Its all been a bit gloomy on the news over recent weeks and it is quite tempting to stop watching so that you are not faced with depressing pictures. I am, rather unwisely, partial to a spot of burying my head in the sand.
The problem with this approach is that you can easily miss things that you might want to see. I have developed a cunning method for deciding whether to hit the off button during the bulletin. It involves listening to the news readers tone as they introduce the piece. If they start in a bright ‘it feels like a Friday afternoon’ voice then you know that they will be talking about fluffy subjects like abseiling vicars and celebrities doing charity work.
If, however, they begin to talk in sombre tones it is sure sign that trouble is brewing.
It is the same principle as being able to guess the score of the football match as the reporter reads the results on a Saturday afternoon.
I had hoped that I might be able to transfer this new found skill to watching the weather report but the presenters are not as helpful in this respect.
They must be trained to speak in an ‘I have the best job in the world’ kind of voice no matter what the weather conditions. Smiling, almost smugly, they announce that storms will be covering the country.
I don’t mind them being happy when it is going to be sunny but do they have to enjoy telling us to expect grey skies and showers.
Thinking about the summer we have just missed out on perhaps they have had to try and over compensate in order to keep us watching.
Some years ago when Michael Fish brought us news of the climate he would do so in a fully professional way only offering us an occasional smile or chuckle when asked if a hurricane was about to hit our shores. He was more understated, of course, when he came on our screens to apologise later that same week.
You have to feel slightly sorry for weather men and women when it comes to presenting the forecast especially when you consider the last few months.
My father-in-law, with his eighty-eight years of experience refuses to trust them because for years he compared the picture on the screen with the summer view he experienced on his holidays.
Every year he would ring up from a caravan site in Cornwall to tell us that ‘it is glorious sunshine’ and for us not to believe the big black cloud depicted on the map just after the news that evening.
‘They just read it off a piece of paper’ he would say in his broad northern accent as if to imply that they knew nothing and were being fed lines.
I can always tell what he is going to say as soon as I answer the phone and here his very positive voice declaring ‘its sun shining here!’
I wonder if they need any eighty-eight year old weather forecasters.
Weather
Pottering
After spending what seems like weeks moving house we finally have a free weekend; well in theory at least.
I had approached this minor miracle in our social life with a certain amount of anticipation until my wife uttered the “P” word in reference to it.
I am not sure if this happens in other households but in mine it seems an all too frequent occurrence and so I have come to dislike the word “pottering”.
I dared to ask my wife for a definition so that I could attempt to gain back some control of my promised free weekend.
Apparently, by the list she reeled off, it consists of doing the things around the house that have built up over time.
Correct me if I am wrong but that just sounds like work and it seems to be at odds with the very notion of having a relaxing weekend.
I mean, anything that has the potential to produce a list or require the use of a screwdriver must be categorised as graft in my book.
My wife, however, approaches this possibility with an undue amount of glee; it seems that she relishes the opportunity of pottering.
I tried to tie her down to a time frame for the proposed time that we should potter on Saturday and she gave non-committal answers like ‘We shall see’ and ‘It depends’.
Needless to say I don’t feel comforted by this; I could probably take it for a couple of hours but after that it would just become a chore.
I dared to ask whether I needed to clock in to planet pottering before we start but my words were lost on Mrs M who had set off to the basement with a dustpan and a giant sized list of her favourite jobs.
It seems right to me that if I am going to be forced to engage in work, by any other name, then I need to have the same conditions as with my weekly employment.
Health & Safety; I am sure that I need ladder training before attempting do anything above head height. I know that I need knife training before opening all the boxes of stuff left around after the house move. Surely I need manual handling training before I move any object over 10kg.
I asked my bride whether we should wait until I had attended all said courses and the documentation was completed but she wasn’t interested in my plea.
She did, however, offer me a bottle of red and lunch at my favourite Portuguese restaurant if I agree to take part in her plans.
‘And if I don’t?’ I asked tentatively.
‘You will get your pottering P45’ she replied ‘and the promised wine and griddled chicken will be removed from your wage packet’.
As an employer Mrs M knows how to deal; a life of pottering it is. I wonder how many days holiday I get a year!
Credit Crunch
In these days of our credit being crunched we all have to make little sacrifices. I for example am committed to making sure that we consume all of the food in the house before we shop for more.
When I announced my plan to the female members of the family it was treated with a high degree of derision.
I don’t know what they are complaining about we did this every year when we went camping; its amazing how breakfast cereal can bulk out a curry on the last night of a holiday.
I searched through the kitchen and found several tins that seemed to have been in the cupboard for years; mackerel fillets, pears, luncheon meat, sweet corn, and kidney beans. I can’t remember the last time I bought sweet corn and yet there always seems to be a tin in the cupboard.
I have to admit that I couldn’t find a suitable recipe to include them all so we had an omelette made with the eggs that were seconds from their sell by date.
For dessert I offered them crushed ginger snap biscuits heated with butter, topped with ice cream and toffee sauce, which everyone agreed, proved a great success.
During my search I discovered a new taste sensation that the rest of the family were quick to turn their noses up at. It was a combination of two of my favourite tastes that, coincidently, the rest of the family cannot abide.
Liquorice pieces dipped in Marmite.
I accept that some of you will be immediately disgusted by such a thought. But there will be some, just a few, who will find the whole idea intriguing and will be rushing to the kitchen to test it out.
My wife, ever the wit, patted me on my extra sized tummy and questioned whether it was pregnancy cravings.
I have a friend who has admitted to also being conscious of the need to make savings in their weekly grocery bill. He has, however, upset his wife in the process.
Being a keen fisherman he knows the intricacies of finding the best bate for successful angling. He slipped up by admitting that although he has made the sacrifice of buying the cheapest sweet corn for the family cupboard he has continued to buy the premium brand for his favourite hobby.
It seems that saving money is important but we all need the opportunity of making a luxury decision now and again. In light of this I suggested that each family member had the chance to nominate a couple things that would not be sacrificed as part of our economy drive.
The list included such minor luxuries as coffee and breakfast cereal but there were a few items that the female members of clan Molineaux were agreed on: Tomato Sauce, Shampoo, and Tea bags.
As for me; I was happy to concede that although most value options were worth trying I was adamant that neither Marmite nor liquorice would be sacrificed. I have my standards!
