"Give Aunty a Nice Big Kiss"

.

“Come on now. Give your Aunty Alice a nice big kiss.”

That would be my Mom saying that, somewhere around 1950.

.

.

Us lads didn’t like kissing, anymore than we liked Cod Liver Oil, but we liked our Aunties.

You see, by giving our Aunty Alice, a boyish peck on her eau de Cologne scented, heavily powdered cheek, it might result in a ‘ten bob note’ being lovingly squeezed through the slot in my money box! In those days that was ‘serious’ money to a young boy. I remember saving up £5 in my money box to buy my first bike. A bike! Just from kissing Aunties. So you see, there might be an ulterior and rather materialistic motive behind me ‘puckering up’ even to this day!

And this day is?

National Kissing Day.  July 6th .

.

.

I’m never quite sure why we have these ‘National Days’. I usually assume it is a commercial thingie, just to sell cards and cuddly bears?

But suppose it was a day, just one day, when you could go out and kiss anyone, (in my case 120% female), without the fear of the charge of an assault being brought.

No? 

Thought not. Just wishful thinking.

.

.

Looking back over time, I can remember my first ‘romantic’ kiss. Well you do, don’t you? In those days it was a case of ‘shall I now?’ or ’shan’t I?’ 

It was a time of ’shall I get my face slapped?’ 

Nowadays it appears to be more like 

‘Hiya honey and hop into bed‘!

We, were young gentlemen then, with short hair and clean necks.

Of course in reality,

“I’ve kissed many girls under many conditions,

I’ve kissed them both with, and without their permissions,

But never a one, for a moment compares

With the one that I kissed, in the dark, on the stairs.”

Not true in my case. 

We were on a train, alone in the compartment, 

coming back from a day out on the Malvern Hills.

I’ll say no more, but I remember it well.

I still have a photo of her, as one in a group, in my youth club day archives. 

Over fifty five years ago!

I’ll leave her there.

.

.

Those were the days when ’lovers’ wrote SWALK on the back of envelopes (and worse)  and children played kissing games like ’Postman’s knock’. In case there is someone not ‘in the know’, SWALK is ‘Sealed with a loving kiss’ and Postman's Knock is a game played by groups of children or teenagers (?) in which one person is chosen to be the "postman", goes outside and knocks on the door. Another person is chosen by the rest of the group to answer the door, and pays for the "letter" with a kiss. Then another person is chosen to be postman, etc. 

It wasn’t a lot of fun in those days for us young budding Conker champions to be kissing girls, but a revival today here in Bourne End library, might get me and the like minded more  interested in ‘Romantic Novels’?

.

.

I think I read about this ‘Kissing Day’ int’ Daily Telegraph, because I’m not a great reader of women’s magazines, except in the doctor’s waiting room, where anything is better that playing the guessing game ‘I wonder what’s wrong with you?

The eye-catching headline was - (here - not in the Telegraph)

‘It's official - the Brits aren't kissing enough!’ 

It continues ‘…..a staggering 95% of young women believe they aren't getting enough’!?

I’m sure that 95% of young men must also be having the same problem, not to mention the 100% of old men!

What's more, ‘nearly a quarter of women (24%) have experienced a kissing drought and gone for over a year without so much as a hint of a kiss.’ 

.

Over a year without a kiss.?

.

‘The average period of non-lip action is three to six months for nearly a third (30%) of women. The forecast is not so bad for a fifth (21%) of women who don't go any longer than a month without a kiss.’

As there were so many statistics I will not bore you with too many, but it appears that us British, sweep the board with nearly half (42%) of the vote for great at kissing. The Italians - the Casanovas of Europe come in second with 15%, closely followed by the French with 13%.

Probably something to do with the dreaded garlic.

C’est la vie!

.

.

And then at the reverse ‘slobbering’ end, were the poor old Lager swilling, Sauerkraut munching Germans who came top the list of the wurst kuss’rs, with over a third (38%) of the voters saying 999. (“nein,nein,nein“). 

I did a google for facts about kissing, history of kissing, reasons for kissing. All boring stuff. It appears no-one really knows why we alone in the animal kingdom, do it. It appears that animals do engage in kissing-like behaviours but it is not proper kissing. 

.

.

I read that human lips are different from those of all other animals because they are everted, (I checked this out and it means that they purse outward).

I’m sure there is joke in there somewhere about ‘big everted lips‘, but I’m sure you have had enough bad jokes from me lately.

.

.

Songs are, of course, littered with the word ‘kiss‘. 

I found hundreds with ‘kiss’ in the title

.

.

And thousands with the word ‘kiss’ in the lyrics.

But there is still only one song in my collection,

 about a poor old Gnat’s Wedding.

.

.

A bit later, I did a google on ‘Kissing gates’, to get a bit of background info. I was surprised to find that the first page listed Dating agencies - ’Countryside Online Dating’ and ’Farmer’s Dating Site’ - all named ‘The Kissing Gate’!

This is my idea of a kissing gate.

.

.

I had always thought that they got their name from the fact that a young man could steal a kiss from his young lass as she passed through. But no. It appears that the etymology of the name is that the gate merely "kisses" (touches) the enclosure either side, rather than needing to be securely latched.

This ‘touching’ would also explain the term in snooker and billiards where one ball glances off another, as in - ‘a kiss off the black‘.

.

.

I was going to investigate why we put xxx’s on the bottom of letters. I have no idea, but I think I have rambled on long enough. 

I have to admit that I’m not ‘into’ this new continental habit that seems to have caught on over here. 

Cheek to cheek with a complete stranger and making kissing noises into each others ears!

No thanks!

How about a good old fashioned hug?

There's something in a simple hug

That always warms the heart;

It welcomes us back home

Makes it easier to part.

A hug's a way to share the joy,

And sad times we go through,

Or just a way for friends to say

They like you, 'cause you're you.

It's funny how a little hug

Makes everyone feel good;

In every place and language,

It's always understood.

No special equipment needed,

No batteries or parts-

Just open up your arms,

And open up your hearts.

But I’ll let Confucius have the very last word.

“Confucius, he say,”

"Passionate kiss, is like spider’s web....., 

....it leads to flies undoing". 

I hope you all have a lovely dry weekend. 

.

.

Keep smiling!

.

Rub-a-dub-dub. Two in a Tub,

.

Hose pipe bans again?

It must be that time of the year I guess.

We are continually told that it is due to lack of rainfall, but I recon it is more likely due to an increase in the population, especially here in the south east of England. I expect we will all be asked, in a week or two, to ‘share a bath’ or more likely ‘share a shower’.

.

.

There is actually a ‘Share a Shower’ campaign with Facebook pages. (whatever that means?).

Way back in the ‘good old days’, sharing baths and using second-hand bath water was quite normal. In the late 40’s, early 50’s most people were a bit hard up and it cost quite a few bob to use the immersion heater to fill a bath. Friday night was bath night and us three boys all piled in together. I was the eldest and as I grew larger there was not room for three so my two brothers were washed first and I had their second hand water!

The Great Western Railway had an engine named “The Knight of the Bath”.

This was always nicknamed “Friday Night” by the engine drivers.

So where is all this leading?

.

.

Well, I was going to do a post on ‘Bubbles’ as in ‘I’m forever blowing bubbles’ but found I had already done one here.

.

.

Two and a half years ago! How time flies.

You see, on sorting out all my old photos I had come across a picture of a wee carving I had done of a seahorse. It was done in about 1976 and I gave it away to my then ‘girl of the month’ who thought it really nice. It didn’t have a stand and she asked it I could make one with the words ’Oh Bubbles’ on the base.

The things us chaps have to do to keep you ladies happy.

.

.

I was glad I found the picture - it brought back happy memories.

And there were even more memories of those days as I sorted out my collection of old LP’s. To make more room, I am gradually converting them to CD’s and giving the old records to the charity shops (and brothers to sell on eBay).

Some of these discs haven’t been ’given a spin’ for thirty years, but of course sounded as good as new. The one that did make me smile and gave me the idea for todays wee video was Meri Wilson singing ’Rub-a-dub-dub, two in a tub’.

.

.

See, there were even water shortages way back in 1977.

As children the words used to be along the lines of -

“Rub-a-dub-dub,

Three men in a tub,

And who do you think they be?

The butcher, the baker,

The candlestick-maker,

All put out to sea.”

So, here we go, for your entertainment and maybe approval, Meri Wilson singing ’Rub-a-dub-dub’.

Any resemblance to Uncle B in the following is pure coincidence.

(Oh yes, and no blowing it up to full size for a better view!)

.

.

He,he,he.

.

Good Olde Days?

.

I did a load of research on the Austin for my previous post.

I did a google here, and a google there,

and I was absolutely amazed at what you can find.

Too much sometimes.

I must find out how to refine my searches,

as this is what sometimes pops up!

.

.

Now this is really disgusting.

Just look at those girls SMOKING!

I had a try at covering up the 'naughty bits', but

I don't seem to have quite got the hang of it.

I don't think the car is the same as my great grandfather's

anyway, but I though the photo might interest Angus,

(who has just told me he is not a 'Gentleman').

Meanwhile, Jan, over in California, was reading about these riots in London.

We never used to have things like this in my younger days.

I always thought the English were 'slow to anger',

I certainly am.

I might boycott Tesco or ASDA occasionally,

but I wouldn't dream of kicking their windows in.

(even if they did overcharge me).

I came across this old silent movie from 1913,

showing how we English used to 'riot' in the good old days.

.

.

Fancy going to a riot in a straw hat?

Real Gentlemen obviously, just back from boating on the river.

"I know Charles, lets go and do a spot of rioting".

"What a spiffing wheeze old boy".

.

"Old Father Thames keeps Rolling Along"

.

.

On Saturday Jan enquired about the Thames.

“I find it amazing that there are houses so close to the river.

Is the river so well controlled then, that it never floods?”.

Well it does flood Jan, but not as much these days as it used to.

We now have quite a few ‘Flood relief schemes’ in place.

Houses, large and small still are built right alongside the water's edge.

.

.

As here at Marlow. (photo Graham Horn)

As an aside, I took those 'Sunset' photos of Marlow Bridge,

from that jetty on the left - where that man is standing.

.

.

Small houses with long gardens down to the river.

Before the flood relief schemes, thing were different.

This was at Boulters Lock in 1903.

.

.

I was amused to see that fellow fishing.

Obviously keen!

.

.

Maidenhead 1928.

.

.

Cock Marsh flood plain, from Winter Hill.

Here at Bourne End we have Cock Marsh which would be flooded first before the houses on this side of the river.

They are not supposed to build homes on flood plains but in some parts of the country this has been ignored. (as far as I know, not along the Thames).

.

.

Looking back towards Winter Hill,

you can see the height of the marsh is only just above river level.

Below is a Stanley Spencer painting of Cookham marsh,

which when flooded can be crossed by the causeway shown below.

.

.

The old river itself is usually quite tame.

It ambles for 215 miles across southern England from west to east.

It is navigable right up to Lechlade, a 124 mile stretch from the lock at Teddington, (London). Over this huge length it only drops 69 metres, so you see, rather than rushing, it just “keeps rolling along, down to the mighty sea”.

Its flow is scientifically regulated by means of reservoirs and weirs;

there are 44 weir systems along this 124 mile section, and of course 44 locks.

.

.

If the river level rises, the lock keepers can hold the water back to safely flood selected area or open sluice gates to allow the water down to the next section.

It is like a 124 mile cascade with water overflowing from one section to the next.

I can remember 'high waters' at Bourne End'

but nothing like the picture shown below.

.

.

Floods at Bourne End. (photo Tim Harrison)

You can see how poor old Cock Marsh gets to take the excess water,

and protects Bourne End on the opposite bank.

I found an old black & white newsreel film here,

but it wasn't possible to embed it in the blog.

It is of flooding in Bourne End & Cookham.

(Note to Foody - there is no sound and it contains both ponies and chickens! )

.

Jolly Cats

.

Hectic days have arrived at last.

Two Weddings in the next few weeks,

to say nothing of 'umpteen' fetes and rallies.

.

.

All loaded up and ready for the off.

Posts here may become a bit erratic,

and I'm afraid I may have to resort to my 'awful' joke book.

.

.

A cat died and went to Heaven. God met her at the gates and said, ‘You have been a good cat all these years. Anything you want is yours for the asking.’

The cat thought for a minute and then said, ‘All my life I lived on a farm and slept on hard wooden floors. I would like a real fluffy pillow to sleep on.’

God said, ‘Say no more.’ Instantly the cat had a huge fluffy pillow.

A few days later, six mice were killed in an accident and they all went to Heaven together. God met the mice at the gates with the same offer that He made to the cat.

The mice said, ‘Well, we have had to run all of our lives: from cats, dogs, and even people with brooms! If we could just have some little roller skates, we would not have to run again.’

God answered, ‘It is done.’ All the mice had beautiful little roller skates.

About a week later, God decided to check on the cat. He found her sound asleep on her fluffy pillow. God gently awakened the cat and asked, ‘Is everything okay? How have you been doing? Are you happy?’

The cat replied, ‘Oh, it is WONDERFUL. I have never been so happy in my life. The pillow is so fluffy, and those little Meals on Wheels you have been sending over are delicious!’

Two cats met in the street. “Meow” said the first cat.

“Woof” said the second.

The first one tried again. “Meow”.

“Woof” said the second.

“Cats don’t say “Woof” said the first one.

“Sorry” said the other. “I’m a stranger around here.”

.

.

There was a young curate of Kew

Who kept a tom-cat in a pew

He tried to teach it to speak

Alphabetical Greek

But it never got further than mew.

.

Back next week.....have a good weekend.

.

That reminds me of a joke........

.

.

There was this lady who ever since she was a child, had the fear of someone hiding under her bed at night. So she decided to go and she a psychiatrist to see what could be done.

“I’ve got problems“ she said. “Every time I go to bed I think there’s somebody under it. I’m scared. I think I’m going crazy.“

“Just put yourself in my hands for one year,“ said the psychiatrist. “Come talk to me three times a week and we should be able to get rid of those fears“.

“How much do you charge?“ she enquired.

“Eighty pounds per visit,“ he said.

“I’ll sleep on it,“ she said.

Six months later the psychiatrist met her on the street.

“Why didn’t you come to see me about those fears you were having?“ he asked.

“Well, eighty quid a visit, three times a week for a year is an awful lot of money!

I got my husband to cure it”

“Is that so!“

With a bit of an attitude he said; “and how, may I ask, did your husband cure you?“

“He cut the legs off the bed! – Ain’t nobody under there now!!!“

.

.

Sorry, we don't stock that size Sir.

“Of course I won’t laugh!“, said the nurse. “I’m a professional. In over twenty years I’ve never laughed at a patient.“

“Okay then.“ said Norman, and he proceeded to drop his trousers, revealing the tiniest ‘man-thingy’ the nurse had ever seen.

Length and width, it couldn’t have been bigger than a AAA battery.

Unable to control herself, the nurse started giggling, then fell to the floor laughing. Ten minutes later, she was able to struggle to her feet and regain her composure..

“I am so sorry,“ she said. “I don’t know what came over me. On my honour as a nurse and a lady, I promise it won’t happen again. Now, tell me, what seems to be the problem?“

“It’s swollen!“ Norman replied.

.

"Beauty Lies in the Eye of the Beholder"

.

Valerie though that I may have been a wee bit harsh in calling Birmingham an unattractive city. Of course this is not a fact, it is a personal opinion.

Birmingham does not attract me to it.

It may attract many people like shoppers, but I could never imagine it becoming a tourist attraction.

This is not to say that I have always felt this way. Birmingham has certainly served this country well. Many famous and important people have been born, lived and worked there. In Victorian days it was known as the ‘Workshop of the World’, with very many famous manufactures being based there.

To me as a child, going to ‘town’ was an exciting adventure.

With Dad away fighting the war, my mother and I lived at my grandparents in Linden Road. From here we would walk up to Cotteridge to catch the tram into town. Much to my grandmothers despair, I always wanted to go upstairs on the tram and sit at the front. As going out was a treat, I usually got my way. Cotteridge was the terminus for the trams, right on the outskirts of Birmingham, right alongside the Warwickshire countryside. The ride into ’town’ probably took a good half hour.

.

.

The one place in Birmingham I remember most was the old Market Hall and Bull Ring. Here is an old picture of the Bull Ring and on the left is the Market Hall complete with its roof. The hall is the one on the left with the large columns.

.

.

The roof was later to be blown off thanks to one of the Luftwaffe's bombs. Now one of these bombs, unexploded of course, had been placed at the top of the Market Hall steps, just outside the entrance. A slit had been cut in the top and the bomb was used to collect money for, I assume, the War effort.

Well it was a big bomb, must have been 18” in diameter, and as a little boy I remember being lifted up to sit astride it and drop a penny into the slot.

Even though it had no roof, the old hall continued to house market stalls and in those days they were of an amazing variety. Apart from the usual traders there was a pet shop selling cats, dogs, rabbits and white mice. There was a music stall where my Mother would have bought her music (she was a violinist - but that is another tale for later).

.

.

At the east end was another set of steps down with brass banisters running down to the Bull Ring. Again I was picked up and slid down the rail with Mom holding on!

.

.

The 'Bull Ring' as I remember it.

The open Bull Ring market was mainly fruit and veg but I do remember a stall selling live baby chicks. After the war, with all the food shortages, many people kept chickens or rabbits in the back gardens. The chicks were put into little cardboard boxes with tiny holes in the sides ready for the homeward ride to Cotteridge on the tram.

Around 1962 the old hall was demolished and a new ‘Bull Ring Centre’ was built. For some reason it was known as ’The Big Top’.

I managed to get a few photos on my old box camera before is disappeared for ever.

.

.

Not really attractive any more.

But just think of the memories it held of my younger days.

.

.

The ’New’ Bull Ring centre was again demolished to make way for the present Centre, which I have to admit I have yet to see. Cherry Pie tells me it is 'attractive' now.

A Pyjama Game

.

Wesley was tapping on the bedroom window yesterday morning, so I rolled over to get a peep at the clock ….. And rip, I ended up with a large tear around the arm ‘ole of my pyjamas.

Ah well, I suppose I’ve had them ten years at least!

I was going up to ASDA that morning for my weekly shop so I thought I’d see what “George” had to offer.

Well to get to the men’s ware requires a weaving around the aisles of women’s bits - not tucked discretely away - but all hanging out on little hangers. There was a day when bras and knickers were all sold in nice little boxes. I wonder how women feel about having their new choice of undies waived about at the checkout whilst looking for the barcode?

Anyway, I found the pyjamas. All in boxes and packets, like the vests and underpants.

Now I wonder why us men get a box thrown in?

.

.

Well the label on the box said ‘Pyjamas’, or was it ‘Sleepware’, I can’t remember now. However as they were all nicely boxed up, you couldn’t see them properly, except through a little plastic window in the front.

Then I noticed a little T shirt and a pair of shorts on the side of the box.

Short sleeved pyjamas? And with boxer shorts?

I wanted to sleep in them not play football.

It’s true…..all the ‘sleepware’ they sold was like this, some, I assume in the football team colours.

Oh well, looks as if I shall have to go back to M&S again to get long sleeves and full length legs.

And on the subject of Marks, did you know that once upon a time they sold music?

I’ve got around ten songs I think.

All fairly plain - like my pyjamas

You can see an earlier post about the music here.

The Pajama Game is a musical based on the novel “7 ½ Cents” by Richard Bissell.

It features a score by Richard Adler and Jerry Ross. The story deals with labour troubles in a pyjama factory, where worker demands for a seven-and-a-half cents raise are going unheeded. In the midst of this ordeal, love blossoms between Babe, the grievance committee head, and Sid, the new factory superintendent.

The original Broadway production opened on May 13, 1954, and ran for 1,063 performances. It was revived in 1973, and again in 2006 by The Roundabout Theatre Company. The original production won a Tony for Best Musical, and the 2006 Broadway revival won a Tony Award for Best Revival of a Musical. The musical is a popular choice for community group productions.

Now here's a good idea.

Buy one pair and share with a friend.

.

.

I bag's the trousers!

Have a good weekend....it looks dry and sunny.

More on Felines

.

My post on Wesley’s birthday presented me with a load of comments for which I was grateful, but I did notice that they were all from the ladies. (I never know when to use girls, gals, ladies or women?)

Are cats a ‘girly’ thing? I don’t think so.

I know that traditionally the feline and feminine are seen as synonymous, the argument going that cats, like women, are well groomed, mysterious, detached, neat, precise, poised, independent, complicated, unpredictable, maddening, irritable, sleek, elegant, and expect you to read their minds and, when you inevitably fail to do so, will lash out erratically.

.

.

My brother doesn’t like them and I know of other men with similar views but I have never met, or heard of for that matter, a woman say that she hates cats. I know there must be some, but not many.

I haven’t always liked cats, it’s true. When we were children we had an aviary in our garden and used to breed budgerigars. Of course this meant all the local moggies came round and sat on the wire roof. We had to keep going out and chasing them off.

But with age I have got to liking them. Why? I can’t say for sure but they are good company and of course you don’t have to take them for walks.

I suppose overall you will find more cats have female owners. I never see any other men buying cat food in Sainsbury’s.

As everyone, (except Adrian) liked that picture of young Wesley, here is another this time with his (late) sister, Lizzie.

.

.

A bit of digging around did come up with quite a few famous male cat owners, including Ernest Hemingway, Mark Twain, Victor Hugo, Marlon Brando (who reportedly found a stray on the set of The Godfather and incorporated it into a scene), Alexandre Dumas, Winston Churchill, T. S. Eliot, and Russell Brand.

I also found the results of a survey done by the Cats Protection League that found that 85 per cent of men and 94 per cent of women don’t think it’s wimpy or needy for a man to love his cat.

I also discovered a survey that showed that owning a cat makes men more attractive to the opposite sex: it shows we have a kind, caring and sensitive side.

.

.

And a grown up twelve year-old Lizzie.

And lastly’ and probably the most controversial was this survey by the University of Bristol, that found that cat owners had better academic qualifications than dog owners (although there are cat owners who would suggest that the answer is perfectly simple, in that cats are more intelligent than dogs, and therefore pick more intelligent owners).

Please……. don’t shoot the messenger!

Although, I’ve always thought that cats were smarter than dogs……..

You wouldn’t persuade a team of six cats to pull a sledge, that’s for sure!

And did you know a group of cats is not a team, but a clowder?

And did you know that catgut is made from the twisted intestines from sheep?

And that……………………….

"GUTS" is arriving home late after a night out with the boys, being assaulted by your wife with a broom, and having the guts to say, "are you still cleaning or are you planning to fly off somewhere?"

.

England and Englishness.

.

Jan asked….Fri Feb 5

“By the way, could someone from across the ocean tell me when I'm supposed to use these terms? Great Britain, England, British, English. In my mind Great Britain is everything on your island and England excludes Scotland and maybe other areas? Mostly I just avoid the terms, though, because I'm not sure how to use them properly.”

.

.

Britain comprises Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

Great Britain comprises England, Scotland and Wales.

Britain’s full title is the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

(Although the Channel Islands and the Isle of Man are not part of the United Kingdom of GB &NI, they have a special relationship with it.)

In 1973 Britain joined the European Union.

The EU then went on to carve Britain up into Regions. There was Scotland and Wales for a starter, but the remainder (England) was too large a region so it was carved up into smaller regions, for example we have a South West Regional Development Agency.

England is no longer on their map.

It was Jack Straw who is on record as saying “The English are not worth saving as a race”.

The English were slightly miffed to put it mildly.

Thus there is now a marked rise in the number people who, without a second thought, would once have called themselves British, but now refer to themselves as English.

I for one!

Over the last ten years or so, amongst commentators, academics and the media, deconstructing 'Englishness' became the order of the day, in a way which would not be tolerated by the Scots, say, or the Welsh, who have instead been encouraged at every turn to re-affirm their sense of identity.

This negative onslaught is the background to the new-found celebration of England.

The new celebration of England and Englishness will be more visible from now on simply because, in the minds of millions of us, it needs to be.

I am firstly English and secondly British.

I am not a European.

Europe is part of a Tectonic plate, it is a Continent not a Country, it is an insult to all Nations with a language, a history, a culture, and an identity.

.

.

Foody, April last year left me this interesting comment.

“Many foreigners think that England is the whole of Britain and they think Scotland and Wales are parts of England. They usually assume you're English if you say "British". Imagine how irritating that might get. Even people on the telly and radio talk of England when they mean Britain and vice versa. You notice these things if you start to look out for them. When people on the media don't appear to know basic facts and geography it's a bit bad. I suppose the more the smaller nations hear these things the more annoying it gets so the more they have feel the need to assert themselves over the years.

It kind of gets me when I hear people talk of 'British law'. There is no such thing. Even the BBC do this. There's the law of England and Wales and there's Scots law. They talk of 'UK law' too and again there's no such thing but it has come to be used to refer to the laws of the UK as opposed to those that Brussels imposes on the UK."

"I'm Calling You-oooooooooooo"

.

.

I suppose one day I'm going to have to upgrade my phone link.

This one obviously finds 8Mb a bit of a strain.....and it's been so reliable up till now.

Well we had a bit of 'phone' music the other day - "I'm calling you". That was not the same song with the "you-ooooooooooooo" in it, as Francien suggested.

Today I've dug into my postcard collection and found a four card set based on the song "Hello! My Dearie". They date from the 1914-18 War. I'm not sure soldiers did manage to call home but that is what the song was about - "Hello, give me somewhere in France"!

To save me typing all the words out - a click on the pictures will give a larger view.

.

.

Card (1)

.

.

Card (2)

.

.

Card (3)

.

.

Card (4)

I love that curly wire with the word 'Hello' in it.

Lets hope our wires don't get too crossed today, yesterday was a pain. Mind you it's not properly sorted is it? I bet it is something to do with that Java update I had over the weekend.

Never mind I always have my very up-to-date, state-of-the-art Mobile to fall back on if the lines go down!

.

.

I love Vintage.....don't you?

.

My mother, I’m told was a telephone girl,

They were married one day in September.

Of children, it’s true, they arranged to have two,

But mother gave dad the wrong number!

.