Housewifes once took pride in what they carried their shopping home in. Non of this plastic stuff back in the day. It was wicker, string or just the apron that did the job.
Mind you her status was decided by either that string bag, woven basket and apron. Apron speaks for itself no matter if it did have pockets so shopping was shite with sugar on it and not much else. If it was a string bag the neighbours could see what you had bought and that would always be good for a bit of gossip. “I see yer giving your Fred a bit of spam tonight” or “a nice bit of liver and onions is it!”.
Those that had a basket could either leave it open to the elements for all to see or if you valued your standing in the street you could have a nice little water proof cover which showed real class and stopped all gossip in it’s tracks much to the chagrin of nosy neighbours… though efforts were still made. “Been shopping then”…“bought anything nice”…and what are you treating your Alf to today"
God help you if you had been down the chippy though as then the whole town knew what you were having as neither apron, string bag nor wicker basket could hide that aroma. Fish and chips sure put you all on equel footing…providing you could afford them that is.:-D:-D:-D
A lovely summary of the old shopping bags and their handlers Solo, all true and well recalled.
I never wore an apron so I cannot make any comment on that, perhaps Spitty could oblige, he’s an up to date young (ish) modern husband. ;-)
Let the rib wear the bib and let the men bring home the bacon was the thinking back in the 60’s, and I was part of that whether I liked it or not.
To my mind then there’s something awkward about a man who wears a bib, bibs just don’t suit men, one gaffer I worked for tried his best to make me wear the jewellers apron, he wanted to stick me in his front window at the Mall, working at a bench like a performing monkey, and all for an extra 2 quid a week!, I was having none of it, so I told him to stick his apron where the monkey stuck his nuts and we parted company. I used to wear a short white linen coat when working, but good luck to those who like wearing aprons, whatever floats yer boat and all that.
Then you have all those chaps with the aprons and secret handshakes having all kinds of rituals up at the old lodge, what’s that all about one wonders, masons how are yeh, the only thing they’re interested in building is fortunes for themselves.
I’ve been busy cleaning up the attic lately
I came across an original photo of Bob Dylan taken in his junior schooldays, his real name is Robert Allen Zimmerman, should I have it framed?
My old mate Sammy got an awful slagging when he first came into the pub with his new National Health Zimmer frame. Young Tony the barman looked at him and said “Be Jaysus Sammy you must be in a bad way when you need scaffolding to hold you up. you look like a condemned house”
No mercy for the inflicted has that Tony fella, he lacks the sympathy and tact that the old barmen had in abundance.
Good for you sticking to your guns over that window Jem…too much like Amsterdams Canal Strasse for my liking. A mans got to do what a mans got to do…refusing I mean.
Odd how some things have turned out though isn’t it… aprons/ bibs was a thing most men man would not be seen dead in although the macho leather aprons was acceptable for the smithy trade and even coal men would only wear a hessian coal sack to protect his clothes. Now men are happy to wear aprons…and women are happier still if they do the cooking as well
What I do find really odd is, I remember my father looking absolutely mortified when my Mum once asked him to hold her handbag. For him to be asked to do such a thing was an affront to his masculinity and a betrayal by her for having asked it of him. I forget the reason why she did that but you could tell that it would have been the most demeaning thing for him to do so I quickly took it instead so Mum could do what ever she had to…and yet now men carry hand bags…cleverly disguised as ‘Man Bags’ of course. As Robert Allen Zimmerman once sang “The times they are a changing”…and how right he was.
LOL…Dear Lord the very thought of me having to make a dash for a bus using a bit of scaffolding like the old chappie in the clip brings me out in a cold sweat. With my wobbly wheel affliction I’d need more than the eye of a tiger as I’d be sure to end up under the bus instead of inside it…oh the not so joys of aging. Funny how things come back to haunt you isn’t it:shock:
Freedom of movement should be everything to a Human Being, there is a guy called Don, he has one of those shopping trollies with four wheels which he pushes up front. Until about a year ago he looked after his wife who had health issues that made her house bound, and a Daughter with (the term I dislike) learning difficulties, but was determined to maintain their independence. He had an allotment three quarters of a mile away from his house and, everyday he made the journey there taking two hours each way to make the journey, his wife died, and, inevitably he has ended up in a Care Home, but, he is the only resident allowed free passage, to come and go as he chooses, respect to the man I say.
Yes indeed freedom to move all parts of the human body is a gift we seldom appreciate until it’s gone through age, accident, or taken from us as a punishment such as solitary confinement in prison, even confined to prison on it’s own is a big loss of movement, not forgetting that old punishment from the parents “Go to your room now!” I had a touch of gout a few years ago and it was agony to try to walk, lasted nearly a week and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
Who can forget that scene from the film “Misery” with Cathy Bates standing over a helpless James Caan about to banjax his two feet with a sledge hammer.:shock:
I had the house all to myself this evening, the wife’s gone to a neighbours bar-bar-que, sooner her than me it’s lashing rain outside, methinks they’ll have to move into the house to have it, pity as the new couple who moved in had invited in all the near neighbours and everything was all arranged, except the weather of course.
I’ll slip out to the local now before she gets back then she won’t know what time I went out at.;-)
What a lovely little video Solo, thanks for that, I got a good laugh at the two women caught in the phone box.
If Alexander Bell had had his way we would be all saying “Ahoy-hoy” when answering the phone, it was Edison who got his users to say “Hello”
I can imagine meself phoning Phyllis from the pub. “Ahoy-hoy, is that you me darlin’?, well I’ll be home a bit late for me dinner, is that OK?”
“No Popeye, get your arse back here now”
“The Oxford English Dictionary says the first published use of “hello” goes back only to 1827. And it wasn’t mainly a greeting back then. Ammon says people in the 1830’s said hello to attract attention (“Hello, what do you think you’re doing?”), or to express surprise (“Hello, what have we here?”). Hello didn’t become “hi” until the telephone arrived.
The dictionary says it was Thomas Edison who put hello into common usage. He urged the people who used his phone to say “hello” when answering. His rival, Alexander Graham Bell, thought the better word was "ahoy-hoy”
“Ahoy,” it turns out, had been around longer — at least 100 years longer — than hello. It too was a greeting, albeit a nautical one, derived from the Dutch “hoi,” meaning “hello.” Bell felt so strongly about “ahoy” he used it for the rest of his life.
And so, by the way, does the entirely fictional “Monty” Burns, evil owner of the Springfield Nuclear Power Plant on The Simpsons. If you watch the program, you may have noticed that Mr. Burns regularly answers his phone “Ahoy-hoy,” a coinage the Urban Dictionary says is properly used “to greet or get the attention of small sloop-rigged coasting ship.” Mr. Burns, apparently, wasn’t told”
(Source-Robert Krulwich on Science)
Never watched the Simpsons as it is one of those cartoons where the all important drawing style put me off espcially more so when they were animated. Horrible looking lot. I liked Andy Cap and Florrie but The Wizard of Id by Johnny Hart was my favoutite with his simple but hilarious use of words.
Guard : One o’clock and all is well.
Guard : Two o’clock and all is swell.
Guard : Three o’clock and the King is a fink.
King : Four o’clock and the guard’s in the clink.
Mel Brooks knew a thing or two when he ripped a lot of Harts stuff for The History of the World Part l when humour could be laughed at for what it was rather than be accompanied by a lenghty discussion as to it’s meaning and PC merits. Blazing Saddles beans scene comes to mind.
Mel Brooks, a comic genius. He’s 93 now, seems the more you laugh the longer you live, wasn’t Bob Hope and George Burns over the 100 mark when they Died?
There is no harm in having a little fun with bible stories in my opinion, none of us were there when these events took place so it’s only natural to use our imagination when we try to picture them in our minds, and if they appear funny then why not have a laugh. I’m not religious but I understand those who are and most folks I know never take offence at harmless religious satire, I mean God wouldn’t be God if he hadn’t got a sense of humour.
When I was an altar boy back in the mid 50’s we had a priest who used to do the children’s mass every Sunday at 10 am, he never gave a sermon to the kids, just took popular bible stories and made them into adventure tales using the modern terminology of the day, he would leave the kids in suspense as he’d split the stories into episodes and tell them all to come back next week to find out what happened, it always worked as the kids mass was always packed, even some adult kids down the back of the church would tune in. Lord rest him, he was way ahead of his time.
And you couldn’t leave out this fella when it comes to religious comedy, he was telling holy howlers on stage when it was dangerous to tell them.
Ahh David Tynan O’Mahony with his many tales of how he lost that middle knuckle. A saint if ever there was one.
Been doing a bit of clearing out and I say a bit because all my good intentions waned the more I looked at things I was supposed to be clearing out. I wasn’t de cluttering …awful word that…because what I have is and never was clutter. At one time or another it was either useful or wanted…and thereby hangs that waning feeling that maybe what I am supposed to be clearing out may still come in useful.
Like my 1977 copy of Mr Digwalls Everyday gardening book given to me in the hope I would stop murdering every rose bush I touched…or the 12 silver apostle spoons which are absolutely useless but H samuals gave them to my aging Mum as a gift when they replaced her worn out wedding ring and how could I possible throw out that funny little wooden pie crimper that I took such delight in as a nipper to make patterns in my own clay pies. (that always earnt me a clout round the ear I can tell you).
Still I did well…4 odd dinner plates, some scatter cushions, chrocheted throws and…hold on wasn’t one of those throws made by old Mrs Clark with her arthritic hands …on second thoughts no I can’t possibly throw that one out as we could have a real cold snap this winter. :-D:-D:-D
Is that the Hadron Collider Project you speak of Spitty? I believe it crashed. Oh God.eez terrible.
One of the most expensive experiments in history, and what did it achieve? absolutely nothing.
As far as I know they’re all still down in the tunnel sitting on their Higgs bottoms banging balls together and collecting fat cheques for having such fun, nice work if you can get it.
I agree Solo, decluttering is a terrible word but there is a reason for them using it, it’s to install in our brains that all our old possessions are “Clutter” or junk, so the sensible thing to do is get rid of it.
There was a much nicer term in the old days for clearing out unwanted old stuff, Spring cleaning, but that’s not strong enough to make folks part with things they hold dear to them, Spring cleaning sounds as though a person could actually enjoy themselves doing, you know, fluttering about the house in a maids costume with a fluffy duster and singing a happy song as you go, and we couldn’t have that now could we, we would be going back to Victorian times when the motto was “Waste not want not”, the charity shops would all close up and a few antique dealers would have no stock.
I have made plenty of space in the big shed for anything I felt will come in handy and it does, My son and daughter are always getting things from Dad’s shed, hard to find old screws and tools, electric cables, their old school writings and artwork to show their own kids and I recently got a big kiss on the cheek from my daughter as she looked at her poems from her childhood years “Oh thanks for holding on to them for me daddy, I though you threw them out long ago” “My pleasure love”
One man’s junk is another man’s gold.
Playing with yer clackers could lead to complications spitty. Inflation for instance or a rise in global warming…even the noise of all that banging could send many deaf so all a bit risky or risque depending on how yer view things. Probably best to leave yer clackers safely tucked away .
Originally Posted by spitfire →
Its been a bit quiet a the Collider of late, is it time to get our “Clackers” out, and start experimenting.
Have no fear Spitty, I know how anxious you particle collider fans get about the latest bang news, but help is comin’ soon.;-)
The mother of all colliders is on it’s way, a snip at a mere $22 billion, but the scientists are not too excited about it because there may be nothing to find, it appears they learned everything they wanted to know with the old one, but forgot to tell anyone what they found, which in fact was nothing, seems to me that they want to hold onto their cushy jobs, what better way to do this than build a brand new round collider to take them up to pension time.
The official thinking behind that being what the particle loses on the smaller swing it gains on the bigger roundabout, anyway if they still can’t find anything they can always save a few quid by turning it into an underground transport system around Geneva, or rounding up an international team and staging the mother of all rounder games.
They could have saved billions had they listened to my simple idea in the first place, take a few tiny ball bearings up in a plane and drop them, one at a time, down a long tube, you get the same result-nothing, but it’s a quicker and cheaper way of finding nothing, the fools said I was mad.:shock:
“The $22 billion gamble: why some physicists aren’t excited about building a bigger particle collider
Particle accelerators have taught us so much about physics that the new one might have nothing to find”
By Kelsey Piper Jan 22, 2019.
Your green diagram reminds of something I just read Jem . Most mornings I make a cuppa, sit down at the PC and wander through the newspapers to see what is worth reading. Those writers with nowt much to say like to tempt you with catchy headliners which are to be avoided as they will no doubt be the most boring so it’s the smaller ones I go for…something to lighten the ever lasting news gloom…and yesterdays perusal was no exception when this had me jumping for joy. Fears-downpours-cause-shortage-Brussels-sprouts. Yipee I yelled because Who hasn’t nibbled, hidden or pushed a sprout around their plate at Christmas
Seems that this August downpour is going to wreck the Lincoln sprouts crops and so ruin our Christmas. Now if that isn’t an article to cause mirth and merriment throughout the land I really don’t know what is. I could literally hear cries of MORE RAIN PLEASE.
Finding ways of how not eat a sprout at the risk of offending a cullinary sensitive relative should be praised and the article should have read ‘Christmas saved by sprouts shortage’. Now that would have been far more truthful and could even give those particle physicists something sensible to solve instead of playing with their very expensive balls
God help the poor wife, all through the years she tried everything to get the kids and me to eat sprouts at Christmas time, she boiled them, roasted them, fried them, shredded them, even cooked them in cabbage water, all to no avail, she finally gave up as soon as the kids reached adulthood.
She eats sprouts whenever she fancies, she has a fantastic constitution, she would eat a horses arse through a hedge as they say, good luck to her she’s always in good form and at 74 she hasn’t a grey hair in her head, must have something to do with all the sprouts she eats, if she can’t get her quota for Christmas and the new year she’ll probably go grey overnight.
The people selling Brussels sprouts must have a tough job, it puts me in mind of the Opal stone merchants, the opal is considered to be the unluckiest of all stones, well in the jewellery business it is, and the sprout is considered the most undesirable vegetable. I have had two bad experiences where opals were involved and now I wouldn’t touch an opal with a barge pole, I kid you not, I’ve turned down a lot of work in me day because it involved working with opals.
I must jot down what happened with me and the opals some day.
Maybe if they made a pulp of the sprouts, then flattened it out and using moulds cut out sprouts in the shape of teddy bears, stars, or little green pigs, then they might appeal more to the children?, I mean they are good for you, but like everything else, everything that’s good for you tastes horrible.
(it would be just my luck if some enterprising greengrocer seen this and sent me a few free boxes of frozen sprouts)
Oh God.eez terrible.