Escaltorgate

My eight year old got his shoe laces stuck at the bottom of the escalator (moving pavement not stairs) in our local supermarket last week. I should add before I go on that at no point was he in danger. I duly pressed the emergency stop. A very kind lady then went back into the supermarket to get help.

Two supermarket ladies came running at full speed. I think they must have heard 'child', 'escalator', 'stuck' and let their imaginations run wild as they did come running very quickly indeed. They were just lovely. After my son extracted his foot from the shoe, the escalator was reversed and the laces released. My son was quite shaken I think although he didn't let on. My son was a little embarrassed too although he didn't let on. Anyway he has spent the time since dining out on his escalator experience, bigging it all up for his audiences.

Lessons learnt
Lesson 1: the ladies at the supermarket are lovely and are very good at dealing with laces in escalator situations - I think I will write a letter to thank them.
Lesson 2: I used to spend quite a lot of time telling my son to retie his shoe laces before escaltorgate but strangely since then I have not had to.
Lesson 3: My son informs me that we cannot go back to the supermarket ever again unless we are in disguise.

A salad from the seventies

Why is it that the majority of cafes in this country cannot do salad? We went to a café on Friday. Lovely place, sat outside, great staff. I ordered a burger which was lovely - their own lamb and mint. It had a salad on the side: sliced iceberg lettuce, sliced tomato, sliced cucumber, sliced red pepper, not sliced but grated carrot. God I hate salads like that. Plonked on the plate as a gesture, as an afterthought. "We'll give you  a salad but quite frankly we can't be bothered to think out of the box and this just helps to fill your plate."  To my dismay this particular café had also popped some ready salted crisps on the side too. That annoys the hell out of me. So much has changed for the good with British food over the last thirty years but salads for many establishments are stuck in the 1970s. I was born in 1965 and in this one instance I have no desire to go back to 'my salad days'.....I might if it meant slimmer thighs and no grey hair but not for the food.

Salad inspiration or expiration?

Why can't British cafes do an imaginative salad? Pubs are guilty too. It used to be that I judged a café by the quality of coffee they served. Nowadays most have eschewed instant coffee thank goodness for the joys of real coffee beans so why not throw out the drab iceberg too, shaved on the side.  You could still get away with tomatoes, lettuce, cucumber, pepper and carrot but present them more imaginatively and add a salad dressing. What I'd really like to see is a selection of ingredients from a wider palette, placed together tastily and tantalisingly. There's a whole range of green stuff out there. What about a beetroot (actually red stuff) ensemble (and I don't mean beetroot in vinegar); what about a gathering of different tomatoes; even a lovely homemade coleslaw; some fruit in the salad; add a few shavings of Parmesan or some British goats cheese?  What about just thinking about producing a lovely and complementary side salad.

I know there are cafes which do produce wonderful tasty salads and not necessarily for heftier prices. But to the rest : Come on cafes (and pubs too) salad up.

PS Went to another café today - I know we lead the high life. Actually we (my husband and I) went for a re-energising sandwich and cup of tea three quarters of the way through a 12 mile walk and I can tell you now the salad garnish or salad afterthought did not revive me physically or spiritually (see photo).

Crying at Brass

Am I the only one but does listening to a brass band bring a tear to your eye? At Christmas I find it particularly hazardous on the mascara. I am doing my shopping, minding my own business when a brass band starts playing 'Away in a Manger' and indeed I am Away with the Tears. Throw in a choir of children from a local primary school and I am completely awash.

I don't know what it is. Perhaps it's the local tradition of brass bands which I find so appealing. They have often grown up around a colliery or a mill or a village. There is a shared connection. I love the fact that there is a mixture of people in the brass band from trendy teenager to old bloke. I appreciate the fact that these people come together to make music and enjoy themselves.

Perhaps it's purely down to the lovely mellow tones that trigger my tear ducts. I'm no music expert but a solitary tune from a brass instrument is very moving. Mind you I cry at the rousing anthems too. There is also a pride that wells up in me. Don't know whether that's a reflection of a tradition and skill done well but I love it.

I also rather like the fact that brass bands are so versatile and pop up anywhere. They can play outdoors in a park band stand or at your school fete, they can play on the hoof, marching and playing beautifully all at the same time, and they can give proper, professional concerts sat down. Now when was the last time you saw a full orchestra do all that.

There is an annual brass band competition near to where we live in Saddleworth and Tameside that celebrates brassy brass bands. It's held on Whit Friday in June. Bands come from all over the country, hop on a coach and visit any number of venues (must be twenty plus). They play a march, marching and perform their show-off-tune all al fresco, hop back on the bus and visit the next location 10 minutes up the road. They are judged at each venue. People come to listen, watch, have a pint, socialise, enjoy. It's a wonderful tradition dating back more than 100 years. What's especially refreshing is that it's open to everyone so the local school can compete against the best bands in the country.

I haven't been to the competition for years. Note to self - take a deck chair one Friday evening next June to a village in Saddleworth, buy a pint, sit back, watch and listen.

The Build: week 8

We had our very own Black Wednesday last week. There was a thunderstorm and the rain came in. Someone flushed the loo when the soil pipe wasn't there! We said goodbye to the shower when the temperature was in the mid 20s. And then the blackest moment of all the washing machine was moved 2m to its right and gave up the ghost half way through a cycle. It was the proverbial final straw - I cried and ranted and swore and hit things. My children scattered, my husband tried to say the right things but I had to have my diva moment......or was it half an hour...or did it turn into 60 minutes.

Anyway let's just say it was good to clear the air and get perspective. It's an extension which we have chosen to undertake and to live in and through so really in the big scheme of things it's life.

My friend and mum-in-law did the pile of washing I had to clear - thank you so much. All the builders were great and realised it was the darkest hour and rallied round. I guess they get used to that initial high from clients when they are excited that work has started to be followed by downheartedness about 7 weeks later when the bathroom goes and the family is in limbo.

There is progress every day. Windows have gone in, the roof is finished, the underpinning completed, the bathroom is nearly ready for its transformation. And oh by the way the washing machine is working again. Apparently someone forgot to open a valve or something! How sweet the hum of a washing machine filling up, swishing, rinsing, spinning and draining is.

Shipping Forecast or Football Results?

I have two secret ambitions. I know they will never be fulfilled. I would just love to have a go though. I would love to read the football results out on a Saturday afternoon and I would adore it if the BBC asked me to read the Shipping Forecast. Actually perhaps my time is near. James Alexander Gordon who has read the classified football results on a Saturday for eons has retired. Now is my time.

I have no interest in football but it's a dear memory of childhood listening to the rhythmic beat of the announcer reading out all the football results as my brothers listened attentively for the score for Leeds Utd. There was comfort in the methodical singsong. A slight downward inflection for the loser and a tad cheery lilt for the victor. The names were great too especially the Scottish ones. Partick Thistle, Stenhousemuir and Queen of the South. I often thought as a little girl that I quite fancied being queen of the south for the day.

Partick Thistle 1: Queen of the South 1 - apologies if I have the leagues mixed up there. Leeds Utd 27 : Manchester Utd 0 - one there for my brothers! Sorry, David! It's how matter of fact the announcer had to be enunciating with authority and certainty but putting the slightest undulation in the score to keep it interesting and never monotonous.

The shipping forecast is the same. Fabulous names: North Utsire, South Utsire, German Bight, Shannon, Rockall, Malin. The announcer has to be precise, no mistakes, clear as clear can be: lives depend upon it. As a non sailor I have absolutely no idea what it all means but it's music by words. I think it's all about wind direction and visibility and I don't know what but it sounds important and crucial and just a bit mysterious.

I'd be good at either.  Perhaps the BBC will come knocking!

Wild flowers

I visit my mum almost every day. The garden at the elderly people's home she lives in is just lovely. This year the gardeners planted wild flowers - breathtaking and cheering to the soul.

The Build: Week 6

We are still here in the middle of our building site. Lots and lots of activity helped along by the glorious weather. We can see now what the outside will look like and the house does look a lot friendlier for it. Two velux windows went in today in the kitchen - very exciting.

We have been a little preoccupied with our Juliette balcony. If you remember back to my post in March I mentioned how in an ideal world I would have a tower as part of this extension. Second best would have been a full blown balcony which again wasn't possible so we have settled for third best: a Juliette balcony. Actually it's more like a 'Julie' balcony. Due to the pitch of the roof under the balcony we can't quite have full length windows. We have had to settle for three-quarter windows but we are thankful for anything we can get.

David and I have made a full blown, forensic study of Juliette balconies as we have walked around the area. Surprisingly there are quite a lot of them and each and every one has a handle on the outside of the window. Now if you have a proper balcony upon which your butler serves you your morning paper, strong coffee and croissant every summer morning then you may indeed have need for a handle on the door exterior. The butler may gently close the balcony window as he retreats to his duties. Then once you have breakfasted you may have need of said handle on the outside of the door to get back in. But a Juliette door is a door to nowhere. It's a door to ventilation. It's a door with aspirations to being a balcony. A door with a view. You aren't going to cling to the balcony balustrade, close the door and then want to get back in. We are not a superhero Spiderfamily. Why would you need a handle on the outside? It just looks daft and clumsy.

Thus we have set the builder and window maker the task of ensuring there isn't a bloody big handle on the outside of our 'Julie' window which will annoy us to death from the garden. I thought Juliette balcony makers would have this little detail in hand but no. They manufacture these windows with proper handles. No doubt indeed because they are just patio windows but placed one storey or more up. Will keep you posted on the handle controversy.