Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

Oh I only ever made one proposal to my Lovely Cousin, and 'twas of a, "will you marry me" nature. I knew better than to make any other type of proposal.

At the age of fourteen she told me that no man would ever see her naked until her wedding night. At the time I thought it was a general off the cuff comment, but now I know it was a set up, a test and a legally binding contract aimed specifically at me.

She asked me out three years later. The "contract" was never ever mentioned, but I never forgot it.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

I would say it is a minimum of two years, and probably more in many cases. I'm probably as mature now as I was when I was twelve.
I still believe that farts are funny.

Personally I think any contract should be void if one or both parties are incapable of making an informed decision at the time.

I think the 14 day cooling off period should be applied where any such contract is concerned.


I have always been close to my Uncle, and had celebrated his wedding anniversary to his second wife, along with my two new cousins, for several years.

When he remarried, the younger girl was eleven and I was twenty one. It was a full year before I realised that for some inexplicable reason, she had a schoolgirl crush on me.
When she was seventeen, she asked me if I wanted to "go serious" with her, and to the surprise of absolutely nobody on either side of our family, we started dating.

I planned to propose to her when she was eighteen, on the anniversary of the day we first met. She hadn't a clue, until her mother told her what she thought I was intending to do.

Instead of going out with the rest of the family, I persuaded my Lovely Cousin to go for a meal at a local pub. I had intended to get down on one knee in the pub restaurant afterwards, but sometime between the main course and the pudding, she started giggling. I asked her what was going on and she said, "Mum thought you were going to propose tonight."
Well my jaw dropped, and she realised at that moment that I had indeed intended to ask her to marry me, but instead I made her and her Mum wait another fortnight.

Bear in mind that some weeks before this, she had asked me if I was going to propose to her at some point. I reminded her that she said she had wanted a long courtship, and that was exactly what I had been doing.
"Oh," she said, "I meant a long engagement."

"Okay," I thought, "I had better get on and propose so we can start this long engagement then." She should not have been surprised by, and indeed should have expected, a proposal in short order.

After the meal I took her to the pub where her parents and sister were celebrating my Uncle and Aunt's wedding anniversary. Her Mum was all bright eyed and expecting news of our engagement, but was sorely disappointed when it never came.

I believe afterwards, my Uncle gave my Aunt a right telling off for "opening her gert wicket".

A fortnight later I caught my Lovely Cousin completely off guard one Friday night whilst saying goodnight to her on her doorstep. I didn't get down on one knee as I had originally planned to do because I was outside on her driveway and she was inside, two steps up. Had I taken the knee, I would have ended up proposing to her thigh instead of to her face.

We married a year to the day later when she was still a teenager and I was nearly thirty.

That was over thirty seven years ago, and we have yet to have our first argument. She is still far more mature than I will ever be.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

Thats a sweet story Fruity....I love a happy ending

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

A great read Fruity, may the pair of you have many more happy years together.
Love the bit “I think the 14 day cooling off period should be applied where any such contract is concerned”, great idea, gives one plenty of time to sober up.


Weddings.

My own wedding was more a family affair because my Mother and her Mother were lifelong friends, everyone knew everyone else there, 50 guests @ 17/6 a head and three children free, a couple of bottles of whiskey thrown in, and all for just 50 quid!, I still have the bill somewhere.

I’m not very fond of attending weddings, and as always this is just my take on it.

A gathering of two strange families who are suspicious of each other, usually because they have never been socially together before, so they act over politely and falsely to create a good impression on each other, yet when they are with their own family at the reception they will combine tit bits of information about the ‘other side’ all so bloody false, give me a good wake any day where folks are just there as a mark of respect to the corpse and to drink a safe journey to wherever he/she goes after they die.

Then you have that stupid expression “Giving away the bride” It makes me think of giving an old overcoat to a beggar, or handing out free loaves on a bread line, an insult to the bride in my opinion.
Why for Gods sake don’t they change it to something more pleasant like “Handing her over to her husband” much nicer.

Also when the father of the bride is unavailable an uncle or a brother is selected for the job.

I remember a woman talking to Phyllis and me in a pub in Wexford, weddings was the subject, I wasn’t listening so I missed most of what they were saying, it seems her father was in prison when she got married and her uncle had the job of giving her away, the woman must have thought I was paying attention to her every word, but I wasn’t interested in the least.

I’m good at pretending to be listening but be miles away at the same time.

Anyway she tips me on the shoulder and says

“What do you think of that then?” I was lost
“What do I think of what missus?” she raises her voice as if she was talking to a bothered person.
“My father couldn’t give me away!!”
“With a mouth like that I shouldn’t wonder missus”

She was not amused and Phyllis gave me one of her “I’ll get you later” looks.

Thankfully my two kids are well and truly hooked up, and any relations that get married now Phyllis goes and my daughter usually stands in for me, I am at home suffering from the old gout again, well that’s what they are told, but then again I’d sooner have a bout of gout than have to go to a boring wedding.

He’s an oldie from around the year I was married, 1965, the lovely Connie Francis.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

Watched the 1947 film “Uncle Silas” last night, enjoyed it, reminded me of an Uncle I once had.

I had a real life “Wicked Uncle” who never smiled, was always complaining about everything, tight fisted, never had a kind word to say about anybody, and he hated children.

Sometimes on Saturday nights he would come home from the pub with a few mates and their girl friends, a lot of that went on in working class areas back in the 1950’s, Hooleys they were called, and after having a fish and chip supper in the granny’s kitchen they would all retire to the big parlour with the high ceiling and the big oval oak table in the centre and a stand up piano beside the huge fireplace where the men would drink beer and the women sherry or gin then start a sing song.

The older brother and me were let stay up late and we’d sit over on the window ledge playing our own game of laughing at the faces the singers put on while singing, and what a collection of ugly faces there were to chose from, great fun.

Every now and then the Uncle would give us the evil eye to keep quiet, if he had his way we would be in bed but the granny liked having us there, she was the complete opposite to her son.

Anyway when it came the Uncles turn to sing his party piece was “I wonder” that old song that was made a hit by Dickie Valentine in 1955, he would put on a posh accent and when he came to the part that goes “How little children learn to walk and one day walk away” he would stare at us two kids and sing “How lethal children learn to walk…” we were not so young as didn’t know what lethal meant and it always made me feel uneasy when I saw the look in his dark eyes.

I love children because I can put myself into their shoes and relate to what’s in their little heads, how anyone can be cruel to children is beyond me, children can sense cruelty in adults and they never forget it, here’s me proving it 65 years on.

Some years later around 1960 he married but they didn’t have children, perhaps just as well, he eventually built up his own construction company and became a wealthy man, his wife died aged 45, twenty five years before he did and when he kicked it he left all his money to the church having fallen out with every other member of his family over the years, including his older brother, my father.

He was a religious man, it was sort of a toss up between leaving it to the Dogs Home or the church, the church won, my guess is as far as he was concerned he thought his chances of getting into heaven would be better if he choose the church, apples into an orchard.
The poor creature, he remained a very bitter man right up to the end of his life, if there’s any justice in the afterlife he’ll never be needing an overcoat where he went.


Very sad scenes in Washington tonight, I hope it all ends peacefully.

Trump has a lot to answer for, I’d advise him to hang on to HIS overcoat, he’ll definitely need it where he’s going, and I don't mean Scotland.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

I've never seen the film, Uncle Silas. My family were agog, aghast, and agape when I told them I had never seen Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, so we all sat down and watched it during the Twelve Days of Winter Solstice.
I enjoyed it.

There are only a few black and white films I will re-watch, one of them being The Brave Don't Cry.
It's about a mine disaster in Scotland and an amazing rescue that saved the lives of many men.
It was actually filmed in a studio, but was very realistic, and because most of the film was set underground, being in black and white added to the atmosphere.

When my brother and I were kids, my Uncle used to take us to the cinema. I've seen some of those films in later life and the shine has gone off them, but I can still understand why my ten year old self thought they were rip-roaring yarns.

I had a happy childhood, although I don't remember either of my Granddads. They both died before I was two.
I loved visiting both of my Grandmothers, especially my Granny's smallholding where she kept chooks. Surrounded by fields on one side and woods on the other, I would go exploring on my own for hours.

I too can't understand people who are cruel to children, although I can understand why some people don't want to have them. My lovely cousin (my Lovely Cousin's sister) never wanted children, but she has been a fantastic Aunt to both our kids.

I nearly lost my Lovely and our first son due to medical complications, and we were advised not to have any more kids.
We had discussed adoption when we were a-courting in case we couldn't have any kids, so we started making enquires and eventually decided to go with a Council adoption "agency".

We had to endure a training and selection process, being given real (but anonymous) cases to study and discuss. Some of the stuff was harrowing and upsetting. How could anyone do those sorts of things to a child?

Eventually we were approved as adoptive parents, then came the "pairing" process where we would be assessed to see if we would be suitable for a particular child's needs.
A panel would look at two or three couples on a shortlist to see who was the most suitable. Being one of the unlucky couples was hard.

The first time round we were so badly treated that we almost gave up, but eventually decided to have another go.

We were then paired with a three-year old boy and this time we were successful. We fostered him for a year before eventually adopting him.
It took two years and eleven months from the day we made the first enquiry to the day the judge signed the adoption order, and suffered an absolute roller-coaster of emotions during that time

He had been a ward of court and when he came to live with us we weren't given any medical information, so we had no idea whether or not he had been given any childhood immunisation.
Our GP surgery had his notes and we were allowed to read them and copy them, including the reports from two Emergency Department consultants when he had been brought to a hospital, first when he was six days old, and then when he was six months old.

We knew he had been physically abused, but had no idea to what extent. I won't repeat any of it here, but the only word I can use to describe not only his injuries, but how they came about is, horrific.

A six day old baby. A six month old baby. The perpetrator was given a jail sentence, suspended I believe due to diminished mental capacity.
When the judge signed the adoption order he said that our son must never have any contact with this person.
Social Services thought otherwise, but we knew legally they could do nothing about it.
We eventually set up contact using something called a letter box system with the lad's grandparents who were torn apart by him being taken away.
The first letter we got back brought tears to my eyes. You could feel the gratitude and the thanks between the words. They hadn't seen their grandson since he was six months old. None of what happened was their fault, which is why we eventually made physical contact, and they became part of our family until they both passed away.



Like you, I cannot understand how anyone can be cruel to an innocent child.


As for Trumpington, I wonder if he has Alzheimer's disease, or is mentally ill. He is acting like a combination between a spoiled brat and a dictator.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

A truly great post Fruity, parts of it had me eyes all welling up, and I’m not usually like that, many thanks.

Yeah, looks like old Humpty Trumpy will be wearing that same old hearsemans overcoat of his in freezing Moscow with his mate Putin, no one else will have him, ah to hell with politicians, once they get the power it’s almost impossible to take it off them, but that man is in me face every day now.


Last night in bed I dreamt of a painting that was selling at Sotheby’s for 15 million quid, it was called “The Winking Nun”, it was a crystal clear image to me, but hard as I tried I could not see the painters name. A very realistic dream, I checked it out this morning but no such parting exists.

It featured the head of a very pretty Dominican Nun from the shoulders up, she was looking very serious but there was a mischievous wink in her right eye, it was done very cleverly and very pleasing to look at, had I got a spare 15 million I would have snapped it up myself, but I’m down to my last 50 million after fixing up with the taxman, so I have to be very careful, they even confiscated my yacht, I had it moored in de bay now it’s on de Ebay.

Then at lunchtime today my son phoned me, the strange thing is he was telling me that he’s working on a painting for the hallway of his own home, it’s called the death of Matt Talbot, a fairly modern day saint to be (He collapsed and died outside my maternal grandmothers tenement house in 1927) and wanted some more information about the man from me. I told him all I knew based on what my mother had told me, she was a child at the time and come down with her mother to give the man a glass of water, I also sent him two old photo’s I had.

Strange connection there, two paintings with a religious theme, the son tells me there is only one painting done of this man and it’s a very poor effort, the son is a good painter, even if I say so meself.

Some of these dreams can be quite puzzling, I’m not very religious meself but I always like too think that those who have passed on are always hanging around, floating about the earth like invisible clouds, seeing everything and trying desperately to pass on information to the living, but then we all have our own theories/beliefs.

Talking about nuns, who remembers this, it was a big hit in 1963, then made into a film starring Debbie Reynolds.
This is a clip from the film. If you’re interested Youtube also have,

SNAPS from “Jaws”
STILLS from “Whisky Galore”
CLIPS from “Hair” and
SHORTS from “Fancy Pants” !950 With Bob Hope.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

Since I was put on heart medication a few years ago, I have been getting some very weird and vivid dreams. The thing is, I know I've had them, but can't normally remember them later on. Apparently this is quite normal.

It's something to do with "things" in the short term memory part of the brain not transferring to the long term memory part.
This is why many people don't normally remember serious accidents such as a car crash because the transfer process has been interrupted.

I saw a TV prog that suggested writing cannot be read in a dream. If that's true it may explain why you couldn't make out the painter's signature.

I can paint a wall or a ceiling, but I cannot paint a picture to save my Wife.
I love reading. I love books. One of the reasons for this is that the pictures in my mind are often better than the images on a durable medium or the gogglebox.

As for your Winking Nun, perhaps you could commission your son to paint it, and share the millions you will make from it at auction.


I've never seen the Singing Nun film, but I remember listening to the original song on the radio in the 60s when I was a kid.
I never understood what it meant as it was sung in French I think, but it was a jolly tune.

There are stories that the nun was a lesbian and committed suicide, but that could have been fake news to discredit her.

Speaking of fake news, I see Trumpton has been permanently banned from Twitter, having already been banned by Facebook until his *cough* "presidency" ends.

There's now talk of putting him on the naughty step again. He has made America and Americans a laughing stock all over the world.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

Didn’t know you were on heart medication Fruity, hope it’s working out alright for you and not hindering you, I know you are creative and love making things.

I can’t paint either, I bought all the gear a few years back and tried it but it was hopeless, still have it in the shed and I must give it to the son, I think he eats the paints.

Dreams, fascinating subject that we know so little about, actually we know little about the whole brain as far as I can see.

There was an old lady in my local, she’s dead now rest her soul, but she was an expert on explaining about dreams, I had many entertaining conversations with her over the years, but she was very good at it, if you had a weird type of dream and you told her about it she would tell you what it meant, or at least give you some idea of it, and she was nearly always right, i could give you many personal examples but it would take up several pages.

Just one such example was when I told her I dreamed I was at a wedding and there were about ten friends at our table, when it came my turn to get a round of drinks in I put me hand inside me jacket pocket to take out my wallet it wasn’t there!
The embarrassment was so real in the dream, not the old “left my wallet at home trick”, I could see all the faces staring at me and feel the waiter tipping me on the shoulder “That’ll be 33 pounds and 60 pence please sir” (Back before we went euro, and a fortune then).
Something made me look down under the table and there was my wallet, when I opened it there were two fifty pound notes inside!, I only had 40 guid in it before that. Well I needn’t tell yeh I was relieved.

When I finished telling her she said “Losing money in a dream is a sign of winning money, you’ll have some good luck soon Jem”

She was bang on, three weeks later I won the Paddy Power (bookie) tipster completion outright purely by luck and not by skill, I had selected a horse that won at 33/1, the first prize was 10,000 quid and a day out at Leopardstown racecourse for two with dinner and drinks thrown in.
And as they say, that is no Chicken and Cow story.

So writing can’t be read in dreams, well it’s true in my dreams, I can never make it out, it’s also true that you can never see your own face in a dream.
I miss that dear old lady friend of mine, you could talk to her all day long about any subject.

Re: Leisurely Scribbles (part 5)

My heart meds do have side affects that slow me down, but they are keeping me alive, along with the pacemaker in my chest.
There are many things I can either no longer do, or are not allowed to do, but it is better than the alternative.

I sometimes remember the odd waking dream for a few hours, and on the odd occasion I have been able to interpret them myself.

In most cases it was quite simple. I can't remember any specific one but for the sake of argifying, let's say it was a dream about a horse having a ride on Concorde.

Once awake enough to put a razor sharp razor against my throat I might then remember talking to one of my colleagues about Concorde who had once worked on it. Then I would remember a cowboy film I had watched the evening before where a horse and rider were transported on a train.


I remember a true story from decades ago that was turned into a film about an housewife in the 1950s who regressed to an alleged former life under hypnosis.
She told tales of a life as a child in Ireland that she could not possibly have known. I can't remember the actual details but it was something like the name of the village where this Irish woman lived, the name of the schoolmaster and priest, name, names of nearby hills etcetera.

In the end it was assumed that the woman had memories of a former life lived by someone in the 1800s.

Years later however it was discovered that the housewife had once lived next door to an old woman who had grown up in Ireland, and used to tell tales of her life as a child.

The housewife couldn't remember anything about her very early childhood, but under hypnosis she was remembering things she had been told about an old Irish lady's childhood.