Miscalculation - Don't Trust Me With Quantities

It is a long time since we had a new bathroom installed. Years have passed and it’s ready for doing again but we keep putting it off with all the ‘are we moving, are we staying’ discussions. Whether we upgrade or not, I’m keeping out of it. Last time, when the plumber completed the installation, the tiler came to measure up. I knew exactly what I wanted and where to order them from, so off I went to the tile shop with the information safely in my head. The tiler, very busy and in demand, booked us in on schedule with the tiles arrival and all went according to plan, until, when setting everything out, he wondered if there was a box missing. There were not enough tiles to complete. He measured the walls again and checked his square metre calculations. Oops. I could feel the blush of my embarrassment as I had to tell him I’d ordered the quantity in square yards. Completely my fault, no miscalculation, just an honest mistake, but he was disappointed that he wouldn’t finish the job on time and I felt stupid. More tiles were ordered. We had to wait ages for the tiler to fit us in again – it was only a small area to finish off and I began to think he was making us wait on purpose – all my fault. Don’t trust me with anything important like measurements, ordering and quantity surveying. I’m only really good for colour co-ordinating and knitting.

I expect lots of us as younger individuals still living with parents have run out of money before the next pay day comes round, or maybe that was just me. At seventeen I was the proud owner of an Austin A40. I spent my last pound on a couple of gallons of three star petrol to last me the week, perhaps a bit more, then I’d get my wages. I had been driving to work and back in town and a bit of visiting friends, nothing of any distance.  A few days later, I’d stopped not far from home and couldn’t get the car started again. I did what I’d been told to do and what anyone on their own should do, that’s find the nearest phone box and call Dad. Mobile phones were in the future. Dad listened to my description of the car’s symptoms. The ticking sound on the ignition meant it was out of petrol. He would bring me some. He knew I didn’t have money for a day or two. Bless him. Of course the petrol gauge was on zero, but it often was and I was sure it would last the week, a complete miscalculation. Dad’s words of advice which I followed from then on, was not to allow the petrol tank to run so low, otherwise sediment can get sucked up and cause problems. This might not apply to modern cars, I’m going back fifty years.

A few Haikus:

The diff’rence between
Square metres and yards,
Miscalculation.

When wages are spent
And it’s nowhere near pay day,
Miscalculation.

Austin A 40
Economical first car
That ran on fresh air.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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Crackle - Snap, Crackle and Pop

Harbour cottage, Isle of Barra

On our second trip to the Outer Hebrides, we stayed in a fabulous cottage on the Isle of Barra.  It was a restored and extended Crofter’s cottage with many original features including an open fireplace in the ground floor living area. The time of year was May, late spring, early summer and the Hebrides, though breezy, was warmer than expected. Too warm for a log fire but I could imagine the ultimate in cosy.  I read the guest book entries of some amazing winter breaks describing the sound of the crackle and spit of a newly laid log fire. I could picture myself curled up on the sofa with a book or letting my mind wander as I watched darting flames begin to devour the logs. The cottage received regular visitors and it was interesting to read how they liked to spend their time. Hikers, hill climbers, sailors, water sports or observers like me, all had their story to tell.  Someone had been snowed in, but couldn’t have got off the island because of the weather, so had to stay longer. Someone else couldn’t leave the cottage for days due to the danger of gale force winds. Nothing like that happened to us. It didn’t even rain during our stay. The Glasgow to Barra aircraft stayed on schedule, so did the ferries, which was our means of transport.  Everyone who had stayed when it felt chilly had remarked on the brilliant log or coal fire.  I wish I’d set it up just to see it, and hear it snap, crackle and pop.

When I was a child, the only breakfast cereal in our house was cornflakes. At my Nanna’s it was cornflakes or All Bran. Once, I asked for All Bran. It was horrid, but I ate it because I’d asked for it, and that is what happened in those days. If my grandchildren choose something then don’t like it, I’ll find them something else – I’m a softy. At some point, Kellogg’s Rice Krispies made it to our kitchen and true to the advert on TV, as soon as the milk was added ‘Snap, Crackle and Pop’ happened. It’s funny when you’re only eight and still makes me smile.

My first introduction to John Cooper Clarke was listening to his album, ‘Snap, Crackle and Bop’. It wasn’t the music, it was the words, the clever imagery of Beasley Street and Evidently Chickentown made me laugh. His appearance fascinated me then, about 1980, and unchanged, it still does. I’m reading ‘I Wanna Be Yours’ and trying to make it last because I’ll miss it when it ends.

Here is my poem for JCC,

Terza Rima for John Cooper Clarke, when Manchester became Madchester,

Those of the time embraced every word,
Listening in wonder to John Cooper Clarke,
The Bard of Salford who had to be heard.

Rapid from the mouth and skinny and dark.
‘Evidently Chickentown’, effing good,
He’s magic with words, bright as any spark.

His wholesome description meant that we could
Smell the inhabitants of ‘Beasley Street’;
Rich mixture of urban decay and blood.

Life, humour and truth, a picture complete
And painted with colourful language that
Reaches all listeners not just the elite.

So thanks, JCC, I know where I’m at
Laughing out loud at the poem called ‘Twat’.

Pamela Winning 2012

Thanks for reading. Stay safe and have the best Christmas you can. Pam x

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