Just a load of rubbish

Calne is well known for its piggy past – the Harris pork processing factory provided employment to locals until its closure in 1983.

I walked with Paul into town this morning to the post office, he was sending his DNA swabs off to Houston, Texas.  The post office is situated in the newsagent and we had to queue adjacent to shelves loaded with Cadbury's chocolate bars on sale.  I successfully resisted the temptation to buy any but I was drooling a bit by the time we got to the counter.  I was going to take some photos of the town (Calne) but it looked glum and depressing in the drizzle.  The bronze pig statue in the mall looked like he had a runny nose with the rain dripping off the end of his snout. 

Walking back home I was dismayed at the amount of rubbish littering the street.  Why don’t some people have any pride or consideration for their environment?  Occasionally I go out armed with my litter grabbing stick and a bag and gather old pizza boxes, cans and bottles from the verges.  It’s not much but at least I can look out of my window and enjoy a litter free neighbourhood.

In Sydney, on the other side of the world, Buddy and his humans take part in regular Sea Shepherd beach clean ups.  Last weekend they visited his favourite beach, Sirius Cove, where 60 volunteers collected an amazing 91 kgs of rubbish.  Well done Buddy, I need you in Calne.

Roof

Rufus Sewell, also known as Roof

It's cold and grey, it's January.  So I'm going to curl up on the sofa, eat chocolate and watch The Man In the High Castle.  Nothing like a bit of Rufus Sewell to brighten my day.

 

Who Does He Think He Is?

When this colourful box plopped through the letter box yesterday my first thoughts were “Ooh, chocolates”.  Alas no, unbeknownst to me Paul had sent away for a DNA kit from the USA.

I’ve had a lot of fun in recent months researching my family tree and managed to trace my ancestors right back to 1731.  Paul is also interested in geneology but only has a one-sided tree as his mother was adopted.  In fact very little is know about his mum’s early years.  Born out of wedlock in 1916 in Devon she was taken away from her mother at 17 months old and given to a woman who arranged adoptions.  During this time she was apparently kept in a small attic room (with only a dog for company) in the seaside town of Lymington until she was three years old.
 

letter disclaiming any claim to Constance by her mother

Paul’s childless grandparents, Mr and Mrs Harris, were deeply religious and members of the Plymouth Brethren.  While they were on holiday in Lymington they met the local doctor who told them about the child, Constance.  The wealthy Harris’s subsequently adopted Constance, re-named her Marjorie, and she became their cherished only daughter.  The adoption was never legal and this caused problems when she applied to be a nurse in the World War II because her birth certificate didn’t match her national registration name.
 

Mr & Mrs Harris

Paul is hoping his DNA test might shed some light on his mother’s birth family, particularly on the paternal side.  I just hope it doesn’t open up a can of worms.  Who knows what it might reveal?

Paul's mum, Marjorie (Constance) aged 24

Lowering the tone

We had a very light sprinkling of snow in Calne overnight.  I looked out of my bedroom window this morning and saw this...

Our new neighbours at number 39 are very nice but we used to have a better class of snowman with Steve and Hannah.

Dalek 2010

Sussex by the Sea

A brief visit to the Sussex coast - I had forgotten how pebbly the beach is here at Goring-on-Sea.  We are pampering ourselves at a spa hotel at Little Horsted.  Our room is amazing, it's bigger than the flat.  Snow is forecast tomorrow, I wonder if we could get snowed in here.

view from hotel room

If you can't stand the heat...

Last week I made chilli con carne.  It was an excellent chilli but Paul said it was slightly on the tame side due to the fact that I could only find a pot of mild chilli powder in the cupboard.

This evening I baked some cod with a tomato and black olive sauce (courtesy of Jamie Oliver). The recipe called for one red chilli.  Rummaging through the kitchen cupboard I found a jar marked ‘Oregano” but containing three dried chillies from our French garden dating back a year or so.  As it was so old I doubted there would be any heat so happily crumbled one up into flakes and added it to the sauce.

Dinner was a little ‘hot’ tonight.  There’s just no pleasing some people.

Murky Day

It’s a murky, damp morning in darkest Wiltshire.  I decided against going for a walk and cleared my wardrobe out instead while Paul made soup for lunch.

chef at work

I’m not very good at throwing clothes out.  I get attached to well loved jumpers and then there’s always that ‘never worn’ dress that might be needed one day.  The black lacy top might look good at the flamenco in Seville. The fur hat a necessity for a trip to Siberia.  I have a pair of sparkly high heels that I probably can’t even manage to stay upright in these days.
 

before

I did quite well and managed to almost fill a bag with reluctant cast offs.   
 

after

But I still have the sparkly shoes tucked away in a box at the bottom of the wardrobe.