Rosey helps Mr Harrington find his wife!

I popped into Tesco’s the other day and bumped into my friend Rosey. When I say bumped into her, that’s not completely true – actually she bumped into me! Yet again she was wandering around the supermarket with her wretched mobile phone in one hand whilst the digits of her other hand prodded the screen to send yet another text to yet another person also wandering around in a similar glazed-over state somewhere else. I can’t remember if I told you, but Rosey wants to start a campaign to get local councils to wrap padded sleeves around lampposts and signs so that pavement tweeters don’t injure themselves when they collide with them.  She got the idea after hearing that temporary scaffolding across pathways is legally required to be softy swathed in order to comply with Health and Safety regulations. Having said that, she walked into one of those the other day and did herself major damage – she broke a finger nail! So far she’s got six people to sign her petition so she’s well on her way. I should add that I’m not one of them – I’d have the pesky things totally banned in public spaces!

As I was saying, we were in Tesco’s and one of Rosey’s neighbours, a Mr Harrington wandered up to her looking a little glum. Rosey immediately sensed something was worrying the old fellow and asked if he was OK. He replied by saying that he’d lost his wife. ’Ah’ said Rosey, ‘I bet she’s over by the bakery counter; Mrs H is very partial to a cream doughnut with her afternoon cuppa!’ ‘No Rosey my dear’ said Mr Harrington clutching her hand, ‘She’s gone, Gladys.. has.. gone’. Rosey asked if he’d rung her sister or any of her friends. Apparently she had a habit of wandering off sometimes, some age related problem according to Rosey. I thought I’d interject at that point as Rosey clearly had not cottoned on to the fact that Mrs H was now the late Mrs H; she’d popped her clogs, gone to a better place, joined the angels. (I didn’t use those clichés of course!) . Rosey was duly mortified when she realised she had misunderstood what Mr Harrington was actually trying to tell her. Then with a huge grin she suggested we all go over to cafeteria together for a cup of tea and a cream doughnut as a mark of respect. I just wanted the floor to open up under me!

After Mr Harrington had tottered off, feeling a little more depressed than he had a few minutes earlier, she mentioned to me that she was a little concerned about a worrying condition she had developed. I asked what was troubling her and she slipped her flip flops off (try saying that after a couple of beers!) to reveal – well, her feet! She pointed down to them and asked my opinion on some brown spots that had recently appeared. On closer inspection I noticed that were perfectly spaced and formed a pattern Also the ones on her right foot were a mirror image of those on her left. ‘Rosey’ I said ‘Have you been wearing your Crocs in the sunshine?’

School starts again tomorrow and so Rosey’s long summer recess comes to an end. For all her funny ways, Rosey is a treasure, and the little kids in her class love her to bits – as do all her friends! 

To read all my stories about My Friend Rosey click HERE!

Rosey does twitching!

My friend Rosey and a couple of other teachers went bird spotting with her class of ten year olds the other day. When she was first told she was to take the kids ‘twitching’, she panicked a bit because she thought it was

something to do with social networking, and whilst she is an occasional user of Facebook she’s never really got to grips with a medium that only allows her to express herself in just one hundred and forty characters! She was very relieved to be told that being a twitcher is nothing like being a tweeter!

The children had been told to wear clothes that were not to colourful, as they needed to blend as much as possible with the surroundings. Rosey remembered she had a camouflage jacket somewhere in her wardrobe; she bought before she did her voluntary service teaching in Africa thinking it would make her less likely to eaten by wild creatures. Anyway, she said  it was so good that when she searched for it last week, she couldn't find it!

Those of you who are familiar with Eastbourne will know that at the western end of the seafront there is a steep grassy slope which rises six hundred feet to the summit of the chalk cliff known as Beachy Head. Rosey’s school sits at its base, and the lower slopes are home to all kinds of interesting feathered fowl. Skylarks and chaffinches, swallows and sand martins. Rosey led the group with a bird spotting book in her hand and a pair of binoculars to her eyes.

There are also rabbits, millions of them up there. Rosey was pointing out a hovering kestrel when her foot suddenly descended into a rabbit hole much the amusement of the children. Her situation caused even more mirth when she extracted her foot minus her boot! Fortunately a couple of eager volunteers managed to extract it for her, and they carried on their way.

Rosey, ever thoughtful, packed some sandwiches for the expedition. Around lunchtime she seated the children and her colleagues in a circle and handed out her little triangles of bread cheese and ham. In retrospect it was not such a good idea. The other birds which inhabit that region are of course seagulls and they are more than a little partial to a sandwich and fearless when one comes into sight. One of the perishers swooped down and helped itself to a sandwich straight from the hand of a little girl who immediately went hysterical.  Then the other kids joined in, throwing their sandwiches as far away from them as they possibly could. This was followed by a frenzy of activity from other gulls which flapped and fluttered around their newly acquired banquet. Gulls squawked, kids screamed and Rosey flapped her arms and shouted ‘shoo-shoo’!

Needless to say, the trip was abandoned. It wasn't the most successful expedition the school has conducted, but it certainly will never be forgotten.

To read about all of Rosey's adventures in one place go to My Friend Rosey

Rosey and the May Fayre

Rosey likes to tell people that she lives in The Meads. This is almost true; her apartment is at the western end of Eastbourne seafront, so she just about rubs shoulders with the gentile folk of the town’s upmarket area. She also works at their local school, so for various reasons she is quite well known to them. The inhabitants of this exclusive district refer to it as Meads Village, despite the fact that it is not in the countryside, and it forms part of the sprawling resort of Eastbourne. 

At its centre is a street of independent shops; a throwback to the time when people bought venison from butchers, mange tout  from greengrocers and Moet from a wine merchant. Half way down is a newsagent which Rosey visits monthly to collect her Gardening World magazine. To the left of the newsagent is a hairdresser and to its right, an undertaker. Rosey told me once that they collect magazines called Hair Today and Gone Tomorrow.

As you know my friend Rosey has an allotment. Not any old allotment, hers is different. Not for her rows of potatoes and bushes of fruit. No. Rosey’s is a cottage garden with a pebbled centre surrounded by borders of flowers and small shrubs and clay pots. It is all overlooked by her pink shed and a rustic wooden bench. During her Easter break from school she has been busy tidying it up, turning the soil and adding spring plants. Last week she invited me, along with our friends Gareth and Claire, to drop in to her little piece of paradise for a gin and tonic at her shed. When we got there she was washing her garden tools in a water barrel. She likes to keep them clean because Sally spade, Freddy fork and Trevor trowel all hang on hooks on the shed’s walls alongside her paintings. It was bit chilly so we all squeezed inside her pink palace. She opened her well-stocked drinks cabinet which stands alongside the ‘throne’ (as she calls her armchair!) and she poured us four large ones accompanied by a bowl of olives.

She told us that she is hoping to exhibit some tulips at the Meads Village May Fayre next month, provided of course the tender plants brave the unusually cold spring weather and dare to unfold their petals! At the end of the main street is a hall, right next to the kitchen and bedroom showroom which I once owned. It’s used for meetings by all kinds of organisations; the Scouts, the Mead Wine Society, Alcoholics Anonymous et al. At the May Fayre all of the local groups, including the Allotment Owners Club come together and put

on little displays in the hall. Outside on the forecourt, visitors endure the Morris dancers, delight in performances by the School of Dance and applaud the crowning of the May Queen. The highlight for Rosey is when her class from school dances around the maypole.  Rosey shouts instructions to the skipping kids in an effort to keep them from getting tied in a knot, something they usually manage at some stage in the proceedings thanks to Roseys occasional inability to differentiate between  left and right!

Meanwhile back at the allotment she told us her latest gardening joke. What kind of flowers do you give to King Tut? Chrysanthemummies! As per usual when coming out with a whitty quip, she ended by admitting that she didn’t actually get it herself. When we explained it to her, she groaned and decided to drop it from her repertoire. Very wise!

To read all of Rosey's adventures in one place, go to My Friend Rosey

Eye love you Rosey!

Written for Carry On Tuesday

“When somebody loves you” said my friend Rosey, “they forgive your little mistakes”. She looked into Gareth’s eye and wiggled her index finger; he smiled and gave her a loving wink. Yes, I did say eye not eyes, because one was hidden behind a patch.

Gareth is Rosey’s new boyfriend and she brought him to meet us over a cup of cappuccino at Starbucks. The question on all our lips was ‘where did you meet?’ Well, it seems that Rosey was in the supermarket last week and a little old lady asked her if she knew where the gin was. Ever helpful, Rosey spun around, shot out her arm pointing towards what she refers to as Alcohol Avenue. Apparently Gareth was standing close behind her studying a display of reading glasses at the time, and she poked him fairly and squarely in the eye. As you know Rosey sees the funny side of every situation, and rather than apologise she'd said, whilst stifling a fit of the giggles, that she hoped they had a range of fashionable monocles! (In true Rosey fashion, whilst recounting the tale she demonstrated her arm action, and in the process stabbed a passing customer in the chest causing him to slop a stream of strawberry smoothie down his front!)

It seems, according to Rosey that it was love at first sight. At least it was for her; it was a minute or so before Gareth managed to regain any kind of sight at all! As you know it's almost impossible to get cross with Rosey because she has the ability to disarm and delight at the same time, and this was exactly what happened just then. In any case said Rosey, if they’d had an argument about it, she would soon have ‘patched it up’!

So, Rosey has a fella’ again! Gareth seems to be a nice guy. He works as an accountant which no doubt gets him the seal of approval of her father. He has a sense of humour which gets the seal of approval of us! He’s tall and, although I’m no real judge, reasonably good looking. He’s still got most of his hair and I guess his own teeth too. Whether or not we’ll see him again I don’t know; Rosey’s relationships tend to be pretty short lived. I will of course keep you informed!

Want to know more about Rosey and read 40 more of her adventures? Then pop across to My Friend Rosey 

He gets Rosey's vote!

Written for Carry On Tuesday and Sunday Scribblings

‘Can I rely on your vote Sir? ‘asked the sharp suited young man with the enormous blue rosette and a mass of floppy black hair The elderly gentleman just gave him a blank stare and carried on shuffling his way down the shopping mall . My friend Rosey was standing nearby giving directions to a girl who was a little lost. The poor child appeared more confused than ever by Rosey’s route; hopefully she’ll never land a job a sat-nav voice . Rosey then spun around and pointed in the direction the girl should set off. Unfortunately in doing so she poked the aspiring politician right in his left eye .

For the umpteenth time in her life Rosey claims it was love at first sight . As she stared at the hapless young man with a stream of tears flowing from his very red eye she claims a flock of pink doves filled the air above her giddy head . Above his head spun stars , but that’s hardly surprising under the circumstances . It seems however that he was equally struck by her , in more ways than one . After a bit of billing and cooing Rosey decided she should get him some medical attention as quickly as possible , and they duly had their first date and the A&E department of Eastbourne District General Hospital.

A short while later he appeared from behind a curtain sporting a black patch over his injured eye . Rosey was overcome with feelings of guilt and compassion , but mostly ardour . She had always wanted to meet Johnny Depp and for a moment the young man before her bore a striking resemblance to Captain Jack . (I decided not to spoil her story by pointing out that although Jack was a pirate he didn’t actually wear an eye patch)

She has yet to introduce us to her new love . He’s busy on the campaign trail and has no time to sit in a pub with us even if he wanted to . We’ve questioned Rosey as to whether being the partner of a politician is really what she needs right now , but she seems to think that this time he’s ticked her box . One of her friends said that he was not 'a patch' on her last fellow, but Rosey didn't get the joke, or chose not to . I pointed out to her that so often, love is blind . She giggled and said ‘He nearly was!’

To read 40 more stories about My Friend Rosey click HERE

Rosey's allotment - redesigned!

We knew she was up to something. All of us were barred from visiting Rosey’s allotment. The general consensus was that she’d got bored with it and didn’t want us to see the mess it had become. After all, this time last year, we were constantly being invited to partake of a gin and tonic and a help ourselves to as many vegetables as we  could carry.

I was at a loose end yesterday, and I knew that Rosey was away visiting her friend in Piddletrenthide. No doubt she would be sitting in the garden of the Chamber Inn on the bank of the River Piddle and having a giggle catching up with all the latest news and gossip. So, I ventured down to the allotment site to take a look at her one-time pride and joy.

I was gobsmacked. Imagine the scene. The Meads Allotments comprises some twenty plots. Most are neat and tidy with rows of salad leaves, vegetables and fruit. Early runner beans sway in the breeze, and tomatoes blush in the June summer sun. Earnest gardeners hoe and dig and harvest their bounty. One or two plots look in need of a little attention, and a couple are overgrown. I expected Rosey’s to fall into the latter category, but I was wrong. I felt as if my eyes were deceiving me because there in the middle of all those bountiful small holdings was a garden! Not a vegetable garden – a proper garden! Gone were the rows of potatoes and peas that graced the plot last time I visited. In their place I found clumps of colourful flowers and plump little shrubs. Between them was a shingle path, chunky pottery tubs  and a wooden picnic bench. The shed sported a fresh coat of pink paint, a wind chime tinkled as a robin pecked at the food on a rustic bird table. There I stood there in an oasis! A few square feet of peace and tranquillity.

So Rosey, your secret is out! Why you kept it so quiet I know not. I can only assume you were waiting for the right time to invite us all over for a garden warming! I have to congratulate you on creating something completely different, but then you were 

never one to court convention!

Rosey's reunion!

Written for Writers Island prompt 'Reunion'


It wasn’t any old reunion. As reunions go it was more than a little different. Why? Because it was my friend Rosey’s reunion!

You see, she thought it would be nice to get together as many people as possible who’d had some influence over her colourful and not uneventful life. So, one Saturday in May a few of us, her current friends, got together at The Bicycle Arms to help her draw up a list. There she sat with a note pad in front of her and a pen in her hand, whilst we fired categories of acquaintances at her.

Could she still get in touch with her childhood friend? How about schoolmates from her very posh school, Roedean? A short but perfectly formed list was taking shape. How about people she’d worked with? Anyone from her time as a checkout girl at the superstore? She also thought it would be good to invite Lady Emilia Jameson and her husband Lord Somebody-or-Other Jameson. You may recall that she once ran a play group for posh toddlers at their posh stately home. Thinking about it, some of the kids would be ten or more years old by now. Perhaps she could invite some of them too. What about the staff at her Father’s car dealership? Not sure, they always felt she was a bit aloof being the privileged daughter of the boss, although Ted on the petrol pumps was always very friendly toward her.

She wondered if she should get in touch with Simon Pargitter Pratt. He was the blind date that she nearly got involved with a while back; it certainly was one of the funniest evenings we all spent together when he tried to impress her in front of a group of us! Probably not a good idea.

She said she would love to bring over a few of the people she worked with in Africa last year, but we suggested it simply wouldn’t be practical or given their financial plight, affordable. That just left the school she works at now as a classroom assistant. We delicately pointed out that the idea of a reunion is to bring together people from way back, not those she saw yesterday and would in all probability see again next Monday. But she insisted and started reeling off names. The names all sounded quite youngish, and before long we realised they were children’s names not teachers! She said she’d far rather spend an evening with them even if they did have to be home by seven thirty!

So there we had it. We left her to go back through the volumes of diaries and address books she keeps in a pile by her bed and hopefully entice as many people as possible to the village hall close to her parent’s home on the chosen Saturday in June. Sadly she got few replies, so she decided to change the venue to somewhere cheaper, and those who had accepted her invitation were given a new venue, Rosey’s allotment!

On the big day, the twenty sixth it was, I helped her get some food for the buffet from the local store. As most of the respondents were little people, the fare consisted largely of chocolate cakes and jelly, although given Rosey’s taste in party food I suspect the selection would have been pretty much the same if the guest were all to have been pensioners!

Anyway, about twenty five people, plus our group of friends, duly turned up in our party gear at about five in the evening. She’d decorated the shed with balloons and paper chains and set up her ghetto blaster in the corner. There were cases of chardonnay and quite a few bottles of Coke. It all felt quite festive. Of the adult gests, a couple were from her schooldays, and two were previous work colleagues. There was also someone that even Rosey didn’t know, we never did find out where she fitted in but we didn’t question it as she helped swell the numbers. She’d also got old Bert along; you may remember that he owned the allotment before Rosey took over. Quite what he made of the transformation I don’t know because he just sat there looking bemused in his chair until the nurse said it was time to wheel him home. We played party games and sang along to songs, and when the kids had gone home with their goodie-bags, those that remained sat on the floor chatting about the old times and downing Rosey’s wine well into the early hours of the morning.

As I said, it was an unusual reunion and certainly one we’ll never forget!

Rosey and the football final

I love Rosey dearly but sometimes she can be so damn childish.


A couple of our friends begged us for our support on Sunday because they were playing in a football match down on the green. Village footie is not very well supported, so the more people there to cheer them on the better!


So off I went with Rosey with our friend Amanda in tow.
Now our mates take their Sunday football very seriously and this week they were playing in the final of the Sussex Inter-village Cup. It was quite an achievement for them to get that far.


We stood along the touchline with a crowd of bored looking wives and girlfriends who shivered and chattered without even glancing at the battle being fought out by their loved ones. I don’t know what Rosey and Amanda were finding so funny but I got the feeling they were hatching some kind of plot.


There was about ten minutes to go and the score was nil nil. One of the players kicked the ball out of touch and it rolled towards the girls.




I just knew what was about to happen.It was my worst nightmare. Rosey and Amanda took control of the Ball and started running away from the pitch kicking it to each other whilst almost hysterical with laughter.


I was SO embarrassed. I tried pretending that they weren’t with me.
‘Come on lads’ shouted one of the blue team, and with that all twenty two players thundered off the pitch and went in pursuit of Rosey and Amanda.


I have to admit it was a funny sight. The girls were so skillful. They were passing the ball back and forth and running, twisting and turning whilst leaving the boys confused, exhausted and in total disarray!


Then they started heading back in the direction of the pitch leaving the players gasping for breath.


‘Now’ shouted Rosey. They were twenty yards from the goal. Amanda sent the ball high into the sky, and as it began its decent Rosey leapt into the air and with a flick of her head she butted it straight into the net!


Suddenly there was an enormous cheer from the wives and girlfriends who had suddenly found football the greatest game on earth.


Although the game resumed, Rosey's goal remained the only one scored all afternoon. As a result the contest will have to be re-played next Sunday. You will not be surprised to learn that as a result of their prank Rosey and Amanda have been barred from attending.

I just knew this would happen. Rosey found out I was writing this and she's written her own biased account of the goings on that day. In the interest of fairness I invite you to take a look - just click HERE
.

Rosey goes veggie - again!

I wasn’t going to write a post tonight but I just have to tell you about this!

My friend Rosey has decided to have another go at being vegetarian.

Someone told her that a secret cult in the village of Nether Wallop ritually slaughter and then ate kittens. She took one look at her cats Fuzzybut and Scruff staring up at her with their big blue eyes and thought ‘Yuck, they must taste awful’

Anyway I reminded her that if God had intended us to be vegetarian he would not have made cows from beef, but my remark fell on deaf ears

I’ve just got back from her flat where she has once again dusted off her old pots of pills and supplements and lined them up on the kitchen shelf where her biscuits and sweets used to reside.

I told her that all she needed to do was to make sure she ate plenty of eggs, whole-grain cereals, pulses, green leafy vegetables, fruit like oranges and fortified breakfast cereals. I know about these things because my daughter Penny is of the vegetarian persuasion.

But no. She says she won’t drink milk or eat eggs. So I asked her if she was actually a vegan. She thought about it for a minute and then asked me if vegans were vegetarians too! I said yes, of course and she laughed and asked if I thought she had pointed ears like Mr.Spock. Vegans I said, not Vulcans!

Meanwhile back on the shelf she has a pot of multi-vitamin pills called Osteotrace which lists amongst its ingredients horsetail, vitamin E tablets to make her look younger (why? don’t ask me!!) something called Selenium with the byline ‘good mood food’ plus various other tubs tins and assorted jars.

And right in the middle was a large tin with no label. I picked it up and shook it and she said she had to take eighteen a day – three in the morning, three in the afternoon and three in the evening. I asked what on earth they were and she said M&M’s! 


Chocolate she tells me is good for increasing her energy levels!.

Rosey, I know you are reading this and you’ll probably tell me off for teasing you! In a couple of weeks time I’ll take you out for a big juicy steak by way of an apology..

He's not the one for Rosey!

I thought it was a silly idea. The last thing Rosey needs right now is a relationship. I suppose you could say that I’m being a bit possessive, not wanting to lose a mate from our happy band of friends, but I honestly believe that she has quite enough going on her life right now to keep her fully occupied.
.
Anyway, her work colleagues arranged for her to meet a young man whom they thought would make the perfect boyfriend. Rosey asked a few of our circle of friends to go along to give her moral support.


He arrived late – not a good start, and was clearly a little taken aback to find her sitting with four assorted friends! He introduced himself as one Simon Pargiter-Pratt. In his hand he held a bunch of wilting flowers.


He was a lanky, rather awkward looking young man whom I assumed to be in his late twenties. There he stood every bit the country squire in a pair of camel trousers, an Oxford check shirt, university tie and a fine tweed jacket. You could see your reflection in his chestnut brown brogues.


However his boyish and somewhat blotchy complexion made him look a fair bit younger, and judging by the bum-fluff on his chin it appeared quite possible that he’d not yet felt the need to start shaving!


It seems he had recently qualified as a vet and joined a local practice with the unlikely name of Nine Lives.


Simon proffered his hand, and just as Rosey was about to give it a shake she recoiled and said ‘I’d rather not; I don’t know where it’s been!’


At least that broke the ice. Simon dissolved into laughter –he sort of went ‘hwa-hwa-hwa’ - and we laughed along!


Rosey quickly realised that witty banter could well be the way forward, and when Simon asked about her family she said ‘I am the youngest of three, my parents are both older than me!’


‘hwa-hwa-hwa’


‘And’ said Rosey ‘My family is mixed race – my father does the hundred metres but my mother prefers the relay!’


‘hwa-hwa- hwa’


By now we were all laughing along, and Rosey had everyone in the palm of her hand. But I know Rosey well enough to realise that she was using her amusing repartee to disguise the fact that she was not in the least bit interested in Mr Pargiter-Pratt!


I decided that perhaps I should take over the conversation and get our new friend to talk about his calling.


‘So Simon’ I said ‘What have you been vetting this afternoon?’


‘hwa-hwa-hwa-hwa, vetting, I like that’ he guffawed.


‘Actually Kev, I was looking at a problem which has occurred within a couple of Carinthian Blondviehs. The poor creatures caught coccidiosis’


‘Sounds very interesting, doesn’t it Kev?’ said Rosey looking at me with a half grin on her face. ‘Do tell us more’


‘Well’ started Simon ‘Typical signs of coccidiosis are diarrhea, rough coat, loss of appetite and weight, and general emaciation. The general weakness may cause the calf to defecate without rising, thus soiling its tail and hindquarters. In more severe cases the manure may contain blood, mucus, and stringy masses of tissue’


‘I’m sure my Grannie died of that’ said Rosey with sad look on her face.


‘Actually Rosemary’ said Simon ‘this particular condition is confined to bovine species, and unless your Grandmother was a cow.....’


‘She could be at times!’ interrupted Rosey and with that we all broke into uncontrollable laughter.


I have to say, I felt sorry for Rosey’s prospective suitor. We tried to involve him in some light conversation but it was clear he found our bar-room banter somewhat trivial.


He meant well, but he simply was not, nor would he ever be one of us. He realised that things would never go any further, and with a somewhat crestfallen look he thanked us for our company and bid us all farewell.


‘It wouldn’t have worked’ said Rosey. I mean can you imagine me being called Rosemary Pinkerton-Pargiter- Pratt? What a mouthful!’
...
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Resolutionary Rosey

Just after Christmas a few of us met for a drink at The Bike. For once Rosey turned up on time – our time that is, not hers! We told her to be there at seven although we actually didn’t intend getting there until eight, and she was duly sitting 
there when we arrived!


‘You are late!’ she shrilled. We just gave each other a knowing smile.


She had in fact been there twenty minutes and whilst waiting she’d accepted a chardonnay or two from a couple of locals.


Actually she was a little wobbly and when she came to meet us and she had forgotten she was sitting on a high stool rather than a low chair. Consequently she almost fell flat on her face!


‘Bugga’ she said


‘Rosey’ said I
.


‘What’ said Rosey


‘I wish you wouldn’t use such un-ladylike expletives’ said I


‘Sowwie’ said Rosey resting her chin on her finger and putting on her well practiced innocent-little-girl expression.


Anyway we talked about this and that and then suddenly, with a flourish deserving of a thespian, she produced a crumpled piece of paper from her overstuffed suitcase sized handbag.


‘These’ she proclaimed ‘are my New Year resolutions’


When the laughter calmed down we realised she was serious. She read somewhere that a good way to help yourself stick to your resolutions is to write them down, show them to your friends and get them to witness your promises with their signatures. We commented that for once she seemed really organised, and with that she pointed to resolution one – be more organised!


Unfortunately she forgot to bring a pen!


Number two was always be on time, three drink less, four be less clumsy, and five stop swearing
We borrowed a writing implement from the bar tender and each made a scribble which more or less represented our signature – Amanda drew a cross !


It then occurred to us that she’d broken each and every one of them in the hour or so we’d been there, so how she was going to manage in the new year we couldn’t imagine!
.

*

We went to the Bulls Head to see in the New Year. Four of us were sat around a little round table right by the log fire. Rosey was late. Fashionably late she called it when she arrived.


She drank a little more than usual, knocked over my pint and cursed quietly hoping not to be heard.


'Resolutions Rosey?' I said


‘It’s not midnight yet!’ she giggled


‘It is now’ I said as Big Ben chimed in 2009.


Everybody wanted to give Rosey a kiss, so she decided to work her way around the pub employing a logical and organised route. It went wrong. Some got three kisses, some none! Resolution one off to a rocky start!


She barged her way from person to person completely unaware that beer and wine was sploshing everywhere in her wake. So much for resolution four.


Number three had gone straight out of the window, but then everyone was having a little too much to drink tonight.


Resolution two was no problem, although it could be argued that she was a little late offering to buy a round of drinks!


‘So that’s four of your resolutions broken Rosey’ I laughed. ‘Just number five to go’


‘Oh ****** the revolutions’ she yelled ‘who’s round is it?’

Had an accident? Call for Rosey!

'

I heard a voice behind me “Keithy, Keithy”. I spun round to find a breathless Rosey staring at me. “He was choking – sprout – stuck in his throat!” I told her to slow down and tell what had happened.

She was hopping from one foot to the other, as she began to explain that a man in the cafe had got a sprout lodged in his throat and had begun to turn a strange colour. She then rushed round behind me, clamped her arms around me and squeezed me so hard my ribs hurt. I asked her what she was doing. “This is what another man did to the man who couldn’t breathe” she spluttered. I explained that I too was now having difficulty breathing, so she let go. “It was the Heinz manoeuvre” she continued. I decided not to correct her, Heimlich was a word I could never see her getting the hang of!

.

“Well” she continued “I was watching, then suddenly the sprout flew out of his mouth like a bullet, and hit me on the nose”. I commented that it was fortunate she didn’t have her mouth open, because the man may have had to perform the Heinz manoeuvre on her! I laughed, she frowned.

Anyway, this episode made her think. She thought for quite a while. I clicked my fingers to try and bring her back, and she blurted out “I’m going to do a first aid course!”

Well, she was as good as her word, and she duly signed up for a crash course (she thought that was a funny name, as she would soon be qualified to save lives at the scene of a car crash!) I went with her in order to help her out if she had difficulty understanding anything.

On the first day we did things about burns, cuts, bleeding and basic everyday accidents. Unfortunately she passed out at the site of the pretend blood, so the section on dealing with fainting was held a week earlier than intended! After that we moved on to the heavier stuff. I had to stop her when she tried correcting the tutor on his pronunciation of Heimlich, but she was the first to volunteer when he asked for someone to demonstrate it. She glowed with pride when he congratulated her on her technique, even though she did almost break the victim’s ribs in the process.

But it was the session on resuscitation that I will never, ever, forget! On the table we had a life size dummy of indeterminate gender. I had to slap Rosey’s hand when she started groping around looking for clues! She said she was uncomfortable with the idea of mouth-to-mouth in case the patient had been eating garlic, so she sat it out until we started on the pressure method – the pressing on the chest technique.

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It was Rosey’s turn to have a go. The dummy was now down on the floor and Rosey knelt astride it provoking a few sniggers and crude remarks from a couple of on-looking young men! Then she started pushing down, letting go, pushing down, and letting go. To aid her concentration the started muttering “he-ho, he-ho, he-ho”.

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Well, she must have been pressing a little too hard because the dummy started to join in! As she let go it made a sound like ‘ha’. So now we all started to hear “he-ho-ha, he-ho-ha, he-ho-ha”. By now the muted giggles had turned to laughter, and bang on cue the dummy seem to take on a life of its own! It began to raise one leg each time she went down which prompting her to whimper “oo”. So now we were hearing “he-ho-ha-oo, he-ho-ha-oo, he-ho-ha-oo”! She never actually saw the funny side of it.

We are now half way through the course and Rosey is wondering if she might have a future as a Paramedic. She thinks the uniform is quite fetching and she’d love to make people jump with her siren! Perish the thought!

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Visit My Friend Rosey's site HERE

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Some thoughts on superstition

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I’m not particularly superstitious. Okay, so I cross my fingers when I watch the lotto results but I don’t really count that. It’s more of a nervous habit.

Some people won’t walk under ladders. Someone once told me that you shouldn’t because the triangle formed by the ladder the wall and the pavement represents the Holy Trinity, and by walking through you sort of break it up thus condemning you to a life of bad luck. Now I don’t walk under ladders either, but in my case it’s in case a can of paint drops on my head. I knew someone once who walked round a ladder by stepping onto the road, and then promptly got mowed down by an old geezer on one of those electric wheelchair things.

It’s either good luck or bad luck if a black cat runs across your path. I can’t remember which. I unfortunately ran over a black cat once. It was certainly bad luck for the hapless moggie! On one occasion I recall seeing a single magpie and thinking to myself that it was an unlucky sign. Suddenly a black cat rushed across in front of me and pounced on the poor bird. I remember watching fur and feathers flying everywhere and wondering what I should conclude from this unfortunate incident.

There is a superstition which says that if you spill salt, you should chuck some over your shoulder. I did this once, and later in the day a friend sidled up to me and discreetly suggested I try an anti dandruff shampoo!

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But even worse, I was having dinner with my friend Rosey one day when the top fell off the pepper pot when she shook it. She knew about the salt thing, but thought she would hedge her bets by applying the same ritual to the hot stuff. Well, you can imagine what happened. It was bad enough having Rosey sneezing like a machine gun, but I had to feel sorry for the four people on the table behind her who were going choo choo choo like a steam train at full speed!

Talking of sneezing I told one of the kids I work with that she shouldn’t thank someone if they said ‘bless you’ to her when she sneezed. If she did, a fairy would die. It was meant as a joke but she took it seriously, and now she gets cross when she hears anyone else say thank you! I ask you –a 16 year old fretting over the decreasing population of fairies as if they were an endangered species! The ones at the bottom of my garden are breeding like rabbits!

Tell you what though – if you go out on a sunny day then see black clouds on the horizon, that is a sure sign of bad luck, especially if you left your umbrella at home!

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Rosey gets wet!

This week’s prompt on Writers Island is ’Unexpected’
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Rosey had never been to a public swimming pool. When I mentioned the Lido, she thought I was talking about a board game with coloured counters! No, Rosey had never shared a pool with anyone outside her circle of friends and family. After all, there was no need. One of the things she liked most about her parents house was the private pool.

Anyway, several of us decided to go swimming, and we wanted Rosey to come with us. Our initial approach to her was greeted with a ‘eooo’ sound and a screwed up face, as her mind filled with the image of a pool full of people she had never met before.

She was particularly concerned about a story she’d heard about people peeing in the pool. At first I didn’t think she was serious, so I offered her a light hearted reply. I told her that people were only allowed to pee in the corners, so if she stuck to the centre she would be alright. It was met with one of her classic furrowed-brow confused looks and a few seconds silence, after which she fired her second objection at me. She was worried that some people might not have had a shower or washed their hair before going swimming. It was, she pointed out, once called the Municipal Swimming Baths.

But in the end we took her along. Not exactly kicking and screaming, but certainly leaving us in no doubt that this foray was very much against her better nature.

We managed to get through the communal changing rooms – they have separate compartments but you can see above the low walls – then through the communal shower,and eventually to the pool. Well, it was heaving with people from yelling children to fragile old folk, and poor Rosey looked like a fish out of water –almost literally. There she stood, toes turned in, knees together and arms firmly folded across her chest.
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She suddenly looked very vulnerable standing there in her lime green one-piece, wearing on her head a lime green rubber cap topped off with a lavender and yellow rubber flower. So different from the Rosey who, at a party one week before, had been the first to throw off her bikini top, shout geronimo, and plunge straight into her parents pool!

She ventured slowly into the fun pool, and edged further and further forward when suddenly, something unexpected happened. Unexpected by Rosey that was, because we had forgotten to warn her about the wave feature. A deafening siren screamed out and with that, an army of kids came rushing towards Rosey, carrying her with them. When she regained her balance she realised that waves were beginning to roll her way. Higher and higher they went, knocking her completely off balance! She looked as though she was witnessing a tsunami!

Well, we scrambled to her rescue, and hauled her out. But she gave us a really angry look and complained that we had just spoiled her fun! Then she leapt back in again!

Now of course, whenever we discuss our next group outings, she always suggests the Lido. I don’t think I’ll ever really understand my friend Rosey.

For more about Rosey and lots of her adventures, go to her special site MY FRIEND ROSEY
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Fuzzybutt and Scruff

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Recently, Roseys cat Pussikins has had two new little kittens. Two balls of white fir. Rosey's called them Fuzzybutt and Scruff!

When she got home late last night, she stumbled through her door into the darkness of her hall, and trod on then thinking she was putting on her slippers! Fortunately they are none the worse for having Rosey’s toes almost shoved where the sun don’t shine!

She’s had a few pets over the years. She often talks about her goldfish. Bob she called it, because she was convinced that’s what he was saying as he peered at her through the glass of his murky globe. In fact he was probably saying ‘bowl, bowl’ as he strained to see through his stagnant water! Anyway, Bob eventually went to that great aquarium in the sky and Rosey still claims he died from drowning. She said he started jerking as if he had hic-cups, swallowed some water and choked on it. We jokingly said that she should have administered some kind of artificial respiration, and she was a little annoyed when realising that we having a giggle at her expense!

Then there was Sam the Shi-Tzu. He was actually a she dog, but despite our suggestion that its name should change to Samantha, she decided to leave it Sam. She soon got fed up with it though. It used to scamper between her feet and get its lead tied around her ankles. And when she was told she had to clean up after it with a pooper- scooper and take the offending matter home with her, it was too much for her to handle and it was despatched to local dog’s home.

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She decided that cats were a better bet because they would needed no waking, and could be trained to do their business in next door’s flower beds thereby requiring no cleaning up!

She often talks about her pony. It was apparently known locally as Sebastian the Sex-Starved Stallion! It seems that whenever the randy bugger saw another horse of either gender, it grew a fifth leg and took off in the hope of a bit of nookey!

On one occasion he actually caught his prey and poor Rosey had a front row seat until she got un-ceremonially thrown to the ground!

So here’s wishing Fuzzybutt and Scruff every happiness in their new home. One thing’s for sure, whatever happens to them, they will be loved and cuddled to bits!

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All of Roseys adventures in one place! Click here

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The phenomenon that is Rosemary Anne Pinkerton

Rosey is beginning to enjoy her minor celebrity status. She received her second proposal of marriage today from a fellow blogger!

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So I thought it was time I told you a little more the phenomenon that is Rosemary Anne Pinkerton.

She bumbled into an unsuspecting world on July the tenth 1980. Her parents, Anne and Rupert Pinkerton, were very proud of Rosey who was to be their only child and the apple of their eyes! A diminutive child with a mop of mousey hair and blue eyes the size of saucers.

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She grew up in the exclusive area of London that is Primrose Hill. She had a privileged upbringing and went to the finest schools money could provide including Roedean on the Sussex coast. Unfortunately she was never particularly academic, and a complete no-hoper at sports, but she stayed the course and emerged with a few basic qualifications and a bunch of likeminded friends.

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University was not for her, so her parents insisted she got a job. The idea was that she would mix with young people from lower down the social scale and therefore have a better grounding in life.

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So they found her a position as a helper at a toddlers play group run at the stately home of her parent’s friend Lady Emilia Jameson! Each day she would welcome the children of the locally wealthy delivered in posh cars by their nannies.

.After a while however, she decided to rebel and shocked her parents by taking a job as a cashier in a local supermarket. Mummy and Daddy decided it would be better if they were to support her financially, than suffer the indignity of having their daughter serve the great unwashed, and so she left.

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Today she helps out where she can in one of her father’s Mercedes dealerships, and enjoys the use of a rather snazzy two seater job in the palest shade of lilac.

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She lives in a beautiful flat overlooking the sea in Eastbourne which she shares with a fluffy ball of white fur and whiskers answering to the name of Pussikins. She’s very green minded and a bit of a vegetarian, but not all of the time! Her favourite charity is a child’s one and she goes to church if she wakes up in time on a Sunday morning.

.Rosey doesn’t have a best friend. She prefers the company and security of a group. Everybody adores her, not just because of her scatty ways, but because she has the most generous and caring nature you will ever come across. She sees no bad in anyone or anything, and that is why we try to protect her from those who might try to take advantage.

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Rosey has never had a proper boyfriend. She’s had a few on-off relationships, but even at 27 she’s not ready to settle down.

/She does have down days, and it’s then she takes solace in the white wine. Not to extremes. It doesn’t take more than a couple of drinks to set her giggling and bring her back to her fun loving self again.

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What will become of her? I don’t know. We don’t know. Even she doesn’t know! One thing’s for sure though. Whoever comes into contact with her will be blessed by her friendship and that is a gift no amount of money can buy.

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There are lots of stories about Rosey here

Watch out! Rosey's got the darts!

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There are two things every pub needs. A darts team and a regular quiz night. Our local The Bicycle Arms, colloquially known as the Bike, take both activities very seriously.

None of our group is particularly adept at the sport of ‘arrows’ and we are only allowed near the dart board on non-match days or when the teams are not practicing – nor within ten feet of the ‘oche’ when Rosey has a throw!

You wouldn’t describe her as a bad player. Dreadful would be nearer the mark! Darts all over the show! In the ceiling, in the wall, in someone’s steak and fries one evening!

The other day Dave the landlord gave us some new darts to play with. Rosey went first, and her aim was remarkably good for a change. Unfortunately as each dart hit the board it leapt backwards and fell to the floor. Rosey got a bit grumpy! She said they were useless – too blunt! But in true Rosey style she had forgotten to take the plastic point protectors off before using them. We removed them for her, and off she went again.

The first one hit a wall lamp and ricocheted to the left landing in a pot plant. The second one, although a pretty good shot, failed to penetrate the board and fell to the floor. The third actually stuck in the treble twenty! She broke into a contented grin, and then advanced forward to retrieve her darts from their various landing sites.

As she bent down to pick up dart two, dart three dropped out of the board and stuck itself into the neck of her sweater. No harm done though. She said she just felt 'a bit of a prick!' She has such a way with words!

We’ve never really got involved with the pub quiz either, but we thought perhaps it was time we formed a team. Every team has to have a catchy name, so the five of us sat around a table to have a brainstorming session in the hope of coming up with something which best described our posse.

United Friends, Friends United, Clever Friends, Friendly Five – the names kept coming.

Then, tongue firmly in cheek, I suggested Friends Using Combined Knowledge. I said we could be known by our acronym!

Well, we all fell about laughing – except Rosey who pulled one of her worried looks. Either she didn’t know what an acronym was, or she couldn’t work out what it would be.

‘I don’t get it’ she giggled! ‘What’s so funny?’

We told her to get some paper and a pen and write it down the first letter of each word. Suddenly she got it! She grinned from ear to ear, and then suddenly snapped into a disapproving frown.

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‘We can’t call ourselves that!’ she squealed. ‘What would my mum say?’

All of Rosey's stories in one place here

Rosey strikes again!

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One of our group of friends is pregnant. In fact she’s expecting her little girl in four weeks time. She’ll be called Poppy!

We were sitting around a table in the pub listening to Stacey. The girls seemed fascinated by her stories of morning sickness and piles. We guys decided to talk football in an effort to avoid hearing the gruesome details of late pregnancy.


Rosey wasn’t sure what to make of it. She adopted a slightly sour expression, and physically recoiled when listening to detailed accounts of unpleasant discharges and flatulence.

Conversation then turned to the birth process. Stacey had been there before but none of the other ladies had. The girl- talk was punctuated by ‘eeoos’ and ‘yucks’. Every now and again Rosey squeaked! The bloke’s conversation changed to rugby!

Stacey told them that a friend of hers didn’t believe that the umbilical cord was sealed with a clamp after severing. She thought it was tied in a knot. If the knot was too loose, it caused a sticky-out belly button! They fell about with laughter – except Rosey looked confused. ‘But they do tie it, don’t they?’ she asked.

This was too good an opportunity to miss! I said to her ‘Of course it is Rosey. Before she ties it the nurse pinches the end of the cord, and if the baby is a little chubby with big round cheeks, she releases a little air like letting down a balloon. A good nurse can even play a tune!’

Then the familiar chain of thought started.

‘Really? – I thought I was right. Why are you all smiling? Are you teasing me again? You are you bastards!’

Then she collapsed in fits of giggles and I knew I was forgiven!

It’s at times like this that Rosey returns one of her old habits! Smoking. She used to get through 20 a day, but she decided to cut right down. It wasn’t the dire warnings of premature death that caused her to re-evaluate her habit. Nor the cost, nor even the fact that since the smoking ban she needed to stand out in the street when she needed a fix of nicotine. No, she cut down when one of us told her that her fingers and her fringe would turn yellow if she continued.

While she stood outside in a cloud of smoke, we recalled the time before the ban when she stubbed a cigarette out in what she assumed was a dish of potpourri crystals left on the bar for that purpose. A second or two later she turned crimson when she saw someone dipping their fingers in the dish and placing some of the stuff in their mouth. It was then she realised that it wasn’t a fragrant ash tray after all – it was a dish of dried fruits placed there for the enjoyment of the drinkers!

Only Rosey could do that!
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Visit Roseys site! Click here here here here
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Rosey strikes again!

Rosey offered to help me wash up in the pub kitchen the other night. We had been busy, and I was tired, so I took her up on her offer. With just a few pots and pans to go, I left her to it, and drove home.

The next morning I needed a couple of roasting dishes but I couldn’t find them. I assumed Rosey had put them away in the wrong place, and so I used some alternative receptacles.

Midway through the lunchtime session, I received a message from the bar telling me that our next door neighbour needed to see me. I duly went out to meet her, and there she was, holding in her arms two saucepans and the two roasting dishes I was searching for earlier!

She told me that when she went out into her garden that morning, she had found them in her flower beds!

Rosey popped in for a drink an hour or so later. She was nursing a bit of a hangover. I told her about the neighbour and my pans, and at first she laughed. Then it slowly dawned on her. Her smile changed into a guilty grin. The sweet one she always adopts when she thinks she may be in trouble.The previous night began to play over in her head.

She remembered spotting my cooking wine and she thought she would sample a drop. After all, what harm would that do? She liked it. She liked it very much. Too much in fact! She had a little more, and a little more!

And then she looked at those remaining dirty pots and pans swimming around before her , and decided the quickest way to deal with them would be to throw them out of the window and over next door’s hedge!

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now in the cold painful light of the day, she realised that Rosey had struck again!

for the story so far click here!

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