I enjoyed this and wanted to share it
I enjoyed this and wanted to share it
After some hair tearing, screaming, feeling like an idiot whilst talking to my laptop, and general morning of frustration (including a quick trip home because I had forgotten my laptop charger) I have finally, I hope, set up my pages and categories more or less as I want them.
There are a couple of glitches that I’m not going to mess around with at present but I think we are a go go and I rise triumphant.
However!!! If you find a link that doesn’t work, or if you cannot access posts please do let me know, sometimes things work for me as editor but then do not work for readers.
And so for today, I feel very Pheonix-like
This really helped me and reminded me of going back to the basics often just to stay focused and keep the passion going. Too good not to post and re-blog.
Ah, the joy of the auction house. From browsing around the sale, rummaging under the tables in the boxes of mixed lots, handling items that you want but cannot afford, admiring items that attract but you don’t want to purchase, to marking as interested in your catalogue.
The suspense; watching what others are looking at, checking the auctioneer’s evaluation and setting your own limit. Registering to obtain that important purchaser’s number and waiting for the moment ‘the master of the auction house’ mounts his podium, hammers his gavel and we are away.
I first attended an auction with my father when I was about 11 or 12. It was instant love. The atmosphere was exhilarating. I was fascinated by the assortment of items on offer, from tools, furniture and household items to fine china, art work and delicate jewellery and accessories. Then there was the excitement of the bidding. Items starting at ridiculously low prices and rising slowly, finishing, perhaps with a head to head; two people determined to successfully outbid the other.
Exciting, even if we didn’t actually purchase anything, but getting that one bargain always became the high point of the day!
Yesterday, I revived my love, attending the Clarke and Simpson auction at Campsea Ashe
I was not buying ( yet more clutter?) just observing and there for the experience. Here’s a summary.
Over the last week I have been trying to set up a home office type environment where I can work quietly at the writing.
After re-arranging furniture I decided I needed a filing cabinet or set of drawers to keep files, papers, bits and pieces and paraphernalia in. This afternoon I took a break and a short walk down to my local charity shop, on the off chance that they would have something suitable going for a song!
No filing cabinet or office drawers in sight. But I picked this up!
Just right to inspire me on my travel writing I thought! Now to hang it on the wall!
I figure that if I sell a couple of items for over £6 at the boot/garage sale on Saturday I’ll be even.
N.B. note to self that’s why you take S.J. with you when browsing charity shops!
P.S. But I love it and it makes me smile.
What makes someone stand out as being ‘professional’?
Here are some observations from recent encounters
The calm professional doing his job: meeting difficulties whilst still maintaining the dignity of one in control.
I refer to an employee of Greater Anglia on the Ipswich to Lowestoft line. Moving efficiently down the carriages checking tickets, he quietly requested travellers to turn down their music. There was no lofty put down, no accusation; just a quiet request to think about the comfort of fellow passengers. Then a quick move on, commanding respect with a quiet, “I’m not going to stand and argue the point or even ensure you do as your told, I expect you will because I believe that you respect others” attitude. Which they did.
The journey was not without difficulties resulting in a couple of delays. These were quietly explained and we were kept informed including adjusted times for our ETA. A courtesy not often displayed perhaps. I’m glad that I got the chance to thank him for a safe and pleasurable journey.
The people who care and love what they are doing.
I popped into an attractive looking coffee cum ice-cream place, just for a cup of tea. However the promise of hot buttered toast clearly marketed at the top of the cheerful menus placed on each table did its work, and I spent a small amount not for tea and toast but for the experience of friendly service in cheerful and relaxed surroundings. Top marks ladies for caring about those extra details that made ‘a quick cuppa’ into a pleasant visit with that ‘at home’ feeling; “come round for a cup of tea, a snack and a chat.” Everyone welcome.
The confident ease and creativity that only comes with experience.
My hairdresser. His profession is his life and he has the experience of mastering his art over the years. It may have been 6 months since my last visit, but he can pick up where we left off remembering to ask me ‘how are you?’ and listening to my answer. His tools are his trade and he cares for them. His ‘office’ is bright and welcoming and staff are trained well to clean, tidy, answer calls and manage the environment to the standard he requires. I call because I need a haircut; I receive not just a beautiful style but an uplifting chat, friendly camaraderie, and I leave feeling like a million dollars!
What makes professionalism? Hard work, natural talent, care and attention to detail and common courtesy.
Thank you to all your professionals out there. You do not go unnoticed.
I have been neglecting my fellow bloggers and followers over this last fortnight due to being a sportoholic addicted to a famous football event and an equally famous tennis tournament. However amongst my daily perusing of e-mails and other blogs this following Ted talk was recommended and want to share it
Enjoy this and regular posts will resume following the super week-end!
The wall loomed in front of me and I watched as other climbers scaled it’s height; the daring going up in record speed, the ‘professionals’ using only half the footholds and hanging on with only one hand, the novice using a more measured, careful pace. Which was I going to be? Would I falter at the last minute?
I stepped up to the mark and waited for the signal to start. Not looking down, I worked my way up, surprised to find myself almost at the top in what seemed like a few minutes. Using the provided grip I hauled my way onto the top. Was I to be rewarded with a slide down the other side? Oh yes! Then I noticed the water…..
What was ahead? A dark tunnel with objects to navigate then out into the open again. Hopefully the sun would begin to dry at least my skin if not my soaking clothes.
For the next few minutes I bounced, pushed, squeezed and navigated along the course, using muscles that I had forgotten I had, and feeling great applying strength from muscles toned by my plank exercises!
Over, under, through, along, army crawl, hands and knees the occasional stumble rewarded by another short slide until oh…. it was the end; up the short flight of ‘steps’ and the final slide!
Knowing I couldn’t have done this without S.J. shouting me on……. I suggested she go round again on her own so that she could enjoy the course.
This completed we had enough time to do one more lap together!
The selfie says it all!
Thank you Trinity Park for hosting a fabulous day. Here are some highlights of our time spent with you.
On a thundery morning, close to dinner-time, or so I’m told, in a bedroom of 36 Percy St. Eastwood, Nottinghamshire I took my first breath and announced to the world I was here. The scene was probably very similar to those featured in the 1950’s series of “Call the Midwife”; no doctor attended, the midwife shooed Dad out the door to look after my brother (I suppose) whilst outside the weather took a turn for the worse, thunder and lightning and torrential rain. All was well, except the mid-wife had difficulty starting the car afterwards……….again this is me recalling what I’ve been told about the event. It would be interesting to hear what my brother remembers about my arrival? Strange I’ve not thought to ask him before now.
I remember the house quite well, and knew that I loved it and would have fond memories of it. I have returned to the house on recent trips only once feeling brave enough to knock on the door to see if I could introduce myself to current owners – however either no-one was home, or they didn’t want to answer the door to this complete stranger. I’m glad it is still there, and still looks basically the same just fresh new painted doors and gates to the side entrance.
So, here I am, 65 years later. Still loving stormy weather, occasionally getting nostalgic for the first house I knew, (except for the outside loo!) still generally making my presence felt, and always arriving not for dinner, but always for a cuppa!
Here is an interesting group of photographs to end this birthday post.