whatever the weather (frost, this morning)? Giddy with excitement.

Whether you’re doing something today that you’ve missed doing for a long time, or staying home and waiting for the excitement to die down before you venture out – enjoy your day.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Full o’ busy

58andcounting — Sat, 10 Apr 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Life is a bit hectic.

I work 35 hours a week for a large DIY shed as a kitchen designer – but I rarely do just 35 hours, I normally have a couple of hours overtime at least, so my normal working week is usually about 37 hours. On the plus side, my working day can start at 7am, meaning I finish at 4. Or I can start work at 12 noon and finish at 9pm, meaning I have the morning at home.

And I run a business with my ex-husband – this is a busy time of the year, with the end of our financial year and the end of the tax year, and the VAT quarter all happening at once.

And now that ‘my’ National Trust property is open again, I’m volunteering there when I can. It’s nothing like the volunteering I was doing before – there’s no costume, the house isn’t open yet, I’m literally just checking names off a list. But it’s good to be back and we have high hopes of being able to re-open the house in May.

My parents continue to get old, and I now try to get down to see them once a fortnight or so. As they’re a two hour drive away, this is a full day – leave the house around 9 in the morning, get there around 11, then head for home around 6 or 7, getting home between 8 and 9.

The gym is re-opening on 12th April. That happens to be a day off, so I’ve booked for the first slot of the day – I shall be there at 6.30 in the morning. I used to go to the gym every other day, come hell or high water. The lovely Jules has been running virtual gym sessions every day – and I started with the best of intentions, but I didn’t do anything like as many as I should have. No-one to blame but myself, but I’m looking forward to being back in the ‘real’ gym. Will I go back to my ‘every other day’ routine? I’m not sure. I need to build things up gradually and sensibly if I stand a chance of getting back to the level of fitness I was at pre-lockdown.

Gardening season is upon us, and although I only have a small garden there’s still grass to be cut and weeds to be weeded and things to tie back

I have a cleaner who comes in once a fortnight – she basically cleans the two main floors (ground floor and first floor). She doesn’t clean the attic where my lodger lives – he does that himself – and she doesn’t clean the basement or the office. I’ve just extended her hours to include the basement (well, the cellar steps, passage and laundry room), and the office. I decided to stop pretending that I would clean those areas myself – I did, occasionally, but not as often as I should.

So that’s a couple of jobs off my to-do list.

But of course there are other things that need to be fitted in – today I’ve had a day off from work. So far I’ve –

booked the cat in for a visit to the vet on Monday morning
taken my car to the garage because the intermittent engine warning light has now become permanent
booked in to have my eyebrows done
checked my bank account
paid a bill
changed the date of my gas safety inspection
been to Aldi for my weekly shop
done some work in the office
trimmed half way round the grass edges and weeded as I went along
sat outside with a coffee for five minutes
tried to book a holiday (but the place I really wanted to stay was fully booked and I can’t find anywhere else close to where I want to be)
snoozed on the sofa for an hour after lunch – it is a day off after all

This evening I’ll eat pizza and drink wine, because it’s a Friday, and that’s what I do on a Friday. Then I’ll spend a bit of time looking for a new car. Oh, and I’ll finish writing this blog post.

I’m full o’ busy – and that’s the way I like it.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Clematis

58andcounting — Mon, 29 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

The hedge round our front garden was higher than I could reach when we first moved into this house. Leylandii. Need I say more…

30 metres long, probably more than 8 feet tall. Nothing grew near it, not even weeds, and some parts of the garden were permanently in shade because of it.

It used to take me four full days to cut it – one day for the inside, one day for the outside, one day for the top from the inside and one day for the top from the outside. Cutting, clearing up and taking to the tip. It needed to be cut twice a year. And of course the chances of getting 4 days straight with no rain and nothing else happening is pretty slim.

Or, alternatively, I could pay someone to cut it and take it away for £50.

So, when we noticed that the size of the hedge was damaging the retaining wall, that was all the excuse we needed. Time to get the hedge taken out.

There are two parts to taking a hedge out – first is cutting it down and getting rid of it. That was easy enough. The landscape gardner turned up with a humongous chipper machine, and set to.

The next part was getting the stumps out. There were 38 stumps (I counted them). I rang a guy who specialises in that sort of thing, and he came round for a look. He has a special stump getter-outer, but it’s a big bit of equipment, and it wouldn’t fit through our garden gate. ‘I’ll send the big lads’ he said.

The big lads turned up, and fuelled with lots of cups of tea, they attacked. It took them less than a day to get them all out. That makes it sound like quite an easy job – it wasn’t. It involved picks, shovels, sledge hammers and a lot of grunt.

Then we got someone to come and re-build the retaining wall, and while they were at it we decided to get rid of the elderly decking which was rotten, and slippery when wet. We replaced it with paving slabs, and because the hedge had been taking up so much room, the paved area was much bigger than the decking had been.

But of course, without the hedge, everyone could see straight into the garden.

The next step was to put a fence up instead of the hedge.

Simple enough – I’d even chosen the fence that I fancied. Because we live on a main road, we needed planning permission, so I filled in all the forms and sent them off with the appropriate fee.

We were refused planning permission.

After a lot of coming and going, and me arguing that we needed the fence for privacy, that people going up and down the main road didn’t need to see my washing on the line, and that we needed the fence for safety and security when the grandchildren came to visit, we were getting nowhere.

I asked the planning department what they would allow us to do? Railings. They would allow us to have railings. OK, that would give us the safety and security, but didn’t really provide much in the way of privacy, but it was a start.

I found someone who could make the railings for us. The wall that goes round our garden, that the railings would be fastened to, is curved, on a slope, and has a step in it. Off-the-shelf railings weren’t going to work for us. He also made us a new gate with our house number set into it.

The final task was to plant climbers that would eventually cover the railings and provide us with a bit of privacy. I planted Clematis Armanii and honeysuckle.

That was three years ago. The plants are just coming into their fourth season, and they are looking fab. I’ve spent a lot of time training them around the railings, and they’ve been putting all of their strength into growing long stems, which is exactly what I wanted. I’ve woven them in and out of the railings, and the garden now feels quite private.

This spring, for the first time, the clematis is in full flower. Not just a few flowers here and there, but an actual abundance. It looks amazing.

And it won’t be long before it’s warm enough to sit out and enjoy it.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Flagging

58andcounting — Sat, 27 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

The first time I ever visited small-town America, I remember being surprised at how many people were flying flags from their homes. Flags on flag poles, flags on porch doors. It was very odd. It was very American.

And now here we are, with a flag debate of our very own.

I don’t particularly like the Union Flag – it’s been hijacked by too many National Front rallies. Although I do remember the relief of seeing it as an option when I was using an ATM in a small town in China – at least the cash machine spoke my language!!

The Government has issued guidance that says all government buildings should fly the flag, not just on special occasions (which is the situation at the moment), but every day. Goodness only knows what they’ll do on special occasions now, but hey.

Here’s the press release about it. https://www.gov.uk/government/news/union-flag-to-be-flown-on-uk-government-buildings-every-day

I don’t like it –

I don’t like the compulsion. If you have the urge to fly your flag, then go for it. But being told to do it is a different matter.
There is irony in being told you have to fly ‘a symbol of liberty, unity and freedom’. Also – tautology. Sorry, can’t help it.
In the 1980s, when David Blunkett was leader of Sheffield City Council, a red flag was flown over Sheffield Town Hall for years as an ‘up yours’ to the Thatcher government. It was allowed. Remember that.
All this flag malarkey is just Not British.
It’s all too easy for the corollary to happen – if you don’t fly the flag you’re not patriotic.

If patriotic means having a blind love for your country, then I’m not patriotic in the slightest. If it means wanting your country to be the best it can be, and feeling sadder with each passing day because it appears to be getting worse rather than better, then yes, that would be me.

And seriously, while we’re dealing with a pandemic, while the UK’s trade has fallen of a cliff edge thanks to Brexit, while the tabloids have the power to drive a Prince and his family into exile, and while our right to peaceful protest is about to be taken from us, someone in Whitehall thinks THIS is important?

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by vectors icon from Pexels

It Isn’t Over

58andcounting — Thu, 25 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

One year on. Or should I say one year in.

I worry that there seems to have been a sea-change in people’s attitudes over the last few days. It feels like it’s over. More and more people are getting their vaccines, the numbers are coming down, the sun is shining. We have the prospect of things starting to open up.

It isn’t over.

We are going to be wearing masks, sanitising our hands and keeping our distance from people for a long time to come. Or at least we should be.

There’s even talk of making 23rd March a Covid Memorial Day.

NO!! It’s too soon.

You start thinking about memorials when something is over, finished. Not when it’s barely started. It’s much, much too soon to be thinking about a memorial day. The first Remembrance Day was 1919, not 1915 – and 11th November was the end of the war, not the beginning. Wait until the last person has died of Covid, then we can start to think about a Memorial Day.

It’s just a year since that first lockdown started. Just four weeks, they said. Four weeks should do it. I wrote this exactly a year ago – Lockdown. I wonder how we would have felt if we’d known then that we would still be living with Covid a year later.

Because I work for a major DIY store, we were classed as key workers.

With two-thirds of the staff furloughed, and ‘only’ providing the Click and Collect service, jeez that was hard work. I honestly thought my feet would never recover.

But it’s been a strange year in many ways. Strange because I think the pandemic has had less of an impact on me day-to-day than it’s had on most people.

I’ve still been working, which means I’ve still been with people. Socially distanced of course, but still out of the house and doing something.

Days off have been difficult, unable to get out and about or meet up with friends – but nothing compared to what some of those friends have been going through.

I volunteered to take part in clinical trials for a Covid vaccine back in November. The trial was meant to last for a year, but events overtook us and the Pfizer/Biontech and Oxford/AstraZeneca vaccines came on stream phenomenally quickly. When I got the call to go for my ‘normal’ vaccine, I was unblinded from the trial and told that I had in fact had the real thing back in November.

So all that time I’d been immune, without realising. Which is a very odd feeling.

Apart from having to cancel my holidays and not being able to meet up with friends or relatives for any sort of fun and games, Covid really hasn’t had that big of an impact on me.

Yet.

It isn’t over.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

No More Sugar – two months on

58andcounting — Tue, 23 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Back in January I decided to cut back on the amount of sugar I use.

I have osteoarthritis in my finger joints, and although it’s not too painful or unsightly at the moment there is no cure and it will get worse over time. A bit of googling suggested that cutting back on the sugar in my diet could slow the process down.

It’s been two months now.

I haven’t been able to cut sugar from my diet completely, and I’m not sure it would be a good idea to do that anyway. But I’ve managed to cut it down considerably.

I have half a spoonful of sugar in my tea and coffee (down from a full spoonful). I don’t dip into the sweetie stash at work. I’ve drastically cut down the number of biscuits I get through – I have one a day.

I’m paying more attention to the hidden sugar in the foods I eat too. Shocked to find that Crunchy Nut Cornflakes are 35% sugar and Alpen is 21% sugar compared to Mackies ice cream, which is only 12%!!

Instead, I’m eating more fruit and more savoury snacks but also trying not to have too much salt!!

Is it working? Well, like I said, the finger joints aren’t too painful anyway (yet), the whole point of this exercise is to stop them getting to that point. In the two months of my low-sugar diet, I’ve only had one episode of pain, and that only lasted about 5 minutes. If that’s down to the reduction in sugar, then it’s definitely working. But this isn’t about a short-term fix, this is about making a change that will benefit me, hopefully, a long way down the road. It could be ten or more years before I’m able to say it’s worked, or not.

Apart from the initial shock of tea without a full spoonful of sugar, I’ve surprised myself with how easy I’ve found it. I guess realising that it’s not doing you any good kind of puts you off. That’s not to say there hasn’t been the odd glitch.

The most interesting moment was on Mother’s Day. I’d bought my mother a box of chocolates, as you do. And being a polite and well-brought-up person, she offered me one. It would have been rude to refuse, so I said thank-you-very-much and ate it. I didn’t enjoy it – it just tasted, well, not as great as I expected it to.

And there’s been a bit of a side-effect. I appear to have lost weight – I have to hitch my trousers up regularly, and I just feel my clothes in general are looser. I’m not too sure how that’s happened, as the chocolate biscuits have mostly been replaced with cheese and crackers!!

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

She Was Walking Home

58andcounting — Sun, 21 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Sarah Everard was walking home from a friend’s house at 9 o’clock in the evening when she was attacked. The most normal, ordinary, wholesome thing that you could imagine. Which makes it all the more tragic.

But I have a problem.

Somewhere in the narrative is a feeling that that’s exactly what a woman ought to be doing. Walking home. From a friend’s house. At 9 o’clock in the evening. She didn’t deserve to be killed while she was walking home from a friend’s house at 9 o’clock in the evening.

No. No. No.

A woman* doesn’t deserve to be killed ever, at any time, doing any activity.

If a woman is walking home – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking to work – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking to the pub – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking to a club – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking to her boyfriend’s to watch Netflix and chill – she should be safe.

And she was walking home from a friend’s house – again, a nice sensible place to be walking home from.

If a woman is walking home from a friend’s house – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking home from work – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking home from the pub – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking home from a club – she should be safe.

If a woman is walking home from an evening watching Netflix and chilling with her boyfriend – she should be safe.

And she was walking home from a friend’s house at 9 o’clock – not too late at night, very sensible.

If a woman is out at 9 o’clock – she should be safe.

If a woman is out at 10 o’clock – she should be safe.

If a woman is out at 2 o’clock in the morning – she should be safe.

If a woman is out at 7 o’clock in the morning – she should be safe.

If a woman is out at 10 o’clock in the morning – she should be safe.

If a woman is out at 3 o’clock in the afternoon – she should be safe.

And as for walking –

If a woman is walking – she should be safe.

If a woman takes a taxi – she should be safe.

If a woman takes the bus – she should be safe.

If a woman takes the train – she should be safe.

Wherever she’s going, wherever she’s coming from, whatever time of the day, however she chooses to get there – she should be safe.

Let’s not make this a conversation about women doing the ‘right’ thing. Let’s make this a conversation about men not doing the wrong thing.

*Or anyone else.

I Protest

58andcounting — Tue, 16 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

So the Police, Crime, Sentencing and Courts Bill is making its way inexorably through Parliament. It’s a major piece of legislation, covering everything from sex offenders to sign language interpreters.

But there is one section that should cause concern to everyone who believes that the UK is a free country – and wants it to stay that way.

One of the absolute, essential tenets of any definition of a free country is freedom of speech. And that includes freedom to demonstrate if that’s what it’s going to take to get your point across.

Part Three of the Bill – Public Order – is the bit that’s causing concern. You can read the whole Bill here. Part Three starts on page 45.

Currently, police have the power to intervene if they believe that a demonstration risks ‘serious public disorder, serious damage to property or serious disruption to the life of the community’. That might not necessarily mean breaking up the demonstration – it could mean restricting where it goes, or the numbers taking part.

The new Bill adds a single word to that list – it adds noise. If the noise of a demonstration ‘may result in serious disruption to the activities of an organisation’ or have ‘a relevant impact on persons in the vicinity of the procession’, then the police can intervene. And the bar is set very very low – only one (1!!) person needs to be caused ‘serious unease, alarm or distress’ before police can step in.

Now, call me old-fashioned, but that’s pretty much what a demonstration is intended to do – to make a noise to draw attention to the issue. To be heard. And not everyone agrees with every protest, so finding one person who says they’ve suffered serious unease, alarm or distress won’t be difficult.

You cannot have free speech if that speech cannot be heard.

But it gets worse.

Police at the moment can intervene to prevent ‘disorder, damage, disruption or intimidation’. I think most of us would agree that that’s reasonable. The new bill includes all of these, but adds another single word. Impact.

Impact? The police can intervene if they have reason to believe that a demonstration will have an impact. That could be an impact on people passing by, or people working in nearby buildings, or MPs going in and out of the Palace of Westminster. Again, at the risk of stating the obvious, that’s why people demonstrate isn’t it? To have an impact, to change something?

And still it gets worse.

Until now, an ‘assembly’ or ‘procession’ by definition involved more than one person. In the Bill, all of this will apply to single-person protests as well.

Does it matter?

If you want to be able to say that you live in a free country, then yes, it matters.

As S J Tallantyre said, when she was writing about Voltaire – ‘I disapprove of what you say but I will defend to the death your right to say it.’

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by Kelly Lacy from Pexels

Advice to Women

58andcounting — Fri, 12 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

In view of recent events, and comments in the media, I’ve gathered together the advice we women have been given throughout our lives to ‘help’ us to stay safe. I’m sure it’s not a comprehensive list – add the ones I’ve missed to the comments below!

With thanks to Philippa H Stewart (@Flip_Stewart), whose post on Twitter I’ve borrowed and extended.

Don’t walk home in the dark.
Don’t get a taxi.
Don’t use public transport.
You’re driving yourself there??

Always walk in a well-lit area.
Get home as quickly as you can.

Don’t carry protection, it could be turned against you.
Don’t forget, mace is illegal in the UK.
Why didn’t you defend yourself?

Don’t lead them on.
Don’t make them angry with a straight refusal.

Don’t walk quicker if someone is behind you, it shows you’re scared. And besides, not all men…
Why didn’t you run away?

Take it as a compliment.
Why did you smile and say thank you if you didn’t mean it?

Don’t wear this, or that, or that.
Wear shoes you can run in.
Why do you wear jeans and trainers all the time? You’d look so pretty in a skirt and heels.

Don’t draw attention to yourself.
Don’t be too shy, that’s seen as a challenge.

He’s not that bad.
Why didn’t you trust your instincts?

Why didn’t you report it?
Where’s your proof?

Are you sure? He’s such a good guy.

Don’t be so dramatic.
It can’t have been that bad, you don’t seem upset.

Wear headphones so you can’t hear the comments.
Don’t wear headphones, you need to know what’s going on around you.

Don’t get drunk.
Don’t be so uptight, relax, have fun! Have another one!

Don’t be so suspicious.
Why didn’t you keep an eye on your drink?

Why did you go by yourself?
Why are women always hanging round together?

Be wary of strangers.
Remember, most women are attacked by people they know.

And of course, if we don’t follow the advice we’ve been given to the letter, we run the risk of being seen as the one to blame…

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by Sami Anas from Pexels

The Driving Licence Saga – continued

58andcounting — Thu, 11 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Back on 2nd February, my driving licence expired.

So, as the law-abiding citizen that I am, on 1st February I went online to renew it.

They have this clever system where you give them your passport number and they can use your passport photo for the new driving licence, thus saving a lot of faffage.

Only, the online system didn’t work. When I rang them they said to just send the old licence, a postal order (!) and the application form by post, and they would still be able to do the passport photo thing. So I did.

My old licence, postal order (!) and application form came bouncing back, with a letter saying I should have included a photo.

So I wrote a covering letter explaining that I’d tried to renew online and been told to send the old licence, postal order (!) and application form to them, and they could use my passport photo. And I sent the old licence, postal order (!) and application form back to them.

This morning the whole lot came bouncing back again, with a letter explaining that I should have included a photo…

I rang them. Again.

Remember the last time I rang them, and they said I didn’t need to send a photo? They could take the one from my passport?

This time the man at the DVLA said that they should be able to use the photo from my passport, but they can’t. He has no idea why not.

This is going well, isn’t it.

The renewal should have cost me £17.00 and taken about 20 minutes, if I’d been able to do it online. So far it’s cost me £19.40 (they charge you £2.40 for the privilege of sending your own money to someone using a postal order), three stamps at 85p each, three trips to the post box, and 38 days. This time I have to include a passport photo – luckily I have a couple of spare ones, so no need to go to a photo booth and pay out even more money.

The man assured me that I was still OK to drive. I think he expected me to thank him profusely. I didn’t. I just said, ‘I should hope so’.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Unblinded

58andcounting — Tue, 09 Mar 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Most people have had their first vaccine. Apart from teachers under 55 of course. Angry is far too small a word to describe how I feel about that.

I was offered my vaccine last week. A lovely lady from my GP rang me and asked if I’d be OK to come in at 10 o’clock on Saturday morning.

But of course, it’s not as simple as that. I’ve been taking part in clinical trials for a Covid vaccine since last November.

These are double-blind trials, which means I don’t know whether I’ve been given the real thing or a placebo, and neither does the team administering it. I go to the trial centre every two months for a blood test, so last time I was there I asked what I should do if I was invited for the ‘normal’ vaccine. They said I should call them, and they would unblind me and then advise me accordingly.

So that’s what I did. I called them, and they asked me to go over for a blood test, then they would process the paperwork and then they’d be able to tell me if I’d had the real thing or not.

I drove over to Lancashire the following morning, answered the usual questions about side effects and whether I’d had any Covid symptoms, and had the blood test.

And it turns out – I’ve had the real thing. Two injections, three weeks apart.

Which was the standard regime for all the Covid vaccines until someone arbitrarily decided that the gap could be longer. There is of course no evidence to suggest that a longer gap won’t be effective. Equally, there’s no evidence to suggest that a longer gap will be effective. That’s because there is no evidence AT ALL – a longer gap has never been trialled. Someone somewhere is taking a huge gamble.

Once I’d been unblinded and it was confirmed that I’d had the vaccine, their advice was that I shouldn’t now have the normal vaccine because, and I quote, ‘We don’t know how the two vaccines will react to each other’.

Remember that, if they try to give you the ‘other’ vaccine for your second dose. Again – no evidence to say they will react badly, simply no evidence at all. Someone somewhere is in a Government meeting with fingers firmly crossed behind their back saying, ‘Oh, it’ll be fine, I’m sure it’ll be fine.’

Yes, I’m pleased I’ve already had it. It feels odd to think that I’ve been immune since December without realising. I have my card that says I’ve had the full vaccine, which is good. I was able to call the GP back and cancel my appointment, so someone else will have had theirs instead. But it also feels odd. It feels like somehow I’ve inadvertently pushed myself to the front of the queue.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

A Little Bag of Sweets

58andcounting — Wed, 17 Feb 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Yesterday was a Difficult day.

And when a colleague arrived with bags of sweeties for the sweetie stash, there was only one thing for it.

I took a small bag of Haribo Tangfastics – and scoffed the lot.

I needed it.

About three weeks ago, I decided to cut sugar out of my diet. First I knocked the sugar in my tea and coffee down to half a spoonful, then after a couple of weeks I knocked it on the head completely. That lasted about three days – couldn’t do it – so back to half a spoonful, still an improvement on what I was having before.

I also cut out sweets and biscuits from my life. I really didn’t find this particularly difficult, which surprised me.

Our department at work pretty much runs on Haribo and chocolate, but I found it very easy to just not bother with it once I’d decided that I needed to cut down.

Until yesterday. When, yes, I bothered with it.

Have I failed? Have I fallen off that bloody wagon completely?

No, of course not. Just because I’ve had one small hiccup on my road to reducing sugar, doesn’t mean I’ve failed in the whole venture. I’m still avoiding sugar, life will continue as before.

I refuse to feel guilty about it, and I absolutely refuse to use it as a reason to give up.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by Sebastian Voortman from Pexels

The Price of Fish – the women’s story

58andcounting — Fri, 12 Feb 2021 00:00:00 GMT

Today is the 121st anniversary of the loss of the fishing vessel Bernicia. She’d sailed from Cellardyke on the east coast of Scotland, and was lost in storms in the North Sea on or around 12th February 1900. On board were 10 men, one of whom was my Great Grandfather Alexander Murray.

Last year I wrote this about the men who were lost.

In it I mentioned a woman, Agnes Henderson, who lost her husband, her father and a cousin in that one tragedy. From that one boat there were eight men from the same village, leaving 6 widows and 22 children without a father. To say nothing of grieving mothers, sisters and girlfriends.

It was a hard life for the women – there was no way for a boat to communicate with the shore back then. The only way they would know that everything was OK was when the boats arrived back safely into harbour.

The family story is that my Great Grandmother, who had eight children still living at the time, waited on the pier head for the Bernicia to return. When she knew it wouldn’t be coming in she turned to go, wrapped her shawl around her, and said, ‘The living need me more than the dead’. She then scrubbed her house from top to bottom. Four of her five sons became fishermen in their turn.

The women were very independent, and this shows itself in many ways.

Firstly, they tended to still be known informally by their own name after they married. Because of the way children were named, there could be several men with the same name, so after they were married the men would have the woman’s surname in brackets after their own name. For example, when Jock Murray married Lisbeth Robertson, everyone continued to call her Lisbeth Robertson and he was known as Jock Murray (Robertson).

Secondly, they looked after the money. When the fishing was good the men would hand over their share, or their wages, and be given pocket money – enough to keep them in tobacco and newspapers. It was the women who made sure the rent was paid and there was food on the table. And a wise woman would make sure she had enough put by to see them through when the fishing wasn’t so good.

Decisions had to be made when the men were away. My grandmother moved house, without being able to tell her husband where she’d moved to.

They were an integral part of the business of fishing. It was the women who mended the nets, it was the women who gutted and packed the herring, it was the women who knitted the woollen underclothes and the blue ganseys that the fishermen wore.

Thirdly, they became political. In the 1940s my Grandmother was the second ever female Town Councillor in Scotland. And I think it’s no coincidence at all that the first ever female Town Councillor in Scotland was from the same village.

To this day, my mother still says you should never complain about the price of fish.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Views, Visitors, and Mugs of Tea

58andcounting — Tue, 09 Feb 2021 00:00:00 GMT

I’ve written 320 blog posts. I aim to post every other day or thereabouts.

This post is number 321.

Yesterday, someone sat and read pretty much every single one of them.

As part of the blog set-up, I get stats. WordPress tells me the number of people who visit the site each day, the number of views, which posts have been read, even which country the readers are based in. I can see how people have found the site, what search terms they’ve used.

It’s how I know that, so far this year, people from 32 different countries have visited the blog. It’s how I know that, on average, visitors have read at least four of my posts on each visit.

I can see which posts have been most popular, I can see which posts have had the most likes, or the most comments, I can even see which time of the day is the most popular time for reading my blog.

From time to time, I check to see how things are going.

Yesterday, the number of views just kept climbing. And climbing. But the number of visitors wasn’t really any different from any other day.

It could only mean that one person was viewing a lot of posts (rather than lots of people reading a couple of posts each).

I think that’s amazing.

So if you were that person, and you’re reading this post today – and I really hope you are – you know who you are! I hope you enjoyed them. I’m going to guess you did, because why else would you have read them!! I hope you found the funny ones funny and the helpful ones helpful. I hope you didn’t mind my occasional moans and rants. And I hope you’ll keep coming back for more.

I have no idea who you are – the stats can tell me a lot of things, but they can’t tell me that. I picture a woman of mature years, mug of tea in hand, coming across my blog somewhere quite by accident, reading one of the posts. Then reading another, and another, and another. Maybe making another mug of tea, and carrying on.

It gives me a warm glow to think that perhaps reading my blog helped one day of lockdown pass a little bit quicker, or gave someone something to do while the snow was falling outside.

And if you’re looking for something to do – well, you could do worse than start at the very beginning. Just click on the link here…

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.

Photo by Vlada Karpovich from Pexels

Clinging on to the Wagon

58andcounting — Sun, 07 Feb 2021 00:00:00 GMT

I decided to stop having sugar in my tea and coffee. I also decided to stop eating the sweeties at work and cut out the bikkies.

This is because I have osteoarthritis is my knuckles and I googled things to do to improve matters. There’s no cure, and things will get worse over time, but what I read suggested that avoiding sugar could alleviate the symptoms and slow the progression.

The long and the short of it was that I realised I needed to cut down the amount of sugar in my diet.

Step One was to reduce the sugar in my tea and coffee from one spoonful down to half a spoonful. That went well, and after two weeks I progressed to Step Two.

Step Two was reducing the sugar down from half a spoonful to none.

And after three days I couldn’t stand it any longer. Yesterday I found myself sitting in the staff room at work, mug of coffee in my hand, wondering why I was drinking what was basically brown water.

So when I got home from work I made myself a cup of tea – and I put sugar in it. Oh my, that was one good cup of tea. Did I feel bad about it? Yes, a little. Did I feel like I’d failed? Yes, of course.

But – have I fallen off the wagon completely? No. I’m still clinging on.

I only put half a spoonful of sugar in that cup of tea last night, not the full spoonful that I used to have.

I’m still avoiding the sweets and the bikkies.

I haven’t missed the sweeties at work. I haven’t missed the bikkies. But no sugar in tea and coffee turned out to be one step too far for me.

If cutting out the sugar is going to do any good at all, it has to be sustainable over a very long time. And I’m hoping that this will be. Half a spoonful of sugar in tea and coffee, no sweets, and no bikkies, and paying attention to the amount of hidden sugars in the foods I buy – that feels do-able to me.

Will it be enough to make a difference? Only time will tell – but it will be better than doing nothing.

Scroll all the way down to Follow, Share, Like or Comment on this. And check out my ‘Sixty and Me’ badge.

I always reply to Comments from nice people.