Ros's Route 60 http://roscurtis.posterous.com My journey on the rocky road to retirement posterous.com Mon, 25 Jun 2012 09:10:00 -0700 Desperate measures http://roscurtis.posterous.com/140305035 http://roscurtis.posterous.com/140305035

Fitball
Is it supposed to hurt? Getting fit I mean. It took me 15 years to get fat but I’m hoping to get fit PDQ.

When my friend Pat told me she was thinking likewise, we trotted off to the leisure centre and signed up for a 16 week fitness course - making a start on the treadmill. 

Such determination is to be commended! After just three minutes my back could stand it no longer and I moved on to the bike.

That didn’t work either because my legs don’t bend very well since the knee ops. 

So there I was sitting on a gym ball like a great elephant trying to balance with just one toe on the floor while everyone else seemed to be jogging, cross training and pumping iron at a manic pace.

Pat didn’t get on much better, after 15 boring minutes on the treadmill she switched to the exercise bike and found her feet wouldn’t reach the pedals and couldn’t balance on the ball for toffee. 

So, not to be defeated we looked up the pool activities and arranged to try the water aerobics the following week. 

It was fun to start with, about 30 of us bounced up and down the pool in time to the music. The buoyancy taking the strain from our bodies. 

I was well into it by the time YMCA came on. But half way through the class the bunny hops, felt like kangaroo leaps.

Knees up, arms down, arms up, stomachs in, stretch backs, point toes, and the non-stop action continued. Those girls at the leisure centres must be mega-fit to give hour upon hour of lessons like that.

In an especially painful and puffed out moment I casually mentioned to all and sundry that Sheila our instructor only needed a small black moustache.

Side stepping through the water should be one of the easiest moves but when the legs don’t connect with the brain it’s not so easy. By the time I have stopped moving to the right, everyone else has turned and is well away to the left and I land up out of sinc.

Eventually the class is over, everyone is pink and smiling and the changing room turns into a hub of chatter as we all shower and change. 

And somehow we realise we’re not puffed out and tired, we feel exhilarated and realise we have enjoyed the last 45 minutes so much that we are hooked.

But as we were leaving I couldn’t believe my ears when one of the ladies told Sheila that I had likened her to Hitler! 

So although I’m really looking forward to the next session I’ll be hiding behind Pat. 

 

 

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http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1769073/ros.jpg http://posterous.com/users/egP5Tv8g2HOB4 Ros Curtis roscurtis Ros Curtis
Thu, 24 May 2012 00:55:00 -0700 Kitchen capers http://roscurtis.posterous.com/kitchen-capers http://roscurtis.posterous.com/kitchen-capers
Kitchen
MY kitchen needed a makeover - with just a sink unit, breakfast bar and just three tiny cupboards on the walls - a new kitchen beckoned.

After a few quotes we decided on a planner and chose the doors, worktops, handles, etc but eventually the date arrived and the reality of ‘out with the old and in with the new’ hit home.

It didn’t take long to empty the three small cupboards into boxes and put them into the lounge. And what about all those gadgets we hardly ever use, that lurk on top of the cupboards.

My flat is a dust magnet, at the best of times but after all the banging about it looks like it’s been snowing in the lounge. 

Despite having the ioniser switched on all the time, it hasn’t been able to cope with the extra fallout. But to be fair, I now have the freshest dust in St Mellons.

The delivery man arrived with the new kitchen and box after box just kept on coming until we were stuffed to the rafters. When the kitchen was full we had plinths in the bedroom, worktops in the hallway and cornices in the lounge.

Our fitters arrived and we sloped off and left them to it. 
When we got back some hours later, the fitter told us the measurements were out and that the magic corner I had paid for was not going to fit in the cupboard! 

Was I mad! I got straight on the phone and shouted at the customer services lady, the manager, and the girl on the switchboard but to no avail. They couldn’t care less that I had paid cash on delivery for the goods even though some of them were no use to me. There was no way I was getting a refund. They said the best they could do was a credit note.

And they were right I checked with Trading Standards I and decided to go for a swap, I just have to find something I can fit in the kitchen to swap the magic corner for.

The fitters were brilliant, they methodically slotted everything into place, even changing the design to give me even more space than the (incompetent) planner had suggested.  
Some of the items sent were damaged and I have to wait a few weeks for my wine rack (oh no!) to be replaced, when my very helpful fitter is coming back to sort it out for me. If only I had known his phone number, I could have gone directly to them and saved myself the hassle and some wonga.

After two days of banging, drilling and living in a bomb site, the job was done and I started to put everything back in the new cupboards.
It was a mammoth task, as every single item had to be cleaned due to the white film of plaster/dust covering the whole flat! 

In the chaos I temporarily lost my trusty friends - the UFO (halogen oven) and Bertie the slow cooker and I couldn’t find the cutlery anywhere. 

By the weekend the kitchen looked great and I was well pleased. I made a cup of tea and as I took it into the lounge I remarked to The Grump “ looks like it needs a makeover in here,” just as he found the steak knives. I made a hasty retreat.

He’ll have to replace that door!

 

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Sun, 06 May 2012 10:13:00 -0700 What's up doc? http://roscurtis.posterous.com/oh-doctor-im-in-trouble http://roscurtis.posterous.com/oh-doctor-im-in-trouble
Doc
IT'S about time our GPs started to earn their money. OK we’ve all heard they are understaffed and overworked just like the rest of us, but how long does it take to get a diagnosis? 

They may have passed their anatomy exams but putting two and two together is beyond most of them? And by the time you get past the receptionist for an appointment, you're probably over the worst.

So when the sole of my foot started to shred like a portion of crispy duck, I didn’t bother with the doctor, I went straight to Damian my chiropodist/podiatrist who has been looking after my corns for years. 

I knew he would sort it out and after a foot examination he asked me if my knees and hip hurt or had I ever had pains in my chest?

Funny you should say that Damian -  I’ve been going to the doc’s for more than a year with assorted pains that wake me up in the night for no reason. I had blood tests and x-rays last but there was nothing wrong.

Damian showed me a diagram where the skeleton showed red pressure areas in the foot, hip, chest, and neck - all the places I hurt. Suddenly it all made sense.

Damian had come across this before when people have had knee replacements, and told me to go back to the doc to get my legs measured, he thought I may have one leg shorter than the other.

I mentioned it to the practice nurse who said she had never heard of it and she thought it was a load of rubbish, but I trusted Damian’s judgment and made an appointment with the doctor who measured my legs and found that one leg appeared to be 10cm shorter than the other! 

We both laughed and decided the measurement couldn't be right or I'd fall over every time I stood up.
Duckshoes2
Months later, I've been sorted out with orthotics in my shoes. It's cost me a fortune because I had to sell all my shoes, sandals and boots on e-bay, all 23 pairs. And then buy new ones to fit the new insoles.

On the plus side my foot has healed nicely and I've got rid of the hip and chest pain. The downside is that I'm waddling around like a duck with daps on.

 

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Wed, 02 May 2012 07:56:00 -0700 Are you getting enough? http://roscurtis.posterous.com/are-you-getting-enough http://roscurtis.posterous.com/are-you-getting-enough
Twitter2
I’m not getting much myself lately.

I can’t remember the last time I had a good laugh. You know the kind where you just can’t stop. 

According to doctors laughter is better than medicine - give me the drugs any time!

I didn’t find it very funny when I had an injection up my nose at the dentist recently and the dentist was the one laughing all the way to the bank when I paid the bill!

Since retiring I’ve noticed that pensioners can be grouchy, especially when parting with their cash at the supermarket.

Although how the Government expect people to exist at all on their measly pension and still smile is beyond me. 

If only the Government would double the state pension, we could say goodbye to miserable oldies and have pensioners leaping around the shops, happily spending their cash on luxuries like food and flannelette drawers, thereby helping to keep the tills ringing and everyone in employment.

Now why hasn’t George Osborne thought of that?

So far I don’t seem to have inherited the grumpy gene, of course I’ve only been retired about two years so there’s time yet.

I’ve always enjoyed a good laugh and I was often in trouble for laughing inappropriately.

I remember coming home from work one day and telling my mother the Queen had died! Ha, I’m laughing now just remembering her reaction.

She ran round wailing, hands on head, carrying on as if her twin sister had met her maker, I had to own up before she told the neighbours the sad news, then she chased me upstairs with a wooden spoon.

That made me laugh all the more. I was a rotten teenager, sorry mum.
Another time I was caught smoking with my best friend Janice when her mother burst into the room unexpectedly. 

Quickly we put our hands behind our backs. Her mum was very cross and said:  “Have you girls been smoking?” “No!” we indignantly replied.

"Well your arse is on fire then,” she said. And I had the giggles again. I got sent straight home and Janice was grounded for weeks.

Laughing may be good for you but sometimes try as you may, you can‘t stop.

Like the time I went up to London to the see the Phantom of the Opera on a girls day out and during one of the scenes, a woman playing the piano stood up, leaving her skirt behind her, as it was trapped under the piano stool.

As she just stood there in her knickers, singing and acting out the rest of the scene, I almost choked laughing and had to suppress the giggles for the rest of the show.

I‘m off to Holme Lacey House again soon,  I just hope the cabaret singer’s not playing the piano!

 

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Fri, 20 Apr 2012 08:49:00 -0700 On the hoof http://roscurtis.posterous.com/on-the-hoof http://roscurtis.posterous.com/on-the-hoof
Horsey1
I dread going to our bank. They never have more than two people at the counter and I've never known there to be less than 15 people waiting. 

I went to get some Euros last week and by the time I got to the head of the queue I was more than narked.

After a long 20 minutes wait, I collected my Euros and the cashier smugly told me how much easier life would be if only I had one of their travel cash cards. I could even transfer money on to it over the internet. Perhaps I would like to apply for one?

"Certainly not," I replied. "I have enough trouble with your debit card, it's useless, I can never read the numbers when ordering over the internet because there’s a hoof in the way.”

“Oh really madam, let me see.” The cashier couldn’t read them either (and she was wearing glasses) she replied: “We will order you a different card without an animal across the numbers. Would you like a new pin number?”

I crabbily replied: “No thank you, I have enough trouble remembering the one I have,” and went off in a huff.

A week later said card arrives, minus the black animal and clearly displaying the numbers.  The accompanying letter told me I could use my old pin number. I was pleased and took it out straight away to play with it.
How embarrassing - at the till in Sainsbury’s my card was refused, also at the cash point. And I headed back to the bank.

I was speechless when they solved the problem - my old pin had been blocked and a new pin number was in the post!

Now how can I stay with a bank who’s left hoof doesn’t know what it’s right hoof is doing?

 

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Sat, 14 Apr 2012 05:12:00 -0700 A walk on the whiffy side http://roscurtis.posterous.com/a-walk-on-the-whiffy-side http://roscurtis.posterous.com/a-walk-on-the-whiffy-side

Wolfwalk

Have you ever wanted to meet a wolf? Or even wondered what it's like to walk amongst them? 

Me neither, but I know someone who does.I recently met someone who is planning on taking a nature walk with a difference - she is spending the day with a whole pack.

Now I didn’t know you could do that outside of Canada! Did you? Apparently, here in the UK it‘s becoming quite popular, but it’s not for me and Little Red Riding Hood didn’t think much of it either!

I have nothing but admiration for anyone who could stride out surrounded by wolves. And to let any wild animal get a good sniff, is asking to be the main dish for a tasty picnic in the woods. 

  So I’ve done a bit of research on the subject in case any of you fancy a walk on the wild side…

  • Listen carefully to the safety briefing: First of all the wolves are introduced to the walkers - “Good morning wolfy what big teeth you have” - walkers stand with sleeves rolled up, arms outstretched and offer their bunched up fists to the wolves, who may or may not be interested enough to get your scent. 
  • Don’t wear anything with dangly bits: Buttons, toggles and belts flapping about could excite the wolf and tempt him into a quick nibble.
  • No perfume or smelly soap: In fact just don’t wash for a few days beforehand then you can smell like a wolf yourself.
  • At last the handlers set them off across the fields allowing an excellent view of them as they sniff, pee and scratch. Nice!
  • Watch the wolves interact within their environment - rolling in something disgusting before they brush alongside you and rub it off on your new jeans. 
  • There are usually opportunities to see the wolves up close and personal and the wolves may be willing to be stroked on the tummy.  A firm hand is advised, but don’t tickle, they don’t like that. You can try this under the supervision of a handler. 
  • Do not pat them on the head as this can also allow you to lose a few fingers although it would make a good frame for Animals Do The Funniest Things.
  • Throughout the walk volunteers will be on hand to answer any questions and hopefully they will have a first aid kit.
  • If you are lucky you may get to hear a wolf's howl: The wolves will often call to the other packs back in their enclosures, to set up an ambush on your return. 

Owwwwwwooooooooooooooo! 

Howling_wolf
 Click on  http://ukwct.org.uk and hit the 'walk' tab.

 

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Sun, 08 Apr 2012 01:07:00 -0700 Rain, rain go away... http://roscurtis.posterous.com/rain-rain-go-away http://roscurtis.posterous.com/rain-rain-go-away

Lightningboats
OMG! Have you seen the weather forecast for this week? And I'm supposed to be joining the family on a cabin cruiser on the Norfolk Broads tomorrow.

The bad weather seems to follow me around. It's always the same when I'm thinking of taking a break. I've had quite a few wet holidays in the past  and 2010 was the worst year so far.

It started in the January with snow and ice for a weekend break at Warner's Lakeside Coastal Village at Hayling Island. Then in February we left a sunny Cardiff on a coach trip to Chester, had torrential rain for two days, and returned to sunshine!

A month later joining the family at a caravan at Burnham on Sea we couldn't believe the size of the hailstones - they actually hurt. Then a spur-of-the-moment jaunt to the Quantock Hills finished up with more snow in April. 

It was wet in Minehead in May when we watched our grandson sliding across the waterlogged pitch at a football tournament.

We had showers in Suffolk in June, then more rain spoiled our plans every time we planned a day out with the grandkids during the summer hols and we ended up going to the cinema most weeks.

When we drove to the Yorkshire Dales to visit my Aunty Myrtle in October, it was so foggy we got lost several times arriving three hours late for lunch. And my nose almost froze when we went back for her 90th birthday party in November, bringing the sub-zero weather back with us to Cardiff.

And it didn't stop there - we booked a week in Corfu for the following spring and left Cardiff in brilliant sun, landing on a dull and cloudy evening. After a spectacular lightning storm that night, I was sure there would be sunshine the next morning.

But I was wrong! After FIVE wet days stranded at the hotel we were so bored we booked a full day coach tour of the island for the sixth day.

You guessed it - we woke up to a bright sunshiny day, the air con wasn't working and the coach was very hot.

The day started off well enough until we picked up an elderly couple at the next village who sat behind us. After 15 minutes or so we heard loud burping noises, interrupted only by the occasional squeak of a fart. I thought I would burst from trying not to laugh.

After half an hour the courier went across with a bottle of water for the passenger and the coach rumbled on. Then the elderly lady began to vomit all over herself - with acoustics! 

The smell was so bad the courier called an unshceduled stop and took her off to freshen up while the driver tried to clean her seat (and the back of mine).

We all had to stifle a giggle when the courier ushed the doddery old girl back on the bus sporting a brand new T-shirt with 'I LUV Corfu' in pink glitter across her chest.

Despite getting the wrong weather on every occasion, we always get a good sprinkling of laughs.

 

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Tue, 03 Apr 2012 11:45:00 -0700 What's under our winter woollies then? http://roscurtis.posterous.com/118718584 http://roscurtis.posterous.com/118718584

THE weather has been teasing us with sunshine and we're all waiting for the spring.

We'll all be getting ready to emerge from our shapeless baggy jumpers and thick woolly tights, as beautiful healthy examples of the human race.

And to all intents and purposes our menfolk could be forgiven for thinking we've been perfect all winter long underneath our hats, scarves and Ugg boots.

Well, the aim is to fool the boys - so we take stock in front of the dreaded full-length mirror. Hmmm... looking a bit pasty are we? Especially those milk-bottle legs. Better get a spray tan or some tinted body lotion to slap on after we've shaved the stray hairs off.

I love the way a tan makes us look slimmer, not three dress sizes unfortunately, so while we're at it we'd better lose a few pounds before summer or the cossie won't fit.

It doesn't matter what your age, if you are female you will soon be packing up your winter clothes and fishing out your summer wardrobe. Cool cotton tops, floaty skirts, T-shirts and cropped pants.

And while we're at it, out go the boots and in come the sandals. While trying on last summer's flip flops you notice the thick, hard skin on your heels and vow to put it right, followed by some nifty toenail painting, before anyone gets to see your feet.

So we spend all that time and money in readiness for the spring and does anyone notice? Not in my experience!

The only time the Grump noticed my efforts to make myself beautiful was back in the 80s when we went for a romantic weekend for our wedding anniversary.

Having recently been to a Pippa Dee party (or was it Anne Summers?) I had bought a snazzy little babydoll number especially for the occasion.

It was baby blue with a little battery pack hidden inside the knickers to operate the flashing glow-in-the-dark stars scattered all over it -  and I thought it was amazing.

I called out from the en-suite: "switch off the lights, I've got a surprise for you".  

I made my entrance and he was surprised all right. He fell about laughing saying: "Whatever are you wearing? You look like a *!?*+*!* Christmas tree!"

Luckly I saw the funny side and were still married.

 

 

 

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Tue, 27 Mar 2012 07:46:00 -0700 Little sew and sew http://roscurtis.posterous.com/little-sew-and-sew http://roscurtis.posterous.com/little-sew-and-sew

Last weekend I dusted off my trusty sewing machine to make a fancy dress outfit.

I must have lost my touch because instead of a costume fit for Aladdin's princess, all it needed was some shocking pink platform shoes and she could have gone as a 70s disco diva.

My sewing machine has made periodical appearances over the years, helping out my daughters with curtains, cushion covers and the like. Give me anything square or oblong and I'm a whizz on the machine, but turning fabric into fashion is beyond me.

I remember when my granddaughter Caitlin was six she had a toy sewing machine for her birthday.

Obviously, it was down to nanny to show her how to use it so she brought it with her for a sleepover at my house and we entered the world of dolly fashions.

She had her own ideas for the dolls outfit - things had certainly changed since I had a doll. Mine used to wear bonnets, cardis and little booties all knitted by my older sister and it cried 'mama' when I tipped it over.

Barbie-dolls
But Caitlin's doll was a teenage Barbie. It took hours to make the paper pattern and pin it to Caitlin's chosen material then with great concentration she cut it out, her jaws chomping with every stroke of the scissors. She did a great job with the pinking shears.

I realised just how much she enjoyed cutting out when I saw the hole in her sheet the next morning when I was making the beds!

Eventually we got down to the business of figuring out how a toy sewing machine works (nothing like a real one I might add) and it did the job brilliantly. 

Caitlin was delighted with the finished outfit, and we'd even made a matching pair of socks out of the scraps. Just one snag... in our haste to begin we forgot to measure the doll first.

So if anyone out there has a hunchbacked, one-armed Barbie with club feet, I've got just the outfit for her.

 

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Thu, 15 Mar 2012 03:18:00 -0700 Missing mum http://roscurtis.posterous.com/missing-mum http://roscurtis.posterous.com/missing-mum

IT'S Mother's Day again and I still miss her.

I always smile when I think of my mum. Although I didn't smile much when I thought she was an old fashioned fuddyduddy. But as I grew up and had children of my own, together we would try to make sense of toddlers tantrums and teenage fads.

She did a fair bit of lip pursing and tutting, so she must have disapproved of my approach to parenting at times, and I expect her cronies at the Townswomen's Guild heard them all. For 40 or so years my mum and her friends drifted into old age and put the world to rights every Wednesday night.

A year or so after her death I found myself grinning on the bus after some amusing incident and thinking "I can't wait to tell mum when I get home".

She loved a good joke or a bit of scandal like the time when she and her friend, both staunch churchgoers discovered that the local vicar was gay. Her friend, a spinster, was shocked to the core. Not my mum, she was curious and asked me what exactly did gays do in private.

At 18 I'd only just found out myself, but I gave her the low down - she said nothing but on went the hat and off she rushed to tell her friend who almost fainted at the news.

Years later at 88 she had a blood clot in her leg and we went to the hospital for the last time. Even 17 years ago we waited in the corridor for five hours overnight before receiving any pain relief or treatment.

She was in a lot of pain but never lost her sense of humour, The last joke we shared was on that trolley in the cold, dark corridor. As she looked at the huge haematoma on her shin (about as big as a plum) she said: "Oh well, it could have been worse, it could have been piles!"

Happy Mother's Day mum, I'm still missing you.

 

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Mon, 27 Feb 2012 10:44:00 -0800 Sparks began to fly http://roscurtis.posterous.com/105690595 http://roscurtis.posterous.com/105690595

 
I can’t believe it! I’ve just had my first car insurance renewal and it’s gone up £300 plus! Taking the total of running the damn thing to well over £1,000 a year and that’s not counting the petrol.

Is it worth it I ask myself? Probably not. 

If only I hadn’t given that planter at the garden centre a little nudge and trashed the front wing of the car last winter.

I thought I was so clever finding new driver’s insurance for just £600 last year, and with a year’s no claims bonus it could have been half the price it is now. How annoying!

Along with the increasing cost of petrol, my little car has become more of a luxury than a necessity and I’m wondering whether it’s time to hang up my fluffy dice up and use the bus pass.

I suppose I could rely on my girls to ferry me to the shops and practical journeys, but as for having fun - well there’s nothing like hitting the road and not knowing where you are going to land up for lunch or even a B&B overnight.

We used to do just that every six weeks when my sister came home from her teaching post at a Hampshire boarding school and looked after the family for the first weekend of her holiday.

I can’t count how many different B&B’s we stayed at all over South Wales and Somerset, but it was great fun and we had a good system to find our ideal overnight stop. 

We would pull up at an inviting country pub. I would go off to check out the toilets and the Grump (who wasn’t at all grumpy back then) would get himself a pint of beer.

If the toilets were clean and the beer was good, we would book in for the night.

And our checklist worked well until the time I sent the Grump up with the overnight bag and forgot to check out the room myself before bedtime. 

We had found an old coaching station with a handsome bust of Winston Churchill on the bar propping up a notice promising ‘live music tonight’.

The loos were spotless, the beer was good and we booked in for the night.

We were having a great time drinking wine and dancing in the bar when we noticed Winston looking a bit snooty just like Her Majesty on the bar at the Queen Vic in EastEnders. 

The music struck up and as we passed the bar Winston joined in the conga. It had to be done! 

But the landlord didn‘t see the funny side, chasing the conga line all around the pub and the car park shouting ‘don’t drop him’ all the way back to the bar. 

Eventually we climbed the stairs and found our room.

When we got into bed sparks began to fly and my pillow shot across the room. 

I was terrified, thinking it was paranormal activity and we had disturbed a ghost but it was just a relic from the 70s - scary nylon sheets! 

From then on our routine changed to checking the cleanliness of the toilets, the quality of the beer and checking there were cotton sheets on the bed.

It’s been a long time since we’ve hit the road and landed up who knows where for the night and I feel a mystery weekend coming on.

You don’t get much excitement at our age but I can‘t help wondering if that place has proper sheets these days and whether Winston Churchill still sits on the bar looking snooty. 

 

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Tue, 21 Feb 2012 10:00:00 -0800 I'm no number cruncher http://roscurtis.posterous.com/why-is-life-just-a-number http://roscurtis.posterous.com/why-is-life-just-a-number
Why did I do it? It was bad enough when I changed the electricity supplier but I went and  changed my bank account to take advantage of the cheap travel insurance that comes with it, and it’s been an exercise in number crunching ever since. 

As a result I now have a box full of letters -  each one bears a number pertaining to the current account, the savings account, the credit card, the discount shopping card and the loyalty card.

Four cards for one bank account and each card has a pin number and security details, to be registered for internet banking, and they are all different. Help!
I was never much good with numbers failing the 11 plus exam twice on maths. I’m useless at adding up.

It’s a medical fact that the older ,you get the less brain cells you have at your disposal so why is it that the older you get the more numbers you need to remember. Postcodes, phone numbers, my lottery numbers, even my grandchildren’s birthdays elude me at times. 

Every time someone asks me for my mobile number I have to fumble around to find it because I only know the first four numbers, the rest are a jumble to me.
Life was so easy when numbers were kept to a minimum. 

I used to be able to cope with numbers when there were just THREE wishes (or bears, pigs and Billy goats gruff), FIVE gold rings, SEVEN deadly sins and TEN commandments.

Now on setting up security for the dratted new bank account I have to remember three new pin numbers, security ID numbers, the travel insurance policy number and that’s before we start on the (not so) memorable information for each of these accounts.

The first time I logged in for internet banking on the current account, it was so memorable I got locked out because I had  forgotten it! I tried everything I could think of before ringing the bank (on a premium number) and going through the third degree before it transpired that the first word I had tried was correct. It was just that the idiot at the bank had spelt it wrongly when he set the security questions up.

Who thinks of these security questions anyway, some of them are completely stupid. Why can’t they make them easier like ‘what colour balloon did you burst on your sixth birthday?’ or ‘how many fleas did your dog have last week?

Eventually, I got into my bank account only to find that there have been no pension credits and on ringing  the pension service I had to give them MORE numbers to prove that I was actually me. 

When they were satisfied I was actually the person entitled to the pension, I was told that it had been sent in error to the old bank account which had been closed down and it would take up to three weeks to get it back.

It feels like the numbers are crunching me!

 

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Tue, 14 Feb 2012 06:27:00 -0800 The old codgers guide to washing up http://roscurtis.posterous.com/the-old-codgers-guide-to-washing-up http://roscurtis.posterous.com/the-old-codgers-guide-to-washing-up

What is it with men and washing up?  

 Halfway through my morning cuppa The Grump is hovering over me trying to grab the cup. Before it’s even cold, the cup is washed, dried and put away neatly in the cupboard.

I shouldn’t complain, if I linger over my lunch, he’s whipped up all the dishes, washed and dried them and cleared up all the crumbs

His desire to wash dishes reminds me of my father, who would have run a mile had he been asked to do anything around the house when I was growing up. 

But I suppose boredom comes with old age and dish washing beckoned him.

He meant well but never wore his glasses to wash the dishes and consequently they had to be re-washed as soon as he had vacated the kitchen.

My parents lived with us for their last 12 years and we had a kitchen-diner with a huge table. Every Sunday I would cook a roast for the family, our daughters' boyfriends, and any friends of ours who happened to be at a loose end.

So with at least 12 to cater for there was plenty of washing up to be done. In a normal household, the teenage daughters would slope off with their boyfriends, but not in ours!

At the end of the meal the whole family would try to beat my father to the sink. Overreacting you may think – read on...

One Sunday afternoon after a particularly good lunch, we were lingering at the table chatting, and my dad was happily scrubbing away at the dishes in the kitchen sink.

My mother moved in to inspect his work and noticed something floating around in the suds. “My God Charlie!,” she said in horror, “what are your false teeth doing in the bowl with the cups?”

I can see his face now as he sheepishly replied: “Just washing ’em up Olive, what’s wrong with that?”

“But-they’ve-been-in-your-mouth!” my mum screeched.

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders the way he always did when she’d caught him out putting a bet on the horses or throwing one of her burnt cakes on the back of the fire, and quietly replied “so have the forks”.

There’s no answer to that!

 

 

 

 

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Sun, 12 Feb 2012 02:19:00 -0800 It's never too late to follow your dreams http://roscurtis.posterous.com/its-never-too-late-to-follow-your-dreams http://roscurtis.posterous.com/its-never-too-late-to-follow-your-dreams
It’s amazing what you can achieve, even when the odds are stacked against you. 
All you need is a little time on your hands to ponder what’s been missing in your life, then take a leap of faith to fulfil your dreams. 
Our mate Dave Dene has changed his life in the last 12 months. 
He used to play guitar with The Denims, Shakin' Stevens backing band, way before Shaky was discovered.
The Denims were possibly the only Welsh band to audition at London's famous 2is coffee bar in 1964 
where so much British talent was discovered - Tommy Steele, Cliff Richard, Joe Brown, Eden Kane, Screaming Lord Such and Mickie Most to name just a few. 
After their audition Dave was approached by a representative of Van Morrison and they were given the opportnity to tour as support band to the Irish R&B band 'Them'. 
The boys declined as at that moment in time as they had grand plans to follow The Beatles to Germany on the wave of British pop. 
As it turned out they were too young for working permits never got there. Shaky left The Denims soon after to join a band from Llanishen called The Big Five and went on to sing with various bands before becoming a solo artist.
And the Denims? The lead guitarist went to America and the rest of the lads disbanded. Dave got married and started a family.
I didn’t know Dave when he was playing with Shakin' Stevens, When we met Dave and his wife Mivvy, he played the clubs and pubs, singing and playing the guitar on the weekends.
When the children grew up we downsized homes and lost touch until one day at Asda we bumped into them and took up where we left off.
A few years ago Dave had a heart attack and whilst convalescing he found he couldn’t sleep. So every night he would keep himself occupied by jotting down lyrics. 
When he was feeling fitter, he dusted off his guitar and wrote the music. The songs were magical and his ambition was to get them recorded.
He’s working on his third album now - and I’ve been playing his new release ‘Paintings and Pictures’ all weekend. I love Dave’s songs because each one tells a story and you can actually understand the lyrics. 
Some of the tracks are just wonderful, my favourites are all ballads: Touched by an Angel, Pictures and Paintings and The Shilling.
Sometimes he sounds like a bit like Elvis, sometimes Johnny Cash and sometimes he just sounds like our mate Dave.  To hear Dave sing, click on www.daviddene.co.uk.
I’m so proud of Dave, he’s an inspiration. From being so ill to achieving his lifetime’s ambition - the moral here is it’s never to late to follow that dream. 

 

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Tue, 31 Jan 2012 09:47:00 -0800 In the pink http://roscurtis.posterous.com/97169500 http://roscurtis.posterous.com/97169500

Kids_169

Last night I woke up at 3am absolutely freezing.  After fidgeting around trying to get warm for 10 or 15 minutes I got up and fished out my ancient dressing gown - fondly known in the family as my pinkie - and went back to bed wearing it and nodded off right away.

I’ve had my pinkie for 32 years and it’s still going strong.  My mum bought it for me the Christmas I was expecting our Rachel and it has seen me through 31 winters. My daughters have grown up with it and I’ve snuggled all my grandchildren in it when they were tiny.

It’s practically a rag now but it was the most beautiful present my mother ever gave me. It’s made of the softest wool, knitted like the finest baby shawl. When it was new it had swansdown around the neck and cuffs, with satin buttons down the front.  The material was so fine it floated when I walked but it was as warm as toast.

It's outlived several dressing gowns - now and again someone will buy me a new one for Christmas. At the moment I have a faux fur leopard print one with a hood, it's lovely and soft and warm but it's not a pinkie.

My pinkie must be three sizes too small for me now, but I can just about squash myself into it if I leave the buttons undone.

Every spring I know I should part with my pinkie but I can’t bring myself to do it, it reminds me of my mum. And every time I’m feeling sorry for myself, whether I’m upset, poorly or just feeling down, it’s such a comfort to wear.

I almost gave it to charity once.  I washed it, ironed it, and changed my mind when I decided to re-invent it - unpicking the swansdown that had started looking like road-kill, and replacing it with braid and satin ribbon.

By the time I added new buttons and a bits and bobs, it was back in my bedside cabinet ready for such emergencies as nursing a cold, sulking or freezing cold nights.

It’s going to be freezing again tonight but with my feet on The Grump and my pinkie wrapped around me, I’ll be as warm as toast.

 

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Sun, 29 Jan 2012 06:17:00 -0800 How to lose friends and alienate people http://roscurtis.posterous.com/how-to-lose-friends-and-alienate-people http://roscurtis.posterous.com/how-to-lose-friends-and-alienate-people

Scales
I could hardly believe my ears, the Slimming World consultant said I’d lost weight for the SECOND week running!

I didn’t expect that, I usually lose some, stay the same, then put it back on, in a never-ending circle.

I couldn’t stop smiling all through the class and even stayed for the raffle.

I don’t really mind the diet, the meals I’ve made so far (apart from the odd eggy ones) are not bad, even if they do take hours to prepare and cook from scratch. 

All the recipes are for four servings and the secret is to have your meal and then freeze three. Unfortunately, I usually make enough for a family of five and freeze enough for tomorrow’s lunch.

But my classmates spur me on. One lady lost nine and a half pounds in one week! (why can’t it be me?) Another lost eight, I came in with two and a half but I’m not giving up.

This week we were encouraged to try a new curry recipe. Move over Jamie Oliver this is a guaranteed winner. Apparently it’s delicious, I have my doubts though. Baked bean curry!  

Simmer 1 onion, two tins of baked beans and a tin of mushy peas, and then some curry powder! Mash it all up in a pan and Patak’s your uncle.

Served with rice, vegetables or home made wedges this recipe makes enough to last a few days and if you stick with it you are guaranteed to lose weight (and with those ingredients you'll lost most of your friends too!!)

If I continue losing every week I may get to my first stone by the time I go on holiday, and what a thrill that would be to actually get the little tray down over my stomach when the plane meals come around.

I love holidays, the summer can’t come soon enough for me - a whole week just soaking up the sunshine and if the Baked Bean Curry works I may get away with just the one sunbed this year.

 

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Sun, 29 Jan 2012 06:08:00 -0800 For once the recession has done us a favour http://roscurtis.posterous.com/for-once-the-recession-has-done-us-a-favour http://roscurtis.posterous.com/for-once-the-recession-has-done-us-a-favour

OUR local garden centre was closed for some time and someone came up with the brilliant idea of turning the whole area into allotments.

The plots came complete with green house, shed and water butts.

Ever since our Duane picked up an application form, the Grump has been buzzing around planning the layout, starting with fruit bushes, a crop of potatoes then a whole kaleidoscope of delicious healthy, free food. 

Of course, he’s no newcomer to growing his own. When the kids were small he had an allotment as well as half of our garden being taken over with wigwams salad beds, even parsley for our rabbit Humphrey. 

But it’s all in the preparation you see, the Gump reminisced, the soil has to be in tip top condition, turned over and hoed before planting.

At the appointed time in the gardener’s calendar he would ceremoniously place a floorboard on the soil and patiently plant 100 onion sets before standing back to admire his efforts. Backbreaking work that only a cold beer can ease.

In the summer of ’82 he was so engrossed in his work he didn’t notice our toddler Rachel one row behind him quietly pulling them out again - or me sniggering behind the camera!

And he’s always looked after his gardening tools, even taking his trusty spade to the seaside in the boot of the car along with the suitcases. 

Why? Well, while the other dads were fiddling around with plastic spades, out would come the old garden spade and in no time at all our kids had the biggest and most spectacular castle on the beach complete with a knee-deep moat to fill up. That kept them busy with their little buckets.

With method in his madness, the castle would be strategically placed near the pub. It would have been cruel to deny the girls the joy of seeing the moat fill up when the tide came in, while we sat relaxing outside the pub in the evenings. And all that jumping and stomping to destroy the sandcastle wore them out in time for bed.

It doesn’t seem that long ago but time marches on and now our girls all have their own children, and best of all we have their big strong husbands to do the digging.

So now the Grump is ready to pass his gardening skills on to the son-in-laws and God help them if they don’t know their artichokes from their elbows. 

 

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Tue, 17 Jan 2012 08:10:00 -0800 The Rules of Retirement http://roscurtis.posterous.com/the-rules-of-retirement http://roscurtis.posterous.com/the-rules-of-retirement

Retirement is not all it's cracked up to be...
My husband Norman, the grumpiest grampy in living memory, had been trying to persuade me to retire for a year or two, and when I finally agreed to sell and buy a small retirement apartment near our three daughters, we expected to continue life at a leisurely pace. 
Theatre trips, picnics, days trips and holidays were all part of the plan. No chance!
I also planned a healthy lifestyle. Swimming twice a week, walking in the park, lazing on a summer's afternoon on the banks of a river. Not exactly happening at the moment.
Ever since we moved in it has been a struggle to find time to cut my toenails! My dream of rising late, giving the flat the once-over and off for the day, has gone straight out of the window.
When I was working full time, I had no idea people socialised so early in the morning! Practically every morning someone rings the bell while we are still in our PJ's. 
And being a sociable couple I put the kettle on, the grump cooks up a pile of bacon sarnies, we get chatting and another day slips by. How did we ever find the time to work?
Not a lot of people know this, but there are rules when living in a retirement complex. 
Most of the rules are common sense like don't come in drunk and wake up your neighbours playing air guitar in the stairwell at 3am. Gotta keep a check on that one!
But Rule Number One is about the shared laundry facility. Two industrial washing machines and tumble dryers for 34 apartments to use. A doddle wouldn't you think? Hmmm read on...
After staying at a hotel while the decorators were in, we landed with quite a bit of dirty washing. 
On arriving at the laundry with two loads, I observe a notice telling me to use just one of the machines  'for the convenience of other residents'. So I use one machine and struggle back to our first floor flat with the other load. 
Making several trips back to the laundry only to find that someone else is using the machines, I took to leaving the dirty washbag in the boot of my car until Ann Onymous and friends thought I must be taking in washing and reported me to the warden.  Laugh out LOUD! 
I've bought my own washing machine now - quite annoying as I gave a perfectly good washer-drier to our Rachel when we moved in - but I may need to use the driers, so don't put the binoculars away just yet ladies...

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