This is a shameless plea for help from those of you out there who are either Nova Scotian or familiar with the area. The Loth clan will be making their annual pilgrimage to Canada in July this year. We are spending some time in Liverpool (I'll get you this time, Jess!), then a week on PEI. We finish up with a few days in our favourite B&B in the Annapolis Valley. Between PEI and Port Williams, we have a spare night to spend and no particular views on where to spend it.
So. Do any of you have any suggestions for a place to stay or something to do while we are en route? Any hidden gems to point us towards? Sneak up to Shediac for some lobster? Go and watch some birds in Sackville? Get tidal bored in Truro? What do you reckon? All suggestions gratefully received.
PS I know Ottowa isn't between PEI and Port Williams. Sorry about that.
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Cat news - well, what were you expecting?
I have very strict instructions from Isabelle to post about the cats. And, as I have said before, I am very obedient and Isabelle is a teacher and therefore very authoritative, so here you go.
Bellus and Zyra have settled in amazingly well. They don't seem to mind being confined to the kitchen/utility room during the day, they eat like little furry pigs (Zyra still watches Bellus intently as she eats and then, just as he is about to finish his, she shoulders him out of the way and cleans his dish for him. Bellus has now got wise to this and he just walks around behind her and cleans her dish. She is evil, calculating and yet not so bright.) and they greet us with great enthusiasm when we come home or down the stairs in the morning.
They like to sleep in their tartan basket in the kitchen, cuddled up together. Like this
and also in other parts of the house, most notably the big old blanket box in our upstairs hall, which is known as the Humpty Box. Because most of the Humpties live on it. (Except the Humpty royal entourage which has moved and taken up residence on a former telephone table on our landing - you have to maintain a certain station in life, you know. I really must tell you about the Humpty genealogy one day.) They have even been known to join us in the living room of an evening.
What is noticeable in both of those photos is that Bellus is being pinned down by Zyra and is wearing his long-suffering sat-upon cat expression. He wears that quite a lot.
I took the catlets to the vet today to have them micro-chipped. The cat rescue shelter has a deal with a local vet whereby you get 50% off the cost of micro-chipping, and since we intend to let the kitties out into the garden soon, we decided to go ahead and get it done. And anyway, chipping totally means our cats are now cyborgs.
Both cats went reasonably happily into the carrier for the short car trip to the vet. During the journey I made the happy discovery that you can apparently hypnotise cats with windscreen wipers. The pair of them were rivetted by the wipers going back and forward - they looked like very intent spectators at a particularly mechanical tennis match. If I could have, I would have taken a video of them. But I assumed that if talking on a mobile phone while driving is an offence, then turning round and filming your cats staring at the windscreen wipers is probably frowned on too.
Next step is to actually introduce The Furry Ones to the back garden. I will report in due course.
Bellus and Zyra have settled in amazingly well. They don't seem to mind being confined to the kitchen/utility room during the day, they eat like little furry pigs (Zyra still watches Bellus intently as she eats and then, just as he is about to finish his, she shoulders him out of the way and cleans his dish for him. Bellus has now got wise to this and he just walks around behind her and cleans her dish. She is evil, calculating and yet not so bright.) and they greet us with great enthusiasm when we come home or down the stairs in the morning.
They like to sleep in their tartan basket in the kitchen, cuddled up together. Like this
and also in other parts of the house, most notably the big old blanket box in our upstairs hall, which is known as the Humpty Box. Because most of the Humpties live on it. (Except the Humpty royal entourage which has moved and taken up residence on a former telephone table on our landing - you have to maintain a certain station in life, you know. I really must tell you about the Humpty genealogy one day.) They have even been known to join us in the living room of an evening.
What is noticeable in both of those photos is that Bellus is being pinned down by Zyra and is wearing his long-suffering sat-upon cat expression. He wears that quite a lot.
I took the catlets to the vet today to have them micro-chipped. The cat rescue shelter has a deal with a local vet whereby you get 50% off the cost of micro-chipping, and since we intend to let the kitties out into the garden soon, we decided to go ahead and get it done. And anyway, chipping totally means our cats are now cyborgs.
Both cats went reasonably happily into the carrier for the short car trip to the vet. During the journey I made the happy discovery that you can apparently hypnotise cats with windscreen wipers. The pair of them were rivetted by the wipers going back and forward - they looked like very intent spectators at a particularly mechanical tennis match. If I could have, I would have taken a video of them. But I assumed that if talking on a mobile phone while driving is an offence, then turning round and filming your cats staring at the windscreen wipers is probably frowned on too.
Next step is to actually introduce The Furry Ones to the back garden. I will report in due course.
Friday, 22 January 2010
Just checking
Okay, so reassure me, Internet. That Evian advert. It creeps everybody out, right? I'm not the only one who doesn't find it cute am I?
Thursday, 21 January 2010
A Sweet and Salty Read
You may recall that a wee while ago I had the great good fortune to win a contest on Kate's blog, as a result of which I received a signed copy of Kate's first book, The Dread Crew. (I feel like a bit of a charlatan about winning, as all I had to do was complete a meme about book stuff - you'd have had to use cattle prods to keep me away from that, frankly.)
Anyway, the book duly arrived and I fondled it in awe - it really is a beautiful book. I mean physically beautiful - it is beautifully bound and the illustrations are just fabulous. At the risk of sounding ancient, they really don't illustrate children's books like that anymore, and they should. It sat around in my house over Christmas and various people at various times picked it up, stroked it, flipped through its pages.
I planned to keep it in its pristine condition (I am notoriously poor at keeping books "nice". All my books end up with heavily creased spines as I read them one-handed in various situations, and with scratched and dented covers from being stuffed hurriedly into my handbag as I leave for work - have to have something to read on the bus.) I must confess, however, that I have failed. My pre-publication, author-signed copy is looking a little dented and scruffy. Once I had started reading it, I couldn't leave it behind so into the bag it went, beside the hairbrush and the heirloom collection of old bus tickets and Sainsbury's receipts.
The Dread Crew is a children's book, but like all the best children's books, that just means that adults can ostensibly buy it for someone else and read it themselves on the sly. I knew in advance that I would like at least some aspects of it, for Kate is a Nova Scotian and the story is set in the deep woods of the Maritimes, my favourite part of the world. And indeed, I was not disappointed in that. But the book as a whole was..........I find it hard to pinpoint the precise, correct word. Entrancing, I think is closest. I would not want to even try to describe the plot, involving as it does exceptionally smelly pirates, a fearsome wood ship, peacocks and goats locked in low-key warfare, an adventurous, talented and insightful grandpa and a Gooperator.
It's the kind of book that, as a child, I particularly loved: a clever and resourceful child (that would be me, of course) discovers that behind the facade of normal life, strange and wonderful things not only exist, but thrive, and are there for the discovering.
Whether or not you have already learned to appreciate Kate's wonderfully lyrical writing style from her blog, you will enjoy her book. The subject matter may be different (different from just about anything else you have ever read, probably!) but Kate's unique, startlingly original turns of phrase, her vividly quirky descriptions and most of all her sly, earthy humour are all there. With pirates. Pirates! How can you resist?
Thank you Kate. My now slightly battered and grubby copy will be treasured. Like fine junk!
Anyway, the book duly arrived and I fondled it in awe - it really is a beautiful book. I mean physically beautiful - it is beautifully bound and the illustrations are just fabulous. At the risk of sounding ancient, they really don't illustrate children's books like that anymore, and they should. It sat around in my house over Christmas and various people at various times picked it up, stroked it, flipped through its pages.
I planned to keep it in its pristine condition (I am notoriously poor at keeping books "nice". All my books end up with heavily creased spines as I read them one-handed in various situations, and with scratched and dented covers from being stuffed hurriedly into my handbag as I leave for work - have to have something to read on the bus.) I must confess, however, that I have failed. My pre-publication, author-signed copy is looking a little dented and scruffy. Once I had started reading it, I couldn't leave it behind so into the bag it went, beside the hairbrush and the heirloom collection of old bus tickets and Sainsbury's receipts.
The Dread Crew is a children's book, but like all the best children's books, that just means that adults can ostensibly buy it for someone else and read it themselves on the sly. I knew in advance that I would like at least some aspects of it, for Kate is a Nova Scotian and the story is set in the deep woods of the Maritimes, my favourite part of the world. And indeed, I was not disappointed in that. But the book as a whole was..........I find it hard to pinpoint the precise, correct word. Entrancing, I think is closest. I would not want to even try to describe the plot, involving as it does exceptionally smelly pirates, a fearsome wood ship, peacocks and goats locked in low-key warfare, an adventurous, talented and insightful grandpa and a Gooperator.
It's the kind of book that, as a child, I particularly loved: a clever and resourceful child (that would be me, of course) discovers that behind the facade of normal life, strange and wonderful things not only exist, but thrive, and are there for the discovering.
Whether or not you have already learned to appreciate Kate's wonderfully lyrical writing style from her blog, you will enjoy her book. The subject matter may be different (different from just about anything else you have ever read, probably!) but Kate's unique, startlingly original turns of phrase, her vividly quirky descriptions and most of all her sly, earthy humour are all there. With pirates. Pirates! How can you resist?
Thank you Kate. My now slightly battered and grubby copy will be treasured. Like fine junk!
Tuesday, 19 January 2010
Useful information
Did you know that the best cat toy in the world is a set of vertical blinds? (Yes, I have vertical blinds. Don't judge me. They came with the house. I kind of like them now. Am thinking of getting brown suede ones.)
Anyway, the cats love them. They get to indulge in one of their favourite hobbies of staring out the window (and, in Bellus' case, chirruping in frustration at his inability to get out there and chase stuff) and at the same time play fight something dangly and rattle-y.
Well done to XUP, by the way, for identifying the source of the catty names. 'Fess up, now: did you Google it?
Anyway, the cats love them. They get to indulge in one of their favourite hobbies of staring out the window (and, in Bellus' case, chirruping in frustration at his inability to get out there and chase stuff) and at the same time play fight something dangly and rattle-y.
Well done to XUP, by the way, for identifying the source of the catty names. 'Fess up, now: did you Google it?
Monday, 18 January 2010
Things are looking up
We were planning to have a very lazy, non-eventful Sunday. Pot of coffee, reading the papers online, playing a bit of Word Twist for intellectual stimulation. The boys, however, had other ideas. They had decided it was time to consider acquiring a successor to Schieffer, our late lamented cat and wanted to at least go and check out the local cat rescue shelter. Husband and I agreed and started to get ourselves ready to go out (though not nearly quickly enough for the boys' liking.) The two of them hopped from foot to foot, desparate to go and see some furry things. SB suggested we take our cat carrier with us, you know, just in case.....
I pointed out that:
"Great!" she said. "Do you want to take them home now?" In the background, First Born and Second Born did a little victory jig. And thus it came to pass that we arrived home with two new members of the family. And here they are:
On top, that is the Artist Formerly Known as Fluffy. She is about 4 or 5 months old, boisterous as anything and I although I assume that she sleeps sometimes, I have no eyewitness evidence to back this up. Anything less suited to the name "Fluffy" I can't imagine. What you can't see from that photo is that on the right side of her face, she has a couple of little black splodges which look for all the world like someone has started drawing a Laughing Cavalier-style moustache and beard on her and then given up halfway through. Makes me giggle every time I look at it.
Below her is Robbie-as-was. (And half a bottle of Pimms. Please ignore that.) Male, about 8 months old and much quieter than his pal (which is not difficult). It is great fun having cats around again although, since Schieffer was so old, we had forgotten how curious cats are, how every gap is a challenge and every shelf and surface a vantage point to be conquered. And then used to ambush your co-feline.
We had to come up with names, of course and after some very detailed and lengthy discussions, we were in agreement. Robbie and Fluffy are now Bellus and Zyra. And if anyone out there can identify where we got those names from, well then you are precisely the sort of geeky individual that this family would like to have tea with. Call us.
I pointed out that:
- We were only going to get some information, check out the set-up at the shelter and so on. We were not going to get a cat.
- Even if we decided to go ahead, there was no guarantee they would have a cat to suit us, and
- Even if we decided to go ahead, and there was a cat to suit us, we would not be able to just take it away there and then. There would be procedures and checks and stuff to be gone through. No need for a cat carrier today. Definitely not. (You can see where this is going, can't you?)
"Great!" she said. "Do you want to take them home now?" In the background, First Born and Second Born did a little victory jig. And thus it came to pass that we arrived home with two new members of the family. And here they are:
On top, that is the Artist Formerly Known as Fluffy. She is about 4 or 5 months old, boisterous as anything and I although I assume that she sleeps sometimes, I have no eyewitness evidence to back this up. Anything less suited to the name "Fluffy" I can't imagine. What you can't see from that photo is that on the right side of her face, she has a couple of little black splodges which look for all the world like someone has started drawing a Laughing Cavalier-style moustache and beard on her and then given up halfway through. Makes me giggle every time I look at it.
Below her is Robbie-as-was. (And half a bottle of Pimms. Please ignore that.) Male, about 8 months old and much quieter than his pal (which is not difficult). It is great fun having cats around again although, since Schieffer was so old, we had forgotten how curious cats are, how every gap is a challenge and every shelf and surface a vantage point to be conquered. And then used to ambush your co-feline.
We had to come up with names, of course and after some very detailed and lengthy discussions, we were in agreement. Robbie and Fluffy are now Bellus and Zyra. And if anyone out there can identify where we got those names from, well then you are precisely the sort of geeky individual that this family would like to have tea with. Call us.
Saturday, 16 January 2010
This is not funny. Seriously.
The Mechanical Malfunction Fairy continues with her nefarious practices. I don't know what I have done to cause such offence, but if anyone knows where one goes to make a sacrifice to pacify her, please let me know. (What, I wonder would you sacrifice to the Mechanical Malfunction Fairy? Stamp on a perfectly functioning watch, perhaps? Try making a gravel smoothie in your blender?)
Today, I had agreed with my Dad that I would drive down to the Lake District with him. My now ex-pat brother had agreed to sell him his car, the plan being that Little Brother would drive up in said car for their visit just after Christmas and Dad would then drive them all back down again in time for their flight to Oz. The snow put paid to that and the car has been languishing in a kind neighbour's drive just outside Cockermouth for the past couple of weeks. I agreed therefore to drive Dad down to pick it up. We decided to take my car as I felt happier driving on the motorway in my own car with which I was familiar and, more importantly, for which I have fully comprehensive insurance.
Everything went swimmingly until we hit a part of the M74 that was closed due to flooding (all that melting snow has to go somewhere) and we were diverted off. As we pulled off the motorway, we heard a sudden strange noise. Dad and I both immediately reached the same conclusion: we had a flat tyre. Fortunately we were about to pass a service area so we pulled in, both dreading having to go through the operation of remembering how to jack up the car and change the tyre and then actually jacking up the car and changing the tyre.
I pulled into a spot well away from the services building, to ensure we had plenty of space and we climbed out. To discover that all four tyres were fine. Two guys in a white van behind us called over and pointed out that there was something wrong at the front of my car. We looked. A bit had fallen off the front of my car. The panel underneath that protects all the engine gubbins from the elements had simply dropped to the ground and was being dragged along. (Damn you M.M.F!) Dad and I were slightly stunned. Not so our White Van Heroes (who turned out to be Polish). They both came over, crawled around on the muddy ground peering under my car and then one of them nipped back to the van, reappearing with a couple of heavy duty cable ties. He then dropped down and re-attached the panel with the cable ties.
I was gobsmacked, not only by my good fortune in picking that space in those services in which to park (Ha! Take that Mechanical Malfunction Fairy!) but by how unbelievably kind, helpful and well-equipped those guys were. They refused to take anything for their trouble, just saying cheerfully as they left "We are Polish, by the way - remember Polish people are cool!" Too right they are.
I know there is no chance they will read this, but to those two guys, thank you very much. I got safely to Cockermouth and back and with only about 10 minutes added to my journey. You are geniuses. Kind, obliging, mechanically inventive and well-equipped Polish geniuses.
Today, I had agreed with my Dad that I would drive down to the Lake District with him. My now ex-pat brother had agreed to sell him his car, the plan being that Little Brother would drive up in said car for their visit just after Christmas and Dad would then drive them all back down again in time for their flight to Oz. The snow put paid to that and the car has been languishing in a kind neighbour's drive just outside Cockermouth for the past couple of weeks. I agreed therefore to drive Dad down to pick it up. We decided to take my car as I felt happier driving on the motorway in my own car with which I was familiar and, more importantly, for which I have fully comprehensive insurance.
Everything went swimmingly until we hit a part of the M74 that was closed due to flooding (all that melting snow has to go somewhere) and we were diverted off. As we pulled off the motorway, we heard a sudden strange noise. Dad and I both immediately reached the same conclusion: we had a flat tyre. Fortunately we were about to pass a service area so we pulled in, both dreading having to go through the operation of remembering how to jack up the car and change the tyre and then actually jacking up the car and changing the tyre.
I pulled into a spot well away from the services building, to ensure we had plenty of space and we climbed out. To discover that all four tyres were fine. Two guys in a white van behind us called over and pointed out that there was something wrong at the front of my car. We looked. A bit had fallen off the front of my car. The panel underneath that protects all the engine gubbins from the elements had simply dropped to the ground and was being dragged along. (Damn you M.M.F!) Dad and I were slightly stunned. Not so our White Van Heroes (who turned out to be Polish). They both came over, crawled around on the muddy ground peering under my car and then one of them nipped back to the van, reappearing with a couple of heavy duty cable ties. He then dropped down and re-attached the panel with the cable ties.
I was gobsmacked, not only by my good fortune in picking that space in those services in which to park (Ha! Take that Mechanical Malfunction Fairy!) but by how unbelievably kind, helpful and well-equipped those guys were. They refused to take anything for their trouble, just saying cheerfully as they left "We are Polish, by the way - remember Polish people are cool!" Too right they are.
I know there is no chance they will read this, but to those two guys, thank you very much. I got safely to Cockermouth and back and with only about 10 minutes added to my journey. You are geniuses. Kind, obliging, mechanically inventive and well-equipped Polish geniuses.
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