Have a waffle with Carol

[Bill B]

Come on David it's no use. You're still trying to project the persona of a cranky old curmudgeon but too many people on the board know that you are really a likable pleasant chap.

Bill

P.S. Since I'm so nice to you what are you getting me for Xmas?

[David Watkins]

Bill,I'll have a couple of White Oaks for you OK?
David

[Brian Taylor]

how is that going to show under his christmas tree? maybe you ahve to take a picture of having some white Oaks and send it to him

steph

[Bill B]

Steph,

Not much chance of that happening - we all know how adverse Mr Watkins is to having his picture taken.

David,

Not too many please, I don't want to have a hangover

Bill

[Brian Taylor]

but for YOU he could do it, since you are one of the very few people how met him, knows what he looks like and that he IS in fact an existing person...

steph

[Bill B]

That's true Steph. And David I promise, promise, promise ( ) not to post it online if you do send me a photo.

Bill

[Tony G]

I find it hard to believe that anyone who has been in Castara and has visited the Boathouse or Mr Coddringtons in the three months from the end of November to the end of February hasn't met David. He is a very gregarious human being.

Tony

[Bill B]

Carolnoe where are you?

Inspired by the news accounts have you pulled an "Anne Darwin" and disappeared to an island paradise Perhaps, as I write, the authorities are searching the empty wreckage of your "Hubbies" motor scooter looking for clues.

Steph and David keep your eyes open for a women disguised in a lamp shade with her keys hanging from a chain around her neck.

Bill

[Brian Taylor]

ay ay sir! we'll be on the lookout!

steph

[Carol Townsend]

Evening Bill and all,
Been busy,tired and stressed out with family matters, though have peeped at the forum now and again. Yes I have been intrigued by the Darwin story, though Hubby rides a bicycle, not a motor scooter!
By way of a little light relief I am composing something for you. In the meantime talk amongst yourselves.
Can I have a hug please?
Love Carolnoe
XXXX

[Bill B]

Carolnoe,

Of course you can have a hug (it doesn't seem that we have a hug smilie - perhaps the Grand Poobah can correct this).

I think most people have been intrigued by the possibility of just dropping out and disappearing to a distant "Paradise" at some time in their life. Right here on our forum the infamous Mr Watkins comes close to doing it once a year.

Bill

[Brian Taylor]

found her! but not on the island.
currently mr. watkins is enjoying an "underwater-paradise" since we have some serious rain from the last storm of the season... wait for his report in the weather section...
steph

[Carol Townsend]

It was Christmas, long long ago. Twenty one years ago in fact. Settle down children, and I will tell you a story.
Nineteen eighty six. Pre internet, pre mobile phones, pre DVDs and for us, pre children. Our friends had seen an advertisement : "Christmas in Denmark". A short out -of-season break in a holiday centre in the Danish countryside, traditional wooden chalets and all. We had nothing else planned, and I for one can think of nothing better than spending Christmas outside the UK, where it is normally damp and miserable, and where we live, never any snow!
So, on December 23rd a small group of jolly adventurous young Brits set off in our friends' clapped out old car. Hubby and myself were too poor to afford a car at that time.
Now, they would never admit to their car being clapped out. Elderly, maybe, but never clapped out."It's been fully serviced" they said. "It's working fine. We'll get round Denmark with no trouble" they said. "Don't worry" they said.
This was the age before mobile phones, so it was fortunate that when the thing decided to break down ten minutes after leaving home it was outside a pub, so we could contact Thunderbirds to come and fix it.
Off we set again.
My hubby is one of those people who cannot bear to contemplate even the thought of the possibility of being late ( which is why when we went to Scotland we spent three hours waiting at Glasgow Coach Station, but that's another story) which I have to admit has stood us in good stead on more than one occasion, this being one of them. Thanks to his insistence that we allow double the time normally required for the journey to Harwich, we had no concerns about missing the ferry.
We arrived at the harbour with minutes to spare, feeling pleased with ourselves.
The sun goes down early in December, so it was already dark when we arrived.
We drove into the car park. Thump! Crash! Shudder! Groan!
Silence.
We had hit a three foot high sign post, invisible in the dark, which had gone under the car, ripped into the soft underbelly, and mortally wounded it. So that was that. No car.
Determined not to miss the ferry, we grabbed what we could of our luggage and ran. I was young and energetic then, and was capable of running quite a long way. That's not to say I'm not energetic now; it just happens in short bursts, after which I need to lay down.
We galloped onto the ferry just as the doors were closing. It was like one of those Indiana Jones adventures; would we make it? what was next? A trapdoor? Boiling oil? A giant boulder hurtling towards us?
I'm getting carried away; it was only a ferry.
The next twenty -four hours were uneventful. Bobbing across the North Sea in December, I suppose we should be grateful it was uneventful. What I do remember is watching the film "Labyrinth", starring David Bowie looking even more strange than usual. The little "cinema" was rather cramped and um, there was evidence in the air that someone may have been a little unwell earlier...
We have seen that film again since, and it instantly brings back memories of bobbing up and down, with that certain unmistakable whiff in the air. I do sympathise; I have been chronically sea sick myself, though none of us were on this occasion.
We had been sensible enough to take out travel insurance, so we told the company of the car's demise, and, trying not to chuckle, they arranged for a nice Danish car to be there waiting for us when we arrived.
The big advantage of this was that the steering wheel was on the correct side of the car for driving on the wrong side of the road.
As the only non -driver I had the task of navigating and reminding the drivers which side of the road we should be on.
So we arrived at Esbjerg to see ice on the sea, a balmy temperature of minus six degrees and real snow!
We found the holiday centre, in a quiet little town called Arrild, which, being British we pronounced 'Arold. The manager showed us our wooden chalet, very warm and cosy. There was something important he had to tell us about the door; sometimes it would stick, and become difficult to open,and if that happened, day or night, we were to fetch him, even call at his home if necessary.
Now, at this point we should have become assertive, and either told him to fix the darn door, or, bearing in mind that this was low season and most of the chalets were unoccupied, put us in one with a door that could be relied upon to open in the traditional manner.
However,it was Christmas Eve, we were young, naive and not disposed to make a fuss, so we allowed him to usher us into the chalet with the dodgy door.
Christmas Day dawned, and it was snowing! The pine trees were covered in frost, and the surrounding woods were like a Christmas card (the ones from Woolworths with the glitter on them that comes off all over your hands and ends up on your face and in your food). This was the first white Christmas I had ever experienced, in fact the only one so far. I live in hope.
We spent the day in time-honoured fashion: eating, drinking, sleeping, playing Monotony - sorry - Monopoly..Does anyone ever finish a game of Monopoy? I usually get bored after three hours and concede defeat.
December twenty-sixth; Boxing Day. Nothing to do with Muhammed Ali of course.
By the afternoon we needed to get some air, so we decided to take a stroll in the nearby woods, and play in the snow like five year olds.
Someone decided to use their brain ( me probably, being the only person of any intelligence in the party ) and suggested we take the torch in case we stayed out after dark.Spooky!
The sun was setting as we arrived back at the chalet feeling cold, but invigorated.
Now we understood about the door. It was stuck fast. Nearly broke the key. We kicked it, shouted at it, swore at it, threatened it and pleaded with it, all to no avail. We were going to have to find the manager. Now I felt very pleased with myself for bringing the torch, for we were going to have to set off on foot through the unlit holiday centre as the key for the car was tucked away in the chalet. The lovely, warm, cosy chalet which we could peer into longingly as we had left a light on.
Now, this wasn't Butlins. We were in the woods, it was dark, the other chalets were mostly empty, the manager's house was a mile or so away, and it was freezing.
In true pioneer spirit, one of our party volunteered to go alone, but we said "no, you might fall and break an ankle, anything could happen", so we trudged off together.
We stomped along through the snow, and then! A little miracle happened.The patron saint of explorers (there must be one surely) smiled down upon us and lo! there was a light on in one of the chalets, and a car with a British number plate parked outside. English speakers! Hooray! Of course, it could have been a party from Outer Mongolia who had hired a British car, which might have resulted in an interesting evening, but no, we knocked on the door and were greeted by a smiling and ever so slightly tipsy Englishman.
I don't know if this applies to all nationalities when abroad, but I have noticed that when groups of British people, who normally would not even pass the time of day, meet up on foreign soil they greet each other like long lost brethren, and so it happened now.
As soon as we spoke he enthusiastically pulled us unto his bosom, introduced us to his family and plied us with sherry. We explained our situation, and he eagerly offered to drive us to the manager's house.
We squeezed into his none too large car, and headed off, trying to ignore his slight tipsiness. What are the drink driving laws in Denmark? Strict I imagine. Someone will tell me.
However, we arrived in one piece,expressed our undying gratitude to our hero, and found the manager. He drove us back to the chalet, and, being an expert, produced a screwdriver and forced open the door. He still made no attempt to fix it, or move us to another chalet, but thankfully it never got stuck again.
The next couple of days were spent exploring our little part of Denmark, including a visit to Hans Christian Andersen's house, and spending time on the beach, in the snow. Why not? It's fun! All you need is warm clothing, three pairs of socks and wellies.
One of the more memorable moments of our little adventure took place not in Denmark, but in Germany.
Someone said, "let's go across the border into Germany!" In the days before the Channel Tunnel, the thought of just driving across a line into Another Country was quite exciting for us isolated island dwellers.
We had no idea of where to go, so we picked somewhere not too far away that
was written in large letters on the map; Flensburg, a port. We picked up our passports, which, in those happy and innocent times, the officials were not interested in seeing, and crossed the Border into Germany.
Flensburg had a typical modern shopping precinct all decorated for Christmas, with stalls selling sausages and hot drinks. Which reminds me; my local shopping centre has a German Christmas market at the moment, selling food, crafts and gluhwein. Went last year. Must go again this year.
There was an older part of town too, with one particularly pretty street. It was cobbled, with hanging baskets, and little cottages with window boxes.
Armed with cameras, we went for a stroll down the street. The windows of the cottages were low, so we tried not to look inside. Nosey foreign tourists!
I couldn't help but notice that the window sills all seemed to have cushions on them. Unusual. Then we saw a woman sitting in one of the windows combing her hair, so, mindful of being nosey tourists, we moved away. Another window also revealed a woman sitting inside, and this time we noticed that her clothing was rather -um, more suited to sunbathing.
That was when we saw the red light above the door, and above all the doors....
I was mortified. Excruciatingly embarrassed. I just wanted to get as far away as possible.
The men in our party, however, regarded the situation as a hoot, and proceeded to walk slowly up and down, surveying, um,the interesting architecture, and giving the ladies nicknames; which I will not repeat here.
Nowadays I would probably take it all in my stride, and laugh too, but not then..
My embarrassment was such that I desroyed all the photos I took of that street, which I now regret!
It was, when all's said and done a VERY pretty street.
New Year came, followed by my birthday.
We enquired about spending New Years Eve mingling with the locals in a pub or restaurant, but were told that nowhere would be open as everyone celebrates at home. Not having been in the area long enough to make friends with any of the locals, and not having the nerve to gatecrash anyone's party, we bought beer and fireworks and had our own little party at our chalet.
Then came my birthday and we celebrated in a restaurant
where we ate Danish meatballs. What else?
Next day, homeward bound. I can recall nothing of our journey home, so I must assume that it was uneventful.
Oh, and I bought a little souvenir from a toy shop. A clown had caught my eye, one of those soft toys that teaches young children about clothing and doing up buttons etc. Why I took a fancy to it I have no idea, except that it is rather cute, and I have learned some Danish words from it: button- "knapp," snap fastener,- "trykknap." It now sits proudly in my bedroom.
They do say that travel broadens the mind....

[Bill B]

Carolnoe,

Thanks for your wonderful story. As I read it I couldn't help but bring to mind the author James Herriot, the veterinarian who wrote All Things Bright and Beautiful and other tales of the Yorkshire countryside. You are quite talented as an author and should consider putting together a collection of your "wafflings".

It's amazing, as we grow older, that things we did in our younger days that were merely misadventures would now be major traumas. Ah, the resiliancy of youth.

Bill payop

[Brian Taylor]

a lovely christmas carol (with no e as well)!
do you have a special new years story, too, when the time is there?
loved to read it!
steph

[Jill M]

Well Noe, you have brought back memories for me. It was just over 20 years ago we made our first trip abroad to Belgium. We were taking the trip to visit my husband's grandfathers grave in the War Graves in a village called Poperinge.

Having never driven abroad before, my husband - Paul and I laughed and giggled for the whole day often not knowing which way to turn onto the dual carriage way at the T-Junction and then once on there - which was the fast lane? Then it came to the time when we had to fuel up. We entered the petrol station and Paul started filling the car. I, being the only one who did French at school went into pay and watched as my husband filled the car. The man on the next pump started talking to him and I grinned as my husband shrugged his shoulders as if to say - sorry I don't understand - I don't speak your language but not uttering a word. He finished fuelling up and got back in the car. I walked back to the car and the same man started talking to me - obviously a friendly sort. I got back in the car and Paul asked what he was saying - 'He was just asking what we thought of the cost of petrol here'. He was quite impressed that I'd remembered so much of my schoolgirl french as we chatted for about 5 minutes. After we were messing about looking at the map, the man on the next pump had paid and got in his car. He drove away before us and Paul shouted - 'Hey, he's got a British registration plate'. Well he would do, I said - He is Scottish !!!!!!!!

My husband has never been good with accents.

[Jane H]

Another "way back when" story.

Bak in 1980 - Hugo and I went to Avignon for our honeymoon. He had booked a flu-drive package holiday whih took us to the "Hotel d'Europe" - a wonderful old place, furnished with expensive antiques and pictures, inside the city walls which was more commonly frequented by well heeled members of the inetrnational travelling fraternity than somewhat cash-strapped honeymooners. As a result - we tool one look at the dinner menu - and decided that there was no way we could afford to eat there! Every night we walked round the city and had some wonderful meals by looking where the locals ate. (We got no end of amusement coming back to the hotel after a long hot day in the car exploring Provence, looking really scruffy, walking through the courtyard where the well-heeled were already ready enjoying their pre-prandials. - but going up to the reception desk and picking up our room key and going upstairs! We could hear the sniffs of disapproval behind us!)

Anyway - one night, we went into a really nice little reastaurant in the back streets. The menu looked really good - and comparatively cheap. A waitress came over and asked what we would like. Hugo speaks much better french than me - so I asked him to find out what certain items on the menu were. The questions went back and forward for a cople of minutes

Me - in English - what's xxx
Hugo - in French - to waitress - what's xxx
Waitress - in French - to Hugo - it's yyy
Hugo - in English - to me - it's yyyy

etc etc.

Suddenly - the waitress paused, and addressed both of us. "I've just realised. You're English - and I'm English. Why don't we speak English!!"

She was a university student on her 3rd year overseas, working in the restaurant to get the money for her ticket home!

Suffice it to say - we had WONDERFUL service; the food was as good as it sounded - and our waitress got a very good contribution to her fare home. (And it was STILL considerably cheaper than a meal at the Hotel d'Europe would have been!)

Ah! Memories.

Have a good day all - I'm just off to work

Jane

[Tony G]

Have had problems with my service provider so I haven't been here for a few days but what an entertaining collection of stories I find on my return. Good to be back.

BIG HUG to you Sister Carol

XXX

[Carol Townsend]

Afternoon All!

First of all, thanks for the hugs Bill and Tony; they have made me feel better.
I am at that "sandwich" stage in life, caught between the generations. Concerns about Mum whose health has taken a turn for the worse, plus all the stress of a teenager who is worried about her exams. There MUST be a better way! The education system in this country is all about passing exams and producing statistics for the Government, nothing about coping with the practicalities of life.( Oh dear, are we going to get into into politics again? Forget that bit)
What idiot said "life begins at forty?" Most forty year olds these days have children still at primary school and are struggling to pay the mortgage. Fifty? Teenage children and elderly frail parents. We just have to make the best of every stage.
Today has begun in a very strange way indeed. I have the day off, daughter does not have exams until the afternoon, hubby and son went out early, so I didn't set the alarm clock.
Woke up to see the clock said 10.20.
" Stopped last night. Needs a new battery," I thought.
"Tea. Must have tea." Always my first thought in the morning.
Went downstairs to find daughter watching television. "What time did you get up?" I asked.
" Not long. Ten".
"WHAAAT!!!!! IT CAN'T BE!"
I NEVER get up that late.
I MUST have been tired and stressed! I'd gone to bed at 10.30 last night.
I decided to continue a chat I started to compose last night, but found a message saying the forum was unavailable. Oh no! I've been barred!
I then thought I'd check my E mails in case there was an ASBO from He Who Must Be Obeyed, saying I'd offended someone, and never to darken the door of the forum again. (An Anti Social Behavoiur Order, for the benefit of non-Brits).
Yahoo were unavailable too! What's going on?
Everthing's OK now, except that I had to answer the door to the postman in my dressing gown at 11a.m!

Jill, I love your story. An Englishman (I'm assuming Paul is English!) hears someone speaking with a Scottish accent and thinks that they're speaking French. How surreal!

Jane, call me an inverted snob, but I particularly like your story as I am a peasant at heart and I don't do "posh." And isn't it always great to find one of your own countrymen when abroad?

Young Bill, thanks for the compliment. Do you know, I have read ALL the James Herriot books, and seen the delightful TV serialisation, a long time ago; longer, I'm afraid, than I care to remember!
My favourite non - fiction writer has to be Gerald Durrell. Not only because he was an entertaining writer, but because he achieved so much despite being virtually uneducated. Have you read "My Family and Other Animals"? I first read it when I was about fourteen, and have read it many times since. It's wonderful.
I do feel there is an air of melancholy about it now, as the world he wrote about is long gone, and Corfu, where it is set, has ,as far I can tell, been ruined by tourism! I'm not sure if I could ever go there, as it would never live up to the picture of it I have in my mind.
Enough waffling! Is it bed time yet?
Yawn!
Carolnoe
So much for the errands I was going to do today...

[David Watkins]

Hi all,many,many years ago I attached to th US Air Force.My then wife came out to have a braek with me.We went into a restaurant for dinner and she asked me if they would do her a prawn cocktail.I told her to ask the waitress,she did and got a most peculiar look.The waitress took the rest of our order and left.A few minutes later heads appeared round the kitchen door.Our starters came,I can't remember what I had but my wife was shocked to be served a PRUNE salad!!!!!No prawns in US they're shrimps so the waitress had thought prune.We had a good laugh and the Chef did her a glorious shrimp cocktail.
David