Through this window, which wasn’t one of those floor to ceiling, walk out onto a balcony type windows, we saw big ships, little ships, small boats, and then huge ocean liners.And when that wasn’t enough, sunrise and sunset, or just the sight of Venice in the sunshine
The many vaporettos that came and went
It was simply a matter of watching ships go by, or watching the Venetians go about the daily business Ferries that would arrive in the morning, and leave at night, small
Once upon a time, you could have told me Jack Robinson was a jack in the box, the name meant nothing to me.
Not until Phryne Fisher came along, a rather brilliant 1920s private detective series set in the back streets of Melbourne, as well as more salubrious houses of the rich and famous.
In this series, there is a policeman, a foil for her detective moments, and a love interest that is always just beyond her grasp, a man by the name of Inspector Jack Robinson.
How coincidental.
But…
As for the saying, before you can say Jack Robinson…
It has nothing to do with Phryne Fishers Inspector.
Instead,
There is one story of a politician, Jack Robinson, in the late eighteenth century who was accused of bribery on the floor of the house of commons in England. His accuser was another MP who was asked to name the culprit, and thereby coined the term, ‘I could name him as soon as I could say Jack Robinson’.
The second was a Jack Robinson, the hero of a story written in the nineteenth century who came home to find his intended wife married to another, and to assuage the pain of it was back to the sea, ‘afore you could say Jack Robinson’.
I’m sure there’s a ton of other saying that could be attached to the name, but these seem to be the accepted reason for the term ‘before you can say Jack Robinson’.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.
Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.
He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.
The other has been able to return to the classroom.
One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.
But a more sinister problem had arisen.
He’s stopped eating his food. I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.
This is not the first time we’ve been through this.
So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food. Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.
Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.
Once upon a time, you could have told me Jack Robinson was a jack in the box, the name meant nothing to me.
Not until Phryne Fisher came along, a rather brilliant 1920s private detective series set in the back streets of Melbourne, as well as more salubrious houses of the rich and famous.
In this series, there is a policeman, a foil for her detective moments, and a love interest that is always just beyond her grasp, a man by the name of Inspector Jack Robinson.
How coincidental.
But…
As for the saying, before you can say Jack Robinson…
It has nothing to do with Phryne Fishers Inspector.
Instead,
There is one story of a politician, Jack Robinson, in the late eighteenth century who was accused of bribery on the floor of the house of commons in England. His accuser was another MP who was asked to name the culprit, and thereby coined the term, ‘I could name him as soon as I could say Jack Robinson’.
The second was a Jack Robinson, the hero of a story written in the nineteenth century who came home to find his intended wife married to another, and to assuage the pain of it was back to the sea, ‘afore you could say Jack Robinson’.
I’m sure there’s a ton of other saying that could be attached to the name, but these seem to be the accepted reason for the term ‘before you can say Jack Robinson’.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
Not everything is fine in la-la-land, as he now calls it.
Not happy that I didn’t tell him about the second week of child invasion.
He should consider himself lucky that the school week started on Tuesday, and only one was staying home to do schoolwork.
The other has been able to return to the classroom.
One less tormentor, I heard him mutter as he slinked past the room where the homeschooler was working.
But a more sinister problem had arisen.
He’s stopped eating his food. I first thought this was part of a two-week standoff, where he cuts his nose off to spite his face.
This is not the first time we’ve been through this.
So, just to see if it is a fit of pique, I get him his absolute favorite food. Fresh Atlantic Salmon cut into small pieces just the way he likes it.
Yes, the aroma reaches him in his hiding spot, along with the call-out that I’d bought him salmon, but when he goes to the bowl, he takes a sniff, or two, then wanders away.
Considering that we are in the midst of a pandemic, going to a movie theatre seems like the least like thing to do.
Hundreds of people packed into a small space for a few hours, just the sort of environment the Coronavirus loves.
Well, we may have zero cases and zero local transmission, ans the theatres can open, theses just a few details first.
Social distancing means areas of seating are blocked of so you and your partner are like sitting on an island. So limited seating. Social distancing in all queues, rubber gloves and masks on all attendants, and hand sanitiser at the door, in passageways and in theatres.
Overkill? Maybe.
But despite the fact there are no blockbusters coming out, there a few interesting films about, one of which was ‘Honest Thief’
It has Liam Neeson in it so how bad could it be?
Actually for starters there were four of us watching the movie in what we designated Gold Class, very comfortable recliner seats and waiter service. And by the way the food cost more than the movie tickets
But back to the movie. Like I said, i came expecting a kick ass movie and that’s just what I got.
The premise is a man who returns from the war, used to being in high risk situations not knowing if the next day is your last, finds he doesn’t fit in, so as all similar people do, you rob banks, and very successfully.
Until you fall in love
Of course you may, by the end of it decide that being in love is not all that it’s cracked up to be, but it’s certainly a good reason to stop.
Until things get serious and you want to fess up.
The bad guys, well they’re bad, and the one man wrecking ball, well, he does what Liam Neeson does best. Think Taken and take it from there.
I always take notice of the others in the film, and was a welcome sight to see the actor who made Michael Weston in Burn Notice famous, playing such a different role. Loved the dog, too. Then there was the bad Terminator guy who just seems to get older, and now playing what might be called character roles. The love interest I didn’t recognise, but later discovered was Kate Walsh, who, I think, once graced Grey’s Anatomy.
As for everyone else, I didn’t recognise them, but no doubt they’ll turn up on TV soon enough.
For me, any Liam Neeson kick ass film gets five stars, and a pity perhaps that it will not get a chance to be seen by more people.
We have been to this palace several times, the last being with our granddaughters.
Anyone can take a photo of the front door, I think I have done one better, and taken a picture of the back door, hidden behind an ice cream vendor.
Excellent security measures in place!
But after visiting the palace for as long as the children could retain interest, which was beginning to wane after an hour or so, we came out to go to the Orangery and see if we could treat them to afternoon tea.
The Orangery is at the end of this walkway. More on this experience below.
Moving on…
It was a few minutes looking at round trees and squirrels which seemed to be in abundance. Maybe the squirrels were being spoiled by eating leftovers from the Orangery.
But the gardens beckoned.
Lots of green and color. This was in winter so the sun was a bonus.
We were expecting snow, but no such luck!
Not even the pond was frozen over.
Such was the good weather in the middle of winter, a great many people turned out to bask in what little sun there was.
Don’t worry, the next day it started raining again, and didn’t end till we left.
But, there’s only so much sun one can handle in London, and we were getting hungry. Whilst not expecting it would be available, or the girls would actually like cucumber sandwiches, we were hoping for them to, at the very least, have a new culinary experience.
As for us, we have a quest of sorts, depending on which country we’re in, and in London, it is a quest to find new places to have high tea as we had exhausted the favorites like Selfridges, Harrods, and Fortnum and Mason.
We had our fingers crossed.
There are a number of stops on the tour bus, you know the one, or two, with the word Highlights in its name. It’s easier to get on one of these than try to navigate your own way around, and it took us to Kensington Palace.
The weather had improved, we were hoping it would be one of those days with a surprise or two left in it.
We saw this white building tucked away near Kensington Palace and after doing the regulation tour we were up for a cup of tea and a cake.
Instead, we found they had High Tea and that was it.
The English seem to have a knack for pulling off some of the best sandwiches, particularly those of the cucumber variety, and definitely my absolute favorite.
Here we had the Queen’s tea.
In fact, at each of the establishments mentioned above, we had their signature tea, served in fine bone china cups.
Ah, what it must have been like in the olden days of the British Empire!
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester. He’s now over having the grandchildren staying with us.
As part of the COVIS 19 restrictions in place, the grandchildren cannot go to school.
However, because their parents are both working (which is very fortunate as so many others are not) they have asked us to look after them.
So, they arrive Sunday night, stay the whole week, and go back home on Friday. It means they are homeschooling, so the internet is taking a beating, I have to feed them, morning tea, lunch. After school snack at three and then dinner.
Chicken nuggets, pies, and shoestring chips can only go so far, and, no, he does not like scraps from their plates.
And having to cater for four rather than two means a gentle shift in logistics. More shopping for food, having to do the washing every day, tormenting the cat.
OK, that last part is where Chester comes in, or, rather, he stays hidden away.
Remember that phobia he has when the grandchildren are around?
Now they’re here semi-permanently, he’s in hiding, and coming out only for food and water.
And to let me know just how displeased he is.
He wants his domain back.
Pity I haven’t told him yet they’re going to be back next week.
I’ve had the ubiquitous pleasure of being called one, and that is, a bore.
Probably because I spend so much time telling people about the joys and woes of being a writer.
You can be a tedious bore, cooking could be a bore, and then you could bore someone to death, and then you will bore the responsibility of, yes, doing just that.
Would it be murder or manslaughter?
But, of course, there are other meanings of the word, such as, on my farm I have a bore.
No, we’re not talking about the farmhand, but where artesian water is brought to the surface, in what would otherwise be very arid land.
Or, could be the size of a drill hole, and in a specific instance the measurement of the circular space that piston goes up and down. And if you increase the size of the bore, the more powerful the engine.
Or it could refer to the size of a gun barrel, for all of you who are crime fiction writers.
But, let’s not after all of that, confuse it with another interpretation of the word, boar, which is basically a male pig.
It could also just as easily describe certain men.
Then there is another interpretation, boor, which is an extremely rude person, or a peasant, a country bumpkin or a yokel.
I’ve only seen the latter in old American movies.
There is one more, rather obscure interpretation, and that is boer, which is a Dutch South African, who at the turn of the last century found themselves embroiled in a war with the British.
As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.
Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester
Still hiding away.
Like any wise, old, skeptical cat, he’s not believing the good news.
We do not have a COVID 19 case in our house. Of course, we had to wait an agonizing 24 hours before we got the good news by phone.
It shows that our testing labs are getting through the tests, of which I heard in the news there were about 4,000, with only 10 or so new cases countrywide.
Queensland had none overnight, so if our case had been positive, we would have been in the news for al; the wrong reasons.
So, after broadcasting the news, that is, walking up and down the passage saying it was safe to come out, there’s still no sign of him.
But…
I have a cunning plan.
I bought a can of his absolute favorite food.
Come dinner time I’m putting it out.
Of course, food trumps fear every time.
He walks past me on his way to the tasty treats, the tail movements indicating he is not a happy cat.
The things I have to suffer at the hands of you humans, he mutters.
So, I say casually, we have guests for dinner.
He stops, turns his head in that dismissive manner of his.
What else can you do to me?
COVID 19, Grandchildren, I suppose you’re going to let me outside.
Do you want to go outside?
With COVID 19 lurking on every corner?
It’s under control.
Right. I’ve been watching TV. You do realize there’s good news and fake news, and there’s more of the latter than the former.
So, he’s going with the confuse the poor human with blather.
It’s working. I say, Go back into hiding. I was quite enjoying the silence.
After dinner, he says, ending the conversation with the angry tail swish. Yes, we are not amused.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 