You could be forgiven if you find this hard to believe - I do!. As Victor Meldrew would say, **I don’t believe it!**  For those of you who are not familiar with the British sit com ‘One Foot in the Grave’ check the link for a small clip of the catchphrase.

Just two days after the ‘cat flap’ incident, we had another equally frustrating, and ‘it could only happen to us’, incident!

Mo was out doing some gardening.  It was a lovely sunny day, and she decided to make the most of the dry weather.  I heard the back door, rattling so went out to see what the noise was.  I shot a quick glance at the cat flap and smiled at the beautifully working door for the cats. “The end result is good” I thought.  Anyway, back to the incident of today.  Mo was looking in the window impatiently, saying “Let me in please”  I looked back and said “It’s not locked.”  She rattled some more, I grabbed the door handle and pulled and wiggled, Mo pushed and wiggled (the handle, that is).  No luck.  She was locked out!

I tried every implement I could to open the door, but there was no budging it.  Mo eventually had to kick the door in.  I sometimes wonder where she gets her strength from.  It’s a good job it was Mo locked out there because I could never have done it!

Needless to say, The door panel is now split, the door frame is broken and the door is generally in a bad way. I didn’t say much …. I didn’t want to add the the obvious bad mood of Mo.  “I’ll fix that”  I said, looking at the smashed door.  “I’ll go and buy a new lock”  Mo said. (30 minutes each way again).

While Mo was gone I chiseled all the broken wood out of the door and fitted a new piece of wood.  I was pleased with my efforts, and waited for Mo to return with the new lock.

The nice new lock arrived and Mo got on with her gardening while I attempted to fit it.  I chiseled some more and finally got the lock seated comfortably in the hole.  Now I had to fit the second part.  The piece that goes on the door frame.  I needed to open the lock for this, so I get the key……it won’t turn!  I wiggled, and wiggled but it still won’t turn.  Mo came in and wiggled and wiggled……Nope, still won’t turn.

“I’ll have to take it back.” said Mo (there were a few other words in that sentence) “But I’m not going back there today, I’ll go Monday”  Mo had also bought a new bolt when buying the lock, so we put that on the door, cleared up all the mess and quietly got on with other things.  We’re getting rather used to these jobs that don’t go according to plan.

Part 2

It’s now Monday, and guess what?  The new lock wouldn’t fit!  We chiseled more wood out, then a bit more, then a bit more.  This went on for what seemed like hours - Well it was hours!  Finally we got it all done and it’s working fine. So is our cat flap!

We still have the split panel to fix but that sould be a breeze after all this chiseling and fitting!

Who would believe that all this would go wrong with one door, in a few days?

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Our cat door/flap has been looking a bit fragile lately, and today it finally broke.

Replacing a cat door is a simple enough thing, you would think. You’d be wrong to think that when it’s our cat flap!  It went like this.

2pm.
Mo: “Babs, help me mark where the screws go for this new cat flap.”

Babs: (going out to see what was what) “That’s no good, it’s far too small.  Mitzi will never fit through that!”

Mo: “Are you sure?”

Babs: “I’m sure, we’ll have to get a bigger one”

Mo: “That means I have to go all the way to Barnsley” (30minutes each way)

Babs: “Well you’ll have to, that’s far too small”

Mo: (retrieving the broken door from the waste bin) “I’ll take the old door for size, see you later”

3:15pm.
Mo: “They were all too small.  I eventually got this one.  It’ll have to do”

Babs: (Looking at it disdainfully) “Oh OK, I suppose it’ll do. It’s very flimsy”

Mo: “It was only £5.  All the more expensive ones were too small”

We set about making a wooden frame and fixed it to the door.  Looking good!  Mo went outside to test the screw holes etc.  Door gets jammed!  We discover that the hole is too narrow so we chisel away all the extra wood at the side and test again.  Door gets jammed!  We discover that the hole is too shallow so we chisel all the extra wood away at the top and test again.  Door gets jammed.

We chisel away the wood at the bottom.  A whole chunk of the door falls out! We get some ‘Hard as nails’ and glue it back quickly, test the door again and finally it seems to be working.  Mo screws it on and…… the door gets jammed!
This went on until we finally got the door swinging OK but the outside part wouldn’t shut properly.

Babs: “This is so cheap and flimsy, it’s never going to work right”

Mo: “Are you sure the other one was too small?”

Babs: “Lets compare it with this one….. oh….er…. it’s bigger, and much more sturdy.  I think we should change it over”

Mo: (Not once moaning at me for what was obviously all my fault) “OK then.  Are you sure it will fit now?”

Babs: “Yes, it’ll fit.  I’ll make a new frame.”

By this time it was getting dark and we were hungry.

Mo: “I’m going to get some take-away while you make the frame.”

Babs: “OK” Sets too, marking out the sizes on the wood for the frame.

9:45pm!!
New frame made, ready to start again tomorrow.  Big sheet of wood covering a hole in the back door.

The message here is ‘Don’t listen to Babs regarding the size of cat flaps!’

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It was March 15th 1969 - My big day.  Everything had gone according to plan. The house was a buzz of busyness and excitement.  One sister did my nails, another my makeup, and my dress hung on the wardrobe door in readiness.  Today I would find out if my dressmaking skills were good enough.  Would the cloak be successful and not drag off my shoulders as I walked down the isle, dragging the weight behind me?

The flowers arrived.  I had decided on a small posy rather than a traditional wedding bouquet.  I felt it was more in keeping with the style of my dress.  I had red and white, to match Jim’s clothes, in order to bring the colours together.

Everybody left for the church, leaving my dad and I waiting for my car.  I can’t remember what was said, but I know he would have said some lovely things to me as we waited.

The car arrived and took us to the church.  The pageboys looked so angelic in their little outfits.  The organist started to play.  I was so fortunate to have a brilliant organist, well versed in classical music.  The music filled the church and my dad and I started down the isle, pageboys walking behind, carefully holding my cloak.  They did so well.

Just click the arrow below and listen to ‘The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ so you can get it the mood ;O)

George Frideric Handel - The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba

I did have a surprise waiting for me at the alter though.  Jim had a black beard and tash and he had decided to shave the beard off for the wedding!  I liked it actually.

I know you’re all waiting to hear what Derek was wearing.  It wasn’t too bad, considering who we are talking about.  He was in a brown tweed suit.  Certainly not what we would have chosen.  He clashed colour-wise, but at least it was a suit.

It all went without a hitch, and soon we were outside.  The church was on a corner that jutted out, making it very exposed.  We are talking UK weather here, and March is notorious for being very windy!  The wind whipped around, ripping the nicely tied posy ribbon undone and making it almost impossible to pose for any photos.

Sadly, my younger sister’s boyfriend had told us he was a photographer, and had shot many weddings.  It was agreed that he would be our photographer - mistake!  Not only was he not a photographer, he didn’t even understand the basics of his camera.  We got no official photographs at all, and ended up with just the odd snapshot taken by a few guests. I have included them for you to see, although none show the complete dress or the cloak.

No prizes for guessing who are my parents!

We finally got to the reception and everybody was buzzing around the main table.  When I finally saw what all the fuss was about, I was amazed.  It was my wedding cake.

Jim and I both worked in publishing, so my brother had decided to make an appropriate wedding cake.

The centre cake was entitled ‘The Merger’ and had loose pages (made from rice paper) that had a bit about both Jim and I, and also listed all the guests.  The left cake was entitled ‘Annual Report’ (anniversary cake) and the right hand cake was  ‘Productivity Report’ (Christening cake).  It was all trimmed with gold, and stood on a wooden book stand, especially made for the occasion.  My brother had made many phone calls to London’s top cake makers/decorators in order to get hold of a metallic gold that was edible.  I have to say that it was the most unusual cake I had ever seen.  Again, this is the best photo I have of it, sadly.

Soon the buzz was about something quite different, and it didn’t take me long to find out what.  All the men were nudging each other and whispering - looking like the cat that got the cream.  The women, on the other hand, were huddled together indignantly!  It was no surprise to me that Jane was bra-less.   Talk about upstaging the bride ha ha!

The important thing to remember is that back then, unless you moved in certain circles, in the centre of London, nobody went bra-less.  This was in the countryside of Kent!  The men thought all their Christmases had come at once!

All in all, it was a good and successful day!

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I got this ‘A Fun Blog’ award last week, from Jay thedeppeffect. Thank you very much Jay.

On another note.  I have something else to thank Jay for.  She kindly gave me permission to use one of her photographs in my sidebar.  I saw the photo in her post and had the cheek to ask her if I could have it.  Well, it was calling to me :O)

Jay very kindly said yes, and there she is, my little ladybug, or ladybird as we in the UK call them.  Isn’t she so cute?  Thank you Jay.

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It was nearing the end of 1968, the date for our wedding was fixed and I now started to think about my wedding dress. I knew I wasn’t going to buy a ready made dress.  I planned to make my own.  I had been making my own clothes for a while now, so I was quite confident I could do it.

It was going to be a March wedding and as March in the UK is not very warm, and often very windy, I decided on white velvet.

I had made a dress for my 21st birthday party and liked the style so I decided to modify that pattern by making the sleeves longer and the dress full length. You can just make out the waistband in the photo of my brother and I at my 21st party.

To top it off, and in my usual ‘need to be different’ I was going to have a bottle green cloak, with rounded corners, that would trail behind on the floor and no veil.  Instead I would have a white velvet tiara.

My time spent working in the theatrical costumers as a designer, was now going to come in very useful.  I had managed to acquire many boxes of beads and paste jewels, along with the knowledge of sewing them on.  The dress had a waistband that was fixed under the bust.  I decorated that with green and white jewels to match the cloak and put the same design on the tiara.  I was faced with a problem when it came to how I was to fix the cloak.  It was very long and heavy and I ran the risk of most fixings pulling undone.  I decided that I had to have straps to put my arms through so my shoulders would take the weight.

Whist I was busy making my dress, Jim was organizing his outfit.  He chose a deep red velvet suit and a white ruffled shirt.

Just to be different, we didn’t have bridesmaids. We had two of my young nephews as pageboys.  My aunt made their outfits for me.  They were black velvet suits with just under the knee britches, ruffled shirts and long socks all dyed a pale green to match my cloak, with silver buckled, patent shoes.  They looked so cute!

Instead of the usual Wedding March, we decided to have ‘The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba’ We spoke to the organist at the church and luckily he was able to play it.

It was all taking shape now.  All that was left was Derek!  He had agreed to be best man, but refused to wear a suit.  Finally Jim got him to agree, as long as he could choose his own.  We were left wondering what he would be wearing on the day.  We hadn’t given Jane a thought.

My eldest brother was busy making our wedding cake, which was to be a surprise.  It certainly was a surprise!

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Well I know who he was, at least I have just found out who he was. I was reading grannygrimble’s (my sisters) blog the other day and I discovered that this man was/is my Godfather. He was an American sailor, who was dating one of my aunts at the time I was to be Christened. His name was Mike.

Despite the fact that he asked my aunt to go the States with him to get married, he went back alone. She couldn’t get the necessary papers. Sadly my family didn’t hear from him again.  Obviously it wasn’t true love.

He would ba about 80 now if he was still alive, so…. If you’re out there Mike, I’m your God daughter!

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I saw this on That Grrl’s blog, and just had to have it on mine.  Well I did, didn’t I?

Make a Lady Bug Note at Getmyspacecomments.com

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Now we were in the late sixties, and things were really ’swinging’ as they said. Some things more than others, where some were concerned ;O)

Derek, a friend of Jim’s from school, worked in the advertising industry as a copywriter.  He was only 19 years old and was on the highest salary ever paid to a copywriter of his age.  He and his ‘live in’ girlfriend Jane, lived in a large building near Hyde Park.   It was very high class, with uniformed doormen that you had to check in with before you were allowed to enter.  Derek & Jane lived on one of the upper floors, which was only accessible  by way of a lift.  Walking to the lift, your feet sank into the deep pile of the rich, red carpet.  The first time I visited them, I was totally amazed at the luxury.

Jane and Derek, were a bit extreme for me, and I was never completely relaxed in their company.  Jane was one of the first women to burn her bra.  She would walk around the streets of London barefoot and bra-less!  Her way of sticking her fingers up at society.  She came from an upper class family and had a lot of emotional baggage.  She was a diabetic and needed to inject herself regularly.  She would think nothing of lifting her skirt and ramming the needle into her thigh, wherever she was, even in a restaurant, and in front of whoever she was with - right in the middle of a conversation! Everything Jane did showed a lack of respect for others.  Derek was more laid back than Jane.  So laid back that he would happily lounge around in nothing but his underpants, when we came to visit!  They didn’t agree with marriage, in fact they hated what it stood for, which is why they lived together, at a time when marriage was still considered the natural route to take.  Living together was classed as ‘living in sin’ (remember that?) and frowned upon by most people.

It didn’t take me long to see that Jane was really kicking out at her parents.  Sadly everyone around Jane got the brunt of it, not her parents.  She didn’t ever see them!

Perhaps it was because I was a little older, at twenty two, but I found their behaviour childish, and rather offensive.  Still, they were Jim’s friends, or rather Derek was, so I quietly put up with their strange behaviour, and Jane’s frequent mood swings.  Thankfully, we didn’t see them too often.

There was one special day, however, that they would be involved in.  Derek was to be Jim’s best man!!

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For those of you that probably won’t know, ‘Fings ain’t what they used to be’ is an old Cockney song ;O)

I went to a party last night.  It was a great party but I had two disappointments which were both to do with food.  It was a lovely spread that was all very fresh.  The open rolls were lovely, even the cheese felt like it had been freshly grated.  I had an open cheese roll and a slice of spinach pizza. I took a fairy cake (cup cake) that had a creamy looking swirl on top, to finish the food off nicely.

I peeled the paper case off my cake.  It was so fresh it was hard to keep the cake in one piece.  Yummy.  I took a bite and almost heaved.  What are they doing with cake toppings?  I wanted to spit it out, but was too polite.  It was a revolting greasy substance that tasted like nothing I could recognize!  I quickly washed it down with some lemonade, shuddered, threw the remainder of the cake away and gulped some more lemonade.

Later they brought round the birthday cake.  Though not as revolting, it was another disappointment. Where is the icing?  Why have they started covering cakes with this substance that tastes like…erm…nothing, and feels like soft waxy weirdness?  It’s NOT icing!

There is only one good thing about this waxy stuff.  You can remove it in one piece and throw it in the nearest waste bin!

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Since my last post was fraught with stress, I decided to lighten up a bit. Below is something that may be infectious.  Just click the little arrow and turn your speakers on ;O)

The doodle is for Kathy!

Need a laugh?

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