Sunday Dinner

I had one of those deep nostalgia moments earlier, I remembered all the way back to the early 1960’s, specifically Sundays. We always went out on a Sunday, but not until the afternoon. Before then I had to endure the ritual of the cooking of Sunday dinner, it drove me nuts, and is probably why I still hate Sunday dinner!

As soon as we’d had breakfast, the oven would be lit, the meat and all the veg prepared. At the same time ALL the windows would be opened, sash windows so lots of cold air came rushing in. That was the problem, the house never had any heating, or running hot water, but I digress, back to Sunday dinner.

I would sit curled up in the chair, freezing to death, the smell of roast beef wafting through the house, my stomach growling like I hadn’t been fed for a month. It was torture. Starving, cold and bored to tears, I just wanted to go out on our Sunday outing!

When dinner was finally served, I then had to learn the art of balancing on a cushion while nit-picking my way around the plate. The only veg I would eat was peas and potatoes, didn’t like much meat either, Yorkshire Pudding was the best bit, especially as some were kept warm to have with syrup after dinner…but only IF I ate all my dinner!

And this is how miserable I looked after having suffered the Sunday dinner ritual!

Shana eating dinner
Shana eating dinner
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Classic Cars

I’ve always been curious about what happened to our old family cars, I found a site called RegArchive, no it’s nothing to do with archiving Reg, it’s a database you can search to see if you can find your old car. Sadly no information for any of my dad’s old cars could be found, so as it has the option to upload a photo with the registration, that’s just what I did. Here are the 5 pics, maybe one day someone will come forward and say they restored one of these old classic cars!

 

 

Health & Safety Issues

Just found this in the pictures I digitised from my dad’s slides, well tried to digitise, the slides are in an appalling condition.

Shana

Yes the picture is the right way up, yes I am upside down in a kids playground and YES that is concrete underneath my head. I’m not sure what happened after the picture was taken, but being dropped on my head as a kid would explain an awful lot!!

PS: Please do not try this at home!!

Return of the snails

The snail that we saw outside our kitchen window a few days ago has come and gone several times since featuring on this blog. Not sure whether he (or she) is doing a daily commute down the front wall and off to an office somewhere, or if our snail is that rarest of rare rarities…

…a homing snail!

No sign of Snaily this morning though. At least, not the usual one. Instead, we were faced with Baby Snail 🙂 And Shana got these amazing pictures, and even found time to arm wrestle the little fellow as well. Notice how Baby Snail has her in a ninja-style finger hold.

We have yet to identify which species of snail either of our recent visitors may be. Perhaps we shall just give them pet names, as each one is a little character in its own right. I wonder what on earth they must think of us.

Early morning snail

I had just started giving the breakfast pots their morning ablutions and decided some fresh air was in order. I therefore reached to shove the kitchen window wide open.

Lucky it wasn’t too chilly a morning today; otherwise, I might have pulled the window shut instead, giving it a healthy slam (to counteract inertia, of course 🙂 )…

…which would not have been in the best interests of this morning’s visitor, who may well have been dislodged in the process.

‘Come here quickly!’ I called to Shana. ‘And bring the camera too!’

She need not have rushed, though. Our visitor was in no hurry.

snaily1

‘At least you won’t get any motion blur taking this picture,’ I said. ‘And there’s no need for a stopwatch feature either.’

Just then, our snail visitor, twenty feet above ground on the grimy ledge at Waffle Towers, chose to make a break for it, like a hoodlum fleeing a bank heist. You could almost hear the screech of tyres.

Or perhaps not.

‘He’s beating a hasty retreat,’ I persisted, lamely. And with that, our little snail made his way to the corner of the outer ledge, where he tucked himself in, out of the way of hungry birds, and settled down to wait for the safety of evening before slithering off, presumably trying to get himself onto as many people’s blogs as possible.

snaily2