"I'll admit I may have seen better days, but I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail, "(Margo Channing)
Chicken run number 2 in on line
Chris is still withdrawing from nicotine and doing very well, although he feels rather out of sorts! He is lying prostrate on the couch in his pajamas at the moment looking somewhat like a heroine out of an Emile Zola novel.. ......courage Camille!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Here's to giving up!
As a non smoker I find it difficult it understand the cravings and mood swings of withdrawal, so I am steeling myself for long periods of biting lips and eggshell walking. Having said that I would gladly watch Miss Marple every night if he would give up, as I have always hated smoking with a desperate vengeance. My parents were chain smokers of the 1970 sort. They lived, breathed and worshiped cigarettes at a time that no-one understood the effects of tobacco smoke on the human body, let alone the effects it had on a family of passive smokers. My sister grew up with a chronic respiratory problems because of them, the walls always smelt of dirty pubs and looked magnolia when they were actually painted white and both parents died prematurely of smoking related conditions; no, I have never been a fan of the dreaded cigarette.
I know Chris will succeed in giving up because he is focused and successful in most things that he sets his mind to! That is one of his talents. Well here's hoping!!!!!
Home...high and wet
The dogs were all totally knackered when I picked them up from the kennels, and in a touching display of affection Meg is now welded to my thigh and sleeping her first sleep in five days.
Broadstairs was a nice sunny break and as always it was great to catch up with Sorrel, but like the queen of all queen's Judy Garland always said "There's no place like home!"
I have experienced facebook, the other day, when a friend e mailed me with a"want to join facebook?" invitation. Haven't a clue how it all works, but it does look a bit too geeky (hum even for me) to join in full time
pacing
The beach was rather quiet today which was bliss, yesterday afternoon was a tad of an ordeal as several
thousand ten year olds from inner city London ( well at least several hundred of them at least), descended on the sands with a score of harassed looking 17 year old teachers!
Tonight we are off to Chris' brother for dinner and last night were fed and watered by Duncan and Izzy
chris' nephew Leo (pic) is a sweet little chap who resembles the cute looking Milky Bar Kid. I know I am hovering around my usual Grumpy old man status when I say that I find him very sweet and very polite! which does make a refreahing change nowadays!
Holiday weather
Cruel but funny
beach behaviour
The view may be slightly limiting and with the board walk situated in front, the view reminds me of, somewhat of a stage with a whole series of strange characters passing regularly.
Anyhow the weather has been nice today and tonight will be going out for a nice meal in a local wine bar (only a couple of wines for me as I had too many last night on an empty stomach! and kept telling Sorrel how lucky she was to have a nice son-in-law like me!
Travel
Public transport in Britain, is paying lip service to better service, but generally the standard of customer care is bordering on the third world for much of the time. The exception of this (in train travel anyway) is the service between Manchester and Sheffield, the trans Pennine service, is clean, comfortable and on time in my experience as well as being the most scenic of journeys. The worst service (and I have discussed this at length before on my blog) is the trailer trash arriva trains wales service along the North Wales coast, which often resembles The Jerry Springer Show on wheels. (Enough said about that!)
I have to be fair here and stand up for the supertram in Sheffield, which was a godsend to me when we lived in Hillsborough. Like the transpennine trains, supertram was clean, efficient and user friendly, and I do miss those late night Friday night trams home after an over indulgence at The Dog And Partridge and All Bar One; crammed to the gunnels with tipsy benign Yorkshire types stinking of beer and cheesy chips.
Public transport in Wales is virtually non-existent. Prestatyn does have these “nipper” buses, which always remind me of my brother Andrew, who likens them to (and I am quoting here) “handicapped buses!!”, but the village and surrounding rural areas have bog all! This is why the staff at my hospital have been so pissed off with the staff parking charges soon to be enforced there. The staff and indeed patients have no choice but to drive often long distances to attend what is essentially a rural hospital with virtually no bus links; to be charged for this (100 quid a year) is totally disgusting! Anyhow I digress, and back to our virgin train to London.
I am looking around at my fellow passengers. Opposite is a couple in late middle age reading the Daily Mail. Her name is something like Patricia ( I am guessing as I think it says that on her husband’s tattoo). They are off to London for a “show”, probably Phantom, and have booked a nice hotel off Oxford Street. Over the way is a classy looking woman of 50 who is reading a book about Nancy Mitford (we like her as she’s polite and silent) and opposite her is the usual young mother and tiny baby. Now before Mike and Bev lynches me for baby bashing I must admit the little scrote have been very well behaved, and his mother thoughtful mindful of the fact that when he cries, she is quick to walk out of the carriage with him. The rest of the passengers (after Chester and Crewe where the great unwashed Welsh holiday makers tumbled off) seem like a quiet well behaved lot! (hurrah!!!) with only one bloke is sticking to the great UK tradition of swigging cider from a can at 11 am in the morning.
God, I am such a snob!!