Timothy Spall : Snog marry Avoid?

Avoid.

Next.

Three Things To Do With Three Spare Minutes

As a Library Assistant, I often have a spare minute or two, or three. When these spare minutes present themselves, I use them in much the same way as anyone else would who has access to a computer – Facebook, blog writing, looking up my namesake on Google, (I was a 1960s stage actress with bad hair) and looking on Round the World trips.com to find my dream itinerary. Mississippi via Russia via New Zealand anyone? When one does not have access to a computer, though, there are other ways to keep oneself occupied.

Doodle. My last doodle was of a girl with an exploding brain. A colleague saw it. It was embarrassing.

Come up with an idea for Dragon’s Den. Share it with someone. Ask for theirs. Tell them you wouldn’t invest, not for all the tea in China. Invent an alternative to tea in China (this may take a minute and a half).

I'm out.

Invent a word... Derivativity. Fetishistic. Chaese.

And post them it in the comments box below, complete with definition. That’s all I can muster I’m afraid, Victor, I have books to shelve.

Everybody Loves Raymond... but Why?

A little know fact : The Raymonds of the world have a clan meeting every 7th November in Newton-le-Willows Labour Club. Some regular attendees are Raymond Briggs, Raymond Chandler and Ray Charles off Corrie and Red Dwarf and yours truly, Helen raymond, Blogger Extraordinaire. During our meetings (chaired by my Father) we sit around a circular table and discuss issues affecting Raymonds today. We are a very close knit, secretive bunch, and people who have chosen to leave the Raymond clan (such as my deserter Sister Cat 'Edwards') are treated in much the same way as Amish people who choose to leave their community. There is a ceremonial stripping of the Raymond badge (which we all wear under our clothes), and the ex-Raymond is cast out into the cold Autumn rain.

 I may get in trouble for revealing this highly secretive document, but here is last year's meeting's Agenda:

Apologies for absence:

Ray Winstone

Agenda items:

1. Usher is a Raymond.... We must spread Awareness

2. Myley Ray Cyrus wishes to join the clan. Associate membership suggested?

3. Why Does everybody love Raymond?

Any other business.

This last agenda item generated a very interesting discussion.

Raymond off 'Everybody Loves Raymond' asserts it is because he has funny glasses.

Raymond Briggs says it is because he can draw Santa Claus Dead Good.

Raymond Chandler has a new reason every year, but mostly he says it's because of his extraordinarily economical use of language and the way he can evoke a mood using only a few words.

I can only speak for my particular proud lineage, and  tell you that everybody loves us because, put simply, we are infinitely loveable. My family descend from a knight who came over to the UK with his friend William the Conqueror in 1066 (the rest of this blog is b*****ks, but this is a true fact).

His name was Raymond Le Noir. Since then, we have been a valiant, spear-forward, helmet-cocked-to-the-world kind of bunch, proudly living up to our name's meaning: 'Protector/Counsellor' (just ask my Dear friend Sally Haddock).

Raymond le Noir... 2nd from left on bright yellow horse

 If you like what you have read, and wish to become a Raymond, please contact our Secretary Ray Charles to find out about Raymonds Available For Marriage and Raymond Conversion Classes, starting again in the Spring.

A character from my past

As she seems to be becoming a recurring theme within this blog, I thought it might be an idea to give you a fuller introduction to the cat-collecting, food-theorising Shoe Queen of Coventry - my dear friend Eleanor B.

Eleanor took me under her wing at University when I was a hapless eighteen year old armed with a Primark duvet and a frying pan i used as a base for burning candles. Not exactly the best at looking after myself and cluelessly clogging the freezer with McCains boxed goodness on a regular basis - (the phrase 'do you even own a plate?' was uttered to me by a perplexed neighbour) - and happily bloating out of my early 2000's student wear, this friendly blonde young Readingonian taught me what a bagel was, what makes Aersomith awesome and why we don't cook pizzas in their plastic wrappings (something about potential death).

As she is very much a character from my present I will stop short of dishing the absolute dirt on her and keep it pleasant light and clean.

A creative writing teacher once told me that the best way to sum up a person is by writing about the things they carry with them, and tell a few choice anecdotes illustrating their idiosyncracies. So here goes.

Eleanor carried with her:

A mini disc player (the only person i know who ever possessed such a contraption)

keys to an old Ford with a wing mirror which fell off every time a breeze crossed over Pendle Hill (Duct tape manufacturers – up your game).

A wallet with a picture of cats in

A phobia of the phrase ‘But you have one just like it’ when out shopping.

Anecdotes:

When out clubbing at University, and young men did the dancing-behind-girls-they-fancied thing (whether this mating ritual is still in existence is something I’d like to find out from someone of the younger generation) she would casually take the gentleman to one side and ask whether they really thought that was the most appropriate way to approach a girl they were attracted to. This was rarely met with a coherent reply.

We once swapped bedrooms for a week after a spider crawled under her bed and we didn’t see where it went. (After a childhood incident with a spider, pincers and a sneaker, this phobia had taken a very firm grip).

Nowadays she is encouragingly displaying many characteristics of a Proper Grown Up. She has her own flat, embroidered oven gloves, and a car with two fully operational wing mirrors... but will still punch, kick and gauge her way to the front of a Rage Against the Machine gig.  

My little bag of contradictions :-)

me and she