We Moved!

 As it says at the top, I wasn't born at the beach but I got here as fast as I could. Imagine spending your childhood in Birmingham as far from the beach as you can get! And then spending another 50 years trying to live by the sea. Well, we made it. A few years later than planned due to pesky Covid - and 50lbs less of me moved thanks to 15 months of long Covid. I'm just beginning to recover now.

We sold our lovely 1930s house in Southampton to the first couple who looked at it. Thankfully they loved the original features and didn't plan to turn it into a building site. Neighbours turning the road into a building site is one of the reasons we moved. There's not much people are allowed to do in a flat and we're the ones making the most noise at the moment.

I couldn't resist making a scrapbook page with the For Sale sign. You can click on any photo to see a larger version on Smugmug.

 

All was well and we started clearing out 38 years' of possessions ready to downsize. We looked at several flats in Bournemouth that weren't going to work, a couple of them because the owners had no intention of moving and were just wasting our time.

Anyone who has ever moved house will know the horror stories but just about everyone we paid a shedload of money to - agents, removeals company, solicitors -  conspired to cause maximum stress, most of it completely unnecessary. Why do we put up with this?

Moving Day was one of the rare very hot days this summer and we'd had very little sleep for days so forgive the exhausted look - and note the journalling about being homeless!

It finally felt worth it when we got there:

It's been months of work and plumbers and electricians coming and going (basically we had one single socket per room...) but new neighbours are lovely, we're 20 minutes walk from the best beach and there's a large outdoor pool which is a real joy. I'm sure swimming nearly every day helped with my health problems. Oh, and John has a man cave. In the first few weeks after we moved he'd go to the garage to get something and disappear for hours as his new chums wanted to talk to him.

Here's the pool (and my Dad snuck in there...)

On the balcony and at the beach catching the last rays of summer (such as it was...)

And the paddling continues well into the autumn!

Drop me an email if you'd like to see more photos! Credit: Many of the scrapbook pages on here were created with templates designed by Katie Pertiet.

Web Domains Nightmare

That fixed your insomnia problem right there...

So cunning plan this year:

1) Move house

2) Only tell some people the new address

3) Do most of 2) via Facebook, Whatsapp and other newfangled things.

The good folk encompassed by 3) already know joys and horor stories of our move and people - and my printer - moan about letters in Christmas cards so let's tell them about it on the blog!

First problem was that the blog proudly declared that we live in Southampton, in fact it helpfully points to the docks. Like this:

Well that won't do at all!

Much messing about followed and there is now a - sort - of- beach pic which will be replaced but some fancy schmancy header when I have time.

Next problem was my websites going nowhere. 123-Reg said there was no problem forwarding my domains, and the sites could be seen on all devices. Not according to my devices and those of the many friends I bugged to have a look. You have to love the kind of customer service where they're trained to tell the customer there is no problem rather than dealing with the problem. I've cancelled some of my lesser used domains so that's profit gone for them.

I spent an hour practising on one of my sites no-one looks at and tinkered with the DNS to get things to work. Do not try this at home. DNS is like the tension on your embroidery machine. Never touch it. So another support ticket asking them to fix that ... 

If you can see this blog now either I fixed it, or the web forwarding from Go Daddy (more money spent...with someone else, 123-Reg please note) works or you received a letter with some address like http://sharonhorswill.blogspot.com which looks really naff in print. But here you are, at least. Now scroll back up and read about our exciting move!

Funeral Dress Code

My lovely Mum passed away on 6 February. The funeral is not for a few weeks yet. It amazes me that hospitals and funeral directors are taken by surprise every year at the number of people who die in winter. We have been doing that for centuries, folks. 

You end up distracting yourself with things and "what to wear for the funeral?" is one of them. It seems trivial but it would have amused Mum. She was the most elegant, well-dressed woman I knew. That apple fell a long way from the tree. Since I stopped wearing the snazzy business suits my wardrobe has become 1) Slob, and 2) Cruise. I did keep a smart black suit for funerals but I've inexplicably grown out of it.

I worked mostly from home in pre-Zoom days where it didn't matter what I wore but on the days when I turned up as the consultant at other accountancy firms I wore sharp suits and heels - medium 'cos not an idiot - even when the office was down a dirt track. Well, especially when the office was down a dirt track... I had to look the part of One Who Knows Stuff and you can fool some of the people some of the time.

What do women wear at work now? I mourn deeply the loss of Windsmoor, Eastex, Dash, Jacques Vert etc. Old lady clothes, certainly, but then I'm an old lady and a grumpy one at that. Search "work wear" in any of the Wouldn't Be Seen Dead In That dot com online stores and it will come up with the type of leggings that make you wonder if someone forgot to put their skirt on. Really? You're going to work in that? Always dress for the job you want even if it means dressing as Wonder Woman.

I tried on some vaguely suitable clothes. Due to a combination of grief at the loss of a friend, gall bladder problems, walking A LOT over Southampton Common and Asda failing to deliver the right cakes I lost a lot of weight last year. It turns out exercise and eating less makes you lose weight. Who knew? They should promote that. I'm still a bit of a l*rd*rse - and no doubt on some insulting part of the chart in NHS terms -  but a smaller one.

So this is great. Stuff fits except it's too long. What? How does that work? Ah, excess fabric not being taken up by huge hips. I'll sew a lot of things but NOT trouser hems. Heels it is then. Cries from the bedroom to uninterested hubby along the lines of "My gold shoes are the only ones that work with these trousers!"

Smart jacket, gold shoes, bit of bling... that will do nicely. Here's some I wore earlier, along with my Mum.

RIP Paul Easton

I was so very sad to hear of Paul Easton's death recently. I've been struggling with the death of my mother and losing a friend strangely sent me down a horrible spiral. Paul and I used to talk about our mothers, who were born on exactly the same day.

Paul taught me a lot about radio in the days when I'd turn up as the alleged tax expert (or dressed as a rabbit, depending on the occasion...) who was sometimes allowed to press the buttons. He was that very rare expert on everything who never came over as the "know-it-all". He was kind and modest and took the trouble to make sure you understood what he was teaching you. An all round good bloke.

We'd planned to visit Paul in the next few months. He seemed so happy in his new house with his new friend Charlie the cat. Best laid plans and all that...

The Queue

 .. for it shall be forever known as just that.

There is something soothing and yet very sad in watching the live feed of Her Majesty the Queen lying in state. ("Lying-in-state" ? I'm not entirely convinced about that one.) Several journalists facing the "we've run out of things to write" problem have touched upon it. Here are a few thoughts from me. I've had the feed running since it started and I've been watching it on and off while crocheting, knitting etc. I need the big screen to see the pattern now and the office is the warmest place in the house when no-one dares put the heating on.

The most striking thing is the looks on the mourners' faces as they reach the top of the steps and look down into the hall. The coffin seems small, as do all coffins, and for those who have lost a parent it brings back memories of that coffin in a horribly sudden way. Just looking at a crowd of faces I could tell you exactly who has attended a parent's funeral. You're chatting to friends and family you haven't seen for a while, you're trying to be cheerful as your Dad - in my case - would have wanted and then you see the coffin and the sense of loss is unbearable.

Once down the stairs "all life is here". No-one is told what to do. You can just walk by, bow your head, curtsey, blow kisses, clasp hands in prayer, make the sign of the cross, do whatever you feel moved to do and those behind you will wait respectfully while you do it. Try as they might to move the queue along in a gentle manner  the stewards will let you pay your respects as you choose.

As I watched there were children who had practised bowing for hours and were either determined to get it right or were too shy to try, families who all lined up together for a group bow, (mostly) young men who actually got down on one knee, groups of lads there for a laugh who weren't going to bow until one broke away and decided to do it.

Many arrived in national dress and other uniforms and costumes. There were off-duty police, firefighters, paramedics, Brownies, Guides, Scouts, druids and several "I wonder what those people do every Wednesday" outfits I hadn't seen before. There were priests and leaders of all faiths. Then there was the moving sight of members of the royal family performing their vigil. How hard it must be to grieve while the world is watching.

All this punctuated every twenty minutes with the tap, tap tap of the officer's sword to usher in the new guard.

A few people will stick in my mind for a long time

- the old soldiers in berets and regimental blazers sporting many, many medals who gave their best ever salute, bowed their head and walked away in tears, cruel camera operator staying with them as they left the hall.

- the Native American chief in full headdress, an elderly and very dignified gentleman.

- the lady who, from her deportment, was obviously a dancer and gave the most graceful, elegant curtsey ever then walked away as if her feet weren't touching the floor.

Speaking of curtseys - and believe me I will every time I get the chance - ladies, please learn to do it and teach your daughters. You never know when you might need the skill, as teachers at my school told me. They were right. The bodyguard said he was impressed with mine when I met Prince Charles, as he then was. It's not difficult but if you get it wrong it looks downright weird and you might fall over. You don't want that! Learn about centre of gravity first then practise a bit. I learned at such an early age from my grandmother, reinforced by learning it at school and in drama classes, that even being an old lady I can do it without thinking about it. It's the thinking about it that messes it up.

I feel sad that I couldn't join in The Queue but dodgy knees would not allow me to stand for hours and walk six miles - and if I'd made it I would be faced with steps I couldn't get down because there are no railings. You would have thought some kind of railing could be set up. There are plenty of people not needing the accessible route who would still have trouble negotiating a long run of stairs. I saw a couple stumble and fall while I was watching. Stewards and others rushed to their aid, of course, but those were unnecessary falls.

Queuing is a great British skill and we did it well (there's an interesting article here about the science of queuing).

We have lost a wonderful Queen. God bless you, Your Majesty. 

"Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee a crown of life." [Revelation 2:10]

God save the King.

This Retirement Gig. Making All The Things.

I retired from my accountancy practice in late 2019. HMRC apparently didn't get the memo and still send me letters threatening to strike me off their anti-money laundering register. I respond in suitably snitty vein when I can be bothered. I'm not sure many people noticed this retirement as I'd been reducing the workload after too many stupidly stressful Januaries. I discovered that reducing the workload meant all the stress and half the money each time so the exciting "Be An Accountant" project was consigned to the "Sod This For A Lark" drawer.

"I know. Let's do fun things and cruise lecturing and go out a lot and travel and do some entertaining and...Covid."

Luckily we have a nice home and a ready made office for John to work from. One with no "Wow, they really should tidy up" background, just a cupboard door showing. We occasionally put a witty poster up there.

I bought an embroidery machine with cancelled cruise money and turned the dining room into my craft room. Well, no-one was coming round to dinner... I also learned to cut hair. Luckily again I have the same hairstyle I had when I was six and Monsieur John colours it so that was easy.

Two years later we're still watching in amazement as silly people abandon social distancing and going to the pub is more important than staying alive. "You've got to live your life," they say. "I'd prefer not to live my life as a widow," says I. Anyway, that's a whole other rant...

I'm reluctant to give up my blogs and websites, being fanatically proprietorial about my name, and the Coastal Scrapbooks and family sites might be useful when, respectively, we attract P & O's attention again and my family deign to look at their own history. So, I'm going to bore everyone with photos and intricate details of Stuff I Have Made. 

I've always made stuff since Mum taught me to sew and knit when I was about four. I probably give people a very blank look when they say, "I can't sew". What do you mean, you can't sew? Mum and I made clothes for the whole family. Then we made dolls' clothes and a truly horrible quilt with the leftovers. It had crimplene fabric in it. Ew.

Watch this space if you suffer from insomnia. I'll cure that for you. You're welcome.

Here's a suitable, albeit a bit late, embroidery project. Sweet Pea, an Australian company, make little flag designs that you can - maybe - make in a day so we have several of those about the place. I literally finished this at 30 minutes to midnight (what with having no party to go to...)

Marketers 1: Gullible People 0

Black Friday. It's American. And it isn't even named for retailers being in the black. Read this article and you'll see history has been rewritten.

Here it is in 2014 foisted upon us in the UK. You might get some bargains. I've got good deals on software on Amazon. On the other hand I could have bought paint Shop Pro X7 - which arrived today - cheaper from the manufacturers. Silly me. What you might get instead of bargains is an old version of that TV/Camera/tablet and then kick yourself when a new one comes out in a few weeks' time. A fool and his money are soon parted.

Is it a good idea for the shops? Not necessarily. What happens next year when people wait for Black Friday and sales fall in the early part of November? Cash flow is king when you're a retailer, not profit.

We're stuck with it now. It's part of our culture like all the Halloween junk and, as with the alleged Halloween "traditions" (sorry, kids, if I don't remember it as a child then it's not tradition ...), the great British public is conned into thinking we've had it for years. We haven't. Even Amazon only started it a couple of years ago and they were the forerunners in the UK. No doubt those people believe Father Christmas has always been called Santa too.

There will always be daft gullible people and the marketers laugh at them. I mean that literally. I've been in marketing meetings where ad executives have laughed at the prospect of "They'll go for that, no problem" "They can't touch us, we'll convince them it's about the charity" They're laughing at those people who think Sainsbury's aren't selling anything in their tacky disrespectful Christmas ad. All the Christmas ads are about brand recognition and all want you in the stores. Obviously. Why do you think someone at John Lewis is in trouble for not ordering another half a million toy penguins? I'll hold my hand up and say I love that ad, by the way.

Any TV ad, any marketing email, anything convincing you subliminally that Black Friday is a traditional fun shopping day - it's SELLING to you. It's not a difficult concept to grasp. Caveat emptor.