Kittens again!

When we finally get our new kitten, we shall have to remember how we coped the last time. We aren’t used to rearing kittens as most of our moggies adopted us when fully grown.
The only exception to this was over thirty years ago in 1975 when we took in a stray. It was in February of that year and I happened to notice a marmalade coloured cat sniffing round the back door one evening. This was when I was staying with Iris and neither of us had seen it before. It was obviously a stray as when we let it in (and who wouldn’t?) it gobbled virtually everything we fed it.
Iris told me that the cat looked as though it had been neglected for some time so we set about cleaning her up a little. It was then that Iris discovered she was heavily preggers! What were we to do? We had a cat already to look after, Smokie, who had been with us for about a year. She was used to being on her own during the day as we were both out at work but to take in another cat was going to be very difficult especially if she was going to give birth at any time.

Back at the family home, we had a large Newfoundland Labrador, as daft as a brush but no cats. I decided to take the newcomer home with me where it could be properly looked after.
I told a bit of a white lie to my wife saying I’d come across the cat near work and couldn’t leave it to wander about on its own. I omitted telling her of the suspected condition it was in! Barbara immediately fussed around the moggie and the dog, Sheba, never batted an eyelid.
Surprise, surprise! Two days later after coming in from work, Barbara told me that the cat, now called Smudge, had given birth to four kittens! They were all various shades of ginger/black/white and the mother had taken them upstairs and kept them in the front bedroom in the ‘Walk-in’ wardrobe. (Some folks call it a clothes closet!) The kittens all survived and were visited every day by the dog, Sheba, who insisted on washing them until they looked like pieces of wet string!

To cut a long story short, we found homes for two of the kitties but the other two remained with us for the next twenty-odd years. I hope that our new kitten will enjoy life with us as much as they did! I dunno how Tiffi (our present moggie) will think about it but I reckon she will take it in good faith..
As soon as the kittens are old enough, I'll take some shots and post them on here

April in Paris Easter 1974 (Epilogue)

The mini-series has finally ended and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
That break was very memorable, as although it was only for a few days, we thoroughly enjoyed it. As I have said before, we had many holidays together and much longer ones but this one has always stood out as something special. I think that I got as much pleasure out of showing Iris the delights of the city as she got out of being there.
After our return, I did find a suitable venue where Iris could wear her beautiful scarlet dress for the first time and she looked an absolute picture! After her death, I took the dress away as I couldn’t bear to think of anyone else wearing it so I disposed of it in an incinerator along with several other items of her clothing. Mind you, after the ‘vultures’ had been round, there were precious few things left as I have mentioned before!

I have often been asked why Iris was so very special apart from the fact that she loved me so much.
I shall, in the course of the next few days, try to explain this ‘Special’ quality and the effect she had on my friends, my family and, of course, on me.

Kitten update...

I went to see the little kittens at my daughter’s place today. Only just over a week old and they have opened their eyes! They look absolutely gorgeous and I can’t wait until they are old enough to leave their mother.
There are three of them; one black and two ginger. The black kitten and one of the gingers are toms. At present, there is no name for the black one but he already has a home waiting.
The ginger tom and queen will be called Jasper and Amber respectively. I think we shall finish up with Amber as my wife thinks a queen will get along better with Tiffi, our present cat.
I owe a big ‘Thank you’ to several people on our local forum for suggesting names. I have already chosen a couple of very suitable prezzies for the two who came up with 'Jasper' and 'Amber'.

Incidentally, this is the 200th blog I have posted since I opened it on New Year's Day 2006

April in Paris Easter 1974 (Pt. 4)

Envoi
As I explained earlier, it was a mini-break and Sunday came all too soon. We were due to return that evening on the night ferry but at least we had all day Sunday to spend looking around the city.
We saw a very lively market and browsed around for a bit before lunching in a quiet bistro.
Afterwards, we walked along a large shopping centre in the heart of Paris where many of the shops were open; I’d forgotten about the Continental Sundays!
Suddenly Iris gave a shriek that nearly deafened me.. “Look at that!” she cried. “That” was a cocktail length dress in deep scarlet. I must admit it looked very good. (and also very expensive!) Iris looked at the dress and looked at me. I remembered my promise to buy her a new dress while we were here so we entered the boutique. We looked around but Iris only had eyes for the scarlet creation; she tried it on. Iris was a very standard shape, 34B (just) and a slim waist. The dress fitted and she swirled around in front of the mirror! She looked exquisite in it but there again, she would have looked just as good in a bin-liner to my eyes! I remember thinking as we walked out of the shop with Iris clutching a large bag with the boutique’s name boldly emblazoned on it, that it was going to cost me another packet to take her somewhere to wear it when we got back home!

We left Paris at around 4pm and had a surprise stop at Amiens. We went into the city where dinner had been arranged. Before that, we ambled around the old place. It was the scene of a battle in August 1918 when Australian troops captured the city from German occupation.
An interesting fact is that in the cathedral, which was built in the early 13^th Century, is kept the head of John the Baptist! Every year on July 24^th, the head is paraded round the place on a cushion. Mind you, as Iris pointed out, it must be a bit niffy by now!
We left Amiens around 8pm and headed back to Calais and the ferry. For some reason or other, we missed one sailing and had to wait until 11.15 pm before we could board.
The night crossing was uneventful and there were no delays passing through customs. In those days, the limit on cigs. was 200 per person and as both of us smoked, we made sure we got our full allocation!
We got back home just before 5am Monday. We were tired but we had enjoyed the break immensely.
Monday was a bank holiday, of course but we spent most of the day in bed catching up on some sleep. We went out that evening with some friends and Iris regaled them with the weekend trip. She said that she wanted to go again; I promised her that we would!

Thick and fast!

Suggestions for names for our new moggie are pouring in!
While some of them are old hackneyed names that have done the rounds for years, like ‘Ginger’ and ‘Tigger,’ some new ones have been mooted.
like ‘Chivers’ and another lady, ‘Moonbird’, has suggested ‘Amber.’ I quite like that one.
Another suggestion was Jasper. This could be an ideal name. Red Jasper is a quartz crystal noted for sexual compatibility. Mind you, I reckon we’ll have to make sure the kitten is neutered in that case!!!

April in Paris Easter 1974 (Pt.3)

Gay Paree!
The next day, Saturday, we went down to breakfast or, in this case, petit déjeuner! It was a typical French meal comprising of crusty rolls, butter and confitures. (jam, to you!)
We were sharing the table with another couple who were a lot older than we were. It was their first trip to Paris and we had noticed them the evening before in the lounge bar. The man, Alf, as it happened, said “Eyoop, tha goin’ ter get an eyful o’ t’tower?” I shuddered inwardly! I learned later that they came from Barnsley; I might have guessed!
Naturally, the Eiffel Tower was a priority on our itinerary and we made our way towards it enjoying the scenery alongside the river. Iris was in a flippant mood, singing an old French song, “Sur les ponts de Paris” giving a passable impression of Eartha Kitt! We were walking hand-in-hand like a couple of teenagers but who cared? We were in Paris and we were in love!

The weather was very kind to us while we were there and our ascent up the tower really got to Iris. She’d never seen anything like it before, apart from a day-trip to Blackpool some years previously!
Naturally, we had coffee and gateaux in the café at the top of the Tower. Iris selected some postcards to send back and posted them there to get the special “Tour d’Eiffel” postmark. She was doing quite well, I reckoned. She had gone to the kiosk, bought the cards and the stamps, paid with francs and “Mercy bucketed” the sales girl. Iris was certainly turning quite Gallic!
It was quite warm for April so forsaking lunch for a baguette, we made our way to the river. There were trip boats on the Seine and we opted for a journey downstream. There was plenty to see from the river and we both enjoyed the tranquil navigation through the heart of the city.

That evening, there was an optional trip to the Moulin Rouge. About half a dozen of us decided to go and we arrived there about 7pm. Everybody was given a half-bottle of champagne as a courtesy and the meals were absolutely the finest that Paris could offer. I remember choosing escargots in garlic butter sauce for starters followed by fillet of beef in red wine. Iris also had the beef but demurred at snails, opting for moules marinière instead.
I had seen the show a couple of times before, some years ago, but Iris had never seen anything like it. There were two hours of non-stop entertainment including, of course, the famous ‘Can-Can dance.’ She enjoyed every minute of it; she was absolutely over the moon!
We returned to the hotel in the early hours of the morning after a wonderful night and proceeded to do what every other lover in Paris was doing!!!

A most happy event...!

Yesterday, my daughter’s cat had kittens. Three beautiful bundles of fur; one black and two ginger.
Naturally, they don’t have their eyes open yet and are so very, very tiny.
I’m a sucker for animals, especially cats and we have decided to adopt one of the ginger kittens
I don’t know how this decision will go down with Tiffi, our present lovable and adored pussy but I think she may take to the newcomer very well.
It will be a couple of months before they can be separated from their mum and in the meantime, we have to think of a suitable name for him/her.
Forty years ago, we had a couple of ginger cats called Rusty and Rufus who both lived for over 20 years. They were wonderful companions.
Any suggestions for a name for this one?

April in Paris Easter 1974 pt 2

Ooo, la la!
The Easter weekend was approaching and Iris was becoming a little nervous about the trip. I reassured her that it was no big deal; a trip to France wasn’t much different from a trip to Scotland in travel time but she was worried in case she became sea-sick. I told her that I’d crossed the channel several times with no ill effects and it wasn’t as though it was a long crossing; just about two hours.
I stayed overnight with Iris on the Thursday before we set off. She was so excited she could hardly sleep. It was an early start and 5am saw us having a light breakfast. 5am is, in my opinion, strictly reserved for late night revellers and stray cats! However, we boarded the coach and were away just after 6.
I remember we stopped twice en-route to Dover; once at Leicester Forest services on the M1 to pick up a few more passengers and again just after Dartford Tunnel for a coffee break.

We arrived at Dover around 11.30am in time for the noon ferry to Calais. Once on board, Iris was almost jumping up and down like a six-year old at Christmas! We stayed on deck as the ferry cleared the harbour and Iris gulped a little as the boat met the rollers as we entered the Channel. She was fine after the first gentle sway and we went below as it was rather dull and overcast and it was starting to rain. (Well, it was a Bank Holiday; what do you expect?)
We had a light lunch and Iris was looking out of the window at the sea. She said she felt fine and no queasiness at all. She was really enjoying the crossing.
We arrived at Calais around 2pm; although it was 3pm Central European Time. There were no hold-ups and we were on our way to Paris!

The coach only stopped once, just outside Abbéville for a short break. We went into the cafeteria for coffee and croissants and something Iris said started me laughing fit to bust! She turned to me and said, “Isn’t it funny? Everyone’s speaking French!” Some members of our coach party were nearby and they too heard her and were chuckling away. As we approached the check-out with our snack, I reached for some money (Francs) and paid the cashier. She was asking me if I’d come far and I replied we had travelled from England and were going to Paris. Iris thought it so strange to hear me speaking in French. She had learned the language, albeit rudimentary, in her school days but had never spoken it since. I told her that now was the time to remember some of it! She made a face at me and said, “Mercy bucket! How about that?”

We got to Paris just before 7.30pm and the hotel staff were on hand with dinner as soon as we’d checked in and cleaned up. The meal was excellent and by that time, we were ready for it. Afterwards, we took a stroll round the area, although it was getting dusk by now. In the distance, the Eiffel Tower was lit up and I told Iris that we would be going there in the morning. We popped into a small bistro for a couple of drinks and then went back to the hotel for the rest of the evening. There was a piano-accordion player entertaining the guests and we sat around for a while. We were both very tired after the journey so we had an early night. We slept like logs until the morning.

Sorted!

It looks as though the disruptive posts are a thing of the past. We have managed to eliminate unwanted remarks both in the tag-box and in the comments box.
Every time someone posts a comment, he or she leaves behind an ip reference that can be checked against known offenders.
The obvious ones, of whom there are just two, are easy to spot and stand out like a sore thumb.
Another, however, is someone with whom I though I’d buried the hatchet. Not to worry; there will be no more disruptions! This is just one of her comments:

"Pass the ash tray. Iris is here."

This evil bitch has sunk to gutter level. Although she has a severe mental problem, there is no excuse for such behaviour. Thank God she's only a cretin who can't do any lasting damage.
However, if tits were brains, she'd be a genius!!!

April in Paris 1974 (1 of 4)

This is an account of one of the most memorable Easters we had. I hope you enjoy reading about it.

It was coming up to Easter when Iris rang me at work to tell me about an all-in four-day break in London that was being advertised in a travel agency near to where she worked. We had discussed a London trip a few weeks ago and she was looking forward to it.

It was a Friday evening and it was the day I used to take her shopping on our way home. She pointed it out to me in the window when I stopped to pick her up. I wasn’t really interested; I had already made plans for driving down there by car and staying at an hotel I knew. However, something else immediately caught my eye and I said to her, “How about Paris?” There was an offer on for a three-day trip to Paris at a very reasonable price. Iris was all for it! She had never set foot outside this country and began asking me all sorts of questions. We went into the shop and made further enquiries. It was an Easter break holiday from Good Friday to Easter Sunday. Travel by coach via Dover–Calais ferry and on to Paris. We booked then and there!

We took the brochure back home and later that evening, Iris was reading it avidly. She asked about the food and the hotels. Were they the same as the hotels here? What were the toilets like? (Women always want to know about toilets when travelling anywhere; have you noticed?)
I told her the first thing she’d need would be a passport. As it was only a short stay, she could apply for a Visitor’s Passport that was valid for a year and easily obtained at a Crown Post Office.

Saturday morning saw us in the post office where there was a photo-booth. It took all of fifteen minutes for her to get a passport. The next thing was the age-old cry, “What shall I wear?” I said she had enough suitable clothes without needing any more but I promised to buy her a dress from a Parisian boutique. That did the trick!
Easter that year was from April 12^th-15^th and we were due to depart on Good Friday at 6am from the city centre. Iris couldn’t wait!

My wife never liked going away at holiday times. She preferred to go when places weren’t as crowded and the roads were less busy. The kids were growing up and, like most teen-agers, wanted to ‘Do their own thing.’ To expect them to spend a holiday on the beach as they did years ago would have been met with the most scornful derision. I knew that Barbara wanted to go to the Chelsea Flower Show in May as usual, so I said that although I’d be tied up over Easter, I would be free to take her to both the Chelsea show in May and the Southport show in August. This made her day, as she was an avid gardener and took a great interest in all things horticultural. Personally, I’m bored out of my skull looking at floral displays but it was a small price to pay in exchange for being let off the hook over Easter!

A complete waste of time!

I have been sent several anonymous posts recently regarding this blog. They range from the utmost stupidity to the downright poisonous lies.
Whoever it is, and I have no doubt in my mind who is responsible, should realise that anonymity will not be recognised and no anonymous posts will be published. It's as simple as that!

Easter 1974

Over the next couple of weeks, I shall be recording the events of Easter 1974. It was a wonderful time, especially for Iris as she had her first Continental holiday. Admittedly, it was only a short break over the Easter weekend but she was absolutely ecstatic about it.

The Paris trip will be in four parts describing the journey going, the time spent there and the journey back. I got a great deal of pleasure when writing this account as it brought back so many happy memories. Iris took to Paris like a duck to water; she was in her element there! The next year, we returned to Paris for a longer holiday but these few days at Easter 1974 have always stuck out in my mind as unforgettable.

We enjoyed many holidays over the years. We went all over the place and made many friends. However, even now, 26 years after her death, there are places I could not visit again. It would still be too painful. Berwick, for instance, is a wonderful place for a holiday but I could never return.
The next time I go there will be when I’m in an urn. My daughter will scatter my ashes from the cliff-top to join those of Iris that I scattered there all those years ago.

More domestic reminiscences

I’ve been waxing lyrical about Iris not being just a pretty face and her prowess in the kitchen but I could say the same about my wife; she was very attractive and a brilliant cook.
I could never find anyone to beat her where culinary arts were involved apart, perhaps, from my mother who was Cordon Bleu trained. My wife was brought up in a household that thrived on good plain cooking. So much so, that one could tell what day of the week it was by the meals prepared! I’m glad to say that after we were married, with the help of my mother, the ‘Cold meat on Mondays’, ‘Stew and dumplings on Wednesdays,’ and ‘Fish on Fridays’ went by the board!
Barbara was, and still is, an adventurous cook as many of my friends will tell you. We have always eaten well and Barbara has put on meals at very short notice when friends have descended on us after a meeting, etc.

In my childhood, my old granny used to swear by a good breakfast and I never went to school without having either cereal or eggs in one form or another.
Iris wasn’t used to breakfast, as her mother was too idle to prepare it and Iris just didn’t have the time before starting off for work. About six months after we first met, I moved in and lived there four days a week. It was then that Iris started preparing breakfast. There was a little more time in the mornings as I dropped Iris off at work before going on to my office. Sometimes, however, evening meals were a little hurried, especially if I had a club booking that was some distance away. Usually it was a case of a quick snack and a late supper after the show.

I remember one year, I think it was 1973, that there was a sudden sugar shortage. We had gone out for dinner to a Chinese restaurant after a show and Iris, very surreptitiously, went round swiping as many sugar lumps as she could find! Fortunately, sugar supplies were back to normal after a couple of weeks or so.
That was, I think, the same year that out of the blue, there was a temporary petrol shortage. It was around Whitsuntide and it had a devastating effect on motorists. Garages cut their opening times and Green Shield stamps suddenly ceased to exist! The shortage didn’t last all that long but for quite a time afterwards, many filling stations closed earlier and it was hard to find one that opened all night.

More Tommy rot!

I have it on record that Tommy (scum-bag) Williams boasted that he had been one of Iris's lovers.
I would ask you to think on this:
Iris died in 1980; Tommy is about 38. He would have been eleven years old the year that she died!
Once again, Tommy Williams is exposed as the liar and and mental cripple that he is!

A mention in passing...

Once again, the odious Tommy Williams of Sheffield has seen fit to libel me in his gutter-level blog.
He doesn’t bother about the accuracy of his ravings; he just says what he wants and publishes it. He is of the firm belief in why spoil a good story by telling the truth?
I shall state here and now that the said Williams is a liar, a malcontent and a deliberate trouble-maker. If he wants to come and burn my house down as he threatened to do over the telephone recently, he’s welcome to try. (Incidentally, that call was recorded!)

I don’t know exactly what he’s on at the moment but it must be mind-blowing stuff!

A much-needed refurbishment

It’s over three weeks since I wrote about Iris as other current events needed to be posted. However, now it’s back to the original theme of the blog and back to the Seventies.

Last October, I wrote about our revamping the house and how it had taken us almost up to Yuletide to redecorate the bedroom and living room. We had papered and painted the rooms and bought a new bedroom suite and we had moved the old suite into the spare bedroom and also tidied it up a bit. However, three months later, Iris suddenly developed the Spring-cleaning bug. I admit that the place needed to be spruced up a bit as it had been sorely neglected by her mother for many years.

While we had refurnished the living room with a new settee and a couple of easy chairs, we had never modernised the fireplace and it still had the old coal-burning fire that has featured so much in many of my poems. I offered to install a gas fire in its place but Iris said that the local council had told her that she could have it done free under a house improvement scheme. Besides, I think that she liked the old fireplace and wasn’t in a hurry to get rid of it. What she would like, she said, was a colour television.
The present TV was an old black and white Ferguson of indeterminate age. Indeed, it was one her mother used to sit glued to night after night with the result that Iris, who never went out much at that time, had got utterly sick of the thing and very rarely watched it these days. She said that she felt embarrassed when friends dropped in and saw the old set. By this time in the early 70s, most people had changed over to colour so I could see her point. I think that my wife and I bought our first colour TV in 1968 but that was mainly for the kids. I very rarely watched it and even today, I’m still not a ‘Telly addict’!
However, Iris wanted a colour TV so we went out and bought one. Fortunately, I had a friend who was a TV engineer and he recommended a decent set and he also rigged up a new aerial for us. Iris was over the moon with her new TV but it never interfered with our nights out.

I’m recalling this episode to illustrate how little Iris had in the way of modern domestic items. She had a noisy vacuum cleaner that was at least 20 years old and a gas oven that was of the same vintage. While we were about it, we replaced both these things with new models together with a selection of new saucepans, etc. At the same time, I got someone in to replace cupboards, sink and draining-board. I remember that we were given an electric tin-opener by one of the shops and Iris was really chuffed by it. (‘Chuffed’ is an old Yorkshire term meaning highly pleased)
Of course, a new kitchen meant only one thing; we had to invite friends round to dinner! I warned Iris that the new cooker may take a bit of getting used to but she said that a cooker was a cooker and that was it!
I must admit that the resultant meal she prepared for six of us was absolutely first-class! Iris was in her element with her new kitchen. I regarded myself most fortunate in having a girl who was not just a pretty face but was turning out to be an excellent cook and hostess!

The Tag-box

Readers will no doubt have noticed that recently, there has been a spate of offensive messages left in the tag-box. They are posted under fictitious names and they consist of malicious lies and spiteful allegations aimed at two people by a mental cripple.
This evening we decided to resolve the problem once and for all and stamp out all anonymous posts. Regular readers can still add comments but will have to register first with a bona-fide name. All posters can now be identified by their ip numbers but genuine posters need not worry. It’s merely a way of controlling the idiots.

(To register, scroll down to 'Profile')

Time3to remember

Regular readers will no doubt remember some research I did just over a year ago on behalf of a friend concerning her mother’s death. I managed to unearth old records and autopsy reports and a copy of her death certificate. Her daughter, being only six years old at the time, was shielded by the news on the radio and in the local papers and grew up without any knowledge of how and why her mother died. I undertook to find out all the salient information for her but warned her that the end result may prove to be very traumatic. She told me that she would sooner know the truth, however painful, than remain ignorant of what had happened.

It was a very tragic incident and the more I got involved with it, the more I found myself being affected as the story unfolded. The mother, Mandy, had been suffering from severe depression for a considerable time. She began to think that nobody cared, nobody bothered. As the days went by, she drifted more and more into a state of absolute melancholy with the ultimate result of her taking her own life.
As I unearthed further details of her life, I began to see the problems that she was faced with. Although she had children, she had not enjoyed a happy married life. She had rushed into marriage at the earliest opportunity to escape parental abuse at home.

After her marriage breakdown, Mandy entered into a partnership that resulted in the birth of a daughter whom she dearly loved. That partnership, however, didn’t last. It was a sort of off-on affair with little or no commitment from her partner. He was living in a 2-bedroomed house he had recently bought and was reluctant to take on Mandy and her two children with another one on the way. The father of her daughter abandoned her instead of staying with her through her difficulties. She was now struggling to bring up three children on her own. What social life she tried to enjoy was fraught with broken promises and neglect by those on whom she depended.
It was ten years ago that she decided to end her torment. She walked away from everyone and went alone to a quiet spot where she died from a tranquilliser overdose and hypothermia.
I compiled a dossier containing coroner’s findings, pathological reports and a selection of letters that Mandy had written immediately prior to her death. These letters are among some of the most poignant farewells I have ever read. She had also written a poem in which she expressed her innermost sadness.

I never knew Mandy but I have discovered quite a lot about her and I now know that she deserved much better treatment than that which she had to live with. Far from being the drudge and the hopeless schizophrenic that she was painted by some, I found she was a caring mother and possessed a high level of intelligence. Had she been given a little more love and understanding, her life need not have been unbearable. Admittedly, she was ill but she should never have been driven to the point of suicide. She was only 35 at the time.

Further investigation revealed that someone she was close to at the time, a doctor, betrayed her and diagnosed her as schizophrenic before moving away from the area. It would appear that he was very worried that he may have been accused of professional misconduct. A patient with a serious mental disorder would not be given much credence had there been an investigation!

I think that those who deserted Mandy were fully responsible for her death and were also indirectly responsible for the tragic and traumatic suffering of her daughter at the hands of her abusers in the years to come. Had Mandy lived, her daughter would have grown up in a family full of love and care. There would have been no abuse, no neglect and no suffering.
Her daughter grew up thinking her mother had betrayed her and left her all alone. It was only recently that she found out the truth. Now that she realises how much her mother really did love her, she has come to terms with her death and found for her, a special place in her heart.

Mandy died around March 25^th 1997. Today, I visited her grave today and placed some flowers there; red carnations on behalf of her daughter, Sarah and a single red rose from me as a token of respect for her memory.
I’m not a religious man but I wish that I could offer up some sort of prayer where I could express my deep regret for her having to die at such an early age and to hope that she has found the peace and love she was denied in her life. I’m not much good at this sort of thing but over the next few days, I shall be remembering her as I know those who knew and loved her will also be remembering.

(The cards attached to the flowers reads "Dearest Mum, you are not forgotten. I love you. Sarah"
and "A simple token of my respect, Griff.")

Our Mad Witch!

The Mad Witch…
There seems to be a spate of enquiries among readers for a pic of our ‘Mad Witch.’
I shall publish this ‘one-off’ shot to satisfy them.

Ruth says she's a witch but then again, she never could spell!!!

Unwelcome comments

It was over a year ago that I started this blog, the purpose of which was to create a lasting memory to my partner who died so very tragically some time ago.
Interspersed with narratives and anecdotes about our life together, have been other postings that I thought would engender some interest to my readers. They range from personal reminiscences to recent events.
I have never sought to use this blog as a weapon to denigrate anyone unfairly with whom I may have disagreed. The only time I have expressed my anger was against a very tiny minority who posted libellous statements against my partner and me. Apart from that, I have always tried to encourage posts both in the comments section and in the tag-box. Fair criticism is always welcomed and counter-criticism is also allowed.
Recently, however, there has been a spate of invective that has, unfortunately, gone beyond the bounds of that which can be accepted. In every case, these messages are posted under an anonymous name and in order to circumvent this state, I shall alter the tag-box so that only those who provide a genuine url or e-mail address will be allowed to post. This, I think, is only fair to everyone.
One person who appears to be getting undue flak is a close friend who moderates my blog when I’m away. The comments are directed at her and have nothing whatsoever to do with the blog. As a moderator, she has the unenviable task of having to delete objectionable posts. She has my total trust in this matter and I’m very grateful for her help.