Anne Dickens | The Day After Yesterday

I stopped off to pick up my daughter (Izzy), from her father's house, and as I entered the living room, was confronted with a bizarre sight against a backdrop of much merriment.


"What on earth is she wearing?" I asked incredulously.

"She is Iz-Qaeda," he replied proudly.

"Oooookaaaayyyy......." I replied slowly, " is it wise dressing a four year old up to look like a member of a fundamentalist terror organisation?" 

"Sure it is," he answered brightly, "it keeps her in touch with current affairs."

"Errrrmmmmm - she is only four.......," I added.

"You can never start them too young," he said proudly. I shook my head in despair, but couldn't deny the fact that Izzy seemed to be having a great time with her fancy dress and toy chainsaw.

What is one to do??! Is it me?

I was reading the BBC new website when I noticed an unusual headline.


What on earth was going through their minds?

Imagine Youth A on a day out to Gravesend, Kent. He's had a few beers and is getting a little excitable with his mate, Youth B, whilst on the way back to the car. They pass a field full of sheep.

Youth A, "'ere, fancy a laff? You wanna nick a sheep innit?"

Youth B, "you know, you is crazy dude, I'm wiv ya like."

Poor defenseless animal is then chased around field before being captured and shoehorned into the back of an pimped up Ford Escort with peeling privacy glass, over-specced exhaust, and ridiculously shiney low profile tyres.

Youth A and Youth B, arrive back in South London after a 22 mile ride, still laughing about their woolly escapades.

"Dude, that was well rude," Youth B laughs.

"What shall we do wiv it now?" Youth A asks, his laughing slowing at the same rate that his realisation increased - he couldn't leave it in the boot forever.

Youth B stops laughing and they both ponder long and hard about the sheep's fate.

"Sorted dude!" Youth B shouts out, "we need to take it where there are other sheep."

"We is in London, there is no sheep," Youth A replied.

"Oh yeh there is, der is sum in Asda," said Youth B.

"But surely them sheep are dead and cling wrapped.......... "Youth A

"Got any better ideas?" asked Youth B, shrugging his shoulders.

And so the poor animal bizarrely ended up, standing in a shopping trolley in an Asda foyer........ thankfully unharmed. They do say the British have a very odd sense of humour.......

To keep myself entertained throughout the long pluvial days, I have started two new business ventures which are, unfortunately, so top secret, that if I told you what they are, I would have to kill you.

In fact, they are so covert, that I have codenamed them 'Secret Squirrel X' and 'Secret Squirrel Y'.


Working on projects with codenames has given me an unique insight into why the Army call their missions things like 'Operation Mislay' instead of 'Operation find Osama Bin Laden and his WMD.' It's because codenames are cooler than simply saying what you intend to do, and add more gravitas to the situation.

So, in line with my new surreptitious projects, I have started referring to myself as Agent Dickens, and have taken to carrying a water pistol in my inside pocket. I also do a forward roll everytime I enter my front door...... not quite sure why, but I have seen them do it on CSI Miami.



Anyway, I really need to go and start work.

I have blatantly written this posting because I have got to a hard bit of the project where I need to talk to my lawyer about patents. Coincidentally, I have also suddenly found at least another 1000 'work avoidance' matters that need my urgent attention before I can address the contracts for Secret Squirrel 'X' and 'Y'.

So I am just off to clear the leaves from my front flower bed...........!

After a hard day at the Ashmolean Museum on Saturday (I was dragging around a hungover Sarah, who punctuated our arrival at each new artefact with the comment, "eh up, I can't belive I feel this rough"), I decided that it would be rather nice to have a chilled Sunday at my house with that great British institution thrown in - a roast dinner. And with that in mind, I called Steve and Izzy and asked them to join Sarah and I for lunch.

"Is it free?" Steve asked when he answered the phone. "Yes, as long as you bring some broccoli," I replied.

And so the gathering formed in my kitchen, including Naughty George, who had remained in situ next to the oven for at least an hour before that, in anticipation of the imminent roast chicken.


"Would you like a hand?" Steve and Sarah asked simultaneously.

"Ummm, yes please," I replied, handing over all the vegetables, could you peel those?"

And with that I learned a valuable lesson about guests. If you feed guests small but regular jobs, they are more than pleased to help, and the net result was that I was left with two meagre tasks: putting the chicken in the oven and making a decent gravy.... boyaaaaakkkasha!


"Lunch is ready!" I shouted, putting the dishes on the table, and listening to the ensuing babble of, "oooh this looks lovely."

"Flavour anyone?" I asked, holding up the salt pot.

"Yes please," everyone exclaimed simultaneously.




And so we whiled away the afternoon eating like Romans (except that no-one threw up so that they could fit more food in), and chatting about life in general.

Once done, Sarah stood up and looked at me, "you sit down, you've worked hard on this lunch. Steve and I will wash up."

BACK OF THE NET! I couldn't believe my luck, I had just scored a double whammy.

Unwittingly, I had created a scene full of subterfuge and artifice. I had managed to make putting a chicken in the oven and whipping up a gravy seem like a monumental task, thus relieving myself of any further kitchen chores. [note to self; this is a skill well worth developing].

With lunch over, I said goodbye to everyone, and went to read a book in front of the fire.

After venturing into the first few halls I began to notice a recurring theme.

"Oi, Sarah," I asked, "Have you noticed that virtually the only surviving artefacts from every era in history seem to be plates and pots? They all look the same."

Sarah sighed before replying, "the pots give us an insight into how the ancient people lived."

"Ok," I acquiesced, "but just say, for example, that some of my pots were unearthed in a thousand years time. Would the archeologists be displaying my mug entitled 'world's best mum' in a museum like this?" and on a roll, I added, "and would they name it 'The Ikea period'?"

Despite the validity of my questions, Sarah sighed and ventured off into the next hall, whilst I vowed to try and seek out alternative interests, other than pots.


Then all of a sudden...... BINGO........... I found some artefacts that weren't pots........



One thing I learned about ancient civilisations after studying the statues........... most of the antediluvian people didn't have noses, which allows us to draw parallels with modern society, in particular Kerry Katona. 



A consistent theme in the museum was people 'interpreting' either the art or the architecture. I overheard someone say; "the use of glass not only gives a sense of space but draws you into each exhibition hall." There was me thinking that the glass was there because it was cheaper than bricks.





Then, being a bit of an art lover, I saw something that excited me............ "Sarah, look! Installation art!" I shouted pointing out the sculpture I had just noticed.


Sarah looked at me derisively, "we are in an unused exhibition hall. They are just superfluous fire extinguishers," she said shaking her head.... Oops.

"Shall we go?" asked Sarah wearily, leading me out of the museum.


Now I have to point out that Sarah is a bit of a photographer, and whilst on our way back to the car she took several 'arty shots' which I have included for your benefit.





Blimey, this has been the worlds longest posting. I have got blisters on the end of my fingers and my CPU is malfunctioning........ time for a reboot. See you later.

Following three days in Leeds, and after resorting to cruising the streets in order to try and find an unsecured wi-fi signal that I could pick-up, I finally gave in and returned to Sarah's house.


"What the bloody hell do you do with yourself all day with no internet access?" I asked her incredulously.

"Read books," she replied, not even looking up from the aformentioned article that was lightly clasped in her left hand.

"Oh my god, that's horrible," I replied, my jaw dropping. 

Sarah sighed, and then her eyes widened, "actually, I think I do have internet access........"

"You think you have internet access?" disbelieving that someone could demonstrate ambiguity about something so consquential.

"Yep. I have a computer in my study, and I am fairly sure that it connects to the interweb," she replied, blatantly trying to get rid of me so that she could return her attention to the rainforest-killer in her hand.

But before she could finish her sentence........ I was gone and pushing open the 'study' door. My sights were on the computer. I fired it up and waited with bated breath until that little grey rotating Skype icon with a cross in the middle, suddenly turned into a green tick.

"Yippee! I'm in!" I thought excitedly, sitting down at the desk, and slowly, but surely becoming aware of my surroundings....... "Oh my God! It's mayhem in here!" I muttered to myself in shock. 




Actually, I think it does, so I want to encourage people to send me photographs of their desks so that I can undertake psychological analysis of them ........... 

I will have a practice with these two desks first:

Sarah's desk: This desk indicates that the owner puts living life above the practicalities of life. Hedonism scores more highly than organisation. Probably prone to daydreaming, this deskowner may keep on top of day to day tasks but fails to be proactive in other elements of life such as putting together effective investment plans. It is also likely that she has a good looking friend. 

Anne's desk: The lack of anything at all on the desk indicates that this person is highly organised, and probably suffering from OCD. The desk owner is likely to be incredibly good looking and a dog lover dog hater, maybe possessing an annoying dog. This person capitalises on her love of communicating with people by making the computer the focus of her desk. 

PLEASE send me pictures of your desk .............I am getting really into this....! and I will try to see if I can guess your personality...

But what is one to do in Leeds with a full day to kill, other than eat kebabs or worry sheep? Despairing at these limited options, I decided to google it.

"What can I do in North Yorkshire other than eat kebabs or worry sheep?" I typed into Google. Unfortunately, the search results came up with; "Not a sheep: Fancy a kebab?", a blog quite clearly written by a nutter. I refined my search a little and "things to do near Leeds" came up trumps. Yep a trip to Haworth it was going to be.Click here to have a sneaky preview.

"Haworth!" I hear you cry, "what is so good about Haworth?"

Why, my little love muffins, Haworth is the home of the quintessential English authoresses, the Bronte sisters.

And so commenceth a picture journey of my trip to Haworth.


That actually reminds me of a news article I read lately. Apparently a new species of rat has been found in Papua New Guinea and it is 10ft long. Given that in the UK, statistics show that you are never further than 10ft from a rat, if this species was introduced would we be permanently touching a rat?

Sorry, I digress. Back to the journey to Haworth, because the 'Guardian travel' website promised spectacular scenery.




Then all of a sudden, I took a left turn, disencumbered myself from the city, and coasted into the North Yorkshire countryside. Oh yes, it was starting to look good (apart from the fact that my ears had popped because of the altitude, and the clutch on my car was starting to heat up after all the hill-starts at the Bradford traffic lights).





The parsonage was ace (particularly as the Brontes' are my favourite authors) and after a cultural tour of the building, it became fairly obvious that the sisters weren't lookers, even though they could spin a good yarn, quite simply because no one had wanted to marry them. Plus they had to pretend to be men in order to get their novels published, and to add insult to injury, they all died young, leaving pops on his own. That's the 1840's for you..... and there was me fretting that Dominos Pizza don't deliver to my postcode.

The next leg of my journey took me to the North Yorkshire Moors which is a barren landscape woven into many of the Bronte sisters' novels.






 Finally, my North Yorkshire tour came to an end, but not before I encountered some cows. Now, as you probably remember, I don't have fond memories of cows after my experiences with them in Oxford.

Luckily billy bovine was situated at the other end of a cattle grid which meant that I could capture his menancing stare on cellulite without being charged.


I pointed my camera, and shouted, "Woo hoo........ hello cow......... what you gonna do about it?"

Unfortunately, I hadn't noticed a car pull up beside me with a rather posh lady asking, "excuse me, are you lost?"

"Errrmmm, no, just undertaking a geographical study of the area," I replied hastily, pushing my camera into my pocket.

And so endeth my cultural tour of 'Bronte Country'.

Shortly after arriving in Leeds, Sarah piped up, "do you fancy going out for something to eat?"

"Yep," I replied, "but I thought you only had pie shops up north?"

"Well actually, the concept of restaurants has started to reach us," she replied drily, "what do you fancy to eat?"

"Indian." I replied, throwing down the gauntlet.

"No problem," she said, and so we set off in the car. After a 10 minute drive we pulled up outside a stylish looking restaurant called the Aagrah.


The restaurant specialised in Kashmiri food, and the menu clearly showed that the chefs weren't afraid to venture beyond the old favourites like Chicken Tikka Masala.

"Blimey," I shouted, waving the menu excitedly, " I could eat everything on here - as long as its got a face."

"Told you that we can do culture up North," Sarah replied.



I settled for a new dish that I hadn't tried before, called Murgh Achar and I the conclusion was - excellent.


So if you are up North (there are many branches of the Aagrah), do try and visit. The ambiance, food and service are all spot on. I only wish they had restaurants down south!

Eh up. Well here I am in Leeds, nibbling on a pigeon pie and wearing a flat cap, and I have just realised that I have left all my cables at home so that I can't upload any photographs for you.

Bloody typical.


As if that wasn't bad enough, I decided to have a shower before my friend called "our Sarah" [everyone's name is prefixed with 'our' when you are in the north] and I went out for dinner.

I was about to get out of the shower, I realised that I had left the towels in a different room, necessitating an unclad, and sodden dash to the bedroom. It wouldn't be so bad but I did the same thing yesterday at home...... ummmmmm...... I think my mind is in need of a reboot.

Best dash, got things to do...... like figure out why my mobile has stopped working.

There I was, whining about the British weather, and thinking things couldn't get any worse.

With persistent rain forecast, and my only form of protection from the elements being a sun-shade that I bought in Hong Kong [which also kept randomly collapsing, engulfing my head like a venus fly trap].


I awoke on Saturday morning to the sound of the wind whistling around my cottage, and the rain lashing on the windows.

"Bloody brilliant,"  I thought, opening the curtains to find my garden strewn with leaves, branches and the contents of my recycling bin which had been blown over by the gales.



After securing my righted recycling bin with a number of bricks, I went inside to contemplate my next move. There was only one course of action. Lock all windows and doors and light a fire..... and it was quite a cosy evening.

I am off to Leeds in a minute to visit my chum Sarah, so hopefully my next post will be reporting how grim it is up north!

So whaddya think? like it or no?

I didn't like the old design one bit, but given that I possess the artistic ability of a pea [oh yeh, this girl is an engineer through and through], I just tolerated it. 


My friend was supposed to be visiting this weekend but had to cancel, so with an unexpected empty day in front of me, I looked at the old brown / grey colour scheme and thought, "is that really the best I can come up with?"

After pondering the question for a while, I decided that yes, that was the best I could come up with.

That left me with a bit of a dilemma. What do you do if you are faced with an design challenge, but remain steadfastly talentless in the design department?

After my second ponderation, I decided that there was only one course of action. Yep, I needed to nick someone else's design, and as luck would have it, I remembered reading about nickable blog designs on a blog called Kevin and Amanda.

BINGO! It was the perfect place for the artistically challenged, and after an hour or so of finding out how it all worked, my new blog emerged from its chrysalis like a binary butterfly.

If you like the design and fancy a similar one, I think it is only fair that I include links to the designers:

Allie Brown's Layouts



Butterfly Girls Blog Designs


My Style Backgrounds


But don't visit them if you don't like my template, because they are all based on scrapbooking (which, as I gather, is a weird hobby where you stick bits of crap that you find throughout the day into a book).

P.S. I have a weird gap on the right hand side of my header image, does anyone know how to get rid of it?

Crikey. There I was complaining about about my unlucky Hong Kong umbrella, then after publishing the post, I noticed that the date today is Friday 13th!


So that got me thinking about all the bad things that have happened today, and I feel that I can now present conclusive proof that Friday the 13th is indeed, unlucky:

1. My umbrella kept collapsing and engulfing my head
2. The washing machine got stuck on the rinse cycle
3. The top drawer in my freezer cracked when I tried to open it because it was iced up
4. Naughty George pooed on the living room floor because he didn't want to go out in the rain
5. I forgot to buy Bloo Blocks for my toilet whilst at the supermarket
6. My Firefox browser hung when I tried to download a council tax form
7. My friend Sarah cancelled her vist to see me this weekend because she had forgotten about a christening she was going to on Sunday
8. I got lost in Oxford trying to find the Town Hall
9. Naughty George was sick on one of my rugs after eating food from the compost heap
10. My Sonic-care toothbrush developed an intermittent fault
11. Naughty George killed a pheasant in the back garden
12. The padlock on my shed seized up whilst I was trying to find a spade to bury pheasant
13. Naughty George rolled in cow manure on his walk
14. Naughty George jumped up onto my Laura Ashley armchair covered in cow manure
15. I discovered that normal detergents don't remove cowpat stains from upholstery

I am telling you, Friday 13th is jinxed..... so y'all take care now.