A pink Vespa
Playing with reflections again
A red watchdog
A pink Vespa
Playing with reflections again
A red watchdog
Sometimes it rains too much
Just wear shades if they are too neon
And now you know why I never buy a protea, especially the King. At a price of 13.90 Swiss Francs for one piece, that are a little on the expensive side. But this is a King of course.
Me throw a tantrum, a fit, show off, ignore everyone – no never, well almost never. Of course as a kid I suppose I did annoy mum from time to time, but she never really understood the principles of child psychology. There was only one remedy to hysterical screams and feet stamping, and that was a firm hand on a tender part. No, not very often, no reason to accuse my parents of being aggressive, they just were not prepared for revolution.
I was about 6 years old and remember it as if it was yesterday. I was shopping with mum for the daily food and we were in the Bethnal Green Road in London, where the stalls were selling the fruit and vegetable. There were also shops and mum had to get the daily bread in the bakers. It must have been the early fifties, and supermarkets with everything you need were then only at the beginnings, and probably only across the pond in the States. So we entered the bakers, which was also a cake shop. For some time I had seen their prize piece in the window. It was proably a special cake for a birthday or some sort of celebration. It really looked good. I can see it as if it was yesterday.
It was basically covered in white icing and the top had a raised piece where various roases were peeping out. I do not even know if it was just a model or the real thing, but it looked so good. The roses were in different colours and the cover had been decorated with twirls and whirls. Mum said I could have a cake and I naturally though she meant a real king sized cake like the one in the window, and not the common custard creams or doughnuts. I said I would like that one and pointed to the masterpiece in the window. That was when mum made a mistake, although she still blames me, for some unknown reason. She said firmly “No, you can have a doughnut”. Tears welled up in my eyes and my voice increased in volume. She took me by the hand and we left the shop, or did she drag me out. I began to scream a real 200% hissy fit. To be quite honest, I did not know myself that I was capable.
She then dragged me long the road to home, which was not far away, me still thinking that the end of the world was nigh and I really thought that when she says you can have a cake she means a real cake and not one of the cheap imitations.
We arrived home and we had to climb the stairs, as we lived on the top floor. Grandad lived downstairs. There were 11 stairs. This was really something to the extent that after telling dad, she related the event to my Aunt Lil who lived opposite with Uncle Arthur. Yes, for every step we took on the stair she attacked my private part with her hand and gave a running commentary. Did it hurt? Not really, I was still wallowing in disappointment not getting the cake I had seen in the shop. This cake was not new, it had been there for some time. I had been planning on this fulfilment of my cake dreams for some time. Some times parents just do not understand their children.
Sunday morning again, time flies, although as a golden oldie I have to remind myself in the morning when I awake what day it actually is. As a paid working woman I would look forward to the week-end knowing I had two days to catch up on the housework I had to neglect during the week when I was sitting in the office at work. Now I have the time, spread it around and even have something called “me time”.
“Me Time” begins with waking up my computer on its night shelf. My Macbook is on the left, but that has the afternoon shift. In the morning, I need the big one, the Acer Aspire V Nitro, because that is where the photos are in case I need some for my morning blog. I often take a photo of the morning sky and from my mobile phone to my photo programme it does an immediate upload, so you are getting the real action. This morning there is no action, a plain blue sky. I like a few clouds hovering around like these.
Although I captured these in the late afternoon. Now I have to remove the computer from the shelf which is not such an easy task. It used to be no problem, but since having to support my broken leg, it can get complicated. The Macbook is light weight, but the Acer is a heavyweight machine. In the good old days before breaking limbs, I would carry the computer to the kitchen, but I now need transport.
I load it onto my wheeler with the mouse and push it to the kitchen. My mobile telephone is also on the wheeler, but I was using it for the photo. As you can see I am equipped with all possibilities and my wheelchair is parked on the left side. Eventually I arrive in the kitchen and the work can begin, although I first of all make breakfast. I am sure we all have our own morning routines. Mr. Swiss is only too willing to carry the computer for me, but I told him I have to get used to doing things now on my own and no-one touches my computer.
At the moment he is baking our fresh bake bread for the week-end and I hear the signal from his timer, on his iPhone of course, to tell him it is ready. Yes the Angloswiss family are completely online. I often wonder how my parents managed without a computer.
I have seen the first fly of the year this morning. This is a particularly annoying fly as it hovers on my arm and sits on the table. I think it is a lonely fly, being the first, and is waiting for its tribe to arrive. At least we know that summer is on the way when the flies arrive.
And here he or she is sitting on the side of my computer screen having a wash, or whatever flies do when they rub ther front legs together. I am sure it was even smiling at the camera.
And now I must move on, it might be Sunday, but we still have to eat and I must remove the bread crumbs from the kitchen. Enjoy the day, and perhaps we could do one of those WordPress photo challenges “The first fly of the Year”. The local cows would like to partake.
Je gratte, donc je suis
My "bump" was in 2016, aged 48, when I suffered a stroke. This blog charts my recovery. (Header clipart licensed by pngguru.com.)
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