No entry. It's your own fault.

What is it with my family and keys?

Years ago, when me and my sister were just kids, we all went on a day out and had ourselves a wonderful time - right up to the point our parents locked BOTH sets of car and house keys in the boot. Or trunk, for non-Brits. Cue an expensive journey home, including three trains, a bus and a taxi. Not necessarily in that order. And then we had to break into our own house. Oddly enough, it was soon after that that us kids got our own house keys. I wonder why...

Some years later, I was working night shift at the Cadbury factory in Birmingham, when my shift leader came to me with a message that my parents were at the security gatehouse and needed to see me. I started panicking - after all, when you get an unexpected visit from your folks, it's not often good news. Besides which, you will have got the gist already. Yes, they had gone out for the evening and locked themselves out. I had a little rant about communication.

Fast forward some more. Not long after I had moved south to live with Julie, the two of us went to the beach. I'm not great with the idea of leaving my belongings unattended on the beach while we go for a swim, and there was a small pocket on the inside of my shorts. Unfortunately, when I went for a dip, the keys fell out. Fortunately, I found them rolling in the surf on the water line. Fortunate indeed. Never before or since has Julie been so angry with me.

And now yesterday.
I was talking to my Mum by means of the old telephonic device, and she was telling me of her 'little bit of fun' the day before. Apparently, my mother had had a hospital appointment. Parking there is abysmal, so she booked a taxi, removed a lot of crap from her bag in order to make moving about on crutches a bit easier, and then shut the doo...oh shit.

No sooner had the door clicked shut than she realised she hadn't put the house keys back in her handbag. Crap. The taxi and appointment still need to happen, so off she went. When she got back, my mum found that while house keys were absent, she did have the car key. Deciding to use a cafe as an impromptu office, Mum tried to think of how to get a locksmith - not having one on speed dial, you see.

Having failed to come up with a solution, Mum then went to a garage to fill the car with fuel, and noticed a police car there. Collaring a copper, she asked him if he knew of any locksmiths in the area. Confused, he asked why, and got the whole story.

Well, there's handy.

Interestingly, I have come across a couple of good ideas for trying to make sure you have a house key with you at all times.

Found on Tuvie, this one looks funky, but I can see you would have to have a key specially made. Far better is this idea from Pocketbands.com - it's a silicon rubber bracelet with a pouch for you to put a key or an emergency tenner inside.

Naturally, the bands you would wear would not be transparent - it sort of defeats the idea of hiding something. I'm seriously liking this product, actually. Ideal for kids, clubbers, people on the beach (ahem), I am actually thinking about finding out if there is anywhere over here that flogs them.

Vegetables and violence

I bet that one got your attention.

I like to eat. Too much, really. My problem isn't so much the food, but the quantity of it. Yeah, I eat crap. However, I also eat vegetables. There are only a few I cannot get on with at all; parsnips, avocado (yes, I know it's a fruit), and brussel sprouts are the most prominent ones.

Tuna salad - mmmmmm...

Julie, on the other hand, is a little more picky when it comes to greens - and whites, oranges and yellows etc. Some are a knee-jerk reflex, having never tried them. Others are a genuine dislike. Cabbage is definitely one of the Disliked.

On a recent visit to my mother, dinner was being prepared, and when we were asked what veg we wanted, I piped up with a joking suggestion.

...you win.

I say thee neigh!

A Thelwell pony, looking alarmed. Why? Read on.

On a recent visit to my mum, she, myself and Julie were sat around the table, enjoying a game of Scrabble. Julie noticed that I hadn't got my notepad with me and was quite pleased when I remarked in a jocular manner that I was giving her the night off.

Silly me.

Honestly, it must have been the most Gem-packed time I have ever known.

One of the hallmarks of our family Scrabble games is a penchent for - accidentally - going in a place that blocks the next player on. Mum is particularly vocal when it happens to her, and this occasion was no exception. I have no idea what I put down, but I was immediately labelled as a 'ratbag' and it was commented, with a very loud 'tut', that you "just can't choose your family, can you?"

Hot on the heels of this well-worn saying, Julie piped up, mixing metaphors and the gods know what else...

Well, you probably could, but that's not to say that you should.

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In case you weren't aware of his work, the equine at the top was sketched by a very well-known English cartoonist by the name of Thelwell. He was most famous for his cartoons of rotund ponies and little girls, which, when I say it like that, sounds like he should have been arrested...

Instead, I invite you to go look at the website and perhaps to google him.

Going potty through thick and thin

Having just given the patio and path a much-needed overhaul, Mum decided that now was the perfect time to invest in some patio plants. We already had plenty of pots of varying sizes, so that was something we didn't need to think about.

These aren't the real pots, but they do give you a good idea of the size we're talking about. They're nice pots, good to look at and hold a decent amount of plants. Unfortunately, some of them don't have any drainage holes, which is a problem in England.

On one of my recent trips, I tried to amend this situation. I managed to get a couple of holes in the base of one pot, but another was proving to be something of a problem. Even with a masonry bit in the drill, I was only just making a shallow dent in the bottom of one pot. I mean, look at the picture above - you can see they're fairly robust. Not only that, but this one pot was resisting everything I could throw at it with our resources.

In the end, I had to give up.

A couple of weeks later, I was visiting once more and my mum was telling me that she had also had a go at making a hole in the pot - and failed. I went out to have a look, but couldn't find any sign of further hole-making attempts. Moving the pot off the table, I turned it right side up and noticed a small mark on the bottom, inside the pot.

Odd. Why there? I mean, it was awkward to get at and if you did managed to break through, then the table would also be sporting a new hole. I asked Mum about it - this was our conversation...

Yes, Mum.

Rodents with ratchets

The red squirrel is a lovely looking animal. Pity it's been pretty much comprehensively ousted by the grey squirrel. They're a voracious and clever beastie.

Unfortunately, my mother is more interested in attracting birds to her garden than squirrels. Over the years, both my parents spent a lot of time and money trying to get bird feeders to be squirrel proof.

Seriously. I mean, they have looked out the window a few times and seen a squirrel literally dragging an entire feeder across the lawn. That's when they can't break into them in situ, of course. There have been plastic domes over the feeders, thick wire cages - even grease on the poles supporting the feeders. Nothing has proved to be too much of an obstacle for the furry buggers.

One of the most recent - and effective - ploys has been a plastic tube with metal fixings that are really resistant to rodent teeth.

As you can see, it's a solid piece of kit. There is another fixing on the opposite side, and they're secured by a heavy-duty screw that is housed within the feeder itself. You can just see the Phillips head in the picture above.

I have just returned from a visit to my mum. After a six-hour journey, two hours more than it should have been, I was glad for a cuppa.
Stood in the kitchen, talking to Mum, I looked out of the window and saw that one of the feeders was almost empty. I commented on this and suddenly found myself in the middle of a righteous fury - aimed at the local squirrels.

Somehow - we have no real idea how - the squirrels have managed to dismantle the metal parts of the feeder and all the food poured out. Even worse, after a search, I could only find one of the metal fixtures - and no screw. Damned if I know what the squirrels are going to do with a single piece of bird feeder. Use it for lessons, perhaps?

Mum, in the meantime, was obsessing over how the squirrels had managed to break the feeder apart...

Perhaps, but I doubt we'll ever see a squirrel with a power drill...
In the meantime, here's a funny picture of a squirrel that appears to have been a little too hungry for its own good.

A beast in a bad place

Eastbourne is a seaside town, and as such has a history of providing activities and places for tourists. One of these places is Princes Park.

It's a pleasant place, with a recently renovated play area for the kiddies, a small lake for model boats and feeding the birds. There is also a bowling green and a small putting course, and a series of nicely planted walkways. On the Eastern side, there is a decent sized grassy area for staging events such as circuses and concerts. When the Olympics were on this year, the council erected a massive screen so people could come and watch various events and ceremonies - all for free.

One of the attractions from days of yore has lapsed nowadays. More commonly associated with Blackpool, Julie recalls that there used to be donkey rides in Prince Park.

Julie also recalls not being too keen on the idea. Her mother, however, seemed to be very fond of it and repeatedly asked the young girl that was Julie then if she would like to have a ride. As I say though, Julie remembers this with fondness, but also a certain determination. She never wanted to ride a donkey, and she never did.
Mind you, she could have phrased it better when she told me about it all.

...no comment.

The gall of the woman...

A few months ago, my mum visited one of her sisters, partly just to drop by, but also partly because of health issues. Last year wasn't a good one for our family when it came to health, what with one thing and another. Compared to a lot of the family, I am fairly distant, both physically and emotionally, so it was during a phone conversation with my mother a few days later that this came to light for me.

For British people in general and our family in particular (as a running joke), the weather is a strong topic for discussion. Therefore, most conversation openings between me and Mum will run along the lines of greeting, weather, health.

"Hi, Mum, what's the weather like up by you? How're you feeling today?"

Scintillating stuff, I know.

Now, I don't know about you, but I find that when you have chats with people you know very well and have done for a long time, you tend to develop a sort of conversational shorthand. You will also take verbal shortcuts which will baffle outsiders, yet will be patently clear to anyone in the know.
However, there is a subtle danger here.
If either or both of the people in the conversation are feeling a little tired or are being distracted by something or other, then even long-established cues may be missed and confusion will reign.
Take, for example, this snippet from my mother as she tells me of her visit to her sister.

Now, if you did the same as me, you read straight through that without blinking and then thought, "hang on a minute..."
Of course, my aunt wasn't suffering from a meteorological disorder, it was just that I had heard two separate elements of the conversation as one sentence. As it turned out, Jackie was only in for a check-up - she wasn't about to have a weather vane installed...

The curious case of the leaky colander

Time to give Julie another break, methinks...

The man above is Niko Alm. He is a Pastafarian. That is to say, instead of a Christian God, or a Muslim Allah, or... whatever, he purports to worship The Flying Spaghetti Monster. As such, he went through the Austrian courts in order to fight for the right to wear a colander on his head in photos for his driving licence and passport, as he claimed it was religious headwear, as per his faith. And he won. Here's the story. I like the bit that says he passed a medical examination to say he was fit to drive...

Meanwhile, over on Facebook, one of my friends has managed to display a stunning sense of loyalty and support to his mother. Andy, for it was he, had happened to be in the vicinity when his poor mother had an absent-minded moment as she was cooking dinner. The vegetables needed draining, so Mum tipped them into a colander. Unfortunately, said colander wasn't resting on a pan or over the kitchen sink...

 Naturally, the first thing that a dutiful son would do would be to offer assistance. No, not Andy. Straight onto Facebook it went... I dunno. What is the world coming to when a woman can't depend on the men in her life to spread juicy gossip about the slightest mishap?
...
er...
>coughs uncomfortably<

Youseddit

Not too sure what it is about mothers at the moment. So far, one friend has supplied me with a couple of Gems from her mum - and assures me there'll be plenty where they came from. Now, Sharron has come to the fore and come up with something from her own mother. I have to admit, though, it's more of a'Fail' than a Gem.
Apparently, the family were sat around, watching Agatha Christie's Poirot on TV. You know - that famous detective from Belgium. The one best played by David Suchet.

Some way into the programme, Sharron's mother evidently has a flash of insight.

Well, yes. Yes, i... Actually, no. No, it's not. It's not 'just like' a whodunnit, it IS a bloody whodunnit.
Fortunately, what with everyone else giving her carefully blank looks (laced with a modicum of humour), Sharron's mother quickly realised what she had just said and led the laughter. Which, I am told, lasted a fair few minutes.

"I'm driving backwards for Christmas...

...across the Irish Sea..."
OK so I'm misquoting the Goons song, but it just seemed appropriate.
In any case, we have a guest star today, although I think we can in fact call this particular contributor a repeat offender. Please give a big hand to J's mother (Not Julie's mum, but that of a friend whose name also begins with 'J'), who is now making her third appearance on Julie's Gems. In fact, in honour of this little feat, I have now retro-actively tagged her previous posts with 'Oh mother'; obviously, I will also be labelling any further appearances in the same way.

Any way. Today's Gem may not seem that odd at first glance...

However, it only makes sense if you intend to drive everywhere in reverse gear. Including across the Irish Sea, naturally.
To finish off today's post, I thought I would treat you to a video clip for The Goons' hit single, "I'm walking backwards for Christmas". A song, incidentally, which was played at our wedding and went down a treat, with almost everybody singing along.

Heh - is it me, or should we adopt The Goons as our official band? It'd be entirely appropriate. Well, either them or the Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band.

Guest starring the hairy cueball...

A friend and her mother... actually, no, let's start this one again.
You may recall a recent post where a friend and her mother were at a country fair, and the mother came out with a Gem of such magnitude that her own daughter dropped back and tried to pretend she was with someone else. Can't remember it? Tell you what, have a look here and refresh your memories.
Good stuff, yes?
Any way, back to the present moment; as it happens, they were watching the TV, when someone familiar to the mother popped up on-screen.

Not the best description in the world, but if you know who she was talking about, then it makes a little more sense. Say 'hello' to Jamie from the TV show Mythbusters.

See what I mean? Jamie - under the ever-present beret* - is bald as a coot, but doesn't he have a most impressive set of facial hair? So, yes, my friend's mum was actually correct, despite the Gem-standard oxymoron. Jamie is 'the bald bloke with the hair' (yes, I know facial hair is technically 'bristles', but it's still hair).


*I did try to find a picture of Jamie without his beret, but it just wasn't happening.

It's not the cow that's mad.

Happy Half-way Day, folks! Two more days left to the weekend, and it's never seemed so far away... Ah well.

Julie's taking a break today. Instead, I have a Gem from a friend's mother. J's mum generally denies this ever happening, but it's one of those silly little things that has passed into family legend that is generally never as funny to people not in the know or there at the time (just don't ask me about apple strudel, OK?). This one is different - it's pretty damn hilarious despite not knowing J's mum or the precise details.
This is not to say I do not have any background for you.

It seems that, while at a country show, J, her mum and family were passing through the area set aside for cattle. They had passed a few breeds, when J's mother saw one she recognised. Although her criteria for breed identification seems to be somewhat on the shaky side...

Uh... yes. Because all the other ones looked like chickens and horses...

Apparently, J dropped back a few paces out of sheer embarrassment, while the farmer to whom the cow belonged simply stared at her mother in utter disbelief.
I wonder why?