I was 15 and about to leave school and step out into the big wide world. It was usual for your mother or father to come to the school and meet with your ‘form’ teacher to discuss a job for you.

It was 1961 and very few people stayed on at school to take GCE’s, as they were called then – just a handful out of the ‘A’ stream class. I was in the A stream, but I hadn’t even thought about staying on, until one day a teacher bellowed out, “Leach! Why aren’t you staying on?” I, in my usual very shy way, just said “I don’t know sir” and cringed at the attention it bought me. No more was ever said on the subject.

Anyway, there I was with my mum and my favourite teacher, Miss Richardson. She was, in fact, the only decent teacher we had in the whole school! She made you feel important and she actually held a two way conversation with you, and listened to you! It was unheard of in our school. We were always bellowed at, and told to be quiet if we attempted to reply to a teacher. She was younger than any of the other teachers – a breath of fresh air. Needless to say she didn’t fit the mould, and didn’t stay very long. She left soon after I did. I count myself fortunate to have been in her class in her only year at our school.

With my mum at my side, Miss Richardson said “What sort of job did you have in mind?” “A hairdresser” I said. Well didn’t everybody want to be a hairdresser? She smiled. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do something you have a talent for” she said. I looked at her and she smiled again. “What about your art? You have a real talent. Wouldn’t you like a job that used that talent?” “Ok” I said, not really seeing the importance of all this at that young age. She immediately fixed me up with an interview, and handed my mum the details.

You have to realize that a 15 year old, back then, was little more than a child, still wearing white ankle socks. I find it very strange that, as young as we were, the vast majority of us were soon to be holding down full time jobs, and accepted that responsibility easily and eagerly – one day wearing ankle socks and bushy eyebrows, the next, wrestling with suspender belts, high heels and make up. It really was that sudden a transformation. Yet we handled it.

Mum had taken me out and bought me my first set of ‘adult’ clothes. The image of my new coat makes me cringe now, but it was ‘hot’ when I chose it. It was a straight wrap over coat with a tie belt. Wait for it…. It was red plaid! Very fashionable in 1961, but EUUUGHHH!

The day came for my interview and, again, mum came with me. Parents always accompanied their child to their first interview. It was expected by the would be employer. I got the job, and was due to start one week after I left school. My salary would be five guineas, which was £5.5s. That was before we went decimal. That would be £5.25 pence now ($10.50 US). It was a very good salary in those days, and set a future trend for me. After all, this was the beginning of the sixties and everything was plentiful, including jobs.

I thank Miss Richardson, and often think about her. She made my last year at school a good year, and set my future up for me, because she cared. I hope she’s had a good life.

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Mark of worldwidetravelblog tagged me with this ‘Four Things’ meme.
Here I go, opening myself up to everyone – again. You’ll all end up knowing me better than I know myself!

My ‘four things’ answers are:-

Four jobs I’ve had

* Embroidery designer (for theatrical costumes)
* Office worker (Publishing)
* Hair dresser
* Graphic Designer – Self employed

Four movies I can watch over and over

* Cabaret
* Babe
* The Colour Purple
* Oliver

Four places I’ve lived

* London
* Stone/Greenhithe (Kent UK)
* Gillingham (Kent UK)
* Sheffield (South Yorkshire UK)

Four TV shows I love

I had to pick some old programmes as I don’t ‘love’ much on TV anymore.

* Darling Buds of May (old)
* Only Fools & Horses (old)
* X Factor (and similar)
* Doctor Who

Four places I’ve vacationed

* France
* Spain
* Isle of White (UK)
* Dorset (UK)

Four of my favorite dishes

* Chinese (most dishes)
* Macaroni Cheese
* Fried Rice (most types)
* Spaghetti Bolognese

Four sites I visit daily

* Entrecard
* The Junk Drawer here
* I Do Things here
* Drowsey Monkey heree
(and lots more)

Four places I would rather be right now

* Back in the 1960’s ;O)
* Where the sun is shining
* Any coastline (with sunshine)
* Where I live – Yorkshire (with sunshine)

Forgive me if I don’t tag anybody, but if you want to have a go, consider yourself tagged :O)

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On July 21st I had been blogging for one year, and it passed me by, without even a doughnut! To make things worse, I also missed my 100th post. This is my 106th post and I feel thoroughly cheated now.

To improve my mood somewhat, I was given this lovely award for being one of Drowsey Monkey’s top commenters. Thank you Drowsey :O)

Well it helps dull the pain a little, but I would have liked to mark at least one of my milestones with a little celebration post!

You will notice that I now have a pretty signature on my posts. I have also removed Digg and SezWho, and replaced it with a ‘Stumble upon’. At least that’s something to mark a new year of blogging!

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Mo came across this photograph of me, that I haven’t seen for many years. You can enlarge it if you so wish – though why would you?

It sparked of a trip down memory lane. The photo is of me waiting for the train that would take me to London. As my guitar is there, I must have been planning to strum some chords.

It was the summer of 1968. I was 22 and, as it was called in those days, courting. How old fashioned does that sound now? I lived in Kent by this time, but traveled to London, to both work and play. I’d hop on the train and travel up to Charing Cross Station. Once there, I met up with my boyfriend. I would stay with him and his mother for the weekend. It was never easy staying there, as his mother was jealous of my relationship with her only son, and showed it.

In the evening we’d set off for the social spots, where we met up with friends. We often spent time at a well known pub called ‘The Earl Of Sandwich’. Famous for it’s sandwiches, but probably frequented more because of the live music. It was one of those ‘buzzing’ scenes of the 60’s.

All night long the melodic sounds of Jazz filled the very large bar. While we drank, chatted and ate the delicious sandwiches, musicians would wander in, unpack their instrument and join the band jamming along for as long as they wanted. It was a forever changing band of about eight to ten musicians at any one time, and many famous names would appear. I didn’t particularly like jazz, but hearing it live and up close like that, I was soon tapping my feet to it! There’s something about live music, played by excellent musicians, that makes it far more enjoyable.

It was at this very pub that I was proposed to, in a very casual way. We were standing by a window and chatting when suddenly I heard “Shall we get married?” I can’t remember my exact words but I did accept.

The next day we went to the equally famous Portobello Road Market to buy the engagement ring. In fact I got two rings. I wasn’t in to diamond’s, so I got two gold rings with garnets. My favourite stones. Both were very old and unusual designs. Not a bit like usual engagement rings. I was never a ‘follow the crowd’ sort of person. I liked doing things differently – always one step away from the norm.

And there I was, engaged to be married with, not one, but two engagement rings, within 12 hours of the proposal. What did I say about being one step away from the norm?

Please don’t ask how long the marriage lasted ;O)

I googled The Earl of Sandwich but, although there were plenty of references the actual Earl, who invented the sandwich, I couldn’t find the pub. Maybe it doesn’t exist now.

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Today, I was feeling a little down in the doldrums. No particular reason, other than I couldn’t think of anything to blog about. I was even thinking of closing down one of my blogs. It has just been ‘one of those days’.

I was browsing and reading blogs, thinking “Why can’t I write like that?”. My mood wasn’t improving any.

Suddenly one of the blogs in my list of feeds posted. I clicked the link and started to read it. This person had received some awards. I read through the post, which was about the fantastic bloggers that were having the award passed on to them. “Very nice” I thought.

Suddenly, I sat bolt upright in my chair. What? Never! How come? Did I read this correctly? Noooo, can’t be right. Wait there’s a link, I click it to see what blog comes up. Oh my……. It is me!

This is what I read………

Babs from Beetle Blog is next. Babs, I salute you. You write the funniest product reviews and the most wonderful diatribes I’ve ever read, and I love your reminiscences too!

I had been awarded the The Arte y Pico award. And I was in good company too. Now, this isn’t the first time I have received this award, but it doesn’t diminish it’s importance because you receive it more than once.

The Arte y Pico award is for creativity, design, interesting material, and also for contributing to the blogging community, no matter what language.

I would like to thank Jay of The Depp Effect for this honour. I am so pleased that I found her blog. It always gives me a good chuckle. If you read one of her posts, you’ll be back for more. If you haven’t already, visit her blog and see for yourself.

The great thing about me receiving this award today, was that I was feeling so down and uncertain that I could ever be a good quality blogger, like those who I enjoy reading so much.

Thank you Jay. Not only did you improve my day immensely, but you gave me the material I was lacking, for this post ;O)

I hope you will forgive me if I don’t pass this award on, but I have passed it on twice before and I’ve run out of bloggers that I know and read regularly ;O)

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Today, we went out to buy a drop leaf table and chairs for our kitchen.

We set off for Ikea in Leeds. Nowhere is close to us. We always have at least an hours drive. Leeds may even be further. I don’t drive, and have a tendency to get in a car and arrive at the destination without taking any notice of how we got there, or how long it took.

Nothing spectacular happened during our search for what we wanted and we soon found a suitable table and chairs.

For those of you who don’t know ‘Ikea’ shops, they are self service. You take a little form around with you, and when you find what you are looking for you fill in the details, along with the row and item numbers. You then proceed to the check out area, where rows and rows of boxes of varying sizes fill the shelves. You make your way the the row you need and then check for the item number.

Mo and I found our smaller items and went in search of the last thing. Hmmm….. a large box sat looking at us – smirking. “You hold the trolley and I’ll get the box” Mo said. She grabbed hold of it and lifted. Nothing happened. She lifted again, using more effort this time. Still nothing happened. The box smirked at us again. The only way we were going to get this box was by sliding the thing off the shelf and onto the trolley. I held on to the trolley and pushed my body hard against it, in order for it not to whiz across the floor with the weight of the box landing on it. It worked. We smugly made our way to the check out.

We paid and left the shop. Great, we said, there were plenty of strong men, waiting with their trolleys, someone would lift the box into our car for us.

Mo went to get the car, and I stayed with the ladened down trolley, watching all the strong young men leaving, one at a time. When Mo got back, I stood alone with my trolley and the box, in an empty forecourt!

We managed to find a store worker and he came and helped us – Men are built for heavy boxes aren’t they? Anyway, with the box seated, or should I say firmly wedged, in the back of the car, the other bits in the boot, we set off home. Or did we?

We immediately found ourselves on a large roundabout, lined with hundreds of bollards and no sign posts. “Oh bollards” Mo said (poetic license) “Which turnoff should I take” “I don’t know” said I. “Go round agai….” Too late, she had turned off.

Nothing seemed familiar – nothing was familiar! We drove….. and we drove….. and….. we had no idea where we were. “I need petrol now” Mo said “I’m nearly empty” We filled up…. and we drove….. and……

We finally ended up in Manchester. We had taken a very long and scenic route though. From there we made our way home, arriving a good two hours later than we should have, tired, thirsty and having to face the dreaded box.

“How are we going to do this” Mo said, looking at the firmly wedged, and still smirking, box. “We will have to open the box inside the car and remove the contents a bit at a time” said I – I’m too clever! Have you ever tried to open a huge box, and remove all the contents whilst it was wedged behind the front seats of a small car? The neighbours must have thought “Those daft Southerners are at it again”

Once empty, we pulled the box, which was now in pieces, out and took great delight in jumping up and down on it, squashing it flat and stuffing it in the boot of the car, grinning all the while! Who got the last smirk?

We now have the pieces of a large wooden puzzle, piled up and waiting for us to assemble it. That has to be another post.

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I was going to write a pleasant post about having our central heating installed, but I haven’t been able to pull out even one, remotely humourous, part in this four day, living nightmare!

With every door and window in the house wide open all day, every day, with rain and wind blowing through the house, we were feeling colder as the days progressed. No kitchen and no water. Three men using our toilet all day without flushing, meant that I crossed my legs until evening. I couldn’t even think about the ‘quivering legs and holding my breath’ syndrome. The thought of the fermenting liquid in the toilet was enough to keep me out of that room.

Carpets and floor boards pulled up in every room, and men continuously calling out “Have you got a towel?” Grabbing it from us and catching thick, black liquid, that resembled crude oil, and poured from every pipe and radiator they removed. At the end of the four days we had run out of towels. Every hand towel we owned, and we owned a lot, fit for the rubbish bin! Black stains all over the house. Some on our carpets, some on our walls and some, thankfully, on the floorboards.

Here you can see just a few of our hand towels – stuffed in a saucepan! Not one that we use for cooking, but they didn’t know that.

Shunting the cats around the house to a ’safe’ room, along with beds, a litter tray, food and water, just to be told “Sorry, I need to get in that room now – just for a few minutes” Out they all come again, then back in there again – and so it went. It wasn’t helped by the fact that they did not like cats, and thought it clever to make remarks like “If it was left to me I’d let them out to take their chances with the foxes” and other similar remarks.

This had been the longest four days ever. We had the dirtiest, most untidy workmen I have ever experienced, who didn’t clear up or even put their tools away before leaving for the night. This was in every room in the house, not just one.

The photo below shows the tidiest room in the house – only because this is where we had to stay all day!

We still have a lot of cleaning up to do, carpets to lay back down, painting, tiling and even wallpapering, where they removed old radiators. We have a lovely, new central heating system, that actually works. Was it worth it?……………..I suppose so, but only because we won’t freeze to death in the winter again.

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I’m not a great one for Meme’s but I came across this one and thought it was fun. It’s another ‘Google Search’ meme.

You type ‘Your name’ followed by the given word and see what comes up. I don’t have any rules, but assume you pick one from the first page of results.

For those of you who don’t know, my real name isn’t Beetle, and Babs is not short for Barbara, as most people think. My real name is Babette.

These are my Google results ;O)

1: Needs
BABETTE NEEDS YOUR HELP NOW!” If you have any comments or news about how we can find Babette’s missing original …

Yes, please find my original body – someone stole it while I was sleeping!

2: Looks
Babette: looks like you are one bizzy bee, cool! …

“I’m busy doing nothin’, nothin’ the whole day through”

3: Does
Babette: “Does your super sleuth kit come with a …

I don’t know what ‘…’ is but I’m sure it comes with one.

4: Hates
Babette hates peanut butter– the glistening sheen so easily marred by a grubby baby index finger, olfactory tripwire for grunting elephants …

Now, I like peanut butter but NOT with JELLY – or with grunting elephants!

5: Goes
Babette Goes to War, including cast and credit details, a review summary, and more.

Who sweet, mildly mannered me?

6: Loves
Babette loves playing her guitar and teaching Music Together!

This is very true!

7: Eats
Babette eats her first meal with Paulina and Martina. Although the two were reticent to allow her to stay with them, …

Why, I wonder?

8: Has
Babette has spent every last penny of her fortune on the meal one is quizzed to decide whether she did this to re-live her past …

Anyone for fish & chips? It’s all my fortune would buy. Re-living my past is just about all I can do now.

9: Died
Babette died in Paris in 1911. Her daughter Nanette was my great mother.

I picked this one for two reasons. First, I am part French and second, although my mothers name was Jeanette, she was often called Nanette by older members of the family. I think she may have changed it when she was young.
10: Will
Babette will model introducing a Doll to the participants. who will be asked to respond as children. …

Phew! Am I glad that said children!

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The room was filled with steam, and the strong smell of soap. It was wash day. A large metal bowl was on the stove (cooker) and mum was standing over it with wooden tongs, stirring and lifting clothes out, then dunking them back down in the hot soapy water. To the right of the stove was the sink, a deep square sink, filled with soapy water. This was where the larger, and coloured items of clothing and linen got washed. Mum put the tongs down and moved over to the sink, scrubbing and dunking, scrubbing and dunking. The more soiled bits were scrubbed up and down on a washboard. Mum’s hands were red with all the hot water and rubbing. She emptied the soapy water out and ran the cold tap, filling the sink again to rinse the soap out.

Once the soap was rinsed out, mum squeezed out as much water as she could by hand and placed them all, dripping, into another large bowl, which she carried over to the mangle. Piece by piece she fed it through the two rollers, turning the large handle, the clothes coming out the other side flat and stiff. I was fascinated by It and stood watching, helping by taking hold of each piece of flat, stiff clothing and placing them, one on top of another.

Once it was all finished, mum shook everything and draped it over wooden driers, that had several slats of wood and stood on the floor. She draped the remainder over the backs of chairs. Wet washing hung everywhere until it dried naturally.

In the summer, if you were lucky and had a garden, you could hang it out in the sun to dry.

Some years later, I remember dad buying mum a really great dryer, to make life easier for her. Here is a photo of one.

Ours was slightly more modern, but only because it was finished off a little better. It was fixed on the ceiling over the bath, to catch the drips. That allowed washing to dry without hanging all over the living room. When it was dry you just lowered it using the pulley to get the washing off.

I find it hard to believe that we lived like that in my lifetime ;O)

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