The Shirt With The Hole

'What can we get you for your birthday, then, dad?' enquired eldest son, as we enjoyed an early, celebratory meal in a nearby pub' restaurant.

'Just a card,' replied my husband. 'I know that you haven't got much spare cash, at the moment and I don't want you to waste your money on me.'

'We will get you something, though,' said eldest son's girlfriend, 'so you might as well tell us what you'd like.'

I took advantage of the short pause in the conversation and said to my eldest son, with a wicked smile, 'Your father needs a polo shirt, without a hole in it.' My husband tutted and looked visibly annoyed for a few seconds. I wasn't surprised at my sons' subsequent reactions, as the men in my family have a habit of sticking together.

'Oh, don't tell me! Has dad been going out looking less than perfect?' said my eldest son with mock exaggeration.

'Oh, no!' joined in youngest son. 'Has dad been going out with holes in his clothes? Shock, horror!'

They laughed and I laughed, but I continued with mock haughtiness, as soon as they had quietened down, 'I never go out with holes in my clothes. I have standards. I expect the same from your father!' We all laughed once more and the conversation moved on.

I don't mind them teasing me, but there is no basis for it, because I've never been in the habit of telling my husband what to wear. In the 32 years since our marriage, in spite of having to bite my lip, on several occasions, I've only criticised the clothes that my husband has decided to wear on 2 recent occasions.

My husband has never taken much interest in clothes, but he has always found short sleeved polo shirts particularly comfortable to wear and has been an avid collector since about 1976. They are his most favoured garment. He buys new ones, but he never throws an old one away. He will wear the same polo shirt to go out, as he wore a couple of weeks before, to cut the hedge and dig the garden. Joseph's amazing old technicolour dreamcoat could have been inspired by the myriad of colours in his collection and, if I laid them end to end, they would probably go twice around the earth's circumference. 2 of them have been the proud recipients of a telegram from the Queen.

It doesn't matter if they are faded, shrunken and stiff from age, or misshapen, they remain as beautiful to him, as the day he first set eyes on them. I sometimes wonder whether it is the same soft focus vision, which has stopped him swapping me for a younger model. I may give my own optician the boot and start visiting his.

A few months ago, my husband and I were going out for the day and I noticed that the polo shirt he was wearing had a small hole in it. When I pointed it out, he looked irritated, but went off to change it. The next time he did the same thing, I didn't say anything, as we were only going to the shops, but, after that occasion, I stopped ironing his very old polo shirts, in the hope that it would persuade him to keep them for working around the house.

The next time I noticed him donning one of his old, creased polo shirts, I pointed out that I was no longer ironing those particular shirts, because they were too scruffy and I suggested that he should buy a couple of new ones to keep solely for going out. After the conversation in the pub' a couple of nights ago, I'm relieved to say that he has finally taken the hint and we are going polo shirt shopping at the weekend! Yay! We know how to live!

I don't care how much I am teased about my attitude, I won't be changing my opinion. I don't have many clothes, these days and I am often to be found in jeans, but my clothes are always ironed, clean and respectable. I wear old clothes around the house and for gardening etc, but I keep some decent clothes for going out. I never look scruffy, when I go out with my husband and I expect the same standards from him.

What about you? What's your opinion? Do you think that I've made too much fuss about a hole in a shirt? Would you object if your husband wanted to go out with holes in his clothes, where it wasn't fashionable to have them? Do you try to look smart, when going out, or do you not think it's so important, nowadays?

The Legacy

This post is continued from the last, published on 12 November 2008.

The rumpus continued. From the grandson there was a bit of 'Don't you push my sister!' From the youngest daughter there was a lot of 'I'm not having a door slammed in my face!' From the eldest daughter, there was a little of 'Don't you tell me how to bring up my children!' Both sisters were rude to each other. The youngest was rude to my aunt. The youngest sister shouted that she was going home. My husband turned to me, smirked and remarked that no one could go anywhere until he had moved his car. A few minutes' silence ensued, then my youngest cousin came into the living room and sweetly asked my husband whether he would mind moving his car. It was a change of tone worthy of a Bafta.

As soon as my cousin had left, we comforted my aunt, in the kitchen, whilst we made some tea. (Woohoo, a cup of tea, at last!) My other cousin and her 2 children eventually joined us, in the living room, for a few sandwiches and snacks and we all tried to recover from the stresses and strains of the day. It was a day of tragedy and of comedy. In the end, in spite of the seriousness of the situation, we had to laugh.

Apparently, my younger cousin had reproached her niece and nephew, as she blamed them for the fact that her sister was returning home, to the Midlands, earlier than my younger cousin had hoped. She had pushed her niece, who had slammed the bedroom door in her face and the whole thing had escalated from there.

The oldest sister and her family had travelled down, from the Midlands, on the previous Tuesday morning and were intending to leave on the Saturday, mainly because the teenage children had engagements that they didn't want to miss. My younger cousin was annoyed because, for the first few days after her father's death, she had been left to support her mother and deal with the funeral arrangements alone. Paradoxically, it seemed that she was also suffering some pangs of jealousy, since the arrival of other members of the family, because her mother was no longer solely reliant on her.

The younger sister lived close by, was in the throes of a divorce and had a 5 year old daughter, who was 'a bit of a handful', by all accounts. I had a certain amount of empathy for my younger cousin. My aunt is unable to drive, so when my uncle had become too ill to drive himself to and from the hospital (a 50 mile round trip), the responsibility had fallen on my cousin. My aunt hadn't even been able to shop without her help, because the nearest supermarket was a few miles away.

My older cousin resented the fact that her parents had been persuaded by her sister to leave the Midlands. She felt abandoned and that her sister had deliberately sought to isolate and exclude her. I had more empathy with my older cousin, because I felt that her younger sister had been manipulative and controlling. The younger sister had moved from the Midlands, to the seaside, a few years ago, after getting a temporary job. She had eventually married a local man and had a child. When her marriage had broken down, she had persuaded my aunt and uncle to move to a house close to her.

As my aunt looked back on her own life, a disturbing pattern began to emerge. Her mother (my maternal grandmother) had died after giving birth to her. My grandfather had remarried, but his new wife had refused to take on all 3 of his children. She accepted the 2 older children, (my mother and my other aunt) but the aunt relating the story was handed over, as a baby, to be brought up by a maiden aunt.

My aunt explained how she was often hit so hard in the face, by her aunt, that her nose bled. She was dragged around the house by her hair and hit across the back of her legs with a walking stick. On a few occasions, my late uncle had been physically abusive, during the first couple of years of their marriage and mentally abusive up until the end of his life. He was jealous and possessive. She wasn't allowed to have regular contact with friends and relations after her marriage and sometimes, she wasn't even allowed to speak to anyone on the telephone.

When they moved to the seaside, my uncle chose a house, in a small town, with no proper bus service. Once again, my aunt was isolated and under his control. From the limited contact I had had with the family, and from the remarks I had heard during the argument, after the funeral, I suspected that my aunt's youngest daughter had inherited my uncle's possessive and controlling nature. There seemed to be every possibility that she was stepping into his shoes.

My uncle purposely left no will. He kept my aunt in ignorance about his financial affairs and the running of the house. He bragged that he wasn't short of money, even though the family assured him that they had no interest in it, because it didn't seem to have made him a happy man. They loved him, in spite of his faults. It seems that he may have been prone to exaggeration, in some respects, however. It appears that he may not have left a great deal of money, but he may have left some other sort of legacy, instead.

My aunt understands the potential dangers of the situation in which she now finds herself. She wants a relationship with her youngest daughter, but she doesn't want, or need, another tyrant in her life. She intends to move to a smaller house, in a more suitable area, as soon as the market improves. I suggested that she should make enquiries about joining some sort of local club, or voluntary group, so that she would have an opportunity of making some friends and wouldn't then be totally reliant on her daughter for company.

To a certain extent, my aunt is finally free to make some sort of life for herself. I can only hope that, after so many years of bullying and isolation, that she has the courage to take advantage of the opportunities presented to her.

After The Funeral

After my late uncle's funeral service and interment, my husband and I drove to my aunt's house. It was a journey of just a few minutes, by car, so we had hardly any chance to recover from the effects of the chill wind, which had been blowing forcefully across the churchyard. In the near distance, we glimpsed the sea sparkling in the autumn sunshine, as we turned into the cul de sac, where my aunt now lived.

There were 2 cars already parked on the drive, presumably belonging to my aunt's 2 daughters, so we parked behind them, on the road. My aunt opened the front door, leading the way into the living room, as she expressed her gratitude to us for taking the time and trouble to attend her late husband's funeral.

My aunt and uncle had moved to this small seaside town a few months ago, after a lot of persuasion from their youngest daughter, who had wanted them to live closer to her. My uncle had been 77 years old, at the the time of the move and suffered a heart attack 2 weeks before they were due to leave. Shortly after they moved, he had discovered that he was suffering from cancer and they had since bitterly regretted leaving the home, which had been theirs, ever since they had first been married.

We walked into the living room, but almost as soon as we sat on the sofa, we heard the sounds of some sort of disturbance coming from the direction of the hall. There was some scuffling, a few shrieks and the sound of a door slamming. I realised that there was some sort of altercation taking place between my late uncle's 2 daughters and the eldest daughter's 2 teenage children, a girl aged 19 and a boy aged 16. My aunt hurried out in to the hall to see what was happening.

We began to feel rather awkward, uncomfortable and embarrassed. We wondered whether we should leave, but I didn't want to abandon my aunt. We decided to wait a while, but not to interfere, unless it was absolutely necessary.

I sighed, as I considered the gigantic effort we had made to get to the funeral. My husband had arranged a day's holiday for the day of the funeral, rescheduled his doctor's appointment and asked his young female assistant to set up and take charge of his stand, at an exhibition, which was taking place in London. Last Thursday, the day before the funeral, after our evening meal, we had packed a few things and set off for a Travel Lodge in Devon. After a journey of 3 1/2 hours on a dark, windy, rainy night, we finally arrived at midnight, having lost our way on only one occasion.

The following morning, we had risen early, munched through our 'breakfast in a bag' and driven for another 1 1/2 hours to arrive at the church at 10.35 am. We were the only members of the family, who had been willing and able to cope with the length of the journey, so we had sat alone for 25 minutes, until my aunt arrived with her 2 daughters and 2 grandchildren at 11 am. We had struggled valiantly with 2 hymns, neither of which were familiar and supported the family at the graveside, as the coffin was lowered into the grave. After a short rest at my aunt's house, we had a journey of at least 5 hours to look forward to, as were driving to my parents house, in the Midlands, to spend the night. My husband had another exhibition to attend, in Birmingham, on the Saturday morning.

The shouting and swearing from the hall cut into my thoughts as it became louder and more intense. We wondered, vaguely, whether there would be any chance of getting a cup of tea, before we had to leave.............

To be continued

Tagged Again!

Suburbia, you've very kindly given me an award, but tagged me again! You know that these things bring out the worst in me and that I can't resist them. Do you think that maybe I've got multiple personality disorder?

This one has a '7's theme:

7 Things I plan to do before I die:

Finish my ironing

Pluck that stray hair out of my chin

Have another brazilian

Have sex with Russell Brand and make sure I give him my grandfather's home telephone number

Moon my next door neighbour

Get drunk and have sex on the beach in Dubai

My pelvic floor exercises

7 Things I do now:

Blog when I should be ironing

Wear a very large hat to distract attention from the stray hair on my chin

Shampoo, condition, apply a little mousse, followed by a blow dry and a bit of hair lacquer to keep everything tidy down there

Have sex with anyone who professes to love me for my mind

Moon my next door neighbour as soon as he turns his back

Have sex on the beach in Brighton. It 's so cold that there's nobody around to bother

Carry a spare pair, in case of little accidents

7 Things I can't do:

Sit like this. It hurts my left knee, lately

Stand up after sitting like this, these days

Turn on the tap, after middle son has turned it off

Play the piano

Read without my glasses and a good light

Limbo without something dragging on the floor

Get my size 8 jeans past my ankles

7 things that attract me in the opposite sex:

A beard

A reluctance to discard anything because it might come in useful in 10 years' time and save us 20p

Total lack of enthusiasm for diy

The desire to spend thousands on a holiday, when the house is falling apart

Ability to love me even when I'm in the menopause

Loving my sons as much as I do

Sharing my silly sense of humour

Well, that was unbelievably lucky, then! Fortunately, I found my perfect match!

7 things I say most often:

Middle son, can you turn up your music? My brain isn't vibrating against the sides of my skull, yet

Can you use more towels? I haven't got enough for 5 full loads, yet

I've had to write you a message on a piece of paper today, instead of scrawling one, with my finger, on the top of the dining room table, because I've dusted

I know where I've put that

I'm just going for a 5 mile run, before I do my pelvic floor exercises

I wish that my tummy would stick out a bit. It's so flat

Will you make more mess in the house? There's nowhere near enough

7 Celebrities that I admire

Well, I don't exactly admire them, but I do admire their ability to convince certain people that they should be rewarded for not a lot, or for just being obnoxious, arrogant, or irritating

Russell Brand

Jonathan Ross

Jade Goody

Jeremy Clarkson

Jodie Marsh

Liz Hurley

Tara Palmer Tomkinson

7 Favourite foods

Burnt toast

Burnt sausage

Lumpy gravy

Lumpy custard

Meat overcooked

Soggy veg

Soggy pastry

Luckily I can whip up all of the above in no time at all!

7 Bloggers who need to do this:

Well, I don't really mind who does it - anyone can, who fancies it, but I'd like to pass on the award to the following:

auntiegwen

dusty spider

maggie may

merry weather

scrappysue

robin

blogthatmama

If any of the above would like to do the tag, I will be over to read it, of course!

Abracadabra!

Do you take good photos? You do, don't you? I've seen them on your blogs, so I know that it's true. Well, I'll let you into another of my little secrets. I take crap photos, but the sad truth is, that I didn't realise it until my husband bought me a digital photo frame for my birthday, back in June.

I was quite excited when I opened my birthday present. It was the best toy I'd received in ages. My delight soon turned to disappointment, however, as I began searching through my memory cards for some decent photos. There were a few good ones, mostly from when my husband had borrowed the camera, but, there was no doubt about it, most of mine were crap.

I resigned myself to the situation, sorted out the best ones and put them on a memory card, which I then inserted into my digital frame. Within a few days, I was bored with looking at the same mediocre photos.

Eventually, my husband decided to have a few days off work. We couldn't afford to go away on holiday, but we went out for day trips, here and there. Wherever we travelled, I took my digital camera, ignoring my husband's snorts of laughter, whilst I attempted to take some average photos to display in my frame. I constantly struggled with my fashionably large handbag, camera case, specs and, very occasionally, with my sunglasses. Sometimes, I forgot to put on my specs, or take off the lens cap. On one occasion, I left my specs at home. At other times, I dithered over framing a good shot, but then found out that I didn't have a memory card in the camera. I balanced precariously on stiles to get a good view of the countryside, or waited endlessly, for a gap in the crowds, so that I could capture a scene in the middle of the city. By the time my husband returned to work, I felt that I had some better photos to display in my photo frame. Once I had them on show, however, I was disappointed once more, as I suddenly realised that most of the skies were overcast and some of them were spoiled by unwanted objects.

It wasn't possible to wait for some good weather and return to all of these places, to have another attempt, so I decided to take a better look at the photo application, which had accompanied my digital camera. I had only ever used it, previously, for a few basic tasks. It wasn't Adobe Photoshop, unfortunately, but with the help of the magic wand select tool and the cloning tool, I was able to improve some of the photos to display in my digital frame. They wouldn't stand close examination, of course, but it's not as if I'm entering them into any competitions, so I don't see that it matters.

Here are a few before and after photos, which I am quite pleased with. Some were taken last year and others quite recently.

The photo below left was taken last year in a village not far from where we live. I have enhanced the colours, so that they show up better on my photo frame and cloned the sky from another photo.

The photo below left was taken just outside the village of Fotheringay, Northamptonshire. Again, I enhanced the colours slightly and cloned the sky from another photo.

The photo below left was taken from the University Parks in Oxford and it is of Keble College Chapel. It was difficult to change the sky in this one and I had about 4 attempts. I had to completely remove the tree on the left and clone it back in again. To get rid of the over exposed spot, on the right, to the side of the tree, I cloned in a few extra leaves, as you can see.

The photos above and below are of Hertford College bridge, in Oxford. I had wanted to see this particular bridge for quite a long time, so we decided to have a day trip into Oxford. The bridge is very popular with sightseers and I waited for 20 minutes, or more, so that I could take a shot of it without people. Unfortunately, it wasn't a brilliant day and the buildings behind needed transporting to a more suitable site! The cloning out of the bicycle, leaning against the railings, in the photo below left, was particularly tricky.

I've been a dreadful cheat, and, obviously the Bridge of Sighs photo isn't a true depiction of the scene, but I am quite pleased, now, with a lot of the photos on display in my digital frame. I only found out recently that I didn't have the quality on my digital camera set to 'fine', so I am hoping that the next lot of photos I take will be an improvement on the last.

Now, how about you? Do you ever enhance your photos, or do you find it unnecessary? Come on, you know you want to tell me!

magic wand select tool - allows you to select an area of your photo based on colour similarity. It is then possible to apply various effects to change that particular selection, only.

cloning tool - duplicates one part of your photo to another part of a photo.

How To See Dead People

I have to confess that I went to Gunther von Hagens' 'BODY WORLDS and The Mirror of Time' exhibition at the O2, in Greenwich, last Friday and was totally fascinated by it! I also visited his first exhibition when it was on show in Brick Lane in 2000. I went with my husband and we took student son and middle son with us. After all of the hype, I can remember that they were almost disappointed when there were no gory or scary exhibits!

This time, we were accompanied only by student son, and, as he is studying to be a nurse, it seemed like an opportunity that shouldn't be missed. It is a shame, in my opinion, that von Hagens' exhibitions are sensationalised so much, although the man himself seems to encourage this attitude, to some extent! He is a bit of a showman, but he has to pay his bills, like anyone else, I suppose! Unfortunately, though, some photographers seem to go out of their way, to capture the exhibits in the most unnatural light possible and I have been startled by some of the photographs I have seen, even though I have not been startled by any of the exhibits in situ. It's surprising the effect that a little colour enhancement and a dark background can have on a subject.

I've found that the 'bodies' on show appear as if they have been manufactured from plastic, once they have undergone the process of plastination. Anyone viewing, in the hope of seeing blood and gore, or of being frightened stupid, will be disappointed. The only thing I found slightly scary was the smoker's blackened lung! What a relief that I only smoked for a short while, in my misguided youth and never became addicted to it.

Perhaps you are already moving on to the next post, because you feel that the Body Worlds exhibitions are unethical, or perhaps you object for religious reasons. I feel I should point out, that the individuals appearing in this exhibition gave permission for their bodies to be used, in this way, for educational purposes, but, naturally, I can only speak for myself, when I say that I find them informative and interesting, without being humiliating, or disrespectful. For anyone studying anatomy, for any reason, a visit to one of the Body Worlds exhibitions would be invaluable. In my experience, they are not viewed by ghouls, or by youngsters looking for kicks, (as long as you leave our 2 out of the equation, when they went to the first exhibition, that is!) they are visited by people who are simply interested in understanding their own bodies, or other peoples.

The only part of this exhibition, which I found very sad, was the room where there are several foetuses on display, at various stages of development. I lost a baby myself, and had to go through the labour, when I was 6 months pregnant, even though I knew that the baby was dead, so this section stirred a few memories, for me. It would have been a simple matter to avoid this part of the exhibition, however, if I had found it too upsetting. Anyone thinking of visiting the exhibition, with young children, should also be made aware of the fact that all genitals are on display. Personally, I feel sure that many an innocent young woman could be saved from a fearful shock, on her wedding night, by a timely visit to a Body Worlds exhibition!

Speaking for myself, I don't find the whole body plastinates of much interest. I am much more fascinated by the body parts in glass cases, the healthy and diseased organs, the transparent body slices and the interesting facts accompanying most of the displays. The current exhibition focuses on health, wellbeing and the ageing process, so there is some interesting information and advice about following a healthy lifestyle, with the consequences of failing to do so being plain to see.

During this visit, I learned a lot, but 3 of the things that really caught my attention were:

1. we begin to lose our hearing from the age of 18
2. taking our size into consideration, we should only live for 25 years (eg a dormouse only lives a few months, whereas an elephant can live up to 80 years) and
3. it is possible to die from constipation (!)

I am careful not to fall into vast expanses of water, and never climb to the top of high buildings, in case I fall off, but dying from constipation is a danger I had never even considered! Fortunately, I suffer from panic attacks if I am more than 6 feet away from a box of Bran Flakes or Weetabix, so it would be truly amazing if I ever died from constipation, but there you are - you've been warned!

Another thing I was interested to read about was, that the part of the brain controlling judgement and risk taking doesn't develop until adulthood. It reminded me of one of my mother's favourite sayings. 'You can't put an old head on young shoulders!' As the mother of 3 sons aged 25, 23 and 19, I feel that this particular saying should be engraved upon my heart.

At the end of the exhibition, there were leaflets available, which gave you the opportunity to donate your own body, after your death, to be used for educational purposes, in future exhibitions. I considered the idea, but rejected it, when I realised that, although I would not object to anyone examining my insides, after my death, I couldn't bear the thought of anyone seeing me without my clothes!

The (Imaginary) Diary Of A White Van Man And Woman

What a busy and profitable few days we have enjoyed with our white van! On Monday, we travelled up to London with a delivery. We dropped a load of rotting compost on the doorstep of number 10 at maggie may's request. We left no accompanying card, but I'm sure that the occupant got the message, even if he didn't know exactly who sent it!

The next day, after dressing up as police officers, we set up our own speed camera, in a lay-by, at suburbia's suggestion and imposed 'on the spot' fines. What a lucrative business that turned out to be! Unfortunately, the real police caught up with us and forced us to hand over all of our 'easy money'. They explained that, up until the introduction of speed cameras, the length and occurrence of their Christmas party had been dependent upon the availability of an empty cell in the local police station. The ever increasing amounts of money generated by the speed cameras, however, meant that, last year, they had all enjoyed a long weekend partying in Mallorca and, this year, they had their fingers crossed for a week in an exclusive hotel in the Maldives.

On Wednesday, at irene's suggestion, we decided to rob a bank. With hindsight, we realised that we should have chosen a British one, rather than an Icelandic one, but our Financial Advisor has suggested that we should hold on to the sack loads of IOUs we succeeded in stealing, as he feels that we have an excellent chance of them becoming legal tender, within the next few days.

The next day, I teamed up with robin for a bit of kidnapping. We managed to grab George Clooney and Johnny Depp, with every intention of demanding a king's ransom for their safe return. After a little consideration, however, we decided to keep them and 'to hell with the ransom!' It's my turn for George next week.

On Friday, I parked on the side of the road, at the suggestion of auntiegwen and commandeered the back of the van, in order to dabble in the profession, which is widely accepted as the oldest known to mankind. I do hope that you didn't get caught up in the ensuing traffic jam, caused by men with white sticks, or guide dogs, crossing the dual carriageway in a rather willy-nilly fashion. You'll be relieved to know that no one was seriously hurt and, in fact, a jolly good time was had by all.

On Saturday, we picked up some radiators from the side of working mum's house and sold them for scrap. She was a little annoyed that the deed preceded the invitation, but it's my belief that she'll see the funny side of it any day now. Working mum has shown great commitment to the cause for energy conservation, by discarding her radiators and we would strongly advise you all to follow her example. We will gladly relieve you of the scrap metal and you will have the satisfaction of feeling virtuous, if rather chilly, for the duration of the winter months.

On Sunday, at merry weather's suggestion, we loaded up the van with a tent and provisions and headed off for a well-earned short break. We decided to go to France, at the invitation of farming-frenchstyle, in the expectation of picking up some useful tips from her other half, who is also a white van driver. Our hopes of travelling alone were dashed, however, when some of our neighbours heard that we were crossing the Channel. We were inundated with requests from British Citizens, begging us to help them escape from a life of unemployment and poverty. We squeezed in as many Brits as our van would hold and headed off for Shangri-La.

By the time we met up with farming-frenchstyle, we had dropped off our cargo and were almost totally exhausted from counting our ill-gotten Euros. We were somewhat surprised to learn from farming-frenchstyle and her husband, that a white van could be used for legitimate money-making ventures and, as a result of our enlightenment, we vowed that our criminal activities would cease once we had returned to England.

It was impossible to resist liz's suggestion of picking up a few ill-informed 'illegals' on the way home, though. They hadn't seen a newspaper for 3 weeks and couldn't understand why we were requesting payment in gold jewellery, (in need of repair, or not) when the streets of London were paved with gold. English folklore and the British pantomime still have a lot to answer for.

We stopped only to stock up with booze and fags, to sell on the black market, before wending our weary way back across the Channel. On our return, we decided to remove temptation from our lives and we gave back the company van. All of our illegal activities have now ceased, but we feel that we've been enormously fortunate in finding respectable jobs in the city.

Anyone want to buy any stocks and shares? Come on, now, there couldn't be a better time to buy! From here, the only way is up, isn't it?

With apologies to the majority of white van drivers who use their vehicles for legitimate purposes and whose reputations suffer, because of a minority who indulge in criminal activity.

Note for the confused: This post has been constructed around some of the comments from the previous one.