tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81484026576002197902024-03-08T06:00:09.102+07:00tea stainsJenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.comBlogger1085125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-52585528592730622292016-01-25T16:09:00.001+07:002016-02-05T08:28:39.242+07:00On sidling back in...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvFza5MNK3RawoFNZrFuCv0LqwaigHrTykm6VVwEj7DCq_h8fKegyQpxSb614JI6XCPAdNKdkic5kH2oHm9OBfqBgtal1PjlXcc8mH2OrKK2fhtZr2qVe_mAzPLhWu5_AuzqZeZt4nfiE/s1600/large.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibvFza5MNK3RawoFNZrFuCv0LqwaigHrTykm6VVwEj7DCq_h8fKegyQpxSb614JI6XCPAdNKdkic5kH2oHm9OBfqBgtal1PjlXcc8mH2OrKK2fhtZr2qVe_mAzPLhWu5_AuzqZeZt4nfiE/s320/large.jpg" /></a><br />
This weekend I watched Star Wars IV and V.<br />
<br />
Nearly half a century old and I’d never seen a single Star Wars film until last December when Star Wars VII - The Force Awakens came out. I wish I could say that I loved it so much I had to watch the rest of the films, but alas, no. I actually fell asleep in VII and woke up at a pivotal moment on a bridge! (No spoilers, here.) I went because I got infected by the excitement and I had a massive dose of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fear_of_missing_out">FOMO</a>. <br />
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So Fear of Missing out caused my cinema trip in December and - look away hardcore fans - I wasn’t really converted… so what made me watch IV and V this weekend? <br />
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I’ve signed up for Robert McKee’s STORY seminar in London in May and as a result I’ve been sent a list of films that he discusses in the seminars. If you haven’t done your homework you’ll miss out. Alarmingly for me, the homework reads like a list of films I’ve been refusing to see since Husband and I have known each other… Star Wars, Terminator, Alien: Yep, they’re all there. (For many years I had a blanket refusal in place to see any film containing guns, dinosaurs or outer space. I've been seriously ground down by the old bloke and I've had to change all that! Hmmm: note to self, I don't see him watching any more bonnet films...)<br />
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The first homework film I braved was The Godfather and yeah, I quite enjoyed it. Next one was Terminator. Actually I think I saw this way back when because I remember being really cheesed off that he kept getting up (yes, yes, I know that's the whole point…) but, you know what? In spite of said irritation, I quite enjoyed it too and have even considered watching the next one which isn’t even on my homework list.<br />
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So the plan was made by Son and Husband that this weekend we’d do Star Wars IV on Saturday and Star Wars V on Sunday; both are on my homework list. I was reluctant after falling asleep during VII back in December but I was persuaded by the prospect of a young Harrison Ford. <br />
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It was gutting… Star Wars IV just didn’t really do it for me. I really wanted to like it; something in the films clearly moves the men in my life and I didn't want to be the killjoy that couldn't see the magic. It's not that it's for children - thought it clearly is - because I loved Toy Story and Shrek but I've an inkling I know what annoyed me. I can almost forgive the plethora of silly sounds made by various creatures and droids but the humans…. Crumbs I find it tough to forgive them: Luke Skywalker is so whiney. I know he has to have a character arc, but really? Such a whinge bag? And as for the pleasant anticipation of a young Harrison Ford. Ugh; bloody patronising shit. If I were Princess Leia and he called me ‘sweetheart’ again in that patronising tone, I’d’ve shot him in the groin.<br />
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I tried to get out of watching V on Sunday by putting it off to the next week and then I realised it might be better to just get it out the way. My homework list is my homework list and Son seems to be particularly enjoying the power to wield it in my face in some horrifying and ironic reversal in our situation. So I watched it... but *sigh* Luke Skywalker, despite finding a passion in life, was still brattish and Han Solo is still a sexist jerk; C3PO (such a misery) and Chewbacca (screechy man in gorilla suit) were still kind of annoying. Only R2D2 was quite cute.<br />
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Then we met Yoda.<br />
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OMG Yoda. <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jedi_census_phenomenon">Did we make Jedi a religion yet</a>? I want to join. <br />
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Maybe, maybe I will try another Star Wars after all…<br />
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I love Yoda. So wise, he is.<br />
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<a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-30502174692585665302015-12-31T16:22:00.001+07:002015-12-31T16:29:51.463+07:00What I read in 2015<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
According to Yes by Dawn French</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Capital by John Lanchester</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Diaz*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Sisterhood by Emily Barr</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Career of Evil by Robert Galbraith</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Bees by Laline Paull</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
I Let You Go by Clare Mackintosh</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
After You by Joyo Moyes</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Love Song of Miss Queenie Hennessey by Rachel Joyce</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Death of Bees by Lisa O'Donnell</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Out of My Depth by Emily Barr</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Backpack by Emily Barr</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Where Love Lies by Julie Cohen</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
We Are All Made of Stars by Rowan Coleman</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Us by David Nicholls</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Woman Who Stole My Life by Marian Keyes</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Lie by CL Taylor</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry by Rachel Joyce</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Lady Worsley's Whim by Hallie Rubenhold</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Storyteller by Jodi Picoult</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
H is For Hawk by Helen MacDonald*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Mothers & Daughters by Kate Long</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Miniaturist by Jessie Burton*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCullough</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Orphan Train by Christina Baker Kline</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Precious Thing by Colette McBeth*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Mrs Sinclair's Suitcase by Louise Walters</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Hello From The Gillespies by Monica Mcinnerney</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Balancing Act by Joanna Trollope</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly by Sun-Mi Hwang</div>
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<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
*Book Club choices</div>
Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-70485148481650157722014-12-31T09:39:00.000+07:002015-01-04T08:35:12.183+07:00What I read in 2014<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
<br />
The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters*</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Her by Harriet Lane</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The First Fifteen Lives of Harry August by Claire North</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
A Cornish Affair by Liz Fenwick</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Murder Bag by Tony Parsons</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Life After Life by Kate Atkinson</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Public Battles, Private Wars by Laura Wilkinson</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Unknown Bridesmaid by Margaret Forster</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Friday Gospels by Jenn Ashworth</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Life Drawing by Robin Black</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Elizabeth is Missing by Emma Healey</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Silkworm by Robert Galbraith</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Life After Life by Kate Atkinson*</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Universe Versus Alex Woods by Gavin Extence</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Mad About the Boy by Helen Fielding</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Strength in Strangers by Lauren Britton</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Land of Decoration by Grace McLeen</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Erosion by S A Hemmings</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Memory Book by Rowan Coleman</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Paris Wife by Paula McLain*</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Sense and Sensibility by Joanna Trollope</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Panopticon by Jenni Fagan</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Accident by CL Taylor</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Secrets and Rain by Cally Taylor</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The White Cuckoo by Annie Ireson</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Diary of The Lady by Rachel Johnson</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Out of The Ruins by Sue Guiney</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Moment by Claire Dyer</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Rosie Project by Graeme C Simsion</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Wake by Anna Hope</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Legacy of Hartlepool Hall by Paul Torday</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
All Change for Nurse Millie by Jean Fullerton</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Woman Walks into a Bar by Rowan Coleman</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Call Nurse Millie by Jean Fullerton</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Lewis Man by Peter May</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Husband's Secret by Liane Moriaty</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
The Wicked Girls by Alex Marwood</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
Longbourn by Jo Baker</div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 13px;">
*Book Club choices</div>
Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-14149239172550135772014-01-07T12:35:00.000+07:002014-10-20T17:15:34.779+07:00A tiny flaw in the plan...<br />Ahhh, so there was something of a weakness in my plan, wasn't there? On Sunday, did I not say something along the lines of "there were some good things in 2013 and I shall come and tell you about them"? No, no, it's not exactly that I've forgotten what they were; I do have photographic evidence to remind me what I did last year. I've, errrm, just forgotten the precise details. It transpires that I can only come here and tell you, er, vaguely what happened at the beginning of last year.<br /><br /><div>
At the end of February last year I joined an excursion to a mozzarella making Buffalo farm outside of Bangkok. I have no idea now where it was but it didn't take long to get there. I expect if you wanted to know and Google couldn't tell you, I could find out. It was fascinating. I think. I learned lots about making mozzarella. I took lots of pictures. And I DO remember thinking you'd be as fascinated by the process as I was... Only beyond hot and cold water to shape the mozzarella into those rotund yummy balls, I'm all of a blank.</div>
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Still, I don't suppose there are many people who come to Tea Stains to learn anything... So, sorry and all that; apart from one picture that illustrates I DID actually see mozzarella being made, instead of any details whatsoever about the process, here are some pictures of the lovely, milk yielding buffalo:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB35963-S5MF6ZnZ2YnnbV46WdLdbAI8fJO3MogAJcgCpfQWSuOT-FSFGYfYhofEYcDnn3UmfNWq8xpnlPzcmQDpWkN_AoHNkAtmXKdcpGKym3kOZIqahQYvPnL5s5SH02T88-gDaaL_v/s1600/DSC08140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFB35963-S5MF6ZnZ2YnnbV46WdLdbAI8fJO3MogAJcgCpfQWSuOT-FSFGYfYhofEYcDnn3UmfNWq8xpnlPzcmQDpWkN_AoHNkAtmXKdcpGKym3kOZIqahQYvPnL5s5SH02T88-gDaaL_v/s1600/DSC08140.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LOOK! This is something to do with making mozzarella.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKimf4G5IBt6-k0JW1v8wl-6S-ksZ7z9NqinFnL7chC0TLVUsmNo1VRvpgQQ08CZP0lySiKXTkkLPN7lZe35DRWehgNqA1kNu4JDIVCc5J4xTiWTdh1KDtG3J17lkz9BzuVy9xUBZYPtdG/s1600/DSC08162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKimf4G5IBt6-k0JW1v8wl-6S-ksZ7z9NqinFnL7chC0TLVUsmNo1VRvpgQQ08CZP0lySiKXTkkLPN7lZe35DRWehgNqA1kNu4JDIVCc5J4xTiWTdh1KDtG3J17lkz9BzuVy9xUBZYPtdG/s1600/DSC08162.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is my best side.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiub1TNO7UX2KQvnrmkxifAA1qB100dXcGjonuURLzNC9tq5vp1DC45ulncJqc5E94LR6YUeRQ5kmXhTyJBREuY7xHs29XQSTm56mA9eO4jBQoEtSNA_su8JePuoB8t73M4mMrbOORScE3Z/s1600/DSC08180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiub1TNO7UX2KQvnrmkxifAA1qB100dXcGjonuURLzNC9tq5vp1DC45ulncJqc5E94LR6YUeRQ5kmXhTyJBREuY7xHs29XQSTm56mA9eO4jBQoEtSNA_su8JePuoB8t73M4mMrbOORScE3Z/s1600/DSC08180.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Well, we ARE water buffalo...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqUAtDhVsaszFZ9SGbie8I_9l8DFD36BFJJ8WY7rBPS18QZRHRkpDFOrqhOiX3bkLmccKtjrITIX69WKT1xc_V6IVM_ljK5-UJWR1PdYZQgxAhmh4mcTzlwP7SOfXaylbAxggbaBYZSXU/s1600/DSC08184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYqUAtDhVsaszFZ9SGbie8I_9l8DFD36BFJJ8WY7rBPS18QZRHRkpDFOrqhOiX3bkLmccKtjrITIX69WKT1xc_V6IVM_ljK5-UJWR1PdYZQgxAhmh4mcTzlwP7SOfXaylbAxggbaBYZSXU/s1600/DSC08184.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out those eyelashes. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWSwiaWrU0MBOhwBDhn2DlXUpZYBJ-A8Ni76lkZbaGI_dEIVJmmML-C25M7bp84mHSRkdbAiGfps9Ed-9o-ByIt5S3crVa8fAs7xBcF5KEewrCFqDwZx14e5BOh-uuZ7elJ2fouSEYkGr/s1600/DSC08191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheWSwiaWrU0MBOhwBDhn2DlXUpZYBJ-A8Ni76lkZbaGI_dEIVJmmML-C25M7bp84mHSRkdbAiGfps9Ed-9o-ByIt5S3crVa8fAs7xBcF5KEewrCFqDwZx14e5BOh-uuZ7elJ2fouSEYkGr/s1600/DSC08191.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What? It's mud; mud's good for the skin.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Hu22VRPb1TEW9sT3h5GCaQySJLaYKUx7psdqip0J3sEbfFM92yOOvxxoSM73Ze0M_D3ml1EUKVLU7HOGj8Ex9Z_AvbBIh1tTb0d1Krz7rGELi6befnMSdVosd9fOJA1MFG4SaEk51CU/s1600/DSC08223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj59Hu22VRPb1TEW9sT3h5GCaQySJLaYKUx7psdqip0J3sEbfFM92yOOvxxoSM73Ze0M_D3ml1EUKVLU7HOGj8Ex9Z_AvbBIh1tTb0d1Krz7rGELi6befnMSdVosd9fOJA1MFG4SaEk51CU/s1600/DSC08223.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hmmm, I'm a tiny bit freaked out by their cloven hooves.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8xdvKftz7mEDZLgrdmlg8vGD88c7d1R03q7WzcD4IM4bnuuo0GXqpHJ14DIMf5ZvZRkOp2_9BfhURg9LEEwrWJiBXJYv5ZnPGEluKAISUdGfApRNQ_j5INP56pJjahCKqn9bP9X1ZAYo/s1600/DSC08273.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-8xdvKftz7mEDZLgrdmlg8vGD88c7d1R03q7WzcD4IM4bnuuo0GXqpHJ14DIMf5ZvZRkOp2_9BfhURg9LEEwrWJiBXJYv5ZnPGEluKAISUdGfApRNQ_j5INP56pJjahCKqn9bP9X1ZAYo/s1600/DSC08273.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gorgeous girls</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhStIAylgm2NLsl8ptvyhiWiEGWpahNk_ImRdHW9yh3ihxLMabSuYZdQbWuOQTzwenmURH07ph8Du1i47XFQNwfbJZ2Ngf2rt8HIPVhZk-h0NhYXv4nw_zHP5aCXQnyj7Z-M5tgznCtgRkA/s1600/DSC08255.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhStIAylgm2NLsl8ptvyhiWiEGWpahNk_ImRdHW9yh3ihxLMabSuYZdQbWuOQTzwenmURH07ph8Du1i47XFQNwfbJZ2Ngf2rt8HIPVhZk-h0NhYXv4nw_zHP5aCXQnyj7Z-M5tgznCtgRkA/s1600/DSC08255.JPG" height="476" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And my favourite picture of all....</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-62122658189497166602014-01-05T11:38:00.001+07:002014-01-05T11:38:23.747+07:00My wonky New Year
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXmjv1Qlr1SWZxTvqX420acKTu_gzjhSQhhxRCYUjKairGDVnoqMvuUi-jMUES2kW50Yq_5PZkAR_oTfYMI_Zm4REmodxsy3Y2IxWOfTTrQAE51u_bN0zziFsSO-CPA1bAFq46daqS3R3/s1600/NewYearFireworks.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIXmjv1Qlr1SWZxTvqX420acKTu_gzjhSQhhxRCYUjKairGDVnoqMvuUi-jMUES2kW50Yq_5PZkAR_oTfYMI_Zm4REmodxsy3Y2IxWOfTTrQAE51u_bN0zziFsSO-CPA1bAFq46daqS3R3/s640/NewYearFireworks.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Has all that overt New Year optimism gone? Is it safe to
come out now? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt unaccountably low on New Year’s Eve, which Husband and I
spent on our sofa watching the last series of Luther. Rock and Roll we're not.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">unaccountably</i>
because yes, it had been a rotten year, but I couldn’t see why, on this random
date, I should feel sadder than I had, I don’t know, the week before… (I know
how arbitrary the notion of New Year is: here in Thailand we celebrate three
New Years: 31 December, the Chinese one in Jan/Feb time and the Thai one in
April. Useful, huh? Plenty of opportunity to reassert broken resolutions!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We can’t breathe for ‘looking back and looking forward’
articles/statuses/programmes at that time of year and so perhaps, however
reluctant, I’m hardwired to do some assessing of my own, whether I wanted to or
not. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn't want. But yes, 2013 was a pretty crappy year for us lot. The Grim
Reaper has been stepping out of the shadows, flicking his black robe menacingly
and doing his stuff before sashaying back into the recesses. I am really glad
to see the back of it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But you know what was good? Ha! I laugh in the face of being
out, drinking too much Prosecco… I woke up on 1 January feeling positive and
ready for a new start: I’m either a cliché, or that’s genetically determined
too. And life never is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">only</i> awful, is
it? There are always positives to see even if they are teeny weeny ones. Or
sometimes, things need looking at from a different perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stood on my balcony at midnight this
year, taking pictures of the fabulous fireworks display so that I could post
them here, and look, they are probably the worst set of photos anyone’s ever
produced. Almost every single one is out of focus and yet… I still love them - for this was <i>my</i> wonky New Year. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that’s what I’m going to start the year blogging with: documenting
those little tiny good things from last year and some of the GREAT BIG BLOODY
amazing things too because <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>they
were there and I missed writing them down on my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If this year’s pitiful attempt at blogging counts, then Tea
Stains has been here for seven years and it seems to me to be worth something.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So before I get more Pollyanna on you, I shall go. But I’ll be
back.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-20281915283429417202013-12-31T11:34:00.000+07:002014-01-01T11:37:30.797+07:00What I read in 2013<br />
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<div class="widget-content" style="margin-top: 0.5em;">
<div>
Purple Hibiscus by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie</div>
<div>
Benedict's Brother by Tricia Walker</div>
<div>
The Girl on the Landing by Paul Torday</div>
<div>
The Irresistible Inheritance of Wilberforce by Paul Torday</div>
<div>
The Hopeless Life of Charlie Summers by Paul Torday</div>
<div>
Light Shining in the Forest by Paul Torday</div>
<div>
The Twins by Saskia Sarginson</div>
Something Beginning With by Sarah Salway<div>
House of Silence by Linda Gillard</div>
<div>
Stoner by John Williams*</div>
<div>
Burial Rites by Hannah Kent</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Death Comes to Pemberley by PD James</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Where'd You Go, Bernadette by Maria Semple</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
A Cupboard Full of Coats by Yvette Edwards</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Other Half Lives by Sophie Hannah</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Summer of '76 by Isabel Ashdown</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Carol by Patricia Highsmith</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Diary of a Provincial Lesbian by VG Lee</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Revenge Wears Prada by Lauren Weisberger</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Dearest Rose by Rowan Coleman</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Build a Man by Talli Roland</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
What The Grown-Ups Were Doing by Michele Hanson</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Lighthouse by Alison Moore</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Silver Locket by Margaret James</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Uninvited Guests by Sadie Jones</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Light Between Oceans by M L Stedman</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Light Years (Cazalet Chronicles 1) by Elizabeth Jane Howard</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Catching the Sun by Tony Parsons</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Left Neglected by Lisa Genova</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
White Cargo by Felicity Kendal</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Alone in Berlin by Hans Fallada*</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Return of Captain John Emmett by Elizabeth Speller</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Restless by William Boyd</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Knot by Mark Watson</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Your Voice in My Head by Emma Forrest</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
My Future Husband by Karen Clarke</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Thursdays in the Park by Hilary Boyd</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
My Fat, Mad Teenage Diary by Rae Earl</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Still Alice by Lisa Genova</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Winter Games by Rachel Johnson</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
The Moonstone by Wilkie Collins*</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
You Had Me at Hello by Mhairi McFarlane</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Jubilee by Shelley Harris</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Swimming Home by Deborah Levy</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn</div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-weight: normal;">
*Book Club choices</div>
</div>
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<span class="widget-item-control" style="float: right; height: 20px; margin-top: -20px; position: relative; z-index: 10;"><span class="item-control blog-admin" style="display: inline;"><a class="quickedit" href="http://www.blogger.com/rearrange?blogID=8148402657600219790&widgetType=Text&widgetId=Text2&action=editWidget&sectionId=sidebar" style="color: #5b4227; cursor: pointer; opacity: 0.5; text-decoration: none;" target="configText2" title="Edit"><img alt="" height="18" src="http://img1.blogblog.com/img/icon18_wrench_allbkg.png" style="-webkit-box-shadow: none; background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 0px; border-width: initial; box-shadow: none;" width="18" /></a></span></span><div>
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Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-91603895043681151752013-09-11T12:41:00.001+07:002013-09-11T12:41:04.515+07:00Wednesday's Window: a little bit of drama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5BMSCVM9MuDVaEyehy9e-ZsiKmctgKWu_n2aIlWwb0NIMC6RPxeoxj3WOlOyp14aTc2ar2CDzdGIGB0tNrF6ATqNMrBmA4o-f8OwJW3g5KNxl8YVDvakoxGtr-FnGsY9ygNadqQdU2HA/s1600/lKR-6bqKpuku68F6_ViXtwklPRY7rOyOB6jVSpTx1jM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="548" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh5BMSCVM9MuDVaEyehy9e-ZsiKmctgKWu_n2aIlWwb0NIMC6RPxeoxj3WOlOyp14aTc2ar2CDzdGIGB0tNrF6ATqNMrBmA4o-f8OwJW3g5KNxl8YVDvakoxGtr-FnGsY9ygNadqQdU2HA/s640/lKR-6bqKpuku68F6_ViXtwklPRY7rOyOB6jVSpTx1jM.jpg" width="640" /></a> </div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I love love love these. I'm not sure of my facts because they were taken a few months ago and I didn't label them but I think they were in the <a href="http://www.siamcenter.co.th/">Siam Centre</a>. (If anyone knows differently, please let me know and I will happily credit them.)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I love the drama and the sense of the macabre they've created by playing with illusion. (Do you see the half hat?) It's that dolls with scary faces thing (<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077889/">Magic</a>, anyone?) They terrify me and make me laugh in equal measure. </div>
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<br /></div>
Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-70588464022493269782013-09-09T07:53:00.002+07:002013-09-09T20:50:38.629+07:00A little bit of family history<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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I was five weeks old when we moved to Kent. My parents
bought a house on the edge of the village. It was a big place, divided into two
and on the other side there was a farm. On the farm they had a goat who’d just had
twins - a male and female - and John the farmer offered the boy goat to my
brother as a pet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother asked
our Dad who said, "ask your Mum"; so he asked Mum and she said
"No". John the farmer said "what a pity; I shall have to kill it."
So we had a goat.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This was when my parents first met the local vet who became
a good friend, which is miraculous really because he informed my Mum that she
would have to assist him in both de-horning and castrating our new pet. Ugh! Our
new pet was called Rubin because bilirubin is the stuff that makes your blood
red. (Billy Rubin, get it?) </div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvPcTJ5hZl_7EAscK5WFaP6uJzSLoQpEo8r0CvL0KvSB0rWuinxL7fNm8tHqgWYwmDDLHBF6FuufoeJVWMIPnv6KCabi3iD9iaxT_tL28bEd029JKvcK-cD5gMWIyHZ20zT-GKa_Xlow9/s1600/TonyVivian&Rubin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvPcTJ5hZl_7EAscK5WFaP6uJzSLoQpEo8r0CvL0KvSB0rWuinxL7fNm8tHqgWYwmDDLHBF6FuufoeJVWMIPnv6KCabi3iD9iaxT_tL28bEd029JKvcK-cD5gMWIyHZ20zT-GKa_Xlow9/s400/TonyVivian&Rubin.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad, my brother and Rubin, early 70s</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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He had a nice warm hut to sleep in at night and a long bull
chain from which we tethered him everyday so that he could eat the garden. A
year later we moved and the garden at the new house was around 2 acres and had
been empty for years so Rubin had a grand time eating down an enormous amount
of overgrowth. Some new people moved into a shop in the centre of the village
and asked if they could borrow Rubin to eat down their overgrown garden.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents agreed but the shop had no
back entrance so he had to be taken him through the shop! They managed this without
any accidents (or health and safety issues) but unfortunately Rubin must have
seen the enormous pile of cardboard boxes on his way through and he spent two
happy days eating those rather than the weeds.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When my parents first got him he was tiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Mum says he was ‘like a long legged
puppy dog - really charming - but he seemed to grow minute by minute and in the
end he was the size of a pony.’ He was already of considerable size by the time
we moved to the new house. It was ten days before Christmas when we moved. My
Mum was irritated to be told that she and my brother had to walk the goat the
mile and a half to the new house because Dad had to dismantle Rubin's hut and
re-erect it in the new garden so that he had somewhere nice and warm to
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They walked him round in
pouring rain; Rubin stopped every five yards to eat somebody's hedge or a bush
or to rip the bark off some juicy looking young tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At this rate it was a slow and nightmarish journey and Mum was fast losing her sense
of humour. It wasn’t helped when, still a long way from the new house, a passing car slowed down, wound down his
window to ask, “which way to the manger?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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If it’s anthropomorphizing to say that Rubin had a wicked
sense of humour himself, then I’ll just have to go with the fact that our
family memories of him make it look so. He chewed up a much loved monkey puppet
of my sister's which she only just managed to yank out of his mouth before it
disappeared inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another day,
when she bent down in the garden to pick something up – I think it might have
been his food - he eyed her rear, put down his head and dashed towards her,
butting her bottom with such strength that she left the ground, sailed through
the air before landing with a start on her feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Granny always wore an apron; Granny swore blind that Rubin
would only try and eat it when it was a floral one, which none of us ever
believed. So it was a surprise that during a childhood birthday party (we were
8 or 9, I suppose) he took a great liking to my friend C's flowery new dress
and started to eat it. As the pretty flowery fabric disappeared further into
his mouth she began to have hysterics, convinced that he was going to eat her. </div>
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<br /></div>
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As he got older, although reasonably fit, he did have the occasional
medical emergency (it was hardly surprising, given his diet of floral fabrics…)
There was one terribly hot summer when Rubin got very poorly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dad diagnosed heat stroke and he and my
brother hosed him down. Granny, who was devoted to Rubin, insisted on getting
the on duty vet - on a bank holiday Monday - he looked at the goat, and ‘yes,
yes,’ he said, ‘it was definitely heat stroke and that was the right treatment
and that will be £40 if you please.’ (This was early 70s and a vast amount of money.)</div>
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<br /></div>
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My Dad was away from home during Rubin’s final illness. It
was again very hot but he wasn't suffering sunstroke this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all worried sick about him and
tried to make him comfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>G, a
good friend and neighbour turned up with a pony trailer in which she had half a
dozen large bales of straw for us to assemble a comfortable bedroom around him
so that he was protected from the sun and could stay out all night in the cool.
We kept a vigil by his bedside but it was getting late and my sister and I had
school the next day. Eventually Mum persuaded us to come in for a bath and we
left Granny sitting out watching him, feeding him sips of water. At about 9
o'clock, after our bath, we reappeared in the kitchen to say goodnight and
Granny walked in and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, but he's died". Everybody
burst into tears. I couldn’t remember a time without Rubin and so my sister and
I were inconsolable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Granny and Mum
treated their shock with scotch and my sister and I didn’t get to bed until 11
o clock.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The trouble was the weather was baking hot and we had a
large corpse on the lawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
obviously a health risk to leave him there, so the following morning Mum had to get the local
building firm in with a digger, to dig a big hole and to lift his heavy weight
into the grave. He's buried next to the compost heap and lots of lovely things (the technical term) grow on top of him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Rubin lived to be nine years old but he continues to live on
in our family myth. If ever anyone requests friends to come and stay, the
answer is usually ‘yes, I think the goat’s hut is free.’</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-4190769906564321222013-09-06T08:27:00.001+07:002013-09-06T08:28:08.742+07:00Friday Photo: Apology by 'phone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdYzDHIdBOUJQ2xYfpzrfbys2LNzRlDNhlYlxYwJNhS4MFAoPTTYVpiZ6eJvKR8MeZAE_ILoJbj7EKyZY_BsBdis9dvyat5XgDXzthJLAczgoZZQn1eZ1Irh6axbP6kkjWaaERoNM-Ejgo/s1600/Apology+by+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdYzDHIdBOUJQ2xYfpzrfbys2LNzRlDNhlYlxYwJNhS4MFAoPTTYVpiZ6eJvKR8MeZAE_ILoJbj7EKyZY_BsBdis9dvyat5XgDXzthJLAczgoZZQn1eZ1Irh6axbP6kkjWaaERoNM-Ejgo/s1600/Apology+by+phone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdYzDHIdBOUJQ2xYfpzrfbys2LNzRlDNhlYlxYwJNhS4MFAoPTTYVpiZ6eJvKR8MeZAE_ILoJbj7EKyZY_BsBdis9dvyat5XgDXzthJLAczgoZZQn1eZ1Irh6axbP6kkjWaaERoNM-Ejgo/s640/Apology+by+phone.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-77931785425027368932013-09-04T15:38:00.001+07:002013-09-05T07:26:19.848+07:00Wednesday's Window: Lacoste<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Wednesday’s
Window is one of my favourite posts. I have stopped and photographed shop windows
for years without quite realising what they could be: a week after week blog
post, of course! There are going to be some old and out of date ones coming up (so
you’ll no longer be able to see them live) because even when I’m not blogging,
I don’t stop taking pics of gorgeous, clever, interesting windows. I’m just drawn
to them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">Back in June
I had a date with some friends in the newly refurbished Siam Centre to eat cake
and afterwards, I wandered about. This, as a window, wasn’t particularly
impressive because I had to get up close to spot it; but as an installation
inside the shop, I loved it. It’s from Lacoste and they very kindly – though I’m
sure I wasn’t meant to – allowed me to take some pictures inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">From the
outside, these crocodiles were so beautifully crisp looking that I thought they
were metallic but they are actually made of good quality card with a high gloss
finish.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif";">And I have to
confess, I’m actually quite freaked out by the pile of crocs by the door. (My
children will sigh and huff and roll their eyes, given that these are paper crocodiles in childish
colours; but what is sculpture or art for if it isn’t to move us in some way?
Yes, children, I am still too terrified to watch Jurassic Park; yes, I know
that the dinosaurs can’t possibly be real but I go in prepared to believe.) It’s
the way that these guys have clambered over each other to get to whatever it is
they want that makes me unsettled, which is I think a reminiscence of the behaviour I saw years ago at one of Bangkok’s
crocodile farms.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-pagination: widow-orphan; page-break-after: auto;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjp_sd-7dqP4xZeGyBhthcUcn0kuYFFSCjQgvBdFWqR3vzaLAElC2h5DiMnUXESobG9cvRNEo2KGlMyMBsAOYYCs3NxBKktGZ7A6psIt7Mt-XoTSNxRbNZNsfidNwiKCjj9ZEQjr5D2uY0/s1600/LacosteCrocs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="374" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjp_sd-7dqP4xZeGyBhthcUcn0kuYFFSCjQgvBdFWqR3vzaLAElC2h5DiMnUXESobG9cvRNEo2KGlMyMBsAOYYCs3NxBKktGZ7A6psIt7Mt-XoTSNxRbNZNsfidNwiKCjj9ZEQjr5D2uY0/s640/LacosteCrocs.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Georgia","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-37900859164733577172013-09-02T08:13:00.002+07:002013-09-02T08:13:58.873+07:00Taxi tales
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I think it's perfectly normal to issue
a tiny prayer every time I get into a Bangkok taxi. And that's not even when
the taxi has answered my wave by swerving towards me over two lanes. In <i>that</i>
circumstance, I'll offer up a pretty big prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">There is no 'Knowledge' here. I think
if you want to be a taxi driver, you probably just apply to the 'taxi permit'
office, pay your baht, and off you go. Sometimes we have such awful, hideous
journeys and we stagger out of the car, astonished we didn't die on the way."
Did you give him a tip?" I ask my husband. "Yes," he says,
"I told him to change his break pads." Still, it's amazing how
quickly you adapt. I'm quite shocked when I discover a seat belt AND a plug!
Usually there's a seat belt but no plug; the plug gets sucked through the join
in the seat and the backrest, never to be retrieved and after a run in with a
GIGANTIC cockroach, yomping towards me on the backseat recently, I'm NOT
putting my hand in there. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">And we don't have a car. We don't
really need a car because we live in the middle of Bangkok, near to the
skytrain and underground trains which are strictly limited in the ground they
cover in Bangkok… still, the taxis are plentiful...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrYwxu7TNN_he2WivTnFVyN5gWOCI7btz6aStH45j-8U2VYpmbKzpbDErvZfyYRK1eolv-gxWSflMrHxliPH6Qm5CWbh9ySDJYxxxK9FH_Xz9prvRwsAsTw_mcXGdmtP1QDKO7rQ7D_BB/s1600/FarangOnAMotorbike.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisrYwxu7TNN_he2WivTnFVyN5gWOCI7btz6aStH45j-8U2VYpmbKzpbDErvZfyYRK1eolv-gxWSflMrHxliPH6Qm5CWbh9ySDJYxxxK9FH_Xz9prvRwsAsTw_mcXGdmtP1QDKO7rQ7D_BB/s320/FarangOnAMotorbike.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From my notebook</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">The other option is a motorbike; a
motorbike taxi. These congregate at specified points every few hundred yards:
at busy junctions or at the ends of sky train routes and they are tempting
because they can weave through the Bangkok traffic. (Oh dear, I sense a theme.)
It's hot here; walking can be unpleasant and if you are Thai you can perch
delicately sidesaddle on the back of a bike and get there much, much quicker.
But if you're farang (Foreigner) and scared like me, you sit like a man, legs
each side. Fares are fixed although there seems to be the inevitable Thai rate
and farang rate. In our early years I took a few bikes down our soi... (Don't
tell my Mum!) It was a small road, two way but only one lane on each side. I
have to tell you, it <i>was quite exciting</i>. It contravened everything I'd
been programmed to believe. I'd heard tales from my Dad of young men who
clutter up the orthopedic wards having come off their motorbikes. He theorized
that there was a direct correlation between the higher the engine size, the
shorter their life expectancy. (He really, bless him, didn't like motorcyclists
and used to propose the use of shoulder-height piano wire outside the house as
they raced up and down the 30 mile limit.) One day I couldn't get a taxi and
took a motorbike up a different soi on my way to the chiropractor. I
underestimated how much faster that road was than my tiny soi (it was Ekkamai,
for any Bangkokians reading this) and it had at least three lanes in each
direction. Terrifying. We flew. And then screech to halt as the traffic would
slow and we'd weave over to another lane. Sometimes we'd be unable to get up
between the vehicles and we'd find a dropped kerb and mount the pavement.
There's always this awful dilemma of whether to allow my long farang legs to be
kneecapped or whether to grip this strange Thai man tightly between my thighs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Anyway, I came to my senses after that
trip up Ekkamai. I was a Mum; there are no leathers, no helmets even. Then one
day I got a call saying someone I knew had come off a bike on her way home;
would I visit her in hospital? And that was the end of my foray into motorbike
taxis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-64290701419652998542013-07-12T15:09:00.002+07:002013-07-12T15:09:44.889+07:00"One is Royally Excited"<br />
The laptop and I are confused.<br />
<br />
I am definitely over the jetlag - I'm not as intimately connected to 5am as I was a week ago - but the laptop is still on Bangkok time. When I published the last post on Tuesday evening, the laptop thought it was Wednesday and duly published under that day... and I lost my slot for this Wednesday Window.<br />
<br />
Perhaps we could call it a 'Friday Photo' or perhaps it doesn't much matter; after my long absence, being able to write anything here is a bonus.<br />
<br />
This window, courtesy of Liberty London, made me chuckle. I'm not particularly 'royally excited' myself but I'm tickled at the idea of the Queen being 'Great-Nanny' or 'Great-Granny' in the intimate surroundings of her palace. I can't see her being anything other than the Queen we see in public. I can't imagine what life is like inside That Family but I hope very much that things have changed over the last fifteen years. My excitement - if I have any - is to see history made, if the royal baby is a girl, I'm excited to see a first born girl will be heir over a younger brother. Just as it should be....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5P4shaLRbe9tzVNZTsvNsrIVhyphenhyphenZo6TKGNo3eY22Rcmfh9SDA_MiQc7vfVFOX2w2J3jiKM7ujcUSeVxjXLiQ0Pzzk_wT_rjVdtxH6x68UoPIr2Lw7zZqP_ejyZxoAu06ujTvMP5_E1-ex0/s1600/RoyalBaby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="488" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5P4shaLRbe9tzVNZTsvNsrIVhyphenhyphenZo6TKGNo3eY22Rcmfh9SDA_MiQc7vfVFOX2w2J3jiKM7ujcUSeVxjXLiQ0Pzzk_wT_rjVdtxH6x68UoPIr2Lw7zZqP_ejyZxoAu06ujTvMP5_E1-ex0/s640/RoyalBaby.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-17478502842858586822013-07-10T02:24:00.000+07:002013-07-10T02:24:50.556+07:00What else I've been doing...<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Back in January/February, my friend Sharon mentioned to me
that she was doing the Moonwalk in June, in Iceland and asked if I’d consider
helping her decorate her bra. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew of the Moonwalk – not the Michael Jackson version - Walk
the Walk, a nighttime, marathon length charity walk that raised money for
breast cancer charities. Some friends of mine had done in London some years before
I moved to Bangkok so I knew two things about it: that it’s pretty tough and
that the (mostly) women entrants were expected to decorate their bras to wear
on display. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharon’s Moonwalk was happening in Iceland so she wanted
something that reflected that destination. There was NO way I was going to
refuse a commission like that. Sharon ordered a hot pink bra, I started
sketching and then we set off together to Chinatown to buy sequins… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Over the following three weeks I sewed and sewed, sequin after sequin, followed by ribbon and here's how it looked:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbNiUENmqZJMO8OMtEP96YubF3JXd6zTPmycJ7Eg_X7zKygw8KAkzX4W6SmgSNm27l6OU1nhOaHafIhYlvIz-ZPQSMEN2FrRpLPa4RIOcDhMAkrQES9j4VYWbH_rbvrRijNX-KYmSCgbfw/s1600/MoonwalkBra1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbNiUENmqZJMO8OMtEP96YubF3JXd6zTPmycJ7Eg_X7zKygw8KAkzX4W6SmgSNm27l6OU1nhOaHafIhYlvIz-ZPQSMEN2FrRpLPa4RIOcDhMAkrQES9j4VYWbH_rbvrRijNX-KYmSCgbfw/s640/MoonwalkBra1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First there was the design... followed by the planning.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBy81Nx8djsgZpQVQcp77eAT8NqbhS4iWV-smjyQYa9SbRO7CMsRPxA3Shdm83EFTtJl98nEktumEL4lqJkuyvnL0ChHFhV22vk0JHcjIkFQ1ON-aOjZA1tM219FUbhkZurceUxyEgGNcQ/s1600/MoonwalkBra2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBy81Nx8djsgZpQVQcp77eAT8NqbhS4iWV-smjyQYa9SbRO7CMsRPxA3Shdm83EFTtJl98nEktumEL4lqJkuyvnL0ChHFhV22vk0JHcjIkFQ1ON-aOjZA1tM219FUbhkZurceUxyEgGNcQ/s640/MoonwalkBra2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Each sequin went on one by one. The silver ones were sewn onto silver fabric first, and then each snowflake went onto the bra.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsB6LHVraQrvR0j4IYNXF7Gom9JxOCdWkt4AydIjllPnZMGvcbAiVrTBuym__cPXbCknBoPJ9fj3TSOIeFGc9O1YBJyWsIx0E5a6bqEt8TITk_A0_6Sl6HKIOlpTYXJfa2ZEruPqyaV7yH/s1600/MoonwalkBra3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsB6LHVraQrvR0j4IYNXF7Gom9JxOCdWkt4AydIjllPnZMGvcbAiVrTBuym__cPXbCknBoPJ9fj3TSOIeFGc9O1YBJyWsIx0E5a6bqEt8TITk_A0_6Sl6HKIOlpTYXJfa2ZEruPqyaV7yH/s640/MoonwalkBra3.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I began to see sequins. I used the ribbon to turn the sports bra into something plunging and prettier...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ46QpGmguVc4lgKMtG-myHt-2obkyAmCfx3ujFRRM5QQa-2wy4gmXWx_SnUimRPPYWi16La1EgMutWg-YTEFREL35Tdv8hSEPWdWa4g6xsDLgCbfiDU72Ph4t-EC_ZUUzPerc3wc9pcyp/s1600/MoonwalkBra4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ46QpGmguVc4lgKMtG-myHt-2obkyAmCfx3ujFRRM5QQa-2wy4gmXWx_SnUimRPPYWi16La1EgMutWg-YTEFREL35Tdv8hSEPWdWa4g6xsDLgCbfiDU72Ph4t-EC_ZUUzPerc3wc9pcyp/s640/MoonwalkBra4.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More space. More sequins needed. There's no room for subtlety...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdU2aZAhwGKu7WFFsDT5VABYxX0IKqOE2x0iZo7pZs0G86PzBDQTSF-ZS9yd5Jt51h5jxpEbjSwktcUazBZuqPE7EAg7if_ufMmWS0fxKSUa-VTT3dzSXYhegeR-RUQICLyJwGjkWaYBF/s1600/MoonwalkBra5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUdU2aZAhwGKu7WFFsDT5VABYxX0IKqOE2x0iZo7pZs0G86PzBDQTSF-ZS9yd5Jt51h5jxpEbjSwktcUazBZuqPE7EAg7if_ufMmWS0fxKSUa-VTT3dzSXYhegeR-RUQICLyJwGjkWaYBF/s640/MoonwalkBra5.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally, the fringing and then the TA-DAAAA: the finished bra.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharon raised £3400 for breast cancer charities. You can see her fundraising page <a href="http://www.walkthewalkfundraising.org/sharon_moore_3">here</a> and more about the moonwalk <a href="http://www.walkthewalk.org/Home">here</a>.</div>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-59450716243981111192013-07-03T14:33:00.000+07:002013-07-03T14:33:02.749+07:00Mount Bromo (posted at last)
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So the New Year plan was that we drive up to a viewpoint on
Mount Penanjakan mountain to watch dawn rise over Mount Bromo, the best known
volcano in East Java. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Best known.” That should have been my clue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First of all, though we had to eat our New Year eve meal at
6pm with the paediatric guests at our hotel, and then we had to get some sleep.
Our guide told us he’d be back to pick us up at midnight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, around midnight when we went downstairs, there were
about 300,000 people in the streets – well on our street - in cars, on
motorbikes and on foot; shouting, singing, waving those football noise things.
Solid gridlock. The noise was unbelievable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ll skip over the anxiety this induced. As midnight came
and went, the crowds began to dissipate and eventually our van arrived and we
set off. As I lay back
on my reclining seat I imagined what an awe inspiring and momentous personal experience
this was going to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I dozed. The main roads turned into snaking mountainside
roads. I think it took three or so hours and then we got out of our van into a
little mountainside village rather like the one we’d gone to to view Merapi.
Just like Thailand, where there are visitors, there are food and drink vendors and we stopped for a cup of something warm.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And visitors. Oh yes. Gone were my imaginings that we would
be one of two or three groups of people, come to experience the spiritual
moments of dawn on a mountainside. There were something like 300,000 people
here too!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, it was amazing. Here are some highlights:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqipw0WRV5mghLm3x-HXiyMr40VkEPfA8p7dkTLn5PF5y_KWbaIAlR1E3hwS6iZ2oTBg7CDMDmw5sI0F92e8ITJYxpRyUjkWC1CXoNcMjcVY0jjYUBWWO9MxnfmH7m1sWEE4AcKGYGcoRZ/s1063/IMG_0678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="476" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqipw0WRV5mghLm3x-HXiyMr40VkEPfA8p7dkTLn5PF5y_KWbaIAlR1E3hwS6iZ2oTBg7CDMDmw5sI0F92e8ITJYxpRyUjkWC1CXoNcMjcVY0jjYUBWWO9MxnfmH7m1sWEE4AcKGYGcoRZ/s640/IMG_0678.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outside our hotel at midnight. We weren't going anywhere...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGRx32p7dl2u4x_EyO0JX5acRoXsq5_lNnFh3WRxWTMngz0oPfwvc1NDJ68-KzjfwIaXbLIDcQtISE1CC-zsxr7tjJB0htGSeuPsXwj9yDZZI72Vom9UhoGPGVBnHZ-bzBR0nZrObB56n/s425/Volcano1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtGRx32p7dl2u4x_EyO0JX5acRoXsq5_lNnFh3WRxWTMngz0oPfwvc1NDJ68-KzjfwIaXbLIDcQtISE1CC-zsxr7tjJB0htGSeuPsXwj9yDZZI72Vom9UhoGPGVBnHZ-bzBR0nZrObB56n/s640/Volcano1.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here are the silhouettes of some of the 300,000 people joining us for our big spiritual moment! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wovSgyAdBBwkXD_-_nDkrMxk0e89ymYIeYMFJsxgVi_co9sUUhjrtF5nFnn_5RxY7xuEDO1qxzSi3rtmwC6xxHKk0kCTFBr04_yPfUirKh3uUDyx_Tlwls2OGd9xVfoeDygNF1aIDPFQ/s425/Volcano2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3wovSgyAdBBwkXD_-_nDkrMxk0e89ymYIeYMFJsxgVi_co9sUUhjrtF5nFnn_5RxY7xuEDO1qxzSi3rtmwC6xxHKk0kCTFBr04_yPfUirKh3uUDyx_Tlwls2OGd9xVfoeDygNF1aIDPFQ/s640/Volcano2.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We fought our way to the front, and yes, it really was special.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmHYtsAokFx-gZZv-wY5iyObGcRS-_obvuK4bcXeRkooBjcgJPorv6as-v9J3pnxscuZfSEx3BZFBUWGpEAtRfcx0wHw3KLQXB5sEfs3tObMOA6VQQOzGhsBzJcjymWZ9v56y81ftCazx/s709/Volcano3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBmHYtsAokFx-gZZv-wY5iyObGcRS-_obvuK4bcXeRkooBjcgJPorv6as-v9J3pnxscuZfSEx3BZFBUWGpEAtRfcx0wHw3KLQXB5sEfs3tObMOA6VQQOzGhsBzJcjymWZ9v56y81ftCazx/s640/Volcano3.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A wider view...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYxIA6B64BZQtfe9d1vAr4T9vPqF-jIvonAO7yKNLVTREH39O51Lb6m2Fg1DQLw19p-gUEJtjB9N-Sc3jzfRmxC_U-6fFY_1sFHBcWTQpWcesuYMzIMmV_rcGj2iiJgJqMD8whqHmQPGD/s425/Volcano4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieYxIA6B64BZQtfe9d1vAr4T9vPqF-jIvonAO7yKNLVTREH39O51Lb6m2Fg1DQLw19p-gUEJtjB9N-Sc3jzfRmxC_U-6fFY_1sFHBcWTQpWcesuYMzIMmV_rcGj2iiJgJqMD8whqHmQPGD/s640/Volcano4.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Long distance...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOKuQEFgE3x9Erk-7lHN77glOa7bVeeGecfFl2-2B0qKJTlJxLdwj4Fgwvuwm8pmL5tLskaf6RgN6NXtwCMOE8CyT0_GVCo22VBJqK8hvvaLNLh8SzHdk_ryaKLjpx5AY-vF-iyqoN07k/s425/Volcano5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisOKuQEFgE3x9Erk-7lHN77glOa7bVeeGecfFl2-2B0qKJTlJxLdwj4Fgwvuwm8pmL5tLskaf6RgN6NXtwCMOE8CyT0_GVCo22VBJqK8hvvaLNLh8SzHdk_ryaKLjpx5AY-vF-iyqoN07k/s640/Volcano5.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxOAyHYwoh9cck12UXzmppguaytp_0PjuielnPbNjob1AJ5QFOajOIMozkNh3JBgxVEPCfAaGNSKo47FyhTj-0zdubfcXj3_XdKEXcMb_04zQYxFZhamKYfYmcaBn3i5478PcKxs8qFSx/s425/Volcano6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkxOAyHYwoh9cck12UXzmppguaytp_0PjuielnPbNjob1AJ5QFOajOIMozkNh3JBgxVEPCfAaGNSKo47FyhTj-0zdubfcXj3_XdKEXcMb_04zQYxFZhamKYfYmcaBn3i5478PcKxs8qFSx/s640/Volcano6.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpThYGJ1yNew42mDbLyQVAuPN8A5f_Jd1AwtxbRH2bu15J0Afy1MRJIPGb5fvg2WYP_XW-fKMV_d1S5_4244DUwgow_CVwD4MgBkjfaBdfPbC_fg0YY0Eg_e1hl1FDYAF_6ZULUH-s5KHp/s425/Volcano7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpThYGJ1yNew42mDbLyQVAuPN8A5f_Jd1AwtxbRH2bu15J0Afy1MRJIPGb5fvg2WYP_XW-fKMV_d1S5_4244DUwgow_CVwD4MgBkjfaBdfPbC_fg0YY0Eg_e1hl1FDYAF_6ZULUH-s5KHp/s640/Volcano7.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The last bit of the journey: we drove across the caldera, trekked by pony (poor pony, I thought) and then climbed the steps you can see here, to peer into the smoking volcano. Unbelievable.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnfxuf7HEU3u0c3wQ37GzDPuvCxCNx_QjATT5fX5Q1puBYE3CsDUINh8Xo5sTfvnoz4UgDwgb5XyhzvbpJW3vYPXeeKS0bOaQcYxZM6Uu_rd9KNQElxE11VTKOd5PVU_jX8A3er3agB2O/s425/Volcano8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBnfxuf7HEU3u0c3wQ37GzDPuvCxCNx_QjATT5fX5Q1puBYE3CsDUINh8Xo5sTfvnoz4UgDwgb5XyhzvbpJW3vYPXeeKS0bOaQcYxZM6Uu_rd9KNQElxE11VTKOd5PVU_jX8A3er3agB2O/s640/Volcano8.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And here it is. I just had time to take this before being overcome with my first ever experience of vertigo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-13636726498390379682013-07-01T14:32:00.001+07:002013-07-01T14:32:26.351+07:00Hello again<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3NSJCKh5Ag8kwlA3AKpE38_kHtFnLbATtPSea8rAUN_ZEc5uJ7tiYs5oh10au90av93_E2l2Yfewn-5B5Wg-WR_0ZfmLUykQm764re1d1peqyIXLp0E81xONZ_5s9fIBo92l-_q-5Lra7/s1600/Bunting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3NSJCKh5Ag8kwlA3AKpE38_kHtFnLbATtPSea8rAUN_ZEc5uJ7tiYs5oh10au90av93_E2l2Yfewn-5B5Wg-WR_0ZfmLUykQm764re1d1peqyIXLp0E81xONZ_5s9fIBo92l-_q-5Lra7/s640/Bunting.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I keep coming here to my blog and looking at this old post;
old and a bit sad because of its abrupt stop. </div>
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Even I didn’t know what I was doing. There I was in the
middle of showing off pictures of our Indonesian volcano adventures when I
interrupted it for a Wednesday Window (I mistyped that as Wednesday Wino – that
would’ve been another kind of post ALTOGETHER) and then, well, wimper. Nothing.
All left hanging. </div>
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So what happened? </div>
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Hmmm, well this is what stops me starting to blog again: not
knowing what or if I should explain. And, if I do elucidate, just how do I go
about it?</div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t want to be all cryptic but nor do I want to blab
away indiscreetly, embarrass my family and any readers who still might come… So
unless I want to talk about it at a later date can I just say worry always
impacts my creativity and it has been a stressful time?</div>
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<br /></div>
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But look, the Google’s reader thingy stops today or tomorrow
and I don’t have an email subscription set up, so the reality is tea stains
might not have any readers left…</div>
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<br /></div>
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The good thing about this is that I’ve pretty much always
written tea stains for ME; so I’ve slung up some bunting in that British, slightly
embarrassed to be trumpeting my return, and if anyone still comes and says
hello, well, Hello back.</div>
<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-70146457750793384742013-01-16T17:06:00.001+07:002013-01-16T17:06:42.137+07:00Wednesday's WindowWe are interrupting posts from Indonesia for Wednesday's window which comes from Zen in Centralworld.<br />
<br />
I love the silver elfy one and the colourful stripey one but I'm not a massive fan of the pink rabbit ears; I don't like the Playboy bunny girl connotations but here I've attempted to desexualise her with a head and shoulders shot.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkOe40_N4r2uktN-WhAbHzZUBa49VzsCAq6KrawC2pKWvzGunRkY2JDI26gjc93j1oIPuJcUSqLFcQTrczzP-NysFjjCxTfOAZQelJ8KU829tjikl8I6ZPW7oNDHufYDUI2_vS0cX33Oo/s1600/ZenCentralworld.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkOe40_N4r2uktN-WhAbHzZUBa49VzsCAq6KrawC2pKWvzGunRkY2JDI26gjc93j1oIPuJcUSqLFcQTrczzP-NysFjjCxTfOAZQelJ8KU829tjikl8I6ZPW7oNDHufYDUI2_vS0cX33Oo/s640/ZenCentralworld.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-73941161718719591882013-01-14T10:49:00.000+07:002013-01-14T10:49:06.619+07:00A volcanic life in Indonesia<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZGEhyQKLddmMxqAnMB1i56EmnJIzcAX7HEP6QL8j4roOewO_fprrI0Bs9AK4LLP4-CvpAVm4XvFyZzamG_6UAK01NGGSn1Ox7KplRV-8jK0djmmxOb1CHYEYssFuBBu7YhqBggFzkxxO/s1600/DSC07159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZGEhyQKLddmMxqAnMB1i56EmnJIzcAX7HEP6QL8j4roOewO_fprrI0Bs9AK4LLP4-CvpAVm4XvFyZzamG_6UAK01NGGSn1Ox7KplRV-8jK0djmmxOb1CHYEYssFuBBu7YhqBggFzkxxO/s640/DSC07159.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Driving up to Merapi, we saw lots of Indonesian life.</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDCaMKiW3CuT__GzuPiVbhyphenhyphenB1_PBgUHjxwZ_FceKiEPvovSVUcUZ4qmxQrddy1ELT5ndrMNsud9ckfJRPJlcHZ5IRSPGytnFCpqAh6R9gOHvjqrOAsWZLSeummQw9MXvGZKtOfXChgBsy/s1600/DSC07227.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDCaMKiW3CuT__GzuPiVbhyphenhyphenB1_PBgUHjxwZ_FceKiEPvovSVUcUZ4qmxQrddy1ELT5ndrMNsud9ckfJRPJlcHZ5IRSPGytnFCpqAh6R9gOHvjqrOAsWZLSeummQw9MXvGZKtOfXChgBsy/s320/DSC07227.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A peak at one flank of Merapi</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We didn't see much of our first volcano: <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Merapi">Merapi</a> near <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yogyakarta">Jogjakarta</a> because it was rainy season and there was so much cloud cover. It made us a bit nervous; were we going to come on a volcano watching holiday and, er, not see any volcanoes? It was disappointing but actually didn't change the impact of the thing. Thousands of people still live and farm the flanks of Merapi and some of them were there to collect toll/entrance money and to sell souvenirs and fruit to any passing tourists. It was a sobering experience.<br /><br />Merapi, meaning Mountain of Fire, is considered to be one of the most dangerous active volcanoes, (in Indonesia? The world? Claims vary...) famous for its <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pyroclastic_flow#Origin_of_term">pyroclastic flow</a> (hot gas, ash and rocks that flows (like liquid) along the ground at up to 450 miles per hour. Pyroclastic flow reaches temperatures of 1000˚C, can move hundreds of kilometres and it can cross water. This phenomena is what happened at Pompeii. <br /><br />TE.RRI.FY.ING. <br /><br />It's last big eruption was 2010, 2006 before that... the next one is due, our guide told us, in 2014. Stupidest question of the week was definitely mine: I asked him if it was frightening living here under these volcanoes. I just don't think I could do it. He shrugged and said, 'it's our motherland.' I think, maybe, if you grow up with it, you learn to live with it. <br /><br />After failing to see much of Merapi we visited the museum. They had a huge model of the volcano and if you pressed the button, it would erupt for you. I don't think I was alone in finding the earth tremors of this replica, terrifying for the shadowing of what it might really be like. We saw just what pyroclastic flow could do, stripping motorbikes of all soft fittings, leaving behind a metal skeleton. And I learned the different ways they are monitoring Merapi and his brothers in Indonesia. (I didn't learn any of this in school. I switched off that day because it didn't interest me. It's one of the many things I've understood about myself as an adult. I am lucky enough to realise NOW how fascinating it all is.) They use photography from both satellites and ground level (bulges are a comment early sign), seismic measurements, monitoring the fissures on the surface and monitoring the gases from the output. I may have forgotten other ones....<br /><br />Unsurprisingly, there are strong spiritual beliefs about these volcanoes (Merapi and Mount Bromo, the one we did get to SEE at New Year) and the Javanese people still make offerings to them to keep them appeased. I think if I lived here, I would too; it couldn't do any harm, could it? But if you didn't...<br /><br />You can see <a href="http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&sugexp=les%3B&gs_rn=1&gs_ri=hp&qe=TWVyYXBp&qesig=CF0gzgKh5iX417PFk8JlAw&pkc=AFgZ2tl6ApNgWIXhdNJEsl5C5eR7l6OxVLhdnx6XHU1_KY58RpCAHpKVZa7VTSQpAKJSMmc0N_pX8Wb_6E1IVr10Jj7wmWHC7w&cp=6&gs_id=m&xhr=t&q=merapi&bav=on.2,or.r_gc.r_pw.r_cp.r_qf.&bvm=bv.1357700187,d.bmk&biw=1222&bih=620&um=1&ie=UTF-8&tbm=isch&source=og&sa=N&tab=wi&ei=9m3zUOKFGorDkgW4joCwCQ">here</a> what Merapi does look like without the cloud cover.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-65413608850739374012013-01-11T10:54:00.000+07:002013-01-11T10:54:06.314+07:00Crispy cracker, snack capital of the world
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Our holiday, this Christmas, caused me much consternation;
probably not as much as it caused Husband, who had to book it, but still enough
for me to make a total arse of myself.</div>
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Husband proposed a trip during New Year to see volcanoes in
Indonesia. I agreed but told him he would have to organize it. Time passed; I
made silly creatures, hats and costumes and wondered if anything would get
booked. People kept asking what our plans were. Sometimes I’d be vague (I had a
permanent, slightly vague sense whenever questioned about our holiday but I
thought it was because I’d passed the responsibility to Husband) and other
times I’d wave aside the nauseous doubt and I’d say that Husband was meant to be
booking something; we’d laugh. Maybe, I’d say, we wouldn’t get anything at this
late notice but we hoped to be going to the Philippines. Daughter couldn’t
remember where we were going either (I wonder where she gets THAT from) “Where
are we going for New Year?” She’d text. “The Philippines” I’d say, feeling
geographically knowledgeable. Eventually, Husband started sending tentative
itineraries to me. And it was during this time that I had a brainwave. Maybe I
could use the trip to pick up some millinery materials. The Philippines are
where they make <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sinamay">sinamay</a>, a material made from banana fibre used to make hats. I
began googling sinamay manufacturers hoping that I could tie a side trip into
some of the places I’d seen on the travel agents’ details. It was odd how when
I found a place that made sinamay, I could never find any of the names nearby of the
places on our itinerary….</div>
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Of course, this idea of mine wasn't ever going to
come off, given that I was talking about the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Philippines">Philippines</a> and Husband was
talking about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indonesia">Indonesia</a>. *Sigh* One of my best friends in the UK lived (before
I knew her) in both the Philippines and Indonesia. I’ve known for a long time
now that I get these two places mixed up and no amount of map checking cleared
it up for me. Both locations have amalgamated in my head as foreign
archipelagoes *waves hand vaguely over to the left* down there somewhere and
I’m doubly embarrassed now that I live in SE Asia because I’ve waved many a
friend off from Bangkok to Indonesia, or maybe it was the Philippines….</div>
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Anyway, there we were; it was all finally booked and we were
off. Yes, definitely to Indonesia: six flights in six days and two
dawn starts. Crumbs.</div>
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Anyway, Indonesia was most charming. I glimpsed a life lived
under the threat of active volcanoes. I peered down inside a smoking crater. I saw
my boys wearing sarongs (Don’t panic, David Beckham, you’re quite safe) and
yes, I have photographic evidence. Though their coffee seemed to contain
generous quantities of volcanic ash, those lovely Indonesians also drank tea,
which pleased me enormously. The food was delicious (mie goreng – fried noodles
– ooh yum – and a spectacular clear soup, served with crackery crisp things.)
In fact, though often spotted in Bangkok, Indonesia struck me as the crispy cracker,
snack capital of the world (a choice of four, yes FOUR, crispy crackery snacks with breakfast!) Mostly commonly spotted where the prawn cracker
type things, but other crackers in spirals, squares, circles and hula hoop
shapes, were all over the place, made variously from rice, potato, tapioca starches. Awesome. </div>
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We had an incredible trip; seeing the dawn of 2013
overlooking the crater of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Bromo">Mount Bromo</a>. We saw <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Borobudur">Borobudur</a>, a ninth century Buddhist
temple; <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prambanan">Prambanan</a>, a ninth century Hindu temple, both UNESCO world heritage
sites.</div>
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And I, finally, worked out the difference between Indonesia
and the Philippines. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59rLF9FZ3IyGKWxztDmYc-hUpHyiwyx9ixe581DsGByE6yh5Iv3x8a-dxviPDUXcNCfy5QznSYeqFq8Xe4m9ENo5pvN1PV-4Ruftu5ReZiTVN3aZRSuVTJXqbtijobmQQ9c2DsCAm8hKa/s1600/SEAsiaWords.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg59rLF9FZ3IyGKWxztDmYc-hUpHyiwyx9ixe581DsGByE6yh5Iv3x8a-dxviPDUXcNCfy5QznSYeqFq8Xe4m9ENo5pvN1PV-4Ruftu5ReZiTVN3aZRSuVTJXqbtijobmQQ9c2DsCAm8hKa/s400/SEAsiaWords.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waving my hand vaguely over to the left</td></tr>
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<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-38399300018153110232013-01-03T11:30:00.001+07:002013-01-03T11:30:23.338+07:00Christmas Creatures 2012<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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The Christmas Creatures are a long held family tradition. My
Dad has been making them for all the children (and guests and ‘hangers on’) for
some 38 years. (You can see some examples from over the years <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2011/11/all-i-want-for-christmas.html">here</a>.) In conversation with my Dad just before Christmas, he told me that one year, what with cousins and extra small guests, he made sixteen of that Creature! SIXTEEN? And I stress about four!</div>
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Last year, my Dad handed the tradition over to me. <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2011/12/this-years-christmas-creatures.html">This was my first one</a>: intended as a testament and honour to my Dad’s years of Christmas Creature
production. (He's a retired doctor.)</div>
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Here is this year’s creature:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJU7AEqFiRcZHsjFVeQAnm-wVfBevEwt8y0nxdKwqE8PDGd1W1Gik2Q01oe_TALU1T21CXtBCV7OvHyM5xaC33JKwFscikg4b4SmdNf_PpvNgjn6ByKhMWLciba4VZKeWu9tCNxbNhQGH/s1600/ChristmasCreatures2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAJU7AEqFiRcZHsjFVeQAnm-wVfBevEwt8y0nxdKwqE8PDGd1W1Gik2Q01oe_TALU1T21CXtBCV7OvHyM5xaC33JKwFscikg4b4SmdNf_PpvNgjn6ByKhMWLciba4VZKeWu9tCNxbNhQGH/s640/ChristmasCreatures2012.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Christmas Creatures have a cavity, into which tiny gifts, wrapped in tissue paper, are inserted. Of course, with a chicken... it really HAD to be an egg, right? (Found in Sampeng Lane, Chinatown.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0TMiFDwFtARyCztzVf3ZYh1vnG3NXmLG-8utJezFWStm4hbV0dS2YaedYt10VuloKVnMjoH97LWYCbOARlLbv9wthQ1cJeszOxHFinGWTF6xxlD60nz77KAk5GnGGVkhkw4pmG36LW44/s1600/UndersideCC2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR0TMiFDwFtARyCztzVf3ZYh1vnG3NXmLG-8utJezFWStm4hbV0dS2YaedYt10VuloKVnMjoH97LWYCbOARlLbv9wthQ1cJeszOxHFinGWTF6xxlD60nz77KAk5GnGGVkhkw4pmG36LW44/s640/UndersideCC2012.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I have to confess that the design is not my own. I hope that
this is not deemed cheating; rather I see it as utilizing the opportunities of
the 21<sup>st</sup> century and once I had seen <a href="http://www.ikatbag.com/p/who-what.html">LiEr's</a> truly brilliant pattern, nothing I could have done would have come close; this was everything I wanted the chicken creature to be. It was found <a href="http://www.ikatbag.com/">here</a> and purchased, as insurance, <a href="http://www.ikatbag.com/p/patterns-for-sale.html">(here)</a> in
case time ran away with me. Time did run away with me; <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2012/12/no-weds-window.html">lion costumes</a> and <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2012/12/ta-daaa-christmas-headwear.html">holly headpieces</a> took up more than I anticipated and two of the creatures have to be
sent ahead to the UK. </div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-24416808076091732492012-12-31T10:12:00.000+07:002013-01-03T10:15:57.955+07:00What I read in 2012<br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Secret Keeper by Kate Morton</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Bolter by Frances Osborne</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Cook's Tale by Nancy Jackman & Tom Quinn</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Accidental Billiionaires by Ben Mezrich*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Move Over Darling by Chris Stovell</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Mr Churchill's Secretary by Susan Elia MacNeal</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Colour Purple by Alice Walker*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
A Kind of Vanishing by Lesley Thomson</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Soldier's Wife by Joanna Trollope</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
27: Six Friends, One Year by RJ Heald</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
A Perfectly Good Man by Patrick Gale</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Drowning Rose by Marika Cobbold</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Ninepins by Rosy Thornton</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Somewhere to Hide (The Estate, Book 1) by Mel Sherratt</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Tony Hogan Bought me an Ice Cream Float before he Stole my Ma by Kerry Hudson</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Gold by Chris Cleave</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Woman Who Went to Bed for a Year by Sue Townsend</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Charlotte Street by Danny Wallace</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Slap by Christos Tsiolkas*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Expats by Chris Pavone</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Various Pets Alive and Dead by Marina Lewycka</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Cornish House by Liz Fenwick</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Most Beautiful Thing by Fiona Robyn</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Buddha In The Attic by Julie Otsuka</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Untying the Knot by Linda Gillard</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
My Dear I Wanted To Tell You by Louisa Young</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
When We Were Orphans by Kazuo Ishiguro*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
You Before Me by Jojo Moyes</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Nirvana Bites by Debi Alper</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Everything and Nothing by Araminta Hall</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Book of Fires by Jane Borodale</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Hothouse Flower by Lucinda Riley</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Room by Emma Donoghue*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
A Field Guide to Fabric Design by Kimberly Kight</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
When God Was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman* (reread)</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Limitless by Alan Glynn</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Handmade Type Workshop by Charlotte Rivers</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
The Fundamentals of Printed Textile Design by Alex Russell</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
What the Nanny Saw by Fiona Neill</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
More Than You Can Say by Paul Torday</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Cuckoo by Julia Crouch</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel*</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
How to Be a Woman by Caitlin Moran</div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">
*Book Club choices</div>
Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-18155419222527078102012-12-19T18:27:00.000+07:002012-12-19T18:27:58.110+07:00Wednesday's Winter WindowsThere might be snow, frost, icicles and snowflakes in Bangkok's malls (and not just because of the roaring air conditioning) but there's no sign of 'winter' outside. Let's face it, the three seasons here are hot, hot and wet and really hot, and I'm ready for simply hot.<br />
<br />
What is that noise? Ohhhhh; that's the sound of you all tutting and unhooking your RSS feeds, right? Sorry; but it's meant to be a bit cooler now and it's not and I'm a bit fed up with it.<br />
<br />
So here are some of Bangkok's winter wonderland windows:<br />
<br />
(And, because great minds think alike, when you've finished at Tea Stains you can check out Vogue's Christmas windows <a href="http://www.vogue.co.uk/news/favourites-of-vogue/2012/11/christmas-windows/gallery/1">here</a>.)<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyLgLyYFoJgN1qTeOlJOvPkFX6fNI1NXTj9aylHFVcQoUpL2GPXOv4Q0OzU8LlD_VDqljRascNI2Ro2njD_tJ-MMfJp_KdzreWwFhcg-D023lDe8FDGZQaiE827R9sVooEN6Xe7p34z-q/s1600/AccessorizeMegaBangNa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHyLgLyYFoJgN1qTeOlJOvPkFX6fNI1NXTj9aylHFVcQoUpL2GPXOv4Q0OzU8LlD_VDqljRascNI2Ro2njD_tJ-MMfJp_KdzreWwFhcg-D023lDe8FDGZQaiE827R9sVooEN6Xe7p34z-q/s640/AccessorizeMegaBangNa.jpg" width="593" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accessorize Mega Bangna</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0b5lrw7nF9D4UQntaXWKip8gGv5Nnvd1RMFtMUBEYlYjU1F1y-Z3ig1tK-_86vNTbkIEe1zBkhP7OS-ipsjO3oqpLeTGJERKTAkQw7fxW-Cc1lguF-V31HroFtMp-rf6pbrvSUFd0CZYG/s1600/DiorEmporium.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="521" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0b5lrw7nF9D4UQntaXWKip8gGv5Nnvd1RMFtMUBEYlYjU1F1y-Z3ig1tK-_86vNTbkIEe1zBkhP7OS-ipsjO3oqpLeTGJERKTAkQw7fxW-Cc1lguF-V31HroFtMp-rf6pbrvSUFd0CZYG/s640/DiorEmporium.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dior Emporium</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsGR0GEI0R1anAaYVtjelE6oMDv76SH15xUMUCaQc5Bgg0qvlXXaEHizx82zZTJECjPUtQk8164Jv9LZyohUYg1aqxx0wtpvYBpDmCt4-SvnFs-CVKxpm7Qm6Y_E2mM7hET2MpAJXO_7v/s1600/SiamParagonDeptStore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcsGR0GEI0R1anAaYVtjelE6oMDv76SH15xUMUCaQc5Bgg0qvlXXaEHizx82zZTJECjPUtQk8164Jv9LZyohUYg1aqxx0wtpvYBpDmCt4-SvnFs-CVKxpm7Qm6Y_E2mM7hET2MpAJXO_7v/s640/SiamParagonDeptStore.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Department store, Siam Paragon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7gW7oV18YeqiotTHcD4v5d9oVBVcG6e8vKMag_bXdnPlHUrm7Eny1TW85ymSsLOSqtUONzW8yG6VXWepMMG66q2gu5npgBWLku4L0NhzTjxoSVSFDdBtDJenSN8WO5h5Gfc668L5iFY8/s1600/ZenCentralWorld.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE7gW7oV18YeqiotTHcD4v5d9oVBVcG6e8vKMag_bXdnPlHUrm7Eny1TW85ymSsLOSqtUONzW8yG6VXWepMMG66q2gu5npgBWLku4L0NhzTjxoSVSFDdBtDJenSN8WO5h5Gfc668L5iFY8/s640/ZenCentralWorld.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zen at Centralworld</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-9588300276483581492012-12-16T09:56:00.000+07:002012-12-16T09:56:20.284+07:00Parent teenager miscommunications
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Poor old Son had a long appointment at the dentist yesterday
in order to get some treatment done before Christmas. He texted me - in misery (and sarcasm) from the dental chair - to confirm that afterwards he was meeting friends to go to the cinema. </div>
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I was just trying to cheer him up; to give him a laugh but in my failure to pay attention (and my own obsession about costumes) I think I let him down…</div>
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(In my defence, the wool beard appeared to adopt a very similar method to the <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2012/12/no-weds-window.html">lion's mane</a> I did a week or so ago... And if anyone knows the boys, please tell them they looked awesome and I really wished I'd asked them for a photo.)</div>
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Son's conversation is in yellow: mine in blue.</div>
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<!--EndFragment-->Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-69842100384723340412012-12-06T08:07:00.000+07:002012-12-06T08:14:30.638+07:00TA- Daaa: the Christmas headwear<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrw0vP1ZfCDJqthkNAl4DUVuSwXvmmkVl1rKOi7kxES8pW2FSUsxFO6padWa51jbN6X2p0pfe1zu6iqdHVKF8kQ5l9igPpjregikUpiQqGif9KBcXOsarTKk3pQUddmMmhR219i5Mt3drK/s1600/HollyHeadpiece.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrw0vP1ZfCDJqthkNAl4DUVuSwXvmmkVl1rKOi7kxES8pW2FSUsxFO6padWa51jbN6X2p0pfe1zu6iqdHVKF8kQ5l9igPpjregikUpiQqGif9KBcXOsarTKk3pQUddmMmhR219i5Mt3drK/s320/HollyHeadpiece.jpg" width="353" /></a></div>
I knew back in the summer that I was going to attempt to make a holly sprig for the Christmas headpiece, an essential (if only to me) part of my Bangkok Christmas. These things often look awesome and professional in my brain and uhm, less so, in reality. Anyway, I’m relatively happy with how they turned out. Definitely room for improvement… but not bad.<br />
<br />
I adapted a method I learned with <a href="http://www.baileytomlin.com/">Bridget Bailey</a> <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2012/08/mad-hatter-or-really-writer.html">in my tutorial back in the summer</a> that involved layers (silk and velvet) and floristry wire. I estimated that I needed 9-11 per headpiece plus extras for disasters so I was cutting and assembling the layers for quite some time. <br />
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If I thought THAT was fiddly, <a href="http://tea-stains.blogspot.com/2012/11/cakes-pies-and-festive-fascinators.html">it was nothing on the assembling of the sprig</a>, which turned out to be more of a branch. (Note to self: Less is more.) And then the binding of the wire… suffice to say, they didn’t get easier and I’m glad I only had to make three!
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<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-53753101674513850442012-12-05T20:09:00.001+07:002012-12-05T20:11:32.898+07:00No Wed's Window<br />
I'm postponing Wednesday's Windows to show you how I've been spending my time.<br />
<br />
I tried to call this activity 'work' at Book Club when I was trying to justify why I hadn't read the book (The Casual Vacancy) but I got sniggered at.<br />
<br />
Still, whether it's work or play, it was a mammoth session: a four day, 6am to 10pm job. And while I worked, I 'watched,' (listened to) <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_House_of_Eliott">The House of Eliott</a>; one episode after another. It send me a little, tiny bit mad but kept me going.... and I affectionately retitled it 'The House of Fraser.'<br />
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Right so this was for Husband's work Christmas party, theme: Animal Planet. Can you guess what he was?<br />
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No, he wasn't Rod Stewart with that bad mullet hairstyle; he was meant to be a lion.... Not sure how successful that was but still... at least now I'm experienced enough to apply for jobs as a carpet maker...<br />
<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8148402657600219790.post-57005807363743866592012-11-28T09:16:00.002+07:002012-11-28T09:18:39.071+07:00Wednesday's Window<br />
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This was probably one of the creepiest window displays I've ever seen. I photographed this in China - Beijing, I think but I'd have to check my holiday diary to be sure - in 2006. </div>
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It was a case of the double take/You've Been Framed...</div>
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These aren't mannequins but real, live girls. </div>
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Ewwwgh.</div>
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<br />Jenny Beattiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00640209636605410939noreply@blogger.com0