For The Love Of An Anti Selfie

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Just the other day it hit me, I can not compete let alone compute with the “selfie” brigade. Each time I look, a new one is posted, a pout, a bat of an eye, a sideways, forward leaning, hide the wrinkles, suck in the chin type of one *Gasp*.
So today, I changed my gravitar to what my husband calls the bag lady selfie, strictly speaking he took it so it probably doesn’t qualify as a Kim Kardashian style Selfie at all. But no one in their right mind would want a photograph of themselves looking (as my Dad god rest him would have said) ‘like a bugger’… would they?

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A freezing wind was blowing across the small town of Dinard on this day in March. The rain had been shooting sideways and found it’s way under my eyelids; it was cold.  Just before the photo shoot… We were in an open topped car looking for a super march`e. I was being facetious about driving around in the cold and possibly dying in the attempt to purchase the gubbins required to make an impromptu picnic lunch; so added layer upon layer of clothing while we went along, still maintaining my temperature to be around the nose dropping off frostbite levels. Eventually we spotted a small store with a flickering light on the sqeaking sign. I lept from the car in haste, forgetting or not caring how I looked and entered. Our shed at home would be bigger than the store, but I managed to find ham, pat`e, bread, wine and grapes, as you would in France. After packing my bag I stood by a lamppost waiting  to be picked up. Around and around the fountain he drove taking photo’s, while he grinned and waved, but the crosser I got the more he drove around.
“Click” job done, the cross patch baglady was born. Now I pop it on my gravitar to say,” Hey” so what, it’s me in my ordinariness; if anyone thinks the word “ordinary” is the correct terminology for a loon.
Have you an anti selfie? Is your other half holding it hostage dangling it as a threat? If so why care, just put it up, we can call it “Anti Selfie Day”.

Incase you’re wondering… The only place the photo described is left, is on my gravitar here, a virus wiped out a huge amount of pictures on John’s computer and as yet I haven’t found a way to retrieve it.

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Welcome To The Airport. ..

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(photo copied from photo note with thanks)

Gatwick…

The first thing for me to say is, it isn’t Gatwick it is airports, and my
reaction to them. Soulless places designed to make you spend. As if you haven’t  spent enough on your flight, extra leg room, priority boarding, insurance, car hire blah de blah. Ok I can hear you saying ‘ If you dont want to shop then don’t  shop’.

We arrive after a five hour journey frought with average speed checks, irate impatient travellers, road works, accidents, road diversions and rain. We checked in on line and determined to be chilled about everything ;after all I am (we are) so looking forward to the end result, the reason for taking a long haul flight with no promise (or suggestion) of sun. We dropped our bag had our searches and walked through to… Fluorescent lighting and shops!

An attractive lady steps forward hastily brandishing an atomiser, she glances at me but focusses on my husband ‘Try a little, smells great’ she said flashing her ultra white smile and blinking rapidly. He raised his hand and smiled sleepily ‘not for me thanks’. At this she squirted the air before us and we both walked in to the mist of fruity notes coughing as we went,. Thimbles of liquor, pieces of chocolate on cocktail sticks and raffle tickets for a car, all did their best to tempt and lure us; It was exhausting ‘but we didn’t crack’.

At last we know which gate to go to, swallowing the last of my tea i went to use the facilities. Queuing for six toilets were twenty or so ladies, all patient calm and silent , only the mighty whoosh of hand blade dryers could be heard;  hence not bothering to try and speak. ‘Why do I have to be the one to get a warm clammy seat that hasn’t had time to lose the imprint of the previous persons bottom.?’ to top it off I believe she must have been a nervous flyer… Holding my nose I peed , anti bac gelled my hands, wiped the seat flushed and  vacated. Chore completed i went in search of my tired but uncomplaining husband. A mile or so walk to gate 22 proved tiring,  if only because the queue was out of the lounge and forty deep ; people were rattled. I asked ‘what was the point of priority boarding ?’… When I figure it out I will tell you.

My husband is a large man (compared to my four foot eleven ) So leg room was important  and paid for along with the flights.  But what you gain in leg room you loose in width, a compromise I hadn’t  thought of. This extra leg space so generously afforded me was also where passengers chose to queue for you the facilities. The stretched sleeping torso of my husband obviously didn’t warrent stamping on, unlike me who took the punishment for having such space as Brits tend to… apologetically.  Mr uncomplaining , slept his way over sea’s, Rekyavic, and Greenland, waking only to eat and drink or wriggle his torso. Meanwhile he is comfortably dropping his arm and shoulder over the arm rest, making my space narrower. He had a long drive  to come at the other end so I leave him sleeping.
I was excited at take off, and turbulence and landing, while watching two movies and reading a paperback. ‘Apparently excited was weird ‘ the air hostess or cabin crew were efficient polite but not so discreet when they chortled at my excitement and my squashed position.

On landing we were hearded like cattle between a maize of nylon barriers that took you slowly around the airport, they had been laid out (no doubt with great thought). Back and forth we went , we were being controlled as the average speed checks or as smart motorways do vehicles. The penning in or herding as I called it was so security could get us at a drizzle, and not a marauding lump of foreign visitors. Tired fed up dying to find a warm clammy seat… We were on our way, what we wanted at this point was a hot cup of tea a toilet and somewhere to purchase a sim card. One out of the three would suffice. My point is do we really need to have designer perfume, watches, sun glasses, clothes, shoes, caviar bars etc… or do we just need comfortable inexpensive places to rest and feed us between travels, help with directions to hire car companies taxis and the like? Answers and opinions welcomed, unlike airports I am not selling a thing.

Welcome to Vancouver pleased as we are to welcome our visitors, shouted a voice from above, i thought it a nice touch until someone called security to shut him up.

Take a moment.

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Beaver swimming in the Tarn,
French men partaking of a yarn.
A distant Donkey has a bray
As we begin a brand new day.

Smell the coffee taste the bread,
See the Heron overhead.
Laundry drying on a line
The forest scents the air with pine.

Blossoming flora amongst the trees
Being pollinated by busy bees.
Every second of every day beauty is abound,
If only we stop to  look around.

Tuscany Breathing.

On the outskirts of Volterra

In the heart of the rolling Tuscan hills.

With the windows thrown wide … we lay still and listen,

We listened to the wonder of Tuscany.

When the Bullfrog’s and Cicadas compete for air time,

Wild Boar and Deer bark and call to their mates.

The firefly’s hop and prance throwing sparkles in their wake,

Rays of luminous green light whizzing here and there,

As if being chased by the sunrise.

Silent streaks of Tuscan sun warm the distant hills.

It’s still, hot and quiet.

Except for the sound of Tuscany breathing.