Living Between the Lines

A wry look at family life

  • Living Between the Lines,  Tidbits - the written word

    A nice Cup of Tea…

    The recent controversial news from America regarding salt in tea, using a kettle versus microwaving (eek! What?!) I thought as a Brit, I’d pen a few key points that make tea the number one drink for all occasions using a kettle (in my opinion – as a Brit, I am not pushy LOL!) My thoughts when: 1. A friend pops in feeling glum me. I’ll pop the kettle on, sit down and relax for a bit 2. A stressful situation is getting out of hand… me. Calm down, have a nice cup of tea 3. I really don’t know what do next… me. Have a cup of tea, it’ll help…

  • Living Between the Lines

    I do as you do…

    I can no longer berate Dave every time he leaves something on the car roof and drives off. (The last item was his mobile phone which fell off as he drove down the road and was run over by anon. It was found some time later and returned and although the phone was no longer functional, he managed to extract the sim card.) Over the years he has left wallet, phone and numerous other stuff on the roof – most times remembering it before it was lost for good. Today, I had an eye test appointment. Good opportunity, I said to myself, to go to the shop next door afterwards…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Remember when

    Behind the scenes at Butlins

    This post was written back in 2011 in answer to a question from my youngest daughter who had recently become a mother. I was recently reminded of it by a reference made to Butlins Holiday Camp, Clacton-on-Sea, in a Facebook post. It is evident from the comments within that post, that many people hold fond and nostalgic memories of their holidays at Butlins, back in the fifties, sixties and seventies. I have never holidayed there so I cannot comment. My own experience of Butlins, it has to be said, was memorable but for the wrong reason. I was not a carefree holiday maker of course, I was staff. I was…

  • Living Between the Lines

    The iron, the ironing board and the sales assistant

    Having struggled to clean our old steam iron (maybe not so ‘old’ as neglected) after its latest run-in with fabric that left the mysterious brown rust mark on its plate, I gave in. We needed a new iron. Not only that, but the ironing board itself had begged to be replaced years ago. It had come close a while back, I ordered one online. When the board arrived it was more suited to a doll’s house. It was quite possibly, the smallest in history. So, a trip to an actual shop was called for. We headed to that well know store that sells electrical goods of all descriptions. There was…

  • Living Between the Lines

    Washington DC and friendship

    USA Part Two After two wonderful weeks in Texas, having said a tearful ‘goodbye, for now’, we board an internal flight to Washington DC. Why are we not flying home to England? Well, many moons ago, when I was eleven years and three months old – February 1968 in fact, I applied for a USA penfriend through my weekly comic, Princess Tina. I begged a fourpenny stamp (pre decimalisation) and an envelope, from my mother without telling her what it was for. I posted the form in the local post box and told no one. Exactly what my mother had thought I was doing I am not sure! I had…

  • Living Between the Lines

    Debbie did do Dallas!

    Yes folks, it’s true. Thank you, Laura, because had you not moved out here, I may never have come to Texas. As it is, we wave the UK goodbye, and fly to DFW (Dallas Fort Worth) International Airport, where Laura and the family are waiting to greet us. I shall gloss over the long, long wait to get through security once we have landed, because seeing their faces as we walk into Arrivals, Delilah holding up a home made welcome banner, makes it all worthwhile. Hugs all round! So, apart from playing American football with the grandchildren, and another game that I really do not understand, in which I am…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Puptales

    Happy 13th Birthday Flossie!

    “Happy 13th Birthday Flossie!” That’s what I heard shouted at me this morning when I stumbled to my Paws. Do they think I am deaf? Well, come to think of it, the house has seemed a lot quieter these past few months and I get the distinct impression the Boss has been calling me for some time when she finally raises her voice loud enough for me to hear. So, yes, I must admit, deafness seems to be the reason. I am not quite sure why they are all so excited at me reaching the grand old age of 13 but I can tell they are by the number of…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Tidbits - the written word

    A typical writing day…

    Here I am upstairs, in my lovely, fit for purpose writing room. Computer on – hmm, so many emails – must ignore. Himalayan Crystal Salt lamp on, to keep me calm (a Christmas Gift) Now, open file. File is saved where? Dropbox/iCloud/Desktop/got it! Re-read the beginning of chapter two and spend twenty minutes or more changing one word. Prepare to begin a new chapter. Big old Dog wants to go out Big old Dog wants to come in Small dog barking at front door – at delivery person Now I am here, I may as well save them the trouble of putting the parcels in the plastic box I put…

  • Living Between the Lines

    The Special Tent…

    The following conversation was overheard between Mum and toddler, as we sat admiring the view, on the beach at Readymoney Cove. Catherine Tate springs to mind! Worth noting, we could hear Mum’s voice more than toddler’s but you can tell what he might be saying! Imagine Mum’s voice sounding just a little more stressed by the second, having trudged across the sand with towels, picnic blankets, something in a long, nylon bag slung over her shoulder and an over excited toddler skipping along behind, finally settling a couple of yards to our left. The Mum: ‘This is a good spot darling, but we need to wait for Daddy to help…

  • Living Between the Lines,  Mum is the word

    A letter from the past…

    This letter came into my possession recently, It was sent to my mother, a few days before her wedding to my father, Denis, in October 1948. I remember Aunt Gert but only vaguely. My paternal grandfather, Victor, was one of eight children and he and at least two of his siblings, died in 1968 when I was 11/12 years old. Memories of sitting outside the church in the car, during what seemed to be an endless series of funerals, abound. So, finding this letter gave me quite a jolt. Knowing my mother’s love of dogs makes it all the more special. The letter itself is quite hard to decipher, so…