Santa's sled arrived on Sunday and was getting a check-up before it is put to use. I know, because I saw it through the chain link fence at the back of our garden.

Easyjet, on the other hand, given the opportunity, would tell you that Santa can't respond to you till 11.59pm on the 24th December 2006 (or maybe Easyjet will keep you waiting till the same time in 2007 - a whole year) then tell you, after the magic minute has passed, that their call centre has now closed. You are then advised of Easyjet's opening hours, which will of course, start off the whole thing over again.

Do follow this link, if necessary cut and paste into your browser and take it from there. This is a snowman with a twist.

http://irn-bru.co.uk/snowman/index.html

I sat down to write a blog tonight and then became involved in reading some rather interesting ones written by friends and others. By the time I completed my replies, some needing a bit of thought, I completely forgot what I was going to blog about. That's got to be a big senior moment... worrying really.

Senior moments; now that is a very gentle diplomatic euphemism for lapse of memory, or ageing cells not doing their sparkling bit, isn't it.

Last week, I circulated round a potentially embarrassing moment when, having opened up a conversation with a woman whose face was sort of familiar, she happily called me by my name. "Oh bugger!" I thought, here we go again, "how long can I keep up this nameless conviviality - c'mon give me a clue" I silently prayed. I must have a face like an open book because the next thing she said was " You don't remember me do you?" She promptly introduced herself and told me where we had originally met. That made it worse, because as light dawned, I realised there was every reason why I should have remembered her. Thankfully, she was wearing a fascinating necklace which changed the conversation and diverted the embarrassment. I hope to high heaven I remember her next time. Wouldn't it be awful if I didn't. That would definitely be time to consult the vet.

During a tour of Australia in 1974, Prince Charles attended a service at a small parish church. The vicar was most apologetic about the low turn out of parishioners to the service and explained many people were away because it was a bank holiday. the Prince vented his irritation "Not another bank holiday, what is this one in honour of?" he asked with some noticeable sarcasm. "Well," the vicar replied with some embarrassment, "Over here, we call it the Queen's birthday."

Andrew ~Tolmie reported recently in The Scotsman that there appears to be a genetic breakthrough in research into dyslexia.

Edinburgh University scientists report, following a twenty year study, that they have unravelled the gene sequence that determines a person's ability to work with letters and numbers. The findings suggest that those children likely to be severely affected, can be identified before birth. The article indicates that any child identified before birth who is born with severe dyslexia, could be registered for assistance. This of course, will enable children to grow into more fulfilled adults if they are identified early and so get assistance with their dyslexia much sooner than has been the case for many up till now.

(Co- Author of the Edinburgh University report, Dr Timothy Bates)

And for the next impossibility...

Reported on BBC TV News:

"This is a quiet, rural area but people do live here..."

Dr Kevin De Cock, director of the HIV/Aids department of the World Health Organization

I was listening to a BBC radio 4 programme this morning - Broadcasting House - which, as part of its 'inclusive' coverage did a couple of snapshot reports on weather north and south east (Kent to be precise); pity they did not cover the other end of the
country, Land's End, at least, or the Lizard, which is the southernmost tip of the UK. But then John O'Groats, at the northern end of the country, where the northern elements were broadcast, isn't the most northerly point either. It is however, closer to the northern most end of the UK than Kent is.

Wales and Northern Ireland didn't figure at all. You can read between my lines that I was not really impressed with this presentation. It did raise awareness with those who listen to Radio 4 at that time of a Sunday morning, of the differences in climate between one end of the country and another part of that same land mass. As ever, the media was looking for extremes of difference. They got it, by carefully choosing their targets, as they usually do.

We are having yet another ghastly wet blustery day, and in Kent, a lady was sitting out in her garden listening to birds that we could not hear, having her morning cup of tea.

As you arrive by road into our town, the driver is greeted with these consecutive road warning signs:

WALKERS IN THE ROAD

PEDESTRIANS CROSSING

CEMETRY 50 YARDS.

I grew up in Kensal Rise, which is in north west London, not, as the news reports kept wittering on, "North London" which a very distinct location in its own right.

Kensal Rise was, yesterday,hit by a tornado. I am not sure which streets were affected, names of streets were not shown. I did not recognise anyone who was interviewed. I was relieved that physical injuries were so low, psychological injury has yet to be assessed. Meantime, people are safe but homeless and the emergency services started doing a sterling job very quickly.

It is a densely populated area, like most districts of London, with much pre-war solid housing, which was clearly seen from the news footage. The house styles vary from the tall,larger late Victorian and early Edwardian properties, to the lower more rounded bay fronted 1930's houses. As I grew up I lived in one of the latter ones. I later moved into one of the early Edwardian styles a couple of miles away. The majority of the houses will have been converted into apartments, some will be multi-occupied. These houses had decent sized gardens for city/town dwelling and I used to enjoy mine. How they would have been 'carved up' for multi-occupancy uses I am not sure. In Kensal Rise itself, at one end, there is a large secondary school, Chamberlayne Road, at the other end of that same major street, there is an equally large primary school called Harvest Road. There are other primary schools and nursery facilities dotted around the area.

I always enjoyed the spacious green parks with the kids playgrounds, particularly, Queens Park and King Edward's Park,that were within walking distance from the houses. Oh yes, we kids walked in those days, to school, to parks, to the shops, and so on.

For bus cognoscenti, the 52 bus to and from Victoria Station still serves the Kensal Rise route and it can be boarded at the top of the Rise where the main bus stops always have been, opposite the overground station that used to take me to Kew Gardens or Richmond Park.

The great and departed Sir Thomas Beecham (d.1961) saw a remarkable lady in a hotel foyer. He had an imprecise recollection of her, but was sure they had met. A little later, when conversing with the lady, he remembered she had a brother. In an attempt to throw light on the identity of this lady, he asked her if her brother was keeping well and if he was still working in the same job.

"He's very well indeed," replied Princess Mary about George V1, "And he's still king."

Six years ago I excitedly purchased an inexpensive bread maker. I was tempted to do so by the wonderful breads a friend was churning out of her machine (a different brand to mine) and the fact that she gave me one of her loaves as a birthday present.

Today, my first machine has reappeared from storage. It was relegated following a couple of years of hit and miss loaves sticking in the pan, and paddles disappearing into the bread, leaving gaping holes behind when they were hiked out of their hiding place. The machine and its programmes was made for the mainland European market that has different flour types to ours, which was why home bread production got a bit fraught.

My replacement was a Breadman Pro. I decided on it having tested out several well known makes and finding amongst them that, one did not do what its makers said it did and others took up to six hours to produce anything useful. Some were so high that it was impossible to see the window, if there was one, and the controls were out of sight. The Breadman had most of the features I wanted, though it made tall loaves not retangular ones. Rarely did a recipe fail and I was confidently adventurous with my loaf making.

On Sunday, after a year of not using the machine, (there were a whole host of domestic reasons that had nothing to do with the bread maker) I decided to make a Rye loaf. The machine didn't work, it had suffered a logic failure. The only programme doing anything relevant was one to cook bagel dough. The machine has been returned standard parcel post, to its maker.

As I blog, my 'spare' machine is paddling its way through rye bread dough. I have no idea how it will turn out, indeed, if it will even turn out from the baking tin, hole and fissure free. But irrespective of what the finished product looks like, I am looking forward to the aroma of baking bread emanating from my kitchen.

This is the fairy tale that you should have been reading as little
girls!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, a beautiful, independent,

self-assured princess happened upon a frog as she sat, contemplating

ecological issues on the shores of an unpolluted pond in a verdant

meadow near her castle. The frog hopped into the princess' lap and

said: Elegant Lady, I was once a handsome prince, until an evil witch

cast a spell upon me.

One kiss from you, however, and I will turn back into the dapper,

young prince that I am and then, my sweet, we can marry and set up

housekeeping in your castle with my mother, where you can satisfy my

needs, prepare and serve my meals, clean my clothes, bear my children,

and forever feel grateful and happy doing so.

That night, as the princess dined sumptuously on lightly sautéed

frog legs seasoned in a white wine and onion cream sauce, she chuckled

and thought to herself:

I DON'T F***ING THINK SO!!!!!

In the run up to Christmas, I shall be blogging less as there's always much to do and in my case, I prefer to do 'it' reasonably ahead of time. It's good to be kind to the inundated post office and the post people who undertake the deliveries.

I have to say though, if I get the same post office teller I have had on the last two occasions, I shall give someone in the queue an early xmas present and let them go in front of me, so they can enjoy his imperative "You want first class don't you", and "it's only
21 pence or 46 pence difference" when I indicate the error of his assumptions.

I am early enough with my mail and I am paying what it takes for the post to arrive in reasonable time. I stand my ground and to the teller I make the additional request "I want a proof of posting receipt, please."

The last little cracker was when I pushed a couple of letters under the glass partition that were travelling outside the EEC, together with completed red 'signed for mail' forms attached. "You've done the wrong forms, you can't use those", he said accusingly. He waved some blue ones at me from behind the glass. I looked at him coolly (I hope) and asked him how I would know about the different forms since they were kept behind the counter. I left him to fill them out.