So, it is now close to nine in the morning of the last day of 2018. I'm waiting for the service call-out fellows to arrive for moving the fridge-freezer out from its slot so I can get in there to FINALLY properly arrange the shelves. TIP: never let the delivery men persons (must not be forgetting to be Pathetically Correct in these days of government sponsored Thought Polis trawling the 'Net for 'hate-speech' crime) leave until satisfied the shelving in the new fridge-freezer is adjusted. My mistake and now I've finally convince Paul we needed to ring for a call-out as he is not able to man person-handle the awkward columnar appliance safely - it really is a 'two-stout' men people job especially if one wishes to prevent accidental voiding of the warranty/possibly damaging the appliance.

My day is essentially 'on-hold' until these fellows appear. Paul is heading off to purchase a small amount of non-fireball emitting fireworks for our midnight celebration and I'm peeved as I did want to go with. sigh.

Thing is, Paul left to his own choosing the NYE fireworks is liable to come home with the most motley collection, and to forget the pizzas. Mercifully, all things considered, Paul and I cannot recall exactly what we were doing this time last year - the old house is such a faded memory we are finding we remember only the slightest bits of life there. But we do recall last year he did forget the pizza, and he did not come home with a nice box of fireworks with which to ring in 2018. Five firebal emitting fountains do not a NYE celebration make!

We've been in the new house for a mere four months yet we feel more settled despite the yet-to-be-unpacked boxes, the slightly disorganised cupboards and both sheds, and the beginning to feel never-ending discovery of all the little things a new home owner discovers could do with replacing sooner rather than later.

The name we chose for the cottage has been approved and is now appearing in the drop-down menu of websites as the official first line of our address. The boxes and cupboards and sheds (and ok, yes, wardrobe drawers) are shaping up. Broken down boxes are going to the skip regularly, 'why did we bring this' items going to the charity shops as soon as the large designated box is filled, things we're keeping are finding storage places easily...we are indeed settling in.

The weather is co-operating to a degree and we've been able to do some garden work. The big push comes in the spring but we have managed a good bit of hard-scaping already. In the preparation for the smaller shed to be erected we discovered two little holly plants we've potted and put by the front door. We've chosen a spot for the bin store. The veranda and patio no longer look like Steptoe's Yard (Sandford and Son for the American readers:).

Our modest Christmas outside lights have gone over a treat - nothing over-the-top, just spiral 'warm-white' micro lights on the potted dwarf evergreens flanking the front door and a string of novelty candy cane lights in the kitchen window. I hit the online Boxing Day sales - scored candle bridges and 4-for-£10 sets of multi-colour micro lights for next year (and all the years to come, God willing) - WINNING! Our indoor decorations, may I be permitted to congratulate myself, are AMAZING - the Christmas tree is so lovely! 

SIDEBAR MOMENT OTHERWISE KNOWN AS 'DIGRESSING'...I very-very-very highly recommend 'micro-lights' for the Christmas lighting challenged (like meownself). Now, I think I've mentioned my utter devotion to clip-on lighting before but I now wish to bang on about micro-lights. WOW ARE THOSE THINGS AMAZING! The LED bulbs are within the wire which by the way comes in several colours (copper, green, black, silver, and clear) and bulb options of warm or bright white or multi-colour. The user simply unwinds the strand (from ten to 300 bulbs per), clips the business end (battery or plug-in) to the bottom of the desired decorated item/window, winds the strand EASILY where lighting is wanted, and steps back to justifiably bask in the pride of accomplishment. BONUS: the 'twinkle' feature actually really truly does twinkle - none of that chasing tosh here, set these new-fangled micro-lights on twinkle and boy howdy, they twinkle. 

Erm, the twinkle feature also shockingly quickly drains the life out of the batteries if choosing the battery operated sets, especially if buying in multiple lots the way I have. To save money I highly recommend the additional purchase of a battery recharger and at least 60 rechargeable batteries of the type most called for in your battery operated light sets. I plan to spread the purchases over the next twelve months because between the cost of a reliable good quality charging unit and the batteries we're talking close to £150 here.
END SIDEBAR MOMENT OTHERWISE KNOWN AS 'DIGRESSING'

We are preparing to bring in the New Year in our usual quiet manner but are restricting our usual midnight fireworks to small fountains instead of ones that shoot flaming fireballs to avoid hitting a new neighbour's roof or cows or chickens. For a property smack in the middle of town, there is a surprising lot of livestock quite close in - every morning the chooks on the other side of the back garden wall and I enjoy a lovely and lively 'conversation'; close to midnight Christmas Eve I stepped out on the front garden path to look for the Star and heard first hoof-beats then neighs in the lane next to ours. So we do want to avoid the risk of injuring any of the neighbours, human and otherwise.

Have we made our New Year resolutions - oh yes, we have. Looking back at the ones we made last year (duly noted for 1 January every year in both our personal diaries and the house one as well) we agree we've managed to actually keep some of them!

Happy New Year to all, may your 2019 be filled with love, light, and loved ones. May you enjoy rude good health, peace, and yes, no small amount of prosperity!

So, Paul asked me what I would like for Christmas and I couldn't come up with anything reasonably priced. My wish list is for things like enclosing the back veranda, removing the bathtub and replacing it with a shower stall I can easily get into. A new 'bathroom suite' - new commode and hand wash basin - would be fab. And top of my list would be completely re-wiring this house.

It is probably time - the current wiring passes certification and the additions to the original circuitry has been done superbly. But we're finding ourselves fixing gang strips to the walls at hip height - we ain't gettin' any younger and bending down to plug in vacuum cleaners and other things is only putting unneeded strain on our ageing backs.

Another reason for the re-wire is we need to move the fridge-freezer as in its current location I can't pull the shelving and drawers out fully. Not good for making the most of the storage and definitely not good for a proper cleaning routine. And really, while we're moving outlets and appliances in the kitchen, we need to replace the cabinets in there.

So, no, nothing on my Dear Father Christmas list this year is reasonably priced - and yes, I do buy one lottery ticket a week as really that's going to be the only way to make my Christmas wish list arrive. 😔

Over the last three months we've lived in this new home I've realised the kitchen cabinets want replacing owing to age-related crumbling. Big tip: no matter how well done, chip and press-wood cabinetry FAILS after about 20 years. Go for real full-on wood if you want a real kitchen that will last several lifetimes. Trust me please.

So, that realisation got me thinking what changes I would make if I could. I don't think I'm up for making 'footprint' changes in there - the galley style layout, for example, works incredibly well and is so logical with one and only one exception being the fridge freezer (f-f) location not working.

That f-f location would be a doddle to change - I'd simply move the f-f down to stand by the utility cupboard (ceiling to floor which I use for the bins, cleaning supplies, and on the top shelf the cat supplies) and move the cabinetry it would displace to the area where the f-f is now - bonus, doing that would mean I could slot a small tumble dryer to vent on a very short run to the outside where I could easily clean the vent ducting once a month (yes, I have always done that - clean the lint filter every load, and clean the ducting every month. Fire safety - it's a rule!). Yes it would mean losing one lower cabinet on that side but the return would be so worth it and frankly I don't use one of the two lower cabinets on that side of the kitchen any way so no real loss there and instead a tremendous gain here in perpetual wetland or freezing cold or both Scotland.

I'm now dreaming of upper and lower cream white Shaker WOOD: lower cabinets with pull-out trays instead of reach-in shelving on both sides of the kitchen, with the upper cabinets over the sink and cooker being the same cream white with shelving instead of pull-outs, and extending to the ceiling. Glass front upper cabinets over the worktop on the other side all the way to the ceiling (I have a step-ladder+the need for maximum storage!) and fully across to the newly relocated f-f.

And of course, the new cabinetry and slightly re-jigged layout would require new worktops. I actually have grown to quite like the black faux granite. But I really-really-really-really want medium dark wood-LOOK (emphasis on 'look' as the real thing is so unhygienic just considering it gives me the shudders) worktops. Easy clean-sanitise, looks proper farmhouse kitcheny and I WANT IT.  

Back to the sink-cooker side of the galley...For a very long time I've wanted a dishwasher and if I could be persuaded to give up one of the cabinets on that side of the kitchen, I do have room in there. But.

But the other day one of my home-making email newsletters and then several of them in succession featured an article on what can and can't go in the dishwasher.

Oh. Dear.

I've had dishwashers before and found them simply indispensable for keeping a clean kitchen - ok alright I admit it, I loathe doing the washing up. That is, until I've strapped on the Marigolds and filled the basin and am deep in soap bubbles scrubbing the baked on from my Pyrex casserole. Then I actually enjoy doing the washing up. Yet even as I stood at the sink feeling wonderfully virtuous about my scullery maid work, I would find myself muttering 'Please, Father Christmas, bring me a stainless steel interior slimline dishwasher, PLEASE!' as I know the truth is I love cooking and baking and am not at all keen on the cleaning-up of said cooking and baking...when I was raising the family and even after they'd grown and flown and I was pretty much on my own, a dishwasher was the one kitchen appliance ranked right up there with the cooker and f-f. Couldn't live without it and never lost anything to the machine as everything I owned for kitchen work was either dishwasher safe or simply not in my kitchen. Until about 10 or so years ago.

I've always enjoyed cooking and baking but around 2007 I started on what can only be termed as becoming a foodie. Now, a foodie is someone who goes beyond yer basic cooking to live, and as a consequence becomes quite interested in the proper tools for the joy of cooking and baking. 

So when I read every single one of those 'Things You Shouldn't Ever Put In The Dishwasher' articles my heart well and truly sank. Because now I'm older I've acquired a large selection of...

Things You Shouldn't Ever Put In The Dishwasher

Wooden spoons. Various wooden and marble rolling pins. Frankly high end stainless steel and copper bottom pots and pans. Shiny baking trays and tins. Wire mesh strainers, colanders, and sieves. Graters of all configurations. Wooden handled knives - full tang or not. The list seemed endless as I read all those articles and I own and use daily every single thing on those lists except 'fine precious metal rimmed china, and crystal' (china and crystal being an addiction I got over once I realised the crystal was loaded with lead and the china likely was as well in addition to having to be hand-washed to preserve the decorative edgings. Porcelain and crystal serve-ware, lovely to look at but not so lovely to own - I sold all of mine back in the 80s).

Oh. Dear. 

I did an actual visual inventory of the kitchen and the result ruled out a dishwasher - the only things that could go in there would be the crockery, coffee mugs and some of the drinks glasses, and the stainless steel 18/10 cutlery. Which amounts to about a quarter of the kitchen items I use daily and wish for a magical mechanical way to save me constantly pulling on the Marigolds and plunging my gloved hands into a basin filled scalding hot soapy water.

Sooo, no dishwasher for me. I cannot wrap my head around the maturity required to admit I can't justify the purchase of a kitchen appliance I once considered an absolute must-have.

The Christmas tree and other hall-decking is done. WOW, I knew that Balsam Hill Christmas tree was good but until we got it dressed we really had no idea just how good it was going to be. Let me cut to the chase for those readers familiar with my annual Tree Lighting Debacle...

 I gifted myself earlier this year when the pre-Christmas sales were on full swing - a 20 candle clip on set (plugs into the mains, none of that fiddly battery operated tosh for my house!). I consulted my son who told me I should put the 100 multi-colour lights set on the tree then add the clip-ons.

I love my son. I love him VERY much. But. He lives in America and I live in Scotland and even when we lived in the same house he was absolutely ZERO help putting the lights or anything else on the tree.

So, for nano second I considered putting the 100 multi-colour light strand on the tree.

And then came to my senses because Paul is less help with Christmas decorating than Fox ever was.

And put JUST the clips on and let me tell you that tree, now fully dressed with baubles and 'realistic icicle drops' and clip-on candles is a Christmas wonder. Gorgeous and draws gasps from everyone who comes into the room.

🙋 WINNING 🙋

From my house to yours - a warm and cosy Happy Christmas, and all best wishes for a healthy, prosperous and Happy 2019!
🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎅🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄
                                        🎆 🎇 🎆 🎇 🎆 🎇 🎆 🎇

Happy Thanksgiving, and yes I'm gutted I'm going to miss watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. Again. Sigh. I will now stop moaning about how Thanksgiving should be celebrated over here with the same gusto as in the USA. I will not even mention my mild contempt at the 'black Friday' sales going on over here despite not having what I think of as the obligatory Thanksgiving Day nor will I mention how things have changed 'over there' and that's mostly down to WalMart deciding to keep stores open on Thanksgiving.

I will however mention how Thanksgiving (and Christmas and Easter for that matter) used to be the one of three days NOTHING was open ANYWHERE except one 'convenience-filling station' that did most of its business income making tins of Blue Lake green beans, Cool Whip Topping, and a filled fuel tank available to poorly prepared celebrants. For the most part, owing to my step-mother's poor housekeeping, there was always a run to the 7-11 for something and I used to marvel at the quiet, deserted streets. The WalMart Affect (yes, I AM using that correctly) meant busier and busier streets early in the day instead of the quiet streets that didn't really 'come alive' until later in the afternoon when drivers making their escape from the in-laws dinner gathering had to dodge footballs (gridiron not 'soccer') and the players chasing said balls.

Onwards and upwards...

Up early this morning to bake the gluten free apple pie (tinned pumpkin pie filling being scarcer than hens teeth over here) - first make the pastry crust then peel and pare the apples...house smelling wonderful as it bakes, I must say, and Paul has poked his head through to announce the aroma has made him hungry for an apple pie breakfast. Not. Happening. He can have his usual porridge, fruit, and buttered toast.

After digging through the shed, the Christmas decorations and 'premium most realistic' Balsam Hill 4ft Royal Blue Spruce have been unearthed and brought into their waiting position in the front hall to be put up/out after dinner. (Still marvelling at the Tardis qualities of this cottage - how can so small a house be blessed with such a superb design we have a front hall comfortable enough to put five large plastic boxes and a 'deluxe' faux tree storage bag down yet leave enough room to pass easily, how?!)

DVDs also fished out and waiting on the sideboard to be played.

Despite everything (Brexit betrayal thanks to the beyond incompetent-bordering on treasonous 'Prime Minister' and 'Cabinet', other huge 'social issues' like the horrific violence down in London...), we do have so much to be thankful for. I just wish I could work out how to stream the Macy's parade. Sigh.

Mind boggling, absolutely mind boggling - how on earth can a smaller house be so much better designed that we are having no real trouble getting everything into a proper place for fetching out to use, how?! OK, yes, we do have one large shed and another on the way, and we're very likely going to put a tall multi-shelf outdoor cabinet on the veranda for yet more storage but still, this house is like unto the Tardis (Rest In Peace, Dr Who, 1963 - 2017, sob) for organising things neatly and logically and downright surprisingly. For example, the kitchen is a quarter of the size of the one in the old house yet every single kitchen thing has a home, a proper home that makes sense when cooking, doing the washing up (but, Father Christmas, PLEASE BRING ME A DISHWASHER!), putting away the groceries...

We love this cottage! Still looking for 'the right bookcases' and we have a few other tweaks to make but in the main, we're pretty much settled in, and not a moment too soon.

Late autumn here and the weather is behaving as usual - winter cold in the air but no snow as yet. Rain is falling now but this morning I heard sleet hitting the windows. The Scottish word for this weather is dreich, meaning cold, usually wet(ish), and always downright miserable - lol, often confused and or used with 'dreck' ('nice' definition is 'rubbish, trash' but really means er, ah, umm, well, faecal in nature).

Snow and lots of it predicted for the end of the month here to last through to January - OMGsh, you mean...winter? Bring it. The online order of a 13.5 tog duvet arrived yesterday and has already been washed (OH do I love that 9kg capacity washing machine!), 'gently dried' over the electric heated airing tower (aka fancy clothes horse or drying rack or indoor drying apparatus or...) and folded to await the arrival (and first washing) of the fancy-schmancy duvet cover and pillow slips I found in an online overstocks offer. For the curious with good memory, the other two duvets (bought down in Dundee at a big box home store) are 10 tog, one is already in the process of being quilted into its plain white duvet cover and yeah, that project is going to take all winter to accomplish.

Other winter preparations include the off-grid 'emergency heat and cooking' (LPG canister fired heater and a 'kettle' BBQ for the patio); 3-in-1 squeegee/ice scraper/brush for the motor windscreens; 'eco-friendly' grit for the paths to the car park; hobby supplies stocked in; winter clothing and kit unpacked-washed-dried-into wardrobes and chests, and other normal sorts of preparations.

And this year Paul says he finally understands why Americans love Thanksgiving almost as much as Christmas - he says we have a lot to be thankful for even with the political and other deeply worrisome situations here in the UK. Turkey is hard to find before the second week of December in Scotland so although we are having a Thanksgiving meal Thursday, it will be a roast chicken with all the trimmings including being roasted with stuffing. Biggest fattest one the butcher has and let me tell you, that thing is huge - no-one in this house is going to be short of leftovers for chicken sandwiches.

He's not quite on-board with the idea of hauling the Christmas tree and beginning the hall decking Thanksgiving night after my 'must-watch' Santa Claus The Movie scene is reached where the elves announce 'Seasons Greetings!' (tough, we're doing it, end of), and he'd rather have a root canal than dress the tree while 'White Christmas' the movie is playing on the DVD player (again, tough, we're doing it, end of). Hey, I'm just happy he's on-board with Thanksgiving this year, and the window boxes filled with greenery gathered from our landscaping going in by the morning of the first Sunday of Advent.

Speaking of that greenery - long-time readers will recall I was born and brought up in the American Desert SouthWest and then spent nearly all of my adult life in the American Deep South. Magnolia trees flourish in both locations and both locales use the foliage for Christmas decor both in and out of the house. 'Darlin', it ain't Christmas without a magnolia wreath and a pine garland, it just ain't!'.

Right, so what do I see when I go out on the veranda of this new home - yes, that's right, a ginormous mature magnolia that is so going to give up some for the window box displays. I even have all-weather florist foam so those foliage displays should last the season (First Sunday of Advent 2 December 2018 through Epiphany 6 January 2019). Wow!

I'm doing a deep clean today and washing the windows tomorrow (big woo, a total of four for the entire cottage, not going to take long, that) so the house is ready for Thanksgiving and the start of the Christmas season. Sunday the 25th of November is Stir-Up Sunday (traditional bake-ahead day in Britain) and I've got the gluten-free recipes ready to go, all ingredients present and correct for the marathon baking session.

Christmas shopping is pretty much finished and blimey if I hadn't made a hard copy list of where I've stashed pressies I'd be at real risk of forgetting something. As it is I hold my breath every time Paul pokes his nose somewhere I have something stashed - he's already found the Cloggies I'd planned to put under the tree - walking into the bedroom a few weeks ago to catch him trying them on. He loves them AND he's impressed I was smart enough to buy spare liners. Now, Cloggies is a more affordable Crocs knock-off and wow are these the bees knees or what - comfy and no danger of 'walking out of them' and are saving his leather boots he was ruining by dashing out to the bins in the rain. (Yeah, I'm married to the only Brit like EVER who hates wellies, go figure) Hopefully he won't find the other things...

The smallish hex cold water aquarium I bought two months ago arrived in a box so big and bulky I couldn't hide it - he is very pleased with it and we'll likely have tetras swimming happily through it in the next week or so now the water is conditioned, the gravel is washed and in place, and the 'ornaments' are in their final spots.

AND, as I'm pretty sure he reads my blog, I am not going to say what other gifts I have stashed but really, without the list I'd be finding things in March or later. Love lists, love them!

HUZZAH - our living room no longer looks like the opening frame of a Hoarders episode!

Oh dear - Paul is shocked and horrified at the size of my craft supplies stash. The stash now jumbled into ten large Simply Useful plastic storage boxes (yes, the brand is expensive - worth it and bonus: Homebase is closing the store in Dundee and we got the boxes at something like 35% off) and two file folder sized Simply Useful boxes for a total of 12 boxes of crafting material.

And I have a use for every single item in those boxes - and now I've got it all into boxes I can -

1-spend the winter sorting the boxes back into the organised system I had before Paul decided in the moving process I was wasting space so he un-packed my organised and labelled boxes and re-packed the lot before the removals team arrived. SOB - doing so, he scattered it all from one end to the other - grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr! So I will be spending the winter sorting it all back out again. dammit

2 - get going on my craft stall. I realised a while back I love to make things - useful, needful things that happen to be pretty at the same time. It took Paul nearly eight years to come around to the realisation that needful things can be functional AND beautiful. He sees that now and is mildly enthusiastic about my crafting addiction. And BONUS: now he understands other people think my needful things are the bee's knees and will (GASP) pay money to own those needful things, he's happy to load the motor with my stock to drive me to car boot fairs and local craft markets.

3 - order MY shed! Yes, the shock of seeing how much 'stuff' I have to use for making needful things prompted Paul to decide he needs me to have my own storage shed. Less than a third of the size of 'his', it should be here in two weeks and the neatly stacked craft materials boxes can go out of the corner of the living room into the craft materials storage shed. He's not especially thrilled to be ordering yet another shed but he's feeling marginally better about the size (and prospective use) of the stash...

***SIDEBAR MOMENT*** Thing is, (and I did tell him this yesterday), most other men with wives who have craft supplies stashes will ask him 'Dude, wth is your problem - my wife's stash is like 20 times your wife's, and we've only been married two years!'. Which of course he WAS asked/told by other husbands/partners last night. Online. At his F1 chat group site in the 'off-topic lounge' area. He also found out from the other men that most of their spouses refuse to part with any of their stash, even to make and sell - but the men with canny spouses say the 'egg money' the ladies generate with their crafting is rather good. So now he's more on-board with the money-making aspects of crafting. 

I came to the realisation that I will always feel driven to be making things but at this point I've pretty well made all the needful things for our actual home, too. So the final realisation was I could make more needful things AND THEN SELL THEM TO PEOPLE WHO LIKEWISE APPRECIATE BEAUTIFUL NEEDFUL THINGS!

On a somewhat different note, Paul whacked down the weeping willow in the postage stamp garden under my kitchen window to the left of the front door. I'm reasonably sure the previous owners were promised (meaning they were lied to) that the little weeping willow start was a dwarf variety and would never present a problem. HA.

That thing was ginormous by the time we took possession of this cottage. Clearly the former owner would whack it to the ground every year and by the end of summer the thing would re-grow to around six foot high with copious branches weeping onto the common path sporting full sized foliage making it obvious the tree is of the 'I'm gonna grow OVER your rooftop when you stop whacking me to the ground ever year' variety.

Oh. It's a weeping willow, btw - SO THE ROOTS ARE SECURELY AND STUBBORNLY WRAPPED AROUND THE DRAINS FOR THREE HOUSES THAT RUNS RIGHT THROUGH MY FRONT GARDEN!

I feel like a murderess but we've nailed copper nails into the 10in stump+poured some drain pipe safe root poison down the middle of the stump as well. It's gotta go but digging it out at this stage of development isn't on according to the professional advice we took (plumber, gas company, water company, tree surgeon). They gave us advice I was dreading to hear but is what we've done with the nails and poison - the roots will die and decay, falling away from the pipes without needing to be dug out.

I really felt horrible about that willow. Flourishing Weeping Willow Trees are a gift from the garden faeries - by removing it we're in effect snubbing their gift. YIKES!

And I also feel horrible about the camellia also inappropriately placed, this plant in the back garden - again badly placed - right next to a thick concrete slab (originally placed by the council to be a bin storage pad) AND an auxiliary drain, ffs - how many drains are there running through our plot?!

Here's where I confess I am a three-state (USA) Master Gardener - fully trained and certified in Alabama, Florida, and Georgia - so I knew just by looking there was no hope in trying to dig that camellia out for transplanting to a more appropriate spot - the root ball was going to be so small I would have had to prune the drip line and top down to such a shocking degree there simply was no hope of the plant surviving the horror. Camellias are not good transplant candidates under the best circumstance and these are not the best so again, Paul whacked the thing to the ground level and we spiked it. Sniffle. I was now even more convinced we'd brought down the wrath of the garden faeries on us...

Still, we soldiered on getting the cottage and gardens ready for winter (which is trying SO hard to arrive way early - we had sleet and ice at the end of last week lasting, well, still lasting.). Planning for the crafts shed this weekend included clearing (raking off debris, and removing a trellis I knew was rotted timber under the soil level) the space - AND WHAT DID WE FIND RIGHT WHERE THE CRAFTS SHED IS TO BE PLACED???!!!

Two, count 'em, two, holly bush starts! One is barely 6in high and the other about 18in - and both small enough and well placed for digging out and putting into pots! Pots we have already!

We're hoping finding those two starts is a sign the garden faeries understand in proper land management, one must occasionally sacrifice a few to save the many.

Now, here's a thing. Before we moved into this cottage we were informed the property had never been named so the option was open to us should we choose to take it up.

I love holly, have since childhood (Paul is indifferent) and knowing I wanted to make lots of needful Christmassy things to sell, I immediately began pushing the name 'Holly House' or 'Holly Cottage'. Paul was not enthusiastic.

Until we found the holly starts. The name has gone into consideration, once we decide between 'house' or 'cottage', the name goes to the council and Royal Mail for inclusion to our postal details.

Settling in, slowly. I was talking to Fox a few nights ago and we both marvelled at just how long it's taking Paul and I to unpack all the cartons (unpacking cartons=settling in and we don't unpack until we work out where the unpacked items go). Fox remembers all the moves we made with Crusty's work assignments and how quickly I would get the house organised and feeling like Home.

Of course, Crusty 'let' me do all the packing, so everything was boxed according to an un-boxing plan and all that was required was for the person bringing the carton in from the moving van to read the huge label stating room to deposit said carton into so I could very quickly put things away and get the house running along well.

Paul, well, let's just leave it at Moving House With An Aspie means he/she will unpack everything the non-Aspie spouse/partner has carefully packed, disregard the labelling system, and lob everything at the moving van...I open a carton thinking I've found the bed linens and instead find antique bottles wrapped IN BITS OF MY BLOODY FABRIC STASH! grrrrrrrr

The shed arrived last Friday (19th). By the end of the 20th Paul had 4 coats of stain on the exterior (looking very good!). By yesterday afternoon he had the carpet tiles we lifted off the kitchen floor (placed there by the previous owner in an effort to prevent her slipping on a slick kitchen floor, not glued down so recycling the tiles was possible) down on the shed floor. This morning we're moving ALL the unboxed to the shed - I CAN'T TAKE THE SENSE OF LIVING IN AN OPENING FRAME OF A HOARDERS EPISODE ANY LONGER - and of course my personal Aspie (Paul) can't take it any longer either. Besides, I've found the essentials so I can now go out to the shed every day and un-box one or two cartons until the job is well and truly done - no rush. I hope.

Yesterday while Paul was carpet tiling the shed, I was washing up the kitchen items going to the charity shop this morning. I was telling Fox the things we're sending to the charity shop and that list got him reminiscing - 'You could cut up and get two whole chickens in that electric skillet!'. He's right, the one I left behind in the USA when I came to Scotland was huge, and the one I bought to replace it was actually a bit more huge - I probably could have got three cut-up chickens in that thing!

Right, here is where I confess I make a really-really-really good fried chicken dinner. The chicken rolled in seasoned flour, mashed-butter only potatoes, and plenty of sweet corn (on or off the kernel depending on the time of year). Nothing says 'Hang in there, summer will come again!' in the dead of winter like a huge plate of fried chicken, buttery mash, and sweet kernel corn.

I'll be sad to see the ginormous electric skillet go but I've been using the normal sized one (nicely fries up one cut-up chicken OR six thick breasts OR six pork medallions...) and it's easier to A-find a place for in the downsizer kitchen and B-handle, especially when washing up after.

And the 6.5L slow-cooker is also going this morning. Man alive was washing that behemoth a pain - weighed a tonne and couldn't be put completely into the sink or dishwasher! The replacement/downsizer 3.5L one does as nice a beef and veg stew/chimiladas (refried beans, left-over and shredded roast beef rolled in fried corn tortillas on top and all of it smothered in extra-mature cheddar) as the gigantic one ever did, and is SO much easier to wash up. And bonus, the 3.5L takes a roast easily as well as the 6.5L one did, I just have to make sure the cut isn't as big as the ones I used in the larger pot. Jonesin - a smallish pork roast a tin or bottle of sauerkraut dumped over it for eight hours on low or a silverside beef with a nice pepper rub...dang, I'm drooling all over the keyboard here!

Several items like the two mentioned above are being 're-homed' today, and I can't wait to see the back of it all. We did a very real 'clean-out' before moving but found on arrival to the downsizer that we'd lugged along things we've no room for, or are inappropriate to our new lifestyle in other ways.

'Bye-bye-bye, baby, bye-bye!'

Winter cometh - we've been feeling the temperature steadily dropping the past three weeks, and we're just now in Day2 of a howling wind thingie - putting washing on the line is just not sensible as I don't want to be chasing my laundry through the village. Saturday was bright but not warm; Sunday it bucketed down rain all day - cold, near-icy rain. The forecast is for sleet-light snow by Saturday lasting into the coming week - so we won't be going down to Glamis Castle for the 'Bewitching Woods' light show walk, and we won't be taking the 'Ghosts of (insert town name here) walk Halloween Night, either, as neither of us wants to drive OR walk in the dark and icy weather.

If it helps any, dear reader(s), Paul and I both have never been big on being out in the dark and icy - ever at any age. I love a snowy day as much as I did when a child but I never-ever-ever liked being out in it after the sun went down. Ever. Nice that Paul is the same - his statement was 'Snowy-icy, day nicey but nae lark in the dark!' and included the admission he's held that view since childhood.

Honestly, I think Paul and I were both 'born old' - we're settling into our 60s easily as we've always been this way, really. Yeppers, cardi-wearing, sensible shoes, and nothing too 'flash' has always been both of our way so growing older just ain't a thing:)

We're going down to Dundee at the weekend to buy some new duvets for the bedroom. Now, I loathe duvets ordinarily but I now am the proud user of a 9kg washing machine that will happily wash a 15tog duvet and that makes all the difference. Before moving here we would have had to take the duvets to the laundry at £15 per duvet per washing-drying-fluffing. ERK! £15 a week to have hygienic duvets, I bloody well do not think so! I moved us to hand-crocheted blankets and bed sheets thinking I'd never agree to having another duvet again...until I got my new washer and now duvets are looking pretty much required now:) We're buying three so I can spend the winter quilting one whilst alternating the other two on the bed.

I still really hate duvet covers. A lot. I just don't have what it takes to change those covers (residual and likely life-long mobility issues after the fall in the front hall nearly three years ago). So we're buying three duvets and plain covers and I'm going to quilt the covers to the duvets - one duvet at a time. I love to quilt and the machine will take the quilted duvets as well (if not better) as if not quilted together. Win-win-win. We do have proper central heating in this house but we also live a bit higher in the glens than previously (we were in the vale in the old house so it was marginally warmer down there) and Piers Corbyn is predicting a hellacious winter for us this year - better prepared with warm covers should the cold make the central heating anaemic, or worse, the power to go down.

Mobility. As the cold settles in around us faster than I am so far settling us into this new house, my collarbone, biceps, and elbow ache unless I am very careful to keep warmly dressed. But I can ALMOST tie an apron behind my back now - well, ok, that's probably never going to happen but I can move around well enough to grab the tie-ends so I can slide the apron to the left and then tie the strings at my right side. Not that is going to be all that important soon as yesterday I got my sewing machine up and running so new tie-less aprons are soon to be hanging in the kitchen and off me:)

Mobility. I realised, yesterday afternoon as I stood in the back garden admiring Paul's hard work tiling the shed, that I've been outside more the last month than I have in the last several years (too embarrassing to count but it's more than the three since my disastrous fall in the front hall).

WOW - WOW - WOW is being able to 'nip down the shops' or across the street to the library a fabulous thing for so many reasons! First, I'm losing weight. Second, owing to the level nature of the area we now live in, I can carry home a sack full of moderately heavy shopping without worrying the pain in my chest is signalling imminent heart attack. No more breathlessness unless I try to walk too fast before properly warming up. Owing to the only two easy steps out the front and back means I can go in and out of the house just as much as I want - I love being able to get out to the washing line with a basket of washing, I love go outside at night and look up at the stars.

It is just now 0745h and still dark out.

Winter cometh.

Well this is depressing - my favourite day planner has been discontinued and I've had to choose a new style planner. I don't mind growing older (beats the alternative!) and I'm actually quite interested in trying new tech but I have never liked electronic calendars and day planners and have happily used two types of 'old school' methods for years - one a 'pocket diary' (BritSpeak for day planner) and the other the now discontinued desk day planner that even Paul liked and used faithfully. Sniffle. I'm going to miss that thing!

It's early October and owing to the house move, things I normally do in September were pushed back to October. This morning I was caught up enough to go online and place my order for the usual diary and day planner refills. To my shock, however, I couldn't find my day planner refills ANYWHERE - not even on the publisher's website!

So I emailed the publisher and one of their customer service reps promptly replied the refill in question has been (SOB!) discontinued. She very politely refrained from saying the discontinuation was owing to near-total lack of interest in that particular style but I knew she was only being polite as the style is VERY 1950s - doubtless interest and use has dropped off severely especially over the past few years.

For those curious as to the style, it's one of those two-ring base things with pen/pencil crease at the foot. Marvellously useful - compact, each day having a two-page spread with weekends sharing (Saturday to the left, Sunday to the right). Terribly 'old school', retro, vintage, Grannie stuff - we loved it.

Every New Years Day I would go through and mark the day (and which) the bins went to the kerb. Also useful for noting medical/dental appointments, birthdays and other important dates, it served as a superb message centre for the household in so many ways including jotting down telephone-email-snail mail details. It sat on the front hall table at the old house and has been temporarily sitting on the electric fireplace mantel in our new home, and it was the one and only place in the house I could rely on the pen remaining with it. It worked ever so much better than the wall calendars and e-calendars - worked well with my pocket diary and Paul's personal one as we do carry those with us but always made sure to update the desk one on returning home.

Honestly I think I will have a serious cry 31st December 2018 night knowing the next morning a bound A5 'page a day' diary will be taking its place of organisational honour. The day planner will go on the sideboard, both soon-to-be retired one and new completely unsatisfactory one, once the living room is free of what seems a gajillion boxes needing to be stored in the eagerly anticipated weather-tight shed. Next to the landline, of course - the day planner, not the shed:)

A LONG MOAN/WORD ABOUT DOWNSIZING:

Sigh. I'm beginning to despair of the shed ever arriving - it's been what seems months (but really is only weeks) since we ordered it.

At first we thought Paul would use the shed as his 'man-cave' - OH! Excuse me, his 'study'.

But then the movers brought in his desk and set it down in the bedroom and he decided 'Hey, this is much better than spending the money to have the shed wired (for computer and heat)!' - meaning 'Hey! The bathroom and kitchen are a lot closer now, and wow think of the money I'll save on wiring and heating the shed!'.

Boy howdy did Paul's eyeballs light up at the thought of that savings and followed up that thought of money saving to 'persuading me' it would be so much nicer to keep our two remaining 'we won't have room for these' storage pieces for use in our new downsizer, storage units we had on Gumtree and he promptly removed once I was 'persuaded'...now I have the sideboard (can't complain too much as it's a GORGEOUS Art-Deco with two drawers and two under cabinets) in which I shall now be storing first aid/health and beauty (hahahahaha) and toilet roll. yea - or should I nod to modern times and write 'yay'?

 And the 'vintage' (and not really my cuppa) 1970s era oak wall unit with three doored under cabinets and a glass-fronted three glass shelves upper. To store kitchen over-flow in the wall unit including spare kitchen roll - which is about all it's going to hold.

So as a consequence of his money-saving thinking, it was good-bye to my dream of floor to ceiling bespoke cabinetry along ALL the walls in the living-dining room that was to have been closed doors over drawers on the lower half and glass-fronted book-shelving on the upper in which I'd planned to use part of for kitchen and bathroom 'overflow' and the glorious rest for all my craft supplies.

Where are all my crafting supplies to be stored? Why out in the new shed, of course - in plastic boxes he's happy to 'splash out on' if it means the bigger save on bespoke storage cabinetry. So once the shed arrives I'll have to go out to the shed and gather ALL the supplies for a single project at one go. None of this convenience of having everything in the nice warm house where I can walk over from the sofa or sewing machine, no, I'm going to have to go out there in all weathers for supplies.

Meanwhile Paul is happily doing his computer thing in the bedroom - all his wants and needs are neatly stacked/shelved all in one place. 'Because I don't have much so my stuff should be sorted first' he claimed without one whit of a hint of shame.

Meanwhile the living-dining room is awash with cartons and honestly the place looks like an episode of Hoarders.

Luckily we hadn't bought a dinner table and chairs before moving in because there isn't anywhere for that to go just yet. I'd post a photo (yes, I'm a before/after photographer) but it's really just too embarrassing despite knowing this is all temporary and in a month the place is going to be cosy and lovely and organised and...OH GOD PLEASE LET THAT BE TRUE!

I need to go through every single box and reorganise EVERYTHING as Paul in his Asperger's logic decided my method of packing everything together (as in all the sewing fabric on one box, all the sewing minutiae like needles and thread and...in another, and the sewing patterns in yet another and the cross stitch, crochet thread, yarn according to weight in yet more boxes...) was wasting space.

OMFG I can't find a bleeding thing! Looking for yarn and crochet hooks I found the hand mixer, five drinking glasses, some casserole dishes, and his fly tying tools wrapped up in bath towels. Looking for the sieve (colander, strainer, whatever) I found some of his drill bits and bolts, my unmentionables, the gluten free flours, several tins of tomato soup, and the television remote control for the bedroom telly (which I still can't find but it doesn't matter since I can't watch late night telly in the bedroom while he's on the computer. dammit). I sadly STILL can't  find the sewing machine!

I have given up and am just opening boxes as I get to them and trying to find places for everything we need in the house whilst finding a holding place for things we don't need in the house every day but need enough to keep from being rid of. And all the while Paul walks through the living-dining room shaking his head and clucking and telling me he can't take much more of the clutter and I should be better organised and really, he's lucky as hell I don't clock him one. Or two or three.

But...non-violent payback is a far more satisfactory mo-f...er, well, if you don't know that one I'm not going to explain it. Suffice it to say PROPER plastic storage boxes ain't cheap and I am not scrimping on those - if I have to brave the weather to make something I want to be in and out of that shed quicker than lightning and cheap boxes are not a real money saver in the end!

To make things that much more 'fun' - the kitchen sink is spewing water (into a bucket I have to empty during and after washing up or rinsing veg or running washing machine) and the plumber can't get here until Thursday next (a full week away) owing to huge number of call-outs to sort gas boilers people are switching on without having had an engineer in to check first. Yep, the weather has turned, it's full-on autumn and winter looks to be close on its heels as a particularly harsh one according to sun-spot history. I'd call someone else but this plumber is worth the wait (and the emptying of the bucket several times a day). 

Right. On a happier note, we are settling in slowly but surely. Yesterday the window blinds went up in kitchen and bathroom windows and the living room and bedroom windows. The kitchen floor now has a lovely slate-effect sheet vinyl floor covering and the steam mop is working wonderfully to keep it looking as lovely as when laid.

Real bliss is being able to nip out to the shops or to the library or just for a walk, and WOW, the stars show so much better in this low-light-pollution zone, WOW!

Downsizing, not without its 'issues' but worth it in the end.

Happy Belated Birthday to me - I looked 62 square in the eye a few weeks ago, and WOW did I get a super birthday present (keep reading)! 

Today would have been my father's 97th birthday. I do wonder what he would have been like had he not died young at 64. I still miss him - he wasn't exactly even close to 'Father of the Year' candidacy but all things considered he was a pretty damn good dad and I wish my children had grown up with him in their lives.

Another anniversary falls today...19 years ago today at exactly 0909 (9am US Central Time) the judge signed my divorce from Crusty into officialdom. Odd to think we've been divorced longer (just, by a year) than we were married. Odd and wonderful. Yes - the divorce was well and truly final at 0909 on 9 September 1999. Odd and wonderful and I can honestly say without hesitation despite the difficulties, the last 19 years of my life have been the best yet.

Especially the last eight. Paul and I are still bumbling along nicely, thank-you, and wowsa have things bumbled along even more nicely the past four months. Long(ish) story ahead, so put the kettle on, drop some tea bags into the pot, and settle in, dear readers...

Regular dear readers will recall:

*I 'met' Paul online at a current affairs 'doomer' site (now sadly defunct) in late 2008 and after two years of exchanging posts, messages, emails, and telephone calls, took the decision to meet face-to-face (f2f) eight years ago (mid-August 2010). After a few months of really getting to know the persons behind the emails, etc, we married and I went back to America on 'VisaQuest', returning in June of 2011 with a settlement visa that became permanent residency in 2013.

*We set up housekeeping in the house he'd bought in 1996 and quickly realised we're not getting any younger and the way the house and gardens were laid out did not nor would ever work for us as an ageing couple. Too many stairs, and for me with my stoopid little heart thingie, too steep streets to make getting out and about easy - every time I walked down to the shops, I'd have to stop several times coming back up from the shops and in all honesty was starting to have chest pain in the process. I could make it down but not back up and Paul didn't much appreciate me ringing from the supermarket begging a ride home (I don't have a full UK driving licence, just the provisional one for 'learners'). I was becoming housebound...

*2 March 2016 I took a fall so terrible, so catastrophic, the consultant said the quickest way to describe the damage was to say I'd wrecked everything on my dominant side from fingertips to collarbone, and my left knee as well. I became very nearly completely housebound as our entry-exit and access to the back garden (where my washing line stood forlornly staring at me through the kitchen window) meant negotiating three flights of narrow riser concrete stairs. Just getting me out to the doctor and physio meant ten-twenty minutes of agonisingly painful and extremely careful use of the two flights at the front of the house. Getting me back in was the same painful and careful 'exercise'. 

*So began for what we came to call 'the Hunt For Red October' (red being the sense of urgency after I fell in the front hall nearly three years ago, and October being somehow presciently the timing of the settled in hopes we had for 'the perfect home'. And yes, I loved the book and the movie:)

Property after property after property came close, not close enough, not nearly close even if we'd had thousands of GBPs to drop on a money pit...Over the past six years I must have looked at thousands of properties, and after I fell the search became the all-consuming pastime.

About a year ago a one bedroom semi-detached property in the town we wanted to move to (about six miles north-east and about six million miles difference in attitudes) popped up on my preferred search site. Ok, not the two bedroom/one bath+water closet (read 1/2 bath, meaning powder room, if you're an American reader) we were really determined to find, and certainly not the detached house we wanted.  

But something about it seemed near enough to perfect I showed it online to Paul. Who immediately (and who would know better than the local council retired historic buildings conservation officer?) identified it as ex-council housing, and without looking closely at the location, deemed it smack in the middle of a council housing estate and refused to investigate further as the near-by council estate we were enduring was too close for our comfort, so close to another council estate was not a place we EVER wanted to live.

I knew just what he meant (although I suspected he was wrong about it being near 'social housing'). It was bad enough having the loud, often rude (oh wow, the language penetrating the double-glazing) as they passed our then current house on their stumble home from the pubs at the weekends, but they often came to blows, and also thought 'watering the hedges' the natural thing to do as they went down our street to cross the school grounds and park. The motor traffic came from our neighbours...not so bad, but the yummy mummies blocking the street as they awaited their Precious to emerge from the school between the park, council estate, and our street were a daily nightmare.

Peace? Quiet? No. Both must-haves for an Asperger's person. And forget going out to the back garden as it was overlooked by surrounding homes - and the friendly folks thought our coming out to the garden (when I could struggle up the steps) an invitation for a visit. Usually a lengthy visit particularly if I had the BBQ fired up. Heh.

I continued searching. I'd find properties close enough to our 'wants list' to make a viewing (at least from the outside) a doable. Paul shot down so many properties I honestly began to give up hope...the little one bedroom property remained listed. I looked at it over and again, dismissing it from consideration and going on to the next one.

Paul also ruled out flats (we did want a garden, we didn't want anyone overhead - a ground floor flat was a no from the get go) but I managed in late April 2018 to convince him to go look at the outside of a first floor flat (second floor for the American readers) with extremely close convenience to the supermarket and a wide enough private stair case we could fit a stair lift - at that point we were both desperate enough to consider giving up the dream of a small garden. Of course once outside the property we realised the building was not in a good state of repair and what repairs had been done had been bodged - badly so.

But we were within walking distance to the little one bed property and somehow I managed to convince Paul a quick look would be a good idea...

Because by this time I'd realised the little one bedroom was just about the perfect (read that 'the perfect' in all caps as yes, I'm shouting) property for us - I'd done a bit of an online sat-map search and put that together with what I remembered of a years earlier visit to that little lane on a different mission. I knew if Paul could be got back there on that little pony track, he'd immediately see what I'd seen - no council estate, and only complete and utter blissful privacy.

And so it was.

Now, I love my husband. But between his natural personality (Mr Curmudgeon) and his Asperger's, he can be, uhm, a bit, well, grumbly. And he grumbled all the way to the head of the wee lane leading to the wee lane (better known as a pony track) the property sits on.

Until we turned onto the pony track and I pointed out the barely visible property peeking through the shrubbery of the adjoining National Trust property garden. The grumbling ceased. His step quickened, he reached the footpath leading to the one bedroom property. He got a look at the garden and patio and veranda...he took in a sharp breath, turned to me and said 'We have GOT to buy this cottage!'.

And so we did.

We took possession 31st August. Close enough to my birthday to make it my 2018 birthday pressie:) We're still unpacking (and will be for a while yet, downsizing ain't for the faint hearted!) but LOVE our new home. The cat LOVES our new home. We not only have a small garden (two postage stamp beds in the front, a patio and bit of space big enough for a shed - 6x7 and it should be delivered sometime in the next week or so) but we also have a lovely little veranda off the living room! Hidden from view thanks to the shrubbery on the National Trust garden, no foot or motor traffic passing our cottage as we're the side of the semi-detacheds the far end. Somehow we've lucked out and once again have great neighbours (the only 'thing' we'll miss about the old place are the wonderful neighbours) who mind their own business but are friendly and helpful at the same time.

The local library is up the lane and across the street, the local butcher is AMAZING as is the baker and the small supermarket has such good fruit and veg I'm calling it the green grocer. The townsfolk are friendly and welcoming, local activities for all ages and interests abound. The area around our house and into the shopping square is level, flat enough for me to get around easily and I know I've lost at least a half stone already.

Happy Birthday 'up there', Pop - I KNOW you're in Heaven.

Super Happy Divorce Anniversary to me!

And Super-Super-Super Happy Birthday to me!

Moving along...

The 26th of May would have been my sister's 74th birthday. She died (cancer) 22 December 2016. Today is my brother's birthday - he's 68 and mercifully still ticking over.

Birthdays at this age (I'll be 62 come August, God willing) are, em, fraught affairs. Now, for me personally, I LOVE my birthdays - I spend most of the day each year marvelling I've managed to see the day dawn. My sister and brother, er, well, no - my sister hated her birthdays as yet the reminder of yet another year of misery she'd endured on this mortal coil, and my brother hates his as a reminder the clock is ticking down his years on this mortal coil. He's been in a mid-life crisis since 1987.

I had my 'mid-life crisis' on my 21st birthday when my then husband took me to Lion Country Safari near San Jose (we lived in San Francisco at the time) - I was out-to-here pregnant with my daughter (now 40, WOW, I have a 40 year old daughter!) and as I stood there at Lion Country Safari elephant ride waiting area watching my then husband riding while I couldn't owing to my advanced stage of pregnancy, I knew, just knew in my bones this was it and it was all downhill from there.

(FTR - I didn't really want to ride the poor elephant. I hate circus' and I hate captive wild animals being used to entertain people like my jaw-droppingly thick ex, and I found it hideously unfair on MY birthday he was having all the fun while I was hot, miserable, and feeling altogether very hard done by!)

In that moment I just knew I was going to spend the rest of my life watching from the sidelines, raising children and keeping house for a man who's main consistency was making sure I felt like a free-loader for not having a paid working position.

Hmm. Fox's dad had the same consistency of habit to him, so much so that when I finally had enough and kicked him to the kerb, it was with the growled jibe 'You never wanted a wife, you wanted a paycheck you could f**ck!'. And yes - I AM the woman who created the tee-shirt: it's not alimony, it's victims compensation!

For the length of time it took for Dunderhead (the ex) to enjoy his elephant ride, I pondered the bitter unfairness of Life, The Universe, and Everything. The rest of my life is going to be one long blur of complete boredom, I thought to myself. And to my shame, for one brief five minute span back in August 1977 I let myself think I was about to become bored for the rest of my life.

By the time he dismounted and bounced back to where I was waiting, my mid-life crisis was over, never again to be repeated even when I actually did reach genuine mid-life. Every single day is a gift even when Life seems rather difficult, or perhaps a bit too routine - but never boring...

I think I was about 7, maybe 8, when I said to my best friend - 'I'm bored!'. He immediately replied 'Only stupid people get bored!', and I knew he was right and I've spent the years since then never being bored, ever. Because it's true - if someone is thick, of course they'll become bored as they're not imaginative enough to think of something to do.

He'd be 65 in December if he'd not died aged 57 of Post-Polio Syndrome complications. I got the sugar cube, he got Polio. I don't think a day goes by I don't miss him.

And now more than ever, I strive to never be thick enough to become bored, I always want cake and a big fuss on my birthday, and I always want the same for my loved ones!

Day4 of our current snow event - some calling it the convergence of The Beast From the East (from the north-east) and Storm Emma (from the south), some labelling it Snowmaggedon or Snowpocolypse 2018. Oh alright, I do favour 'Snowmaggedon' and have so titled my desktop folder of photos snapped successively to document the event - this is the most snowpack we've had since the real Snowmaggedon of winter 2010-2011, when we 'enjoyed' a nearly full two months of incredible snowfall and continuous below freezing temperatures resulting in iced over roads-buildings-cars-lighthouses.

Now that one really did live up to the name 'snowmaggedon' with icicles as thick as a sumo wrestler's upper thighs reaching from rooflines to ground level (including our house), and in what had to have been one of the most astonishing things we saw - the complete icing over (so thick it wanted chisel and hammers applied to finally break through) of the local ironmonger shop exterior wall.

This event is not quite as dramatic. For one thing, the winter of 2010-2011 snuck up on the UK - no-one predicted it, it just happened that over the last weekend of November 2010 the snow started and didn't stop until Boxing Day. It came down in great wet flakes I could actually hear hitting the snowpack, and it was so incredibly cold the snowpack sparkled and at one honestly most astonishing and frightening point, as Paul and I took a walking tour one mid-morning during the event, hoarfrost formed along a wall in the town centre - it truly was like something out of The Day After Tomorrow (Dennis Quaid and Jake Gyllenhaal, 2004) as the hoarfrost formed in seconds, visibly spreading across the wall before our eyes.

No, this event was on the radar for at least ten days before the actual event began to affect Britain and Ireland - the government, the Met Office, heck, even Piers Corbyn agreed - this was serious and people needed to prepare for days of potential transport stoppages, extreme cold and iced over conditions that would stress the power and communications grids to possible breakdown, and communities being cut off.

For the most part people have heeded the copious warnings and the death toll here in the UK is below 15 (so far, it's not over yet). Across on The Continent the toll is sadly higher, closer to 50 on Day4.

I am trying VERY hard to contain my anger at the person behind the wheel of a car in Cornwall yesterday afternoon. A seven year old girl was walking with her family when this driver lost control of a car he/she shouldn't have been driving at all (the government asked people early on in this event to stay off the roads unless emergency and medical personnel trying to get to work), hitting and killing her. Angry doesn't cover the depth of my contempt and fury at the person who decided to be out there but I'm trying to contain my anger until I read more about why the driver was out there. 

I'm not hesitating to be deeply contemptuous of those people stuck overnight in their cars on the motorways and A roads - they were warned, they were asked to stay the hell off the roads, and they were told if they simply must be out there at all they should have plenty of kit in the boot for the inevitable stranding. Of course most of these 'But I have to go...' drivers were not at all prepared to stay off the roads OR put proper kit in their car boots so SkyNews is becoming unwatchable with the numerous 'live from the driver seat of my Nissan where I've been stuck in the snow behind a jack-knifed lorry for two hours/days' reports that invariably include the constant refrain of 'Where are the gritters?! I'm starving/running out of petrol/late for work as a files clerk in a non-essential business...'. Numpties.

Being 'doomers' - well, in my case being someone who has experienced repeated serious weather events/natural disasters - we heeded the warnings and brought forward our regular monthly Big Shop by five days, topped up the Citroen fuel tank, made sure we had the wind-up torches and radio on the front hall table. Checked wellie boots for spiders (don't laugh - when you don't wear 'em often, spiders tend to find stored wellies a splendid nesting spot!). Etc. We're fine here and God willing will remain so - we had the gas disconnected years ago and rely on electric and multi-fuel stove heating. Yes, that's right, a warning went out yesterday of a 'gas deficit' and businesses have been asked to restrict use so domestic services can be maintained. Not an issue for us but we do feel for those worrying about heating-eating on top of the rest of the worries brought home by this latest weather event.

I took this snap about an hour ago - snow doesn't look much but it has an ice crust making it treacherous to navigate - we're not a priority for gritting lane, and the last thing I want to do is go out there in it:

Ignore the time-date stamp, I never set it when I bought the camera so it ticks along on its own completely-unrelated-to-reality schedule. The photo was taken at 0700h 2 Mar 2018 from my NE Scotland front doorway.

In other news, today is the two year anniversary of my wrecking my dominant hand-wrist-elbow-biceps-shoulder-collarbone. Thanks to physio, I have regained 96% use but I'll never play tennis again, never body-surf or swim competitively again. I'll never be able to tie an apron (or fasten a clothing item) behind my back or reach across my body right to left to lift anything more weighty than a piece of paper. I'm still waiting to be able to knit and crochet with pins and hooks bigger than 2mm but I can sew-embroider-latch hook, so it ain't all bad.

So, I'm still thinking about the electric rice cooker. But I'm no longer thinking about the 30cm electric skillet - that arrived about a week ago along with a proper el-cheapo electric kettle I no longer need the jug and funnel to get the 1.7L of water into.

Yes, alright, the truth is, one - I really truly madly desperately needed that 30cm electric skillet. And er, well, two - I found JUST what I was looking for whilst browsing eBayUK for vintage latch hook rug making supplies. Buying kettle and skillet together from the same seller (on one of those 'Buy Now!' product pages) meant free post and nearly £5 saved on what I would have had to pay on AmazonUK (erm, well, yes, another favourite shopping-online site). It was a no-brainer, really it was, to buy those two kitchen essentials. So, I did.

Currently the electric skillet is being hidden in my sewing room under a pile of craft supplies my husband knows better than to even look at (my father didn't raise a total idiot no matter how much he thought he might have). Not sure when I'll casually introduce it to use, perhaps once I really get my horribly small kitchen reorganised (no, really, this is set to happen in this week, actually). The kettle is hiding next to the coffee pot my husband finally admitted he has to stop using (owing to something in coffee, caf or decaf, making his other conditions less manageable) - I'll bring it out for use sometime over the next week or so.

Oddly enough, I had recently replaced the hand mixer he lost during one of his Asperger's induced reorganising frenzies. Last night (here's the oddly part) I dreamt I woke up to hear him using the replaced hand mixer. He uses (frequently) the 42cm electric skillet to make his one and only speciality - beef or chicken curry, and uses the electric can opener now exclusively. I have a display shelf in the kitchen for 'kitchenalia' (ancient scales, equally ancient non-electric post-war hand mixer with genuine Bakelite grip, etc) and he suggested a few days ago his much loved non-electric hand can opener may be put on display there.

As for his Asperger's induced cleaning frenzies, after the last one (the kitchen one) he now fully understands he MUST control/restrain his frenzies to HIS and ONLY HIS areas - MINE ARE PERMANENTLY NO-GO ZONES!!! I pitched such a fit (lasting three days, and frankly still festering), and made such a threat ('God dammit, I will DIVORCE you if you do not stop throwing out things I need to run this household!') he actually asked permission for months after to even go in the kitchen.

Of course I felt horribly guilty about 'terrorising' the poor man. Until he decided my sewing-crafts supplies cupboard in the former airing cupboard would be better off in the bl--dy loft I can't get to owing to my dodgy knees and shoulder...I went to retrieve some cushion filling to plump the sofa  throw cushions just before autumn 2017 and found he'd moved the very things I told him NOT TO EVEN LOOK AT MUCH LESS MOVE SOMEWHERE I CAN'T GET TO! Grrrr, that sore point is still festering - those cushions desperately need plumping but I STILL can't get him to be bothered to climb into the loft and bring those ginormous bags (lifetime supply, really, and wowsa did I get those two bags on a tremendous Amazon offer!) back down where I can use them.

These frenzies are much loved, btw, by the skip workers and the local charity shops, and they wait with baited breath for his next one. When they see me out and about they brazenly dare to ask when he'll be doing his next 'clearing out'. Heh.

During one of his earliest frenzies he sent several boxes of stunning vintage Christmas baubles, vintage linens, and most of my off-season bl--dy clothing, ffs, to the charity shops. In another he sent a Hamilton Beech stand mixer (fully complete, perfect working order, and will cost close to £300 to replace, dammit) and blender to the skip. TO THE SKIP, WTF was he thinking?! I found out later those appliances were 'gratefully received and rehomed' by the local homeless charity - the skip workers know my husband and know if I am not in the motor when he arrives with something to deposit they should check his items for re-usability. Dammit.

Generally we bumble along nicely, and so nicely at that I do forget sometimes his Asperger's, and lose patience. But not often. Generally he's like most men of his generation, and it's best to use time-honoured 'workarounds' like putting a new garment/kitchen gadget/insert item type here at the back of the cupboard so when it is discovered the hider can honestly say to the finder-discoverer 'But really, we've had that for yonks, don't you remember?!'.

I've been encouraged by other Aspie wives/partners to write a book advising how to make living with an Aspie less, erm, frustrating. But I'm busy at the moment - I've recently rediscovered latch hook rug making and am writing a pamphlet on that topic.

I'll spare you, gentle reader, my over-enthusiasm that can set me off for pages and pages and pages on the wonders and Zen of latch hook rug making, and simply state a properly hooked and cared for rug lasts several generations but there exist no dedicated short book (really not enough about it to make it past 100 or so pages at most) making this craft accessible to the would-be rugger. So, I'm doing it.

A friend in America went looking for a new craft, saw a latch hook rug kit and bought it. This led her to searching eBay and Etsy for latch hook things, and those searches led her to vintage, and before she knew it she'd won a job lot with several vintage unworked painted canvas'. When she admitted her new obsession, and was delighted to hear I'd tried it over 30 years ago and had only given it up owing to cost, SHE SENT ME ONE OF THE VINTAGE CANVAS'! (a floral one, not her cuppa, she insists).

And so I had to find a way to afford the yarn to complete the thing, and a latch hook tool, and of course this led ME to vintage and WOW, have I become obsessed with latch hook rug making! I haunt eBayUK where job lots of vintage latch hook supplies yield the most amazing treasures - one of my first wins included what has turned out to be an 82 year old un-worked blank canvas and Art Deco chart! I'll be starting that tomorrow now I've managed to get the canvas to a clean condition for working (the rinse water ran brown until after 12 hand-wash woollens cycles). The canvas and chart were sold as a companion set to a larger area rug kit and how that set managed to stay together unbagged for 82 years is as much a puzzlement to me as my wonderings regarding why the original owner didn't make it. The set dates to 1936 - was it a gift not to her taste but unable to 'gifted-on' owing the identity of the giver? Did she mean to work it 'eventually' but WWII and rationing got in the way and eventually the set worked its way to the very back of her rug making priority queue once rug yarn was no longer rationed (sometime in the late 40s - early 50s)? Things to ponder as I work this canvas and chart - an acorn and oak leaf motif.

Posted please find the vintage floral canvas (completed but yet unbound), and an in-progress snap of another vintage piece I found on eBay (I'm calling that one a William Morris-Macintosh Rennie sort of thing) now finished and being bound for use not as a cushion front as the manufacturer intended, but as a small rug to be used by us as a shower room mat.

Oh dear. I think I may have created a bit of a monster. My husband has gone from moaning about my love of kitchen gadgets to a nearly full-on love of kitchen gadgets (see below for the story of how he went from hater to lover). So much so he's brought home gadgets he finds on his infrequent forays 'down the shops' - the electric kettle I had to buy a jug and funnel to fill as the handle is smack in the middle of the filler opening; the TWO pressure cookers I will likely never use and have no idea who I can palm these space wasters off to, the...

Bit of backstory for new readers (or the forgetful ones:) - we're both 'older' and married in our mid-fifties. I brought two adult children and several grandchildren to the marriage, and he brought life-long bachelor habits. His house (I moved country from the USA to the UK) was a right mess, I'll spare you the frankly horrific details by simply saying it took two years to really sort the fish camp feel of the place to one closer to a home feel.

Setting up a new home (or bringing a current one to an appropriate standard) is not easy with a man who lived on his own for over 30 years thinking himself perfectly content but in reality was nutritionally and emotionally deficient from living in what can only be described as a fish camp (search it if you don't know what a fish camp is, or take my word for it a fish camp is no fit place for any long-term habitation). His constant refrain for the first several years when out and about browsing shops was 'We don't need that!'. But, well, yes, we did.

Btw, the refrain was used and heard no matter which bank account was dipped into, mine or his or the housekeeping one. Honestly, I do love the man, but he did make that love difficult when he moaned as much about purchases I made for our home from my own money as he did regarding purchases made from the joint one.

Over the years we came to an agreement - for our anniversary gifts we would buy things for the house - an agreement cemented by the purchase of a heavy duty non-stick fry pan in our first year. Being me, this agreement quickly morphed to him letting me choose Christmas and birthday gifts in the same fashion - I've always been that rare and bizarre oddity, the surprise gift of bulk kitchen or bathroom roll is of far more interest to me than flowers or the supermarket small plant that promptly dies within a week.

But BLIMEY did the man moan when I'd say - '(insert upcoming day whereon one traditionally receives gifts) is coming and this year I'd like (insert hoped for/much needed item or gadget).' Oh ffs, the moaning could be heard three streets over! 'You'll never use it' was frequently heard. He complained about the new paring and other kitchen knives, he complained new crockery, and the full set of cutlery (I'm sorry, but two spoons, two forks, and two butter knives is not 'enough' cutlery!), he bitterly complained about the set of casserole dishes, about the bed sheets; he complained about the bath towels, he complained about...well, he complained about everything I proposed adding to our household goods (that is until he used the items and discovered how nice it is to have these basic essentials - but still moaned when I'd buy something...). It got to the point I would just buy something and put it at the back of the pantry or linens cupboard. And when he'd finally see me using it (mini-food processor, hand mixer, decent toaster, baking tray, bedding...), would ask where that came from and I could honestly say 'We've had this for yonks, don't you remember?!' which of course would lower the moaning volume. Slightly.

He's STILL moaning about the slow cooker, btw.

But. January 2017 I forced him to 'give' me a ginormous electric skillet. 'You'll never use it' was repeated so often during the two weeks of constant discussion (seriously, two full weeks of discussion regarding the under £20 purchase of an electric fry pan, ffs!) I heard it in my sleep.

But buy it I did - a 42cm one with a glass lid and as soon as it arrived it went straight to work both on a properly cooked huge batch of Southern Fried Chicken (and later, curries, and paella, and full Scottish breakfasts, and...) - he simply couldn't believe, he says often, I didn't buy one of those things sooner.

He then did a serious month of observation in the kitchen (grrrrrr!) and suddenly realised just how fab it is to make one's own apple-sauce (with the mini-food processor, quick, cheap, and SO easy!), and how delicious the little biscuits are from the hand-gun cookie press, and wowsa how great is it we have a tarts-mince pie tin (did he really think all these years I was buying those things?! Well, yes, he did, apparently!), and the mini-rolls and banana loaves, and...and he finally admitted that electric can opener (my first 'unauthorised' kitchen gadget purchase he disdained until his ancient hand opener failed to successfully cope with those icky Fray Bentos pies he likes so well as they remind him of his uni days) is actually one of the best kitchen gadgets EVER since the electric toaster.

By this past Christmas run-up he had become so enthralled by kitchen gadgets now he badgered ME to 'choose' a 12L halogen oven for my gift.

Heh.

I really wanted/needed a 30cm electric skillet for smaller meals - I absolutely love the 42cm one for big meals but NEED the 30cm one for smaller meals.

Every time I'd try to steer him towards my real choice he'd steer me right back to the halogen oven. Nothing could sway him, not even my usually effective 'The accessories will really bump the cost up and you HAVE to have to the accessories to use the thing!'.

It was ordered (as were the required but after-market accessories including cooking books - seriously, why do these things not come as a bundle with everything needed to dive right in, I really-really-really want an answer to this!). It was duly unboxed and washed and prepped and I studied those (five in all, bl--dy hell!) cooking books as though revising for a medical degree or something.

And a storage spot in my 'real estate challenged' kitchen was finally discovered for it. Luckily, that storage spot is conveniently placed behind the free-standing radiator and I don't have to see/think about that kitchen real estate gobbling useless piece of...I still haven't 'tried' it out and have no intention of ever doing so. I'll keep it (along with the TWO pressure cookers I'll also never use that haven't even been unboxed because really, pressure cookers are overrated in my opinion - dangerous, and pointless, as, after learning about them, I know a pressure cooker just is not a kitchen gadget I'll ever want or need to use).

So. A few days ago he came home from picking up a few things from the local ironmonger. As he was unpacking his bags of caulk guns and tubes, etc, he 'casually' dropped in the news the ironmonger has expanded his offerings and has a British made rice cooker-steamer gadget on offer.

I'm of two minds on this. At first I think, yes, I've long thought a rice cooker might be a good idea. On second I think, after seven years in the UK I've finally managed to make an acceptable rice portion in the microwave - is he now trying to tell me my rice is too sticky? Erm, which it is, and I do miss fluffy rice...