Blue Witch

Same script, different place

Where do Witches go when their Feline Familiars, bui1ders, and fruit and vegetables are all out of control? (The former nasty creatures are scoffing D'Oves - well, D'Ove heads, anyway, judging by remnants found - the middle are doing absolutely nothing as they haven't been for the last umpteen weeks so are getting absolutely no more £££ until it's all finished - there's only the ba1cony and roof surface to do, so it's not stopping us using it, but it's bloody annoying to have to keep chasing uber-unreliable people, and the latter are all having more flowers and out-of-season produce - I've just picked courgettes, tomatoes, strawberries and raspberries and there are more of all coming on.)

It's a self-catering farmhouse, on a working flowery farm rustic retreat, in the middle of nowhere. It's near to where some Romans once did some bui1ding, and to a nonagon writer's implement's track, and a well-named town for a Witch who loves pigs, in his home county, and has the home comforts we are used to - open fires, Aga, dishwasher, washing machine, satellite TV, lots of space, and one we're not - home cinema. Extremely Value too, although you couldn't find that out just by looking.

I wonder who can Google the location?

There is a website and there should be enough clues there. There might even be a prize for whoever gets - if not the correct answer - the most clues :)
(one thing though, if you do find it, could you just put the URL in the comments please, rather than code it as a clickable link, as I'd prefer the farmer didn't know he had a Witch staying over Halloween ;))

With everything that has gone on, we haven't been away for a whole year and are thoroughly looking forward to our week's break, particularly as it's Mr BW's WitchDay on Sunday and Witches' Delight Night on Tuesday.

I've put 300g of 70% organic fairtrade dark chocolate and 3 packets of chocolate buttons, as well as 350g of butter and 150g of macadamia nuts in Mr BW's WitchDay cake, and he seems to have loaded 14 bottles of assorted wine and champagne into the Broom. Oh heck...

When is a label not a label?

Those little plastic screen protectors - as found on new phones, watches, cameras, satnavs, personal organisers etc etc - were mentioned in yesterday's discussion about labels.

But they're not labels!

They are so much more worthy!
They are protectors of pristineness, and, as such, never detached by me, until they fall off, or get pulled off by Mr BW who does not feel about them as I do. But, I have discovered that you can get protectors for Palms and cut them to size/shape for other applications!

Now... what do you think?

Update, Friday evening: I've removed the poll script as it was dreadfully slow and was doing horrible things to the page loading speed... at the time of removal there were 15 people who said they did remove the screen protectors and 22 people who said they left them on.

And, does it follow that people who hate labels generally leave plastic screen protectors on? (I'm thinking same need for neatness and tidyness)

I know there's no such thing as a free lunch, but...

Does anyone know if there is any free poll software left that doesn't make you register, doesn't create nasty popup adverts, and *works*?

I hate labels

We're enjoying the evening re-runs, during dinner at The Coven, of the afternoon-broadcast programme (3.15pm, BBC2) showing people trying to get their gardens into the Yellow Book.

For those non-gardeners, or non-Englanders, amongst you, that is the National Garden Scheme, where around 3,500 private gardens of "quality, character and interest" open for one of more days per year, with entrance fees (all £1.8M of them in 2005) going to various charities. Carol Klein, the enthusiastic presenter, is always worth a giggle (not least to see what colour her hair is on each episode), and each programme shows two prospective garden openers - one of whom always gets in following the first inspection by the NGS County Organisers (all Senior Nice Lady types intheir own right), and the other who is turned down, but then allowed in for the following year after Carol's intervention and another inspection some weeks later.

But, one thing that is driving me *mad*(der maybe ;)) is the number of wonderful plants in beautiful pots that still have labels on them.

Looking round local village Open Gardens, or even walking down the street, I am always amazed by the number of people who have paid £20-odd pounds for a magnificnet ceramic pot and then left the price label on it in a conspicuous place where it totally detracts from the plant + pot effect being sought.

Labels left on other things annoy me too. Only the other day I sat next to a Craft Lady at an all-day course who had left the description label *and* the price label on her plastic lunchbox. When she nipped out to the toilet, I was studying it carefully, considering whether I dared pull the labels off before she returned, when the course tutor saw where I was looking, must have read my mind, and laughed. "So glad I'm not the only one!" she smiled, and we then spent a pleasant 10 or 15 minutes swopping tales of all the Label Horror Stories known to us.

The first thing I do when I buy anything with a label stuck on is pull it off, and then rub with white spirit to remove the sticky gunk invariably left behind. Because, of course, clean-peel sticky labels cost more, so most manufacturers choose not to use them.

How do you feel about labels?

Fifty

May I direct you to LaP's excellent "50 ways to leave Iraq"?

At a time when we are hearing that one in 50 civilians in Iraq have died since Shrub and Bliar decided to defy truth and logic in their belief that they had the right to interfere in the lives of people who never wanted their help, and Shrub is mentioning Vietnam in the same breath as Iraq, one is surely tempted to say, "Come back Saddam, all is forgiven."

Stairways

Last night I was work-working away in my Inner Coven. I was totally engrossed in what I was writing, and wasn't paying any attention to the noises Mr BW was making just outside. Most evenings he makes noises outside, or adjacent to, my door, as he works his way through the finishing-off jobs that Chief Bui1der should be doing, except that he has very conveniently suffered a back injury which means he cannot work for 12 weeks. Nor, apparently, can he get the people he chose to sub-contract certain jobs to here to complete the other outstandings (in fact, I've been much more successful than him, because I am rather more 'direct' - when reasonable and assertive haven't worked, there are other ways ;)).

Chief Bui1der can, however, manage to attempt to overcharge us by at least a thousand pounds by blaming someone else's inefficiency in recording hours worked. I knew my daily records would come in handy, hence why I kept them. Anyway, enough of all that, suffice it to say that our offset mortgage account is still looking much healthier than we were expecting, and I shall not be allowing another penny to paid to Chief Bui1der until *everything* is finally sorted to my satisfaction, and deductions for all Mr BW's time and materials will be made from the final payment... and back to the story.

I emerged at dinner time to find this:
"Mind the Post-Its, every single one marks a spot where you cannot stand because I've just touched up the marks that appeared during the building work," explained Mr BW. Anyone would think that I was able to fly, or something!

Although we had the boiler serviced this morning, there is still absolutely no need to have heating on. It's amazing the difference that has been made to the ambient temperature by adding a 2nd storey with space-age insu1ation, and cavity wall insulation all round.

It doesn't feel like nearly the end of October, and although the garden is just about tucked up for the winter, after a weekend of hard labour out there, the leaves are only just beginning to come off the poplars (always the first trees here to lose their leaves), it hasn't yet been less than 8.7 degrees C at night (and, on one day in October it was 32.6 degrees, the thermometer has just informed me!).

The exceptionality of this summer is brought home by this picture:

Citrus fruits in the pressure cooker about to be cooked in the first stages of marmalade making. Lemons, limes and calamandinos (tiny oranges a bit like kumquats).

All grown outdoors in The Coven grounds.

Thought for the day

Contentment makes poor men rich.
Discontent makes rich men poor.

- Benjamin Franklin

Regeneration - Part II

If you haven't read Saturday's and Sunday's posts, I'd suggest you start here and read back up.

This is a model of what the proposed development of Battersea Power Station (which is to be known simply as "The Power Station") will look like:

The existing power station is to be transformed into restaurants (including, apparently, one table at the top of one of the chimneys!), a retail mall, cinemas, and a massive cultural and commercial entertainment and events centre. New buildings planned for the rest of the 36 (or 38, depending which souce you believe) acre site include two hotels, a theatre, flats, offices, showrooms and a £26 million scheme to modernise and upgrade nearby Battersea Park railway station.

All this, our tour guide informed us, will cost around £1.5 billion. One woman commented that she had no understanding of how much that was. "About a third of the cost to the UK of the Iraq war, so far!" I helpfully supplied. Apparently there are to be around 3,000 jobs created during construction, and 9,000 after completion.

What I'd like to know is where all the construction workers that London will need for this, and all the Olympic projects, are going to be found, and where they are going to live?

Now, given that the current site, viewed from the power station, currently looks like this:

you may think this regeneration scheme is a good thing.

Many locals don't, and would rather it had become another art gallery. However, I think that there are only so many art galleries in old utility buildings that one capital city can support, and that it is easy to overdo a concept. I also think that the local critics probably don't live in the real commercial world and have no understanding of how difficult it is to raise finance for such a project.

Commercial money would seem to be the only way forward, and a scheme like this, which will ensure that at least half the developed space is still accessible to the public, is not a bad thing.

But then, while digging around the internet for exact figures, I was shocked to find that:

On 13 October 2005, Wandsworth Council approved Parkview's plan to demolish and then rebuild the power station's chimneys. Despite an engineers' report which has found that the existing chimneys can be repaired, Parkview, English Heritage and the London Borough of Wandsworth claim the chimneys are structurally unsound and irreparable.

Parkview claims to have given a legally binding undertaking to the London Borough of Wandsworth to provide certainty that the chimneys will be replaced like for like in accordance with the requirements of English Heritage and the planning authorities.

However, campaigners have pointed to the fact that as Parkview is registered in the British Virgin Islands, the council would not be able to enforce the legal agreement.

Further concerns have been raised as the Wandsworth Borough Solicitor, when questioned by Wandsworth Council's planning applications committee members, was not able to give an assurance that a watertight legal agreement to rebuild the chimneys could be made with an offshore company.

Now, given the commerical vandalism that already occurred in the late 1980s when the turbine hall roof was removed and the building then left to rot, should the developers be allowed to remove the chimneys in these circumstances, with no legally enforcable guarantee that they will ever be replaced?

I think not.

No turbine hall roof, no chimneys, a crumbling, not terribly old building, not terribly unique in London, could easily be demolished to make way for a lovely new T£scos, with some bijou apartments attached (see what they've already done in Islington for a blue-print) surely?

I was going to write about the 'art' but I've decided it would spoil it for those of you planning to go before it shuts on November 5th, so we'll just have to hope some of you write about it, won't we :)

Regeneration - Part I

(I'd suggest you first look at the pictures in Saturday's post, just below, and read the comments, if you haven't already)

I can't remember exactly when my fascination for water towers and electricity generation buildings started, but it had to do with the games of Monopoly to which I was subjected as a Small Witch.

The pattern was always the same - Brother BW was the Racing Car and bought, traded, and cheated, to procure all the properties on one side of the board, and then proceeded to put all the hotels from the set onto them, irrespective of what the official rules said you could do. Meanwhile, I was the Boot and procured the stations and the utility companies, because, even in those days, I believed in securing the necessities of life rather than investing in acquisitive and unnecessary capitalism.

That pattern has continued - Brother BW now live in the XSofA and profits from exploiting people, while I live in a world where Value, community peace, and saving the planet are more important.

However, my early fascination with utility companies continues.

I've long wanted to start my 'photograph every water tower in England' project and publish them en blog, as I've mentioned before, but I know it would quickly become another obsessive compulsive venture, so I've put off starting. Or, in other words, I haven't yet got round to it...

At the end of 1976, Pink Floyd cleverly catured my interest (if not my enduring love for their music, as punk was rising) by combining two passions when they flew my favourite animal over Battersea Power Station. I can remember Daddy BW, coming home and saying he'd seen a flying pig and not believing it.

In the early 80s, the older brother of my then boyfriend finished university, qualified as a accountant, and got a job with a large well-known accountancy firm. His first assignment was to the team ascertaining the financial viability of turning Battersea into a theme park. I can still recall his incredulity at this, and at the fact that, although the building had been accorded Grade 2 Listed Building status in 1980, such a whacky scheme seemed to get through planning on the nod, despite local and interested party opposition. As my accountant friend's father owned a considerable amount of property of historic interest, we all knew a bit about Listed Building status. The whole scheme smelt like a kipper and I think this was the first time that I realised that money talks, especially where planning issues are concerned.

I've been following the demise of Battersea since the roof was removed to remove the turbines back in the late 1980s. I moaned about the derelict state it had been allowed to get into a couple of years ago when Mr BW and I saw it from the Thames. I contemplated a spot of urban exploration, but, not wishing to acquire a criminal record, or dog teeth marks in my posterior, thought better of it. Therefore, when Ken's weekly Visit London email told me that for a few short weeks before development started it would be open to the public as a backdrop for an exhibiton of Chinese contemporary art, I jumped at the opportunity to take a peek.

Here's the turbine hall between the two boiler houses - which has been minus roof for nearly 20 years now. The floor too is long gone and clearly well below the level it once was.
Commerical vandalism and strangely moving and unnerving. I'm glad I went with him and not on my own because I might otherwise have cried.

Sir Giles Gilbert Scott, of red telephone box fame, was involved in the design of both Battersea and Bankside (now the Tate Modern), as well as Liverpool Cathedral.

Looking at Battersea, it's always hard to remember that it isn't really that old. The first phase was only built in 1930 (full chronology here). It generated power for a significant proportion of London until its closure in 1975. The second phase (Turbine B) operated from 1944 until 1983. It was 1955 before it had 4 chimneys.

Anyway, I'm not DG, so if you're interested in more info, try here. Alternatively, wait until this time next week and he may give you a much more readable version as he tells me in the comments below that he's going next weekend, and that there are, contrary to what the security bods told us, still tickets available for then.

And I would really recommend a visit if you can get there.

More tomorrow...

What do these have in common?

7.30pm Update: As no-one has guessed, I've added another 5 to the original 2.

Now, about that 'shower or bath' question earlier in the week...

Of course there was a motive...

Having established that the majority of people think shower for quick cleanliness, and bath for soaky relaxing, I have a further question.

If, first thing in the morning when you were getting ready for work, you had the choice between lukewarm/cold shower (as your new so1ar panel had been thwarted in its functioning efficiency by lack of sunshine, or even - shock horror - cloudy skies and rain) and a lovely Aga-tenderly-lovingly-heated water bath, which would you pick? (Point of information: the usual shower that runs off the Aga-heated water is currently reduced to a plasterless, tileless wall, the tray and cubicle have been on a one-way journey to the tip, and the showerhead is in a plastic box, as we wait for that end of the house to dry out and stabilsise sufficiently to redo it).

I'm not saying that there is someone living at The Coven who is in serious need of an ablutions rethink, or anything, of course, but I do need to understand. All insight is warmly (or coldly, depending on which side of the debate you stand/lay) welcomed...

So, the question is: quick hot bath or lukewarm-veering-to-cold shower?

*dashes in*

Sorry I haven't got time to talk to you people...

There is just too much going on.

To give you some idea of what the stresses of this mad existence at present are doing to me... I seem to be having an ongoing problem with exposing and/or dropping my underwear everywhere.

*dashes out*

Thought for the day

A thing long expected takes the form of the unexpected when at last it comes.

- Mark Twain

Little Britain

There was a point to the question/post below, but I'll get back to it...

Gert reminds me that today is the selected day for the 'Online Blog Diary Archive Day' project. But I shan't be contributing because I don't do normal, or what I'm told, and it seems oh so contrived. But, if you're a non-blogger who'd like to try blogging for just one day, then the place to inflict yourself on the world is here.

Saw the Little Britain stage show last night at Hammersmith Apollo (yes, it's been renamed again, maybe they'll eventually get back to calling it Hammersmith Odeon). Matt Lucas surpassed himself and it was very, very funny. But, I was shocked that many parents had taken their under 10 year old children. The content, particularly the ad-lib bits, was almost not suitable for me, let alone young children! Review? Nah, go and see it, if you can find a ticket from somewhere. It's a year since we bought the tickets - where has that year gone?

Mr BW got annoyed with me on the way home because I asked a drunk bloke on the tube broadcasting to the carriage from his white earphones whether he'd ever considered that not everyone liked listening to the same music as him. Drunk Scots are not the best people to annoy, but he did at least turn the din down.

I'm still thinking about getting a special pair of blue scissors with which to snip earphone cords. I've said it before, and I'll say it again... hearing aids are the business of the future. But, *why* are people so inconsiderate?

Bath or shower?

Zzzzzzz

If you've got 'em, flaunt 'em :)

I caught these two snoozing in the sun on the pond seats that we've not yet put aways for the winter, over the weekend. It's always sleep-time for them, and, as you can see, amazingly, PVC is pretty much recovered from her recent death-defying illness. Just her third eyelid to completely return to normal, and various websites tell me it can take 6-8 weeks. Doesn't seem to be affecting her though, as she's been engaging in her favourite activity with her step-sister (climbing on The Coven Roof).

On the subject of sleeping...

Te@chers in a couple of the schoo1s I regularly visit have been remarking how tired many of the children are all the time. I was asked about this and suggested that, as a first step, they collect some hard data by asking the chi1dren in their classes some written questions about what time they go to bed (or, for younger children who might not be aware of times, what TV programmes they watch).

We were all horrified to learn that no chi1d in the junior department (this includes chi1dren who are only just 7) goes to bed before 9.00pm. 11 out of 17 children in one class of 8 and 9 year olds regularly go to bed after 10.30pm on weekdays. Most of the top c1ass (10 and 11 year o1ds) have no fixed bedtime, and some of them can go to bed when they choose (which, in 2 cases, is usually after their parents).

If you have, or know, any children, could you tell me how old they are and what time they go to bed, please?

And if you have any opinions or suggestions on this issue, do share them... For example, if the head of your chi1d's schoo1 wanted to raise the issue of chi1dren's bedt1mes in an attempt to stop chi1dren yawning, being generally inattentive, and occasionally falling as1eep in c1ass in the mornings, how best could it be done?

The 95th Make Blue Witch Laugh Award

At last! 4 months since the last Award, something in blogland made me laugh out loud, and so qualifies terreus for a MBWLA. Hurrah!

I don't think it's been PhotoShopped as the perspective is perfect...

You know you're getting old when...

1. You don't care what people think about you any more.

2. You ache when you get up in the morning.

3. And when you go to bed at night.

4. A late night is staying up after 10pm.

5. You no longer mind leaving the house without applying make-up.

6. You proudly use a shopping trolley (albeit a very trendy 2 x 3-wheeled variety in environmentally friendly dark green, rather than tartan) to save your back.

7. You can't bear the 'music' or inane banter available on most radio stations, so regularly tune to Radio 4.

8. Even R4 annoys you sometimes.

9. You don't care if you have hairy legs/armpits when you go swimming.

10. You spend an inordinate amount of time checking your partner's orifices for excess hair growth that requires removal lest he be 'remarked about' by the young things he works with.

11. You no longer feel guilty when you say 'no' to people.

12. You don't care if you hold up the queue in the supermarket while you finish packing your goods or fumble in your purse for change/ your credit card/ your loyalty card.

13. You call annoying people serving (or not serving) you in shops 'young man' or 'young lady' and get away with it.

14. You say, "I beg your pardon?" in a sarcastic tone when someone says something that displeases you, and the person changes their tack or apologises.

15. It takes you all day to accomplish less than you used to manage by lunchtime.

16. You can remember 'fashion' garments from the first time around.

17. You still have these garments from the first time around hanging in your wardrobe.

18. You require reading glasses, although most of the time you pretend you don't.

19. You can use failing memory as an acceptable excuse for not having got round to doing something.

20. ...

I'm sure there are more that I haven't yet noticed, aren't there?

Bloggy problems

What is going on with Blogger? I'm getting "internal server error" pages on almost every site - or worse - "502 Google Server Error: The server encountered a temporary error and could not complete your request."

Has Google eaten the blogspot part of our blog world?

Either Google or China will take over the world in the next couple of decades, you mark my words ;)

How does your local NHS Trust fare?

Mixed picture on quality of services in NHS.

"Overall, 4% of NHS trusts got the highest rating of ‘excellent’ for quality of services, 36% were rated ‘good’, 51% were rated ‘fair’ and 9% were rated ‘weak’.

More than a third of trusts are ‘weak’ on use of resources. Results show that 37% of trusts have failed to manage their finances adequately for the year to March 31st 2005.

Results of first annual health check show that many NHS trusts are performing well, but there is significant room for improvement."

Our local Trust scores "good" for quality of services and "weak" for use of resources (along with over 40% of the rest of the country). I fail to see how these two conclusions are compatible.

But, knowing what the Nice Ladies are complaining about locally (they are an excellent barometer), I looked further... clicked some of the 'read more' boxes. And, lo and behold, the score for "diagnostic tests" is "weak", the lowest level reported, and found in only 9.6% of other areas of the country.

Does one really want to wait 36 weeks for an MRI scan or 22 weeks for a CT scan when it is deemed necessary? Or 3 days to have, and then 9 weeks for the results of, a blood test? Or 22 weeks for an endoscopy? Or 13 weeks for an ultrasound to see whether tumours are growing back? Or 9 days in a hospital bed waiting for a heart ultrasound? All these have been personally reported to me in the last week.

Surely healthcare is directly related to the speed and efficiency of diagnostic tests? Oh. The statistics weren't set up to highlight that? I wonder why? And I wonder how much this useless-number crunching exercise has cost us, the taxpayers?

The NHS is a dinosaur. A huge, lumbering, resource consuming, unproductive, prehistoric monster that should have become extinct years ago. A great idea when it came into being in 1948, but one which hasn't moved with the times, and which just cannot, and will never, meet current healthcare needs in its current format.

All I can say is that I am eternally grateful that Mr BW gets private medical insurance as part of his salary package. Even before I met him, I always found the money from somewhere to have private medical insurance. Because I need to know that when my own health management strategy goes wrong, I can select the best treatment, by the best specialist, at a hospital of my choosing. After all, if it hadn't been for our private healthcare back in 2000, when I had a detached ret1na, I would now be blind in my left eye.

If everyone who either gets private healthcare through their job, or pays for it themself, chose instead to use the NHS, the system would totally break down. But still the 'Government' taxes those of us who don't rely on the system (£800 a year in hard cash deduction in our case). Hell, we should be given a tax rebate, not taxed further!

So... how good is your Trust, and do the figures accord with your local knowledge?

Taxing issues

As if having the opportunity to see the world, enhanced pay for overseas service, free board, lodging and clothing, the opportunity to legally fight and kill people in real life (rather than just in virtual life) weren't enough, now the 15,000 UK troops illegally murdering people in the Middle East in Shrub's War are to be given £2,240 as a tax-free bonus.

The £60M that this is costing the non-soldiers amongst us would pay for a lot of drugs for people with early-stage Alzheimer's who NICE have decreed should not be publically funded. Those drugs would cost only £2.50 per person per day, but as they are not available, I'd suggest that everyone drink more juice.

The 'Government' (sic) are clearly running out of cannon-fodder and are trying to use cash bribes to tempt more people to sign up to die.

Maybe we'd be better off emptying out the over-full prisons for this purpose...

Thought for the day

Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.

- Albert Camus

No news is good news?

I could rant about ID cards. £5.4 billion? Only a little bit more than the cost of the Iraq War then. And half the price suggested by a LSE study last year. What Value.

I could rant about the way some Muslim women are playing up to the camera to make some sort of political statement (I've even seen it in Small Local Town where I've only ever previously seen them wearing as little clothing as every other young female!) but I'll just say it has to do with their complete lack of respect for the host culture, and everything that goes along with that. When in England, I say, just as we have to respect their culture and customs when in countries where their religion predominates.

I could rant about North Korea (and who saw Death of a President last night? Let's hope it's not just the North Korea bit that's prophetic!) but, the problem is ignorance of the masses, who are deliberately denied contact with the outside world. In a country where food and basic necessities are already at a premium, sanctions will only hurt the person in the street, who hasn't the faintest idea what is going on, and probably hasn't even heard of nuclear weapons, let alone that they are about to join the other 8 countries with the power to destroy the planet. Education is the key. How is the lock.

I could rant about our over-full prisons and the pointlessness of there being almost 80,000, or 1 person in every 700 people in this country locked up. The 'Government' of this country don't believe in restorative justice, that is clear from the way they have cut funding for excellent project after excellent project to curb bu11ying in schools using methodology from the approach. Why put people who have commited minor crimes in prison? Do we really need petty shoplifters, and those who have evaded a few hundred quid of tax, or not paid their council tax, in jail, or would it be better giving them a few hundred hours of community service, so they can begin to feel a useful and integral part of their local community, and so lessen the chance of them re-offending? Nice Ladies, WRVS, Rotary Clubs, Round Table, British Legion, and other such well-established community groups could easily be trained to voluntarily oversee such community sentences, and would make sure that time was profitably spent (this sounds like another idea for the next BW Party election manifesto methinks - if you've been reading for less than 18 months, give yourself a treat and go and read up and down from that last link - them was the days when I had the time/inclination to write sensibly thoughtful things ;))

But no, I'm not going to go on about any of those things. Because I have a funeral to go to. Unreligious Witch goes to funeral of Witchy Godmother's husband. Now there's a contradiction in terms.

Sunday

Outside all is still very end-of-summer-y by day, and the light is fantastic. Witches are very busy with end-of-gardenng-year jobs.

Meanwhile, inside, The GT&W Familiar snoozes in the bulb-box in the Coven Utility, blissfully unaware of how ill PVC her step-sister has been due to her having passed on some of the multitude of cat germs that are endemic in farm cats (which she was).

We suspect that PVC got locked in somewhere, as she was missing for 3 days. Under stress, dormant virus/es can take hold. When Mr BW finally found the 7 month old Dark Tabby Familiar on Wednesday evening she was extremely unwell, and we honestly didn't think she'd make it through the night. Recognising the symptoms with my Witchy Powers/from years around farm and feral cats, I knew there is no treatment for 'cat flu' (in its many variants), and knew that we were just as capable as administering antibiotics (for secondary infection) and fluids as any vet, and could give more TLC and comfort. And so the past few days have been a bit of a 24-hour a day battle.

Fortunately, we think the corner has now been turned as PVC is now eating and drinking on her own again, jumping about, and getting up to her other usual tricks involving her Pointy Velcro Claws. I dread to think of the mess she is going to make of the new Studio (which we've been using as The Coven Cat Hospital) while I'm not around today. I think it's back to her usual home in The Coven Workshop with her step-sister for her tonight...

Haven't had time to read any blogs, or the minds of all you lurkers, so tell me what you've all been doing.

Thought for the day

When elephants fight it is the grass that suffers.

- Kikuyu proverb

Thought for the day

All human beings hold to the tools of their own destruction.

- Barbara Gordon

Thought for the day

The universe is full of magical things, patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.

- Eden Phillpotts

A modern day Robin Hood in reverse

T£sco.

£1.1 billion profit on 6 months trading (and bear in mind that doesn't include the FOTCR™ period when food retailers typically make most money).

Taking from the poor to profit the rich.

Because, typically, T£sco customers do come from households with lower disposable incomes. The same customers often buy into T£sco financial services, because it's easy, and they're not financially savvy enough to realise what a rotten deal they are getting - so also funding the group's expansion (and so lessening their choice in the marketplace even further) at comparatively low cost to the shareholders (T£scos don't run a bank out of the goodness of their hearts - part of the reason is so they can get cheap finance for their future investment).

Seeing Terry Leery (that's a much more appropriate spelling of his name isn't it?) on Breakfast TV this morning put me off my breakfast. Particularly when he vehemently denied that T£sco kill off small neighbourhood shops.

I just wish that a few more people could see the damage that such business practices are doing to communities, and to farmers/producers, in this country and boycott T£sco. As Leery said on TV this morning, his barometer of public approval for T£sco is what people spend there.

Watch out America. Tesco open chez vous next year. A fair exchange for lumbering us with Walmart I reckon.

Thought for the day

It takes a lot of time to understand nothing.

- Edward Dahlberg