Dipping Into The Water Butt

Just so’s you know, I shall no longer be updating this blog.

Bye xx

You can call me old-fashioned if you like, I don’t mind. In fact, I’ll even take it as a compliment because I sure as heck wouldn’t want to be living the ‘modern’ lifestyle with all its stress and expenditure. Don’t worry, I’ve been there so it’s not as if I don’t know what it’s like.

Almost all of my friends seem to be suffering some kind of stress that’s related to a hectic lifestyle. Hectic because they hold down more than one job in order to own a big house, drive a nice car, wear the latest fashions, go on luxury holidays; hectic because they spend huge amounts of time traveling from their homes to their jobs; hectic because they ‘need’ a lot of money in order to live the way they believe they have a right to live - comfortably. But where’s the comfort? What comfort is there in stress?

Ok, so I don’t work because I’m disabled, but even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t put myself back into that kind of position again. Life’s too short and the things we accumulate, be it money, property, or anything else, won’t mean a thing when we’re pushing up daisies. Maybe our kids will enjoy them, but I can’t imagine enjoying anything that I knew my parents had to suffer stress in order to gain. No, I’d rather they left me nothing and enjoyed their lives to the full while they could.

So what do I see as ‘comfortable’? Well, having my basic needs covered, obviously. A secure roof over my head, a home that’s easy for me to function within, a loving family who look out for one another no matter what, good friends who I know will always be there for me, a curious mind and experiences that inspire me, and enough interests to ensure boredom doesn’t come creeping around too often.

I don’t need the latest fashions, in fact most of my clothes come from charity shops, ebay or the bargain rail, as does most of what’s in my house. I rarely pay full price for anything but my house looks just as good as most. And anyway, re-cycling is good. Why keep buying new when there’s plenty of stuff around that will do the job just as well? I know somebody has to buy new or there wouldn’t be anything second-hand, but when you see just how much stuff is chucked away every day, it stands to reason that there’s a LOT of surplus out there.

Today’s modern society is all about trying to get us to part with as much money as possible while paying us as little as possible for our labour, or the labour of young children in countries that we’d rather not think about. Buy this and it’ll make you look 10 years younger. Buy that and scrubbing the oven will be a thing of the past. Buy those and instantly look 10 pounds lighter. Buy these and be the envy of your friends. Buy, buy, buy! Maybe they work, probably they don’t. But why do we have to spend our hard earned cash on looking younger and slimmer? Why pay pounds for a product to clean the oven when soda crystals do the job for 59p? And why on earth would we want our friends to envy us? Shouldn’t we be wanting to help them feel good about their lives instead?

Today we all sit at our computers playing electronic games. I doubt it’ll be long before people will have forgotten what a simple pack of cards were used for. Not only do they keep us entertained, they bring people together in conversation, too.

We send impersonal emails because we just don’t have the time to write hand-written letters anymore. Even making a phone call takes too much time; better to text.

Time is something we can’t buy and none of us know how much of it we have. Personally, I’m lucky to be alive. If what happened to me had happened 20 years ago I would be fertiliser now. Whether I’d had £1 or £1,000,000 in the bank, my time-bank account would have been empty. Who’s to say it won’t empty tomorrow? I can’t go online and check it, after all, and even if I did know I was running out, it’s not as if I could whip out a credit card and buy myself another few months.

By simplifying life we free up time, time that we can spend with our families, friends, walking in the countryside, sitting on the beach looking out to sea, writing poetry, reading, growing fresh veg, or any of the myriad things we may wish we had more time to do. Surely, it’s just a matter of priority?

Live your stressful life if you must, but remember there’s always SOMETHING you can do to make it easier on yourself. And having said that, I now need to get on with changing a few things that are causing me unnecessary stress at the moment. Zara… where are you?

Sharon xxx

I’ve been cleaning the downstairs loo. It’s 5.30 in the morning but I have to do things when my energy levels are decent. The PVD pains will always be there to hinder some projects but if I pace myself I can generally keep on top of things. What I can’t keep on top of is a teenage daughter who seems to think that things clean themselves and that even though Mum is obviously struggling, it’s easier to just walk past things than pick them up and take them to wherever they belong.

Because I have mobility problems I have to find easy ways of keeping the house reasonably clean. It doesn’t have to be 100% dust free, just clean and tidy in the usual sense. About 6 weeks ago said daughter and I went flat out and got this place looking acceptable. I told her that it would be much easier from now to just keep on top of things. How long did that last? One week! Then we were back to leaving HER washing up for ME to do (if I’m in bed ill for 3 days and come down to a pile of washing up, it can hardly be mine, can it?). Glasses all over the coffee table, empty pop bottles around the table, and NO clean towels in the airing cupboard. NOT ONE! Nothing hanging in the downstairs loo and not even a toilet roll so going in there left me well and truly buggered. The basket I use to keep toilet rolls in slowly refilled with empty toilet rolls inners, and … well, you get the general picture, yeah? Everything fell into decline. And it needn’t have. It takes seconds to put up a new toilet roll and put the old one in the bin which is two steps away from the toilet. The bathroom has its own bin but if you’re going down anyway, why not take it with you? The kitchen also smelt worse than an elephant’s fart!

Things I need to take upstairs are left at the bottom. She walks straight past them, and then will happily watch me struggle up with them later (stairs are particularly difficult for me).

Bollocks. I’m tired of nagging.

I’ve found as many ways as possible to make things easier for myself. And to use as few products as possible. Bicarb, white vinegar, salt, lemon and a bottle of Dettol go a long way. Of course, they don’t do everything, but I no longer need dozens of different cleaners under my sink. Hooray. Better for the environment and better for my pocket!

When it comes to the practical side of things, any tips will be gratefully received. I have trouble cleaning around the outside of the toilet bowls (especially the bendy bits) because I can’t get down on the floor. Well, I can, but I can’t get up again. That’s why I have to be naughty when it comes to cleaning the bath. I can’t get round it properly anymore so I fill it right up with warm water and soap powder and leave it for a few hours. Nice and clean but not environmentally friendly. I do try though, honest! Although I do have to admit that I also use alcowipes to clean down my work surfaces and the toilet/bathroom. I’ve no idea how eco friendly they are but I don’t like the idea of eColi and other nasties lurking so as I get loads of them delivered anyway, I use them to keep it clean. If they’re good enough to make my trolley aseptic then they must be good enough for the kitchen etc. I’m probably being a bit over the top there, though. I don’t really agree with removing all bugs from the home but kitchen counters and places where we do our ones and twos really ought to be clean I think.

Anything that involves crouching down is pretty much impossible for me so I really could do with some good tips. I’ve ordered a gripper so that it’s easier to pick up bits and pieces but I can’t clean with it. I’ve tried using a cloth attached to a stick with an elastic band but the cloth kept coming off. Very annoying.

Funnily enough, I do quite enjoy cleaning. It takes my mind completely off of everything else and is kind of meditative. Not in the usual sense, obviously, but it does clear the thoughts out. Especially if there’s some nice music on. I might even be able to iron now that Richard has bought me a new perching stool. I gave my mum my old one then Argos stopped doing them. Dang! I was stuck. Richard found one though. Good ol’ Richard.

I’m not a clean freak y’know. Not at all. I just like my house to look “normal”. The kind of house that doesn’t appear on Kim & Aggie’s show. And anyway, I find it easier to relax in a tidy home than a messy one. I know some people would disagree but each to our own. I also believe clutter stops energy from flowing nicely. I’m not all feng-shuied up or anything but I do believe certain things. I want calm in my life and clutter doesn’t feel calm to me. Zen! Give me zen!

Ok, enough of cleaning. I’m off. Gotta fill the bath ready for cleaning the bathroom tomorrow (later today). Then I’m going to bed. Sometimes my energy levels rise at the most unforgiving times, but better that than never at all.

Sharon J xx

PS: What I don’t get is why houses were ever built without a sink in the downstairs loo. This seems typical of 1960s/70s houses. Did nobody wash their hands back then?

Update! I found the solution to the bath tub. I had an old nylon scrubbie type back scrubber that nobody ever used and I was going to chuck. But then I thought maybe I could use it to reach the back of the bath. Voila! Problem solved. It’s still uncomfortable but at least I can do it and it’s CLEAN! And without having to waste a whole tub full of hot water every time. I felt like doing a little dance afterwards

I went out for the second time in three weeks today. I had planned to put a bit of make-up on first but was worried my energy levels would drop if I didn’t get out NOW so decided against it and went “unenhanced”. That got me to thinking about women and make-up and men and their general lack of it.

Take away the make-up, hair straighteners and other primping accessories and a woman’s appearance changes dramatically whereas the majority of men in the Western world look pretty much the same regardless of whether they’re busy at the office, vegged out in front of the telly, eating at a posh restaurant, digging up the garden or downing a pint at the local boozer. Ok, maybe they’d look a little worse for the wear after going five rounds with Mike Tyson but that isn’t a problem because most men don’t do that anyway. A handsome 20 year old male will probably also be a handsome 60 year old male.

Women, on the other hand, change drastically depending on circumstances. How man can honestly say that their facial appearance is pretty much unchanged regardless of where they are or what they’re doing? From my experience, very few. And that includes me.

And yet women are considered to be the more beautiful of the sexes. If we really believed that, why would we go to so much trouble to change, or enhance, our appearance? Wouldn’t the natural look be enough? It ought to be and yet, unlike most men, we do everything possible to make our faces more attractive. Growing old isn’t acceptable so we strive to keep our youthful looks for as long as possible, applying all sorts of potions to our skin and increasingly enduring the pain of surgery in order to combat nature and yet even those who still have youth on their side generally prefer to hide behind a Revlon mask. How many women haven’t panicked at the thought of a new partner seeing them “au naturelle”? How many women would attend a business meeting without a trace of make-up and having used nothing other than a comb on their hair? Yes, I know men use styling products too, but a hell of a lot don’t. The same can’t be said for women.

Shouldn’t natural beauty be enough? It seems to me that even the truly beautiful women still believe that real beauty can only be achieved through what’s layered on top of the skin rather than the natural character of their faces.

If we honestly believed that we’re attractive to the opposite sex then why would we need to change our appearances so radically? Why don’t we do as most men do and step out into the world wearing nothing more on the faces we were born with? Is it because men don’t actually like the way women look or is that something we’ve convinced ourselves of? Could it be about competition? That we have to do everything within our powers to look better than our peer? But surely that’s also about “who’s more likely to pull a bloke”? Or is it just a way of proving to the outside world that we take care of ourselves? If that’s the case, surely slapping on a cocktail of chemicals, sticking needles in our faces or letting somebody loose on us with a knife isn’t the way to go? We wouldn’t do that to our children, after all.

Why do I wear make-up sometimes and other times not? Is it a confidence thing? Do I feel more in control when Sharon’s hidden behind beauty products? I’m blowed if I know. And if I don’t actually know then I’m guessing I’ve been daft enough to fall for some kind of subliminal persuasion, probably going as far back as my early childhood when I was read stories about beautiful princesses with golden hair and rosebud lips who were delivered from evil by knights on white chargers.

And yes, I know it all started with women trying to make their mouths resemble their vulvas and their eyes more open and childlike in order to appear in need of protection but why us? Why didn’t men start painting their faces to look like penises or enhance the strength of their bone structure so that we’d think they were big and strong and capable of rescuing us from the wicked witch?

Things are starting to change, though. Young men are increasingly turning to make-up and cosmetic surgery in order to enhance their faces too, and a growing number of women are ditching the slap and letting nature do its thing but that’s a whole new blog post.

Sharon J xx

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An email dropped in my inbox today. Basically it was just an outline of the various star signs and although this isn’t something I’ve had much interest in, it caught my attention and gave me something to think about. Well, when a girl’s bored, she has to have something - anything - to think about, right?

Virgo

Dominant in relationships
Yes, definitely. I hate being told what to do and can be a right miserable old bag if things aren’t done my way. Ask any man who’s lived with me and they’ll all tell you the same thing: I’m a sweet and loving woman who doesn’t even own a pair of trousers.

Conservative
Give over! I’d never vote for David Cameron! There is no bourgeois mentality going on here and I’m not unimaginatively conventional. Or am I?

Argumentative - always wants the last word
I am not argumentative and that’s that! Ok? Now just shut up!

Worries
Yeah… the born worrier, that’s me. When things are going well I worry about why there’s nothing to worry about. No, as it happens I don’t worry much. It doesn’t achieve anything anyway.

Very Smart
Not sure whether this means smart as in well-dressed or as in clever so I’m declining to comment.

Dislikes noise and chaos
Definitely. I’m happiest in a peaceful environment far from the maddening crowd and although I’m an untidy cow, mess stresses me. Just give me a field of daisies, a good book and let me chill.

Eager
Aren’t we all? Show me somebody who isn’t eager to do something they enjoy and I’ll show you a corpse!

Hardworking
Not if I can help it.

Unwavering in devotion to friends and causes
As long as they don’t take the gypsy, yeah.

Beautiful
Sod off! I’m a skinny cow with glasses who’s edentulous!

Easy to talk to
Depends who’s talking to me. If you’re talking a load of cobblers then don’t expect me to listen.

Hard to please
If I’m gonna be honest then yes, I am. I don’t like half measures and am fussy to the point where I drive myself bonkers, let alone others.

Harsh
Depends on the situation. I don’t suffer fools easily and can indeed be harsh with them. Even worse if people treat me like a fool. In fact, I once pushed a person into a very muddy pond for treating me like a fool. I may have mellowed with age, but on the other hand…

Practical and very fussy
I’ve already admitted to being fussy so we’ll skip that bit. Practical? Frick knows!

Often shy
No, not really.

Pessimistic
Oh come on! Just because I believe the planet is turning to mush and the pimple on my left buttock means I’ve been possessed by a purple demon doesn’t make me a pessimist, does it?

Sharon xx

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Did you know that current legislation defines back gardens as “brown field” land? What that means is that our back gardens can be bought up and built on in the same way as old factory sites, disused airfields and the likes. Yes, that’s right, that nice little plot you have at the back of your house where you grow your veggies, pansies and poppies could one day be the site of modern apartments or tall, narrow houses! Housing developers can buy up property and built at least twice as many homes by eliminating gardens.

And don’t think it won’t happen because it’s happen right now in Sutton. The area is in need of new homes and a lot of older homes with gardens are under threat and the people of Sutton are having to petition the government to change their legislation to stop the forced building that’s being planned.

Now I know not everybody is lucky enough to have a back garden, and not everybody even wants one, but they’re important in more ways than just a place for us to sit and catch some rays during summer. Our wildlife is becoming increasingly dependent on back gardens as increased building destroys much of their natural habitat and I for one love to hear the birds in the tree at the bottom of our garden, and watch the hedgehogs go about their business in the evening (well, I did before Zara chased them off!). We get the odd fox visit and squirrels are a regular sight as they hop along the back fence.

I don’t know about you but I think it’s disgraceful that back gardens can be built on willy-nilly.

Sharon J xx

Link: Hands Off Our Back Gardens

Right. For some obscure reason, Debi Alper has nominated me for “A Roar For Powerful Words” Award which I think has something to do with people who are good at writing stories. I’m not quite sure why I was nominated because I’ve yet to actually finish a book but I guess Debi thinks that what’s she seen of my work has been good enough. I dunno. Anyway, the idea is that I now have to give you three things that I believe are necessary to make writing good and powerful, so here goes….

1. Write a story you want to read. After all, if you wouldn’t read it, who the hell else would?

2. Don’t stress over it. If the words aren’t coming, go away and do something else. When all is said and done, it’s just a story and nobody’s life depends on it. It’ll happen when it’s ready.

3. Don’t ask friends what they think. You’ll get as many different answers as friends you ask and that’ll just confuse you. Trust yourself.

So that’s it. Now I have to nominate five other people for the award. Ohhhh…. difficult….

1. India Grey. Everything she writes sounds beautiful, even when she’s writing about doing the washing-up!

2. Caroline Smailes. This is a lady who has a writing style that is utterly her own and even though she sometimes loses faith in herself, she sticks with what she believes in and has proved that only YOU know what YOU should write about.

3. Richard Seamon. He’s authored one biography but a visit to his blog should prove that he has a unique way with words. Such a pity he doesn’t do more with his talent.

Sorry… for the life of me I can’t think of anybody else. Shameful, I know, but I really can’t think at the moment. Brain’s turned to mush.

If you want more information about the award, you can visit The Shameless Lion’s Roar For Powerful Words. In the meantime I’ll be thinking about actually writing something again because it’s a bloody long time since I last wrote anything worth reading.

Sharon xx

November 5th came this year as every other and like every other, the weekend before, as well as the night itself, was dominated by the banging of fireworks. Fun for some, a nightmare for others.

As usual, I went to our local display. It’s a charity event and yes, the fireworks are pretty. But as I sat there, watching a duck that hadn’t managed to find its nesting place around the lake over which the display is staged, fly back and forth, ducking and diving and obviously distressed, I wondered what the cost of all this “fun” really is.

One of my dogs certainly didn’t like it. We’d left the TV on loud to cover the noise, given her plenty of toys and treats to keep her occupied but still she was a quivering wreck when we got back. God only knows what affect it had on the general wildlife in the park and surrounding areas.

I won’t be going anymore. One reason is that it’s just too tiring for me but even if it wasn’t, I’d avoid it because I just don’t think it’s worth the cost to the innocent creatures that are hurt for the sake of an evening’s fun. Even young children and old people can become distressed by the noise and flashes of Guy Fawke’s night and other celebrations where fireworks are traditionally used. Not to mention the number of people - mostly children - who are seriously injured every year.

I’m sorry - a killjoy I may be but I’d be more than happy to see a ban on fireworks. The only problem is, people would no doubt use “homemade” fireworks instead and what kind of dangers would that involve? Too many people are, unfortunately, very selfish when it comes to their own entertainment versus the needs of others, whether human or otherwise.

Sharon xx

See: Ban The Bang!

I’ve gotta tell you about this!

I was talking to my mum last night and as Paul, my son, is living with her while Dad’s in need of constant care, she was telling me what he’s been up to lately.

Now, bear in mind that Paul has profound learning difficulties. He can’t count to more than five and he can’t read or write (although he can recognise and recreate his own name).

First of all, the rubber thing that was stuck on the back of Mum’s kitchen door had come off. I don’t know what you call them - buffers or something, I suppose - but you know the things that stop the door from banging against the wall? Yes, of course you know what I mean. Anyway, it had broken so all that was left was the screw. Mum was a bit upset because it meant it would make a hole in the cupboard door behind it but because she can’t leave Dad for longer than absolutely necessary, she doesn’t get the time to go into different shops to find the bits and pieces she needs when things break. Anyway, a few days ago Paul was in the kitchen “doing something” while she was busy ironing in the living room. After a while he came in and gestured for her to come into the kitchen with him (he can’t speak but is very good at making himself understood in other ways). Guess what he’d done? He’d attached a peg to the screw and then wound some of Mum’s knitting yarn around it until it was a big soft buffer, covered in in cellotape and Bob’s your uncle, no more banging into the cupboard door! Pure genius!

But that’s not all. Another day she’d been complaining that a nasty draught comes in through the keyhole of the front door. It’s a big keyhole. Anyway, she’d said to Paul that she’d have to find some way of covering it up but didn’t really give the matter much more thought. A couple of days later he goes into the kitchen, marches through the living room and starts fiddling at the door. What had he done this time? He’d taken a fridge magnet from the fridge and put it over the keyhole. He’d figured out all by himself that if it could stick to the fridge, it’d stick to the metal around the keyhole! No more draught!

And finally - and I think this one is probably the best - the lock on the bathroom door broke. Now Mum likes to be able to lock it because Dad, not being compos mentis at the moment, has a tendency to go looking for her and then fall over on the wet floor. He’s very difficult to get up again and fights her off so to make sure that doesn’t happen, she locks the door when she showers. The actual bolt bit was still intact, but the bit the bolt goes into had come off (that’ll be the female bit - the poor male was left with nowhere to dip his metal) and she had no idea where to get a new one. Once again, Paul came to the rescue. She said she knew he was weighing up the possibilities because he kept going to the bathroom, having a look at it, sitting down and thinking and then eventually, he went to the kitchen, fiddled around out there for a bit, then went into the bathroom. A few minutes later he emerged and told her to come and look. He’d taken one of the cup hooks that she has under her wall cabinets and put it where the lost piece of the lock used to be. So now it locks again!

Now I don’t know about you, but I wouldn’t have come up with any of those solutions myself. And to think, when he was a baby, I was told he’d never be much more than a vegetable. Yeah, right!!

Sharon xx

I’m reading “The Secret Garden” by Frances Hodgson Burnett at the moment. Most of you will probably know that it’s a children’s story written in 1911 about a little girl who lost her family in India and was sent to stay at a huge, rambling old mansion on the Yorkshire moors and how her experience there changed her perspective of, not only life, but herself.

My Grandad introduced me to it when I was a little girl myself and this is the first time I’ve reread it as an adult. How different it seems, this time around.

The writing style is “queer” and the atmosphere not in the least “gay”, but it’s a lovely story that throws you back in time in a way that modern novels written in an historic setting just can’t do. Ms Burnett wrote from what she knew then - what anybody could have know then - making it a lovely way of looking at things through an historical perspective.

It’s certainly not hard-going like some of the classics can be, I suppose because it was aimed at children, so I’d definitely recommend it to anybody who might be interested in life “back then” without the dressings of a modern day historical. The language especially is interesting, but the insight into how people viewed the world almost equally so.

I wish I’d read it to my kids now. But hey… there are only so many books, right?

Sharon xx