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Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adventures. Show all posts

Wednesday, 8 December 2010

Friday Last...


Well, today has been interesting to say the least...

You know I've been penned indoors like a prisoner for days by the snow, well seeing as there had been no fresh snow overnight, and the temperatures were looking more favourable, we thought we would try to dive out while we could in my car, to seek provisions.

Honestly, each worsening winter, it gets more as if we're living like pioneers in the Rockies.

So, we spent two hours clearing and warming the car (well GJ did, I mainly ate porridge, drank tea, watched Homes Under The Hammer, and tippy-tappied here).

And we sallied forth, we did, full steam ahead, man the breakers, watch the ice-bergs, that kind of thing!

We had some dicey icy moments, to be fair. The bit where we had to overtake a JCB on a single carriageway, crossing over the roadside equivalent of the Himalayas was interesting, to say the least. Never corkscrewed in a car before... There's always a first time for everything, they say!

But, the supermarket was attained, provisions were purchased, the boot was filled and Fhina breathed a sigh of contentment at being re-united with a healthy supply of chocolate.

The snowflakes were falling again as we took the supermarket trolley back to its roost, and temperatures were plummeting once again, so we scarpered sharpish.

The return journey was also interesting, for the roads homeward weren't half as clear as they were earlier, and we encountered a tractor this time.

When he'd pulled over to allow the lengthy snake of cars to over-take him, we wended homeward. We crossed the little mediaeval bridge that leads to our country road, and found ourselves in a veritable cavalcade of transport. It seemed that all of my neighbours had carpe'd the diem and had all ventured out at the same time.

On a steep ungritted hill with only hope for brakes, we halted in a line of vehicles, handbrakes were applied and creaked under the strain of slithering back on ice...

People were getting out of their cars with snow-shovels and spades and we were all wondering what was going on?

Up in front there was White Van Man, stuck fast on the packed snow and ice, being rapidly dug out by my neighbours, whom we call The Intrepid Greenacres, for no rain, hail or snow prevents them from donning skis or snow-shoes and venturing out to climb the nearest mountain in Britain and in Europe.

I was talking to another lady, standing beside her flat-top truck, to try to find out what was the hold-up. It turned out that said White Van Man had by this time already been dug and pushed out of his predicament five times by people in the cars behind and was trying to reach the Terrace. Of course, having been snowed in for more than a week, no-one in his right mind would have even attempted the journey if they didn't have four wheel drive. White Van Man hadn't stood a chance.

Right at that moment, a tractor arrived to help, having been called to the rescue by his wife and daughter who were also stuck in the queue... Whether he intended to drive over the four cars (including mine) in order to reach White Van Man and dig him out wasn't quite clear.

Manned up as we were, I felt able to offer to push the White Van. I was, of course, getting desperate for the loo and was fearful of my chocolate melting in the warmth of the car, which GJ hadn't moved from. Bless him.

So, five of us neighbours set to, heels firmly dug into the ice and snow, to give us some chance if the van rolled backwards, and pressed hands, arms and shoulders to the task of pushing the van.

As if in labour, we PUSHED!

Then the driver took off his handbrake.

With that we soon began to motor, and we found ourselves running up the hill, as if glued to the van doors. Success!

Such incidents only happen in the Terrace where I live. Here, there is cameraderie, spirit, bravery and often intense care for others.

Of course, passing the flat bed truck, I espied that a diverse selection of wines in the bottle were set right into the flat-bed, pressed firmly into the packed snow that lay there. Fabulous! Someone was going to enjoy a well-chilled Chablis by this evening after all that hard work...

Phew! Chin-chin, what?!

Friday, 3 July 2009

Wooler Adventures, and the Hound of the Baskervilles... er, the Cheviots...

Wooler Pictures, Images and Photos

I was up in the town of Wooler last weekend.

One of my favourite little shops, called Florin, sits perkily upon the high street there...

High Street in Wooler Pictures, Images and Photos

I was looking for some little bijoux, giftettes, for four ladies at work. Two of my dearest friends hit the Big 5-0 recently, and two colleagues are about to take early severance from the Civil Service, (the relentless march to get staff numbers down continues unabated), and I wanted to mark these special occasions with a little offering...

Florin is a little bit of an art gallery for local artisans, a pretty little gift shop and also mingles its shabby-chic wares with affordable bits and pieces from the antiques markets of the world, well from across the county, if not the world...

It is a while since I was able to visit Florin, owing to my back problems and inability to get oot and aboot, as we say here oop north!


wooler Pictures, Images and Photos
(Picture of Wooler during flood waters last year...)

So I stumbled into the shop doorway, while doing so almost falling on top of a lovely, sweet octagenarian kind of lady, who was seated, with a glass of water, by the door being soothed by the cool afternoon air...

The shop owner was at yer actual shop owner's usual spot, behind the counter, noticing customers and chatting away to another lady, her assistante I shall call her, who was frou-frouing the displays...

Getting over my almost-manslaughter of what turned out to be the assistante's mother, I wandered up two steps into to the back of the shop, where I gauged there was a little more room for manoeuvre, to look for the petites trinkettes that would make my journey worthwhile...

I was stood, standing, about to knock over a display of assorted kitchenalia, using only my voluminous, wrinkled, multi-coloured, swirling summer-skirt as ballast, when the shop owner waltzed past me out towards the back-yard portal...

"Oooooohhhhhh!", she exclaimed... "What is that smell?"

Fretting, as I usually do, that I'd overdone it on the Eau de Chatspiss, or trod in something cow-pat-shaped on my wander through fields, like the country lass-turned-Milkmaid that I am, I stopped and turned...

Dramatically, I thought...

"Ummmmmm?" I mumbled, meaningfully...

(Has Fhina told you yet, that her hearing is awful unless she can see your lips move?

I think I lip-read, although I've never officially been taught...

If I'm at the hairdresser's and, for some reason, I'm wearing my bins/geps/glasses, I cannot hear a word of what the coiffeuse is saying to me...

Sometimes life is full of treasure like that...)



"Your perfume, it's really lovely what is it?", she continued...

"Come and sniff this customer!", she called out to the front of the shop - To anybody listening...

I waited, as the retinue clambered through, nostrils flaring like Kenny Williams, or if you're of a more literary bent, Edward Rochester's horse.

"It's 'Jo Malone'", I stumbled... "Pomegranate Noir".

I then did a little poncy waftette of my body, so the attached lady could take a sniff of my pongeteria on the air, as it were... I was hoping at that point that I'd been liberal with my Dove deodorant that morning, for the day was warm, and that they could smell nothing more than the sainted scented parfum on my person...

"OOhhh, yes - Definitely Jo Malone", she said... "Don't worry about getting the customer to write the name down", she chided. "I know of it, and I'll look it up on t'Internet for you", she offered her manager... "They do lovely candles as well, don't they?", she chimed to me...

"But they're reeeaalllly expensive!", we both uttered simultaneously.

By now, I was feeling a little warm at all this attention from women...

La Fhina is a bit of a shrinking (and occasionally shrieking!) violet with strangers, I'll have you know... And she likes to pass unnoticed wheree'er she can.

I tried to make a joke of it,(as I do most things...), for my errands still had to be run, and GJ would be driving up at any moment, revving the engine like Jensen Button, and expecting me to be at the front of the shop, laden with my anticipated parcelettes, ready for our onward journey...

Time waits for no man, they say... Neither does my husband...

I explained..."...Only my husband said he'd be back in 15 minutes to pick me up, as there's so little parking nearby, and I'll have to tell him that I've been delayed, 'coz I've been too busy being sniffed by ladies...!"

How did that sound, my bloggy nose-gays...

Not good, I know. I could hear the merriment tinkling among the retinue as I slouched off down the street with my giftette-bags full of the great and the good...

jo malone Pictures, Images and Photos

Something I wrote earlier...

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