The Prettiest Fish and Chip Shop Ever... (plus Usk Castle and Giant Hogweed)

Adorned with gorgeous and colourful hanging baskets and planters, this fish and chip shop in Usk, Monmouthshire, South Wales is without doubt the prettiest I've ever seen.  Not only that, the food is apparently excellent, whether you take out or eat in.  OH and I have yet to taste its delights, but with fish like red mullet on the menu, it won't be long before we do!

Usk is a very attractive market town, but we visited last week because we discovered that privately-owned Usk castle is now open to the public.  It was a(nother) wet day in Wales, but we managed to have a good old explore (accompanied by the owners' friendly dogs for part of the way!) and to take some photos before rain set in with a vengeance.

The Great Keep, originally the Gate House, built c.1170.  (See one of the owners' aforementioned dogs bottom right.)

The Great Keep again, with OH grinning maniacally down at me.
Or perhaps laughing hysterically at my hair, which in damp conditions swells to enormous proportions and resembles a windswept haystack crossed with a well-used Brillo-pad.  Why on earth did I move to the wettest place in mainland UK...?  And before you ask - no, I'm not posting a pic!

 The Garrison Tower, built c.1209.

The Garrison Tower again, with Giant Hogweed and OH (still laughing at my hair, no doubt!). 

The plants have been fenced off, and for good reason.  The notice attached to the fence states Giant Hogweed contains toxic sap that causes severe burns and blistering which may last many months.  Even when the burns have died down, skin can apparently remain sensitive to light for years.  The notice goes on to advise that affected skin should be thoroughly rinsed with cold water, and sunscreen of at least factor 35 applied.  All this was news to me and sounds horrendous, so I'll be avoiding Giant Hogweed like the proverbial plague!

Chickens in the Town Gaol.  I wonder what he(i)n-ous crimes they committed...?!

The Gatehouse (photographed from inside the Outer Ward).  

Out of the picture to the left is a large marquee, used for weddings and other functions.  I imagine it's a very popular venue, as the view across the valley (out of the picture and to the right) is fantastic.  I couldn't get a decent shot, sadly, due to worsening rain, so you'll have to take my word for it. :)

So, despite the weather and my nightmare hair, we had a great time.  Even if you're not into history, Usk Castle is well worth a visit.  The views, as I've mention above, are spectacular, and the castle grounds, which have long been part of the prestigious National Gardens Scheme, are a gardener's delight.  Next time we go (in sunshine!) it's the plants I'll be photographing, so watch this space. :)

What NOT to wear on holiday!

There's not a lot I need to say about these hilarious examples of men and women's beachwear - the photos do the talking!

If you're travelling abroad on holiday this year, I'm sure whatever you choose to wear will be a zillion times more tasteful, lol!
And don't forget to dress up your passports too.  I'm offering several handmade passport covers in a variety of fabrics, including these:

 Fabric passport cover in zingy tropical shades.

 'Willow Pattern' passport cover for travellers to the Far East.

'Pink Flower' passport holder.

If you don't see exactly what you're looking for, do contact me as I welcome custom orders (though not, I hasten to add, for beachwear!).

Snoozy poozy finds new bed...!

There's no hope for my pussycat. I went downstairs last night to make a cup of tea, went back up to continue working on my blog, and there she was, fast asleep on my laptop's keyboard.  The wrist pad she normally stretches out on (while I'm trying to work!) is apparently no longer comfy enough.

But why am I surprised.  The gorgeous cat basket I spent days knitting and felting with much love was made redundant long ago!

Seven things you never knew about me...!

And, after reading one thing in particular, you'll wish you still didn't, lol!  Seriously, the reason I've bared all is because I'm immensely chuffed to have received The Versatile Blogger award from the lovely Stef at Jaysmonkey.  (Thank you again, Stef!) To accept it, all I have to do is follow a few simple rules, including the mention of seven random facts about me, so here they are!

1. Cutting my nails makes me feel physically sick.

2. I was Miss Scot Meats 1971.

3. My first date with a showman/escapologist involved watching while he was lowered into a lake - in a coffin wrapped in chains.

4. I've almost drowned twice - once when learning to swim in the local river aged 13, and then in a canoeing accident aged 16. 
5. Part of my second date with the showman/escapologist was spent scantily-clad and strapped to a revolving wooden wheel while he hurled knives at me.

6. OH and I were at school together - and met again 33 years later, through Friends Reunited.

7. Drunken sex once involved a visit to A&E the next day - for the (highly embarrassing) removal of an out-of-reach tampon. 

Moving swiftly on from the gruesome image conjured up by No. 7 (!), another rule is that I must list the rules (so those I pass this award to know what to do):

1. Add the award to your blog.  
2. Thank the blogger who gave it to you.  
3. Mention 7 random things about yourself.
4. List the rules.   

5. Award to 15 bloggers. 
6. Inform each of those 15 by leaving a comment on their blog. 

The fifteen fab blogs I've chosen to receive this award are (in random order):

Cute n Cool blog stuff

Baban Cat

Three Bed Semi

Diomo Glass

Knitting My Own Yoghurt

Athriftymrs

Crafty Mushroom

Tales from Mount Pleasant

Cherry Tree

Middle of Nowhere

Lynwoodcrafts

Ramblings from my Rusty Mind

The Geology Shop

Wellydog

NOfkants Crafts and Curios

Please do check them out – they’re well worth a look!

Is Sex Really Better Than Chocolate...? (Friday Fiction)

I wrote the original version of this humorous short story quite a few years ago, and was lucky enough to have it accepted for publication.  Having resurrected and rewritten it this week, I thought I'd post it here and (hopefully!) give you a good laugh.  Enjoy!

BETTER THAN CHOCOLATE

“Yes yes yes!” Sheila punched the air, then kissed the letter repeatedly. Unable to keep the good news to herself a second longer, she snatched up the phone and rang Graham.
   “Sorry,” said his secretary, “your husband’s in an all day meeting. I’ve got instructions not to disturb him unless it’s an emergency.”
   Damn! thought Sheila. She tried her sister’s number, but there was no reply.
   “Blast!” Sheila put down the phone. Who else could she try? Not her daughter – she was sunning herself in Spain. And her friends were in jobs where private calls were frowned on. But she had to tell someone before she exploded. There was always her aunt, but…
   What the heck, Sheila decided. Aunt Hester would be proud of her. And the chances of her ever reading it were zero. She picked up the phone again.
   “Hi Hester, it’s Sheila. How are you?”
   There was a gasp, a brief pause, then a whisper in her ear. “Shirley? Is that really you? What’s it like there, dear? Is it really like the vicar says?”
   Sheila was speechless for a second. Hester, hard of hearing, normally shouted down the phone. And who on earth was Shirley? Then she remembered. Shirley had lived in the sheltered flat next to Hester’s, until she’d passed away last month at the ripe old age of a hundred and two.
   “It’s Sheila, your niece!” she yelled.
   “Sheila!” Hester’s voice flooded with relief. “Why didn’t you say so?” she shouted. “You frightened me half to death.”
   “Turn up your hearing-aid, Hester. I’ve brilliant news – I’m almost a published writer.”
   “Hold on a minute, Sheila – hearing-aid’s playing up again. For a minute there I thought you said you were a published writer, hahaha!”
   Sheila ignored Hester’s guffaws. “A women’s magazine’s publishing one of my stories next month.”
   “Oh…! Oh, how lovely. Which one? Your Woman? Woman’s Monthly?”
   “Er, not exactly... It’s Women’s Whims.”
   “Women’s what…? Hold on, I’ll fetch my pencil.”
   “No, no, don’t worry, it’s not your kind of thing.”
   But Hester had gone. Sheila chewed her nails while she waited, beginning to wish she’d curbed her excitement. This wasn’t turning out to be such a good idea.
   The handset clattered at the other end and Hester was back. “Tell me again, Sheila. Women’s what?”
   “Um, it’s really not your cup of tea. I just wanted to share the news with you.”
   “Don’t be silly. You know I read anything.”
   “Yes, but... it’s a little bit... naughty.”
   Hester roared with laughter. “Sheila, I’m a spinster, not a nun!”
   “Yes, but...”
   “Sheila, I’m proud of you and I want to read it. Now stop stalling, and give me that name again.”
   Sheila gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. Her aunt’s memory was almost as bad as her hearing. She’d have forgotten all about it in a day or two. “Women’s Whims,” she said resignedly. “W-H-I-M-S.”
* 
A complimentary copy of the magazine arrived a month later. Sheila tore off the wrapping and flicked through it in a frenzy of excitement. There it was, on pages nineteen and twenty, complete with photos. Before she could begin to read, the phone rang.
   “I’m at the hospital,” said a familiar voice. “I want you here right now.”
   “Hester? Are you all right?”
   “Now, Sheila!” Her aunt slammed down the phone.
   Panic-stricken, Sheila grabbed her jacket and purse, and dashed down to the bus-stop, praying it was nothing serious. Hester had never been in hospital. What if it was life-threatening…? Since Sheila’s parents had passed away, Hester had been like a mother to her.
   The bus arrived belching diesel fumes. Sheila paid the driver and, once in her seat, took a few deep breaths and began to calm down. Hester had sounded as loud and as well as ever on the phone. If she was seriously ill the warden in her sheltered housing complex would have called, surely.
   The bus dropped her outside the hospital and she hurried inside. There was a shop selling cards, flowers and gifts just off reception. The flowers looked as if they’d been caught in last night’s frost, so she picked up a box of chocolates instead. Dark chocolates with soft centres, Hester’s favourites.
   She gave the receptionist her aunt’s name. The woman ran a finger down her computer screen and shook her head. “No-one here with that name, I’m afraid. I’ll just scroll down again to make sure.”
   From the corner of her eye, Sheila saw a white-haired figure plodding through a set of double doors. “Hester!” She rushed towards her and threw her arms around her, almost dropping the chocolates. But she might as well have hugged a block of wood. A shiver ran through her. She stepped back quickly and looked into her aunt’s watery eyes. “What’s wrong? Are they keeping you in?”
   Hester pushed her aside and turned up her hearing-aid. Her face creased in grief. “Mabel’s dead! And it’s all your fault!”
   “Mabel? Who on earth’s Mabel? I don’t know any Mabel.” Bewilderment always made Sheila gabble.
   Hester was crying now. “You’ve killed her, Sheila!”
   The double doors swung open again, and a young nurse hurried towards them. “There you are, Miss Gillgrass.” She smiled at Hester and took her hand. “We wondered where you’d gone in such a hurry. Don’t you want to see your friend?”
   “No.” Hester wiped her eyes with a crumpled tissue. “I just want to go home and remember her as she was.”
   The nurse looked at Sheila with questioning eyes, then, seeing she’d find no answer there, turned back to Hester. “But she wants to see you. We’ve arranged an ambulance to take you both home, once Mabel’s feeling up to it.”
   Hester stared. “You mean... she’s not dead?”
   The nurse laughed and patted her hand. “Of course not, silly. She passed out, that’s all. She has a pacemaker so the paramedics were right to bring her in. But we’ve checked her heart and it’s fine.”
   “But the doctor said... he said he couldn’t save her...”
   “I think you must have misheard. He said he’d given Mabel an injection to stabilise her.”
   Sheila sighed with relief. “Come on, Hester. Let’s have a cup of tea. We’ve both had a shock.”
   They sat down in the hospital’s cafeteria and sipped sweet tea in silence for several minutes. The colour slowly returned to Hester’s cheeks, and Sheila reached for her hand.
   “What did you mean about me killing Mabel? I don’t understand.”
   Hester smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry, Sheila. It was as much my fault as yours.”
   She nibbled her chocolate biscuit, and Sheila waited, trying to hide her impatience.
   “I’d forgotten all about it, you see.”
   “Forgotten what, Aunt?”
   “Our newsagent said he’d never heard of it but he’d try to get it for me. I forgot all about it.”
   Light began to dawn in Sheila’s confused brain. “Are you… are you talking about Women’s Whims, by any chance?”
   “Of course I am! I was proud of you. But it went straight to our dayroom, along with the daily papers. I’m possibly the only one who hasn’t read it.”
   Sheila’s breath whooshed from her lungs and she grabbed the table for support, afraid she might faint. She visualised the story pages and the photo on the front cover – the one of the hunk wearing nothing but transparent boxers. And she visualised a room full of elderly ladies with weak hearts. Somehow she managed to string together a coherent sentence. “But I thought your own papers were delivered direct to the flat," she squeaked.
   “They are, but I must have forgotten to give my name and flat number when I ordered the magazine.”
   Dear God! thought Sheila, dragging a hand through her hair. Was the newsagent out of his mind? Still, at least it meant her aunt hadn’t read the story; Sheila knew she'd have heard about it by now if she had.
   Hester took another sip from her tea-cup. “I saw the ambulance pull up by the dayroom from my kitchen window and went to see what the commotion was. It was coffee morning so the dayroom was packed. I couldn’t see a thing. Then they brought in a stretcher, forcing everyone aside, and there was Mabel, lying on the carpet.”
   Sheila closed her eyes. Visions of a frail old woman, unconscious on the floor, Women’s Whims open in her limp hand at page nineteen, hurtled into her mind in glorious technicolour. Her dream of being published had been realised, but it was fast becoming a nightmare.
   Hester’s cup chinked against her saucer and Sheila reopened her eyes. Hester answered her burning question before she could articulate it.
   “It was lying underneath her. I saw what it was as soon as they moved her, and stuffed it in my bag.”
   Sheila’s heart plummeted as Hester patted the handbag on the seat beside her.
   “In all the excitement,” continued her aunt, “I don’t think anyone noticed.”
   Sheila decided there was nothing she could do but grin and bear it. “I should have been honest with you from the start, Aunt. I should have told you what sort of magazine it was.”
   But she couldn’t quite pluck up the courage to tell her the rest. Not yet.
   Hester struggled to her feet. “It wasn’t quite what I was expecting. But never mind. Let’s go and see Mabel.”
   Sheila would have preferred not to, but Hester was already dragging her along the corridor towards Casualty.
   They found Mabel sitting on a trolley in a curtained cubicle. Her pale face lit up. “Hester! They told me you were here.” She examined Sheila with interest. “Who’s this?”
   Sheila smiled back weakly. “I’m Sheila Platt, Hester’s niece.” She remembered she was still clutching the chocolates she’d bought for Hester. After a brief hesitation she handed them to Mabel. Hester nodded approvingly.
   Mabel looked pleased but confused. “Thank you, Sheila, but it wasn’t necessary.”
   A blush rushed up Sheila’s neck and into her cheeks like a tidal wave.“It’s the least I can do. Hester tells me it’s my fault you’re here.”
   Mabel frowned. “Your fault…?”
   Hester smiled an apology. “I’m sorry, dear. It’s my fault too – I forgot to give the newsagent my name when I ordered that magazine. Or my flat number. I’m getting more and more forgetful these days.”
   Mabel giggled through her fingers. “Hester Gillgrass,” she whispered, “I’m so glad you did. It’s the most excitement I’ve had in years. I’ll order it myself from now on!”
   Sheila couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to know. “Mabel, did you read the story?”
   “Of course! That’s why I fainted. It’s the most stimulating thing I’ve ever read.”
   Sheila groaned inwardly. She had to get out of there.
   Mabel selected a chocolate, savoured it for a few seconds then swallowed. “Some daft woman on the telly said eating chocolate is the same as having sex – something to do with it triggering the same brain chemicals. What a load of hooey. She should take a look at Women’s Whims!”
   Beads of sweat had formed on Sheila’s forehead. Her heart thudded like a jackhammer and it was getting hard to breathe. She checked her watch. “I ought to go. Graham will be home soon and wonder where I am.”
   Mabel beamed at her. “You get along, dear. We’ll be fine. While we’re waiting for the ambulance, I’ll get Hester to reveal a few trade secrets.” She winked conspiratorially. “A dark horse, your aunt!”
   Hester’s benign expression changed to one of deep suspicion. “What’s going on here...?”
   Sheila hastily kissed her cheek. “I’ll ring you later. Must dash.”
   As she hurried from the cubicle, she caught a glimpse of Hester reaching for her handbag. If I’m very quick, she thought, I’ll be out of here before she finds my story…
   No such luck. As Sheila dashed through the double doors into reception, Hester’s voice boomed down the corridor behind her. “Sheila! Get back here, my girl! Right now!"
   Sheila told herself she really had been incredibly stupid to use that pseudonym. But how was she to know that a friend of the real Hester Gillgrass would read Women’s Whims…?

© Rosie Rose 2012

Well HELLO, big boy!

Meet Carl 'Big Boy' Carrot, fresh from my veg patch, and complete with carefully maintained punk hairdo. When not entertaining Mrs Carrot, he loves nothing better than reclining on a bed of kitchen paper in the warm autumn sun. He remains blissfully unaware that a pan of boiling water will be his ultimate doom, and that his large appendage will almost certainly drop off as he softens.

So enjoy it while you can, my orange friend. We're rooting for you.

Dear Dogs and Cats...

A friend emailed this to me. Still laughing!

PET RULES
To be posted VERY LOW on the refrigerator door - nose height.

Dear Dogs and Cats,

The dishes with the paw print are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king sized bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue sleeping on the couch to ensure your comfort. Dogs and cats can actually curl up in a ball when they sleep. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space is nothing but sarcasm.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, meow, try to turn the knob or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. Also, I have been using the bathroom for years -- canine or feline attendance is not required.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dog or cat's butt. I cannot stress this enough!

To pacify you, my dear pets, I have posted the following message on our front door:

To All Non-Pet Owners Who Visit & Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1. They live here. You don't.
2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture. (That's why they call it "fur"niture.)
3. I like my pets a lot better than I like most people.
4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

Remember: In many ways, dogs and cats are better than kids because they:
1. Eat less
2. Don't ask for money all the time
3 Are easier to train
4. Normally come when called
5. Never ask to drive the car
6. Don't hang out with drug-using friends
7. Don't smoke or drink
8. Don't have to buy the latest fashions
9. Don't want to wear your clothes
10. Don't need a "gazillion" dollars for college.

And finally,
11. If they get pregnant, you can sell their children.

Water Is Fattening

WATER IS FATTENING

Mum says water is fattening –

she heard it on daytime TV.

I’m sure she must have misunderstood

so I tell her I disagree.

But she gives a loud disdainful sniff

and says she knows she’s right –

eight glasses of water a day

are making her hips look a fright.

I mention her love of Dundee cake

and her passion for full-fat cheese,

then remind her how much she adores clotted cream

but she protests, “Now, darling, please.

They’re little treats I have now and then

and I’m sure they can’t possibly matter.

It’s water I ought to cut down on now

because that’s what’s making me fatter.”

I go to her fridge for milk (full fat)

as Mum brews up the tea,

and there upon the second shelf down

I see Stilton, Cheddar and Brie.

Not tiny portions for one, of course –

they would feed her street for weeks.

And when I spot the fresh-cream eclairs

a blush spreads over her cheeks.

“I normally only buy one box

but three-for-the-price-of-two

was Tesco’s generous offer today

so what else could I do...?”

“But the ‘Use by’ date is today, Mum –

are the neighbours invited to tea?”

“Good God, no! Eclairs are my favourites –

I’m saving them all for me.

Don’t worry, I’ve worked out a clever plan

so I can eat them all at once:

If I give up water completely today,

I know I won’t put on an ounce.”

© Rosie Rose

For Sale: One Silver Cat

 FOR SALE: ONE SILVER CAT

For Sale: One silver cat

adorable and not too fat

but she scratches the hell out of sofas

I’ll make no bones about that.

She’s lost a few of her lives

because she brings me out in hives

when she claws holes in the carpets

and eats all my chives.

The basils have all turned black

(she pees on them behind my back)

and last night she poo’d in the parsley pot –

I hope it’s survived the attack.

I can’t visit the bathroom at night

without switching on all the lights

in case she’s sicked up a fur-ball.

(I’ve stepped in a few, all right!)

But this morning was the last straw

when I woke up at half-past four

to find a dead rat on my pillow.

I just can’t take anymore!

If you can put up with all that,

you can have my silver cat

but I may come round to reclaim her

because I’ll miss her – despite all that. :-)

© Rosie Rose