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Monthly Archives: January 2014

Playboys, hangovers and The Queen Mum

In last week’s blog I promised you this week’s entry would be shorter. I’m not one to go back on my word. Absolutely not. As if. I said it would be much shorter and short it shall be.

Bye then,
Rosie.

Rosie as Wee Willie Winkie and brother Richard dressed as a beauty queen Pontins Jersey 1966

Mid-late ‘60s. Jersey, Channel Islands. Guess which one is me! Not the pretty one in the bikini that’s for sure. That happens to be my brother. Picture taken by Dad, professional photographer, ex-ice hockey player, yachtsman, skier, playboy. By the time this photo was taken all that rollicking was way in the past and nothing but a cold memory. Particularly the ice hockey except for one permanent reminder. My father’s shins had faint but permanent bruises on them until the day he passed away. Nice thing to remember about your dear departed dad. His psychedelic shins.

Yes, still here. Can’t get rid of me that easily.

Actually, to be honest, I’m sitting here nursing a hangover and before you start tut-tutting it’s not like that. I braved the elements this morning wrapped up in white oversized jumpers and doing a fine impersonation of a Michelin Man in the process, for two reasons. One, to flog my jewellery and two, to meet an old and dear friend I haven’t seen in ages also called Bach. I’m Bach by birth. I only added the “Holzer” on getting married as I steadfastly refused to relinquish my Bach. Since my divorce in 2001 I’ve been seriously reconsidering in reverting back to my maiden name. Indeed, some things I don’t do in a hurry.

Where does the hangover fit in?

Being sociable, as that’s what one has to be when mixing with friends, apparently, we met in a café where we, Bachy, my ex and I, caught up over a hot chocolate, a farty latte with bells on and an espresso. The latter being mine and on reflection not the wisest of choices. Two espressos later I was jumping out of my own skin. My fault entirely as I should only drink decaffeinated but I told myself it’s not every day I do this; be sociable and try to flog my jewellery.

What jewellery? If I may, I’ll divulge next time. But before I say ta-ta I have a question which has nothing at all to do with young boys impersonating young girls (he won first prize in the fancy dress contest), purple-coloured legs or desperately trying to think of something to talk about whilst trying valiantly to disguise that fact. Question: What do Britney Spears, The Queen Mother, and I have in common? Can you guess? Got it yet? No? Shall I tell you? Nothing! Absolutely nothing. But talking of The Queen Mum, if you haven’t seen “The King’s Speech” starring Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush and Helena Bonham Carter, and you’re stuck for something to do, rent it, you won’t be disappointed.

Signing off, best to you,
Rosie
x

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Posted by on January 27, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Maggots, great-grandfathers and stinky alleys

Ajax and cows

Lintig, Germany, back garden, circa 1983. I think I should name this picture “Spot the Cat”. He’s there. Look closely and you’ll see facing the cows two shadowy grey ears. His name is Ajax. Beautiful boy. Intelligent. Played fetch with his ball. Bless his soul. Always in my heart.

Hello fellow bloggers and I hope this finds you well and blooming in all the right places. A few years back… no, more like in the area of 17 years ago, argh! Slow down, do. Parts of me are still lodged in the 20th century. I can’t catch up. And gone off the subject, as usual.

Err, cheese.

Yes, cheese. Not your stinky, ripe old blue where maggots are practically crawling from it cheese. I’m serious. My maternal great-grandfather used to guzzle down blue cheese (and whatever inhabitants in it at the time) so ripe I am practically related to a fly. Anyway, in the mid to late-nineties and for a couple of years I became an absolute vegan and never felt better. Absolutely. And I did it in my own inimitable way (some would call it obsessive) of going the whole hog. Didn’t eat animals or their by-products and neither did I wear them. I would buy my footwear from a great charity called Animal Aid and my handbags from “Stinky Alley” in the heart of Reading, Berkshire.

Yes, so-called because this particular alleyway always ponged a bit.

A curious mixture of Domestos, raw meat and incense sprinkled with unidentifiable aromas would assault your nostrils whenever you were in the vicinity. Reading, for those who are unaware, is made up of old, delightful, narrow cobbled alleyways either side of which sit various shops. And one such establishment was an ethnical type of place that sold material bags made from velvet and anything else as long as it didn’t once have a pulse. Opposite and on the corner to the ethnics with supplies direct from India and Africa and the proprietor’s auntie from Bethnal Green who was a dab hand at sewing, sat a butchers which was the main contributor.

To the pong, I mean.

The smells emanating from his shop were delightful. Blood, fat, raw meat all mixed together with that most beastly of bleaches, Domestos. Hadn’t he heard of Ecover?

Anyway, bear with there is a point. I could never get on with vegan cheese. Frankly it was hideous. I tried. Give me a gold star for trying but honestly I’d have been better off melting the plastic packet in which it came and pouring that over my cauliflower.

And here’s where my ex-husband enters the picture.

Profuse apologies if you are finding this entry to be an elongated waffle. Next week’s will be shorter. Guarantee it.

Congratulations to aforementioned ex-husband for recently discovering a vegan cheese which tastes DELICIOUS! No thoughts of “Why did they bother this stuff is horrible” and “Good grief they must be joking I’m expected to eat that?” even remotely entered my head. Brilliant to see at least one thing has improved in the 21st century. Vegan cheese. Lovely jubbly.

Um, in case you are wondering, I lapsed. At least for the moment. No longer can I claim to be a vege not when I’m sitting here with dead Antipodean sheep gracing my feet otherwise known as Kiwi Ugg boots. And something else too. All vegans and vegetarians reading this cover your eyes. Eating the odd piece of fish. I know, I know, and yes, I have seen “Finding Nemo” maybe I should watch it again. Sorry, not proud of it but each to their own. Live and let live. Make the choice with your conscience. At which point I can’t help but wonder if there’s such a thing as an inverted type of VA? Vegans Anonymous.

Best, best.
Rosie.

PS. I mentioned the elderly woman in a previous blog let’s not forget the mature gentleman who lives alone at the end of your street. Why not take him out to your local for a pint? He’d like that. And you’ll feel none too shabby either.

Skip over to my counterpart as below to read more daftness about insects the size of a small country and their relationship to cooking utensils.

Wolf Black blog:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

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Posted by on January 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Ballet and tap.

Bebe2

Bebe 1

Guernsey, CI, circa 1978. It’s a poodle. Yes, it is, no, it’s not a mouse wearing a bear suit on his way to a fancy dress party it really is a poodle puppy. Called Bébé. And what a character she was. A right handful of incorrigible brown curls. Bless you, Bébé. However, should you prefer your canines the size of a small vehicle I aim to please. Simply hop over to my counterpart at http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/
and meet Rex.

It could be my ten years studying classical ballet that… sorry? Oh yes, just call me Rosie Fonteyn why don’t you, anyway, it could be my ballet training that is so installed in me that my posture is such that I stand as straight as a ramrod. Or, at least that used to be the case. Nowadays thanks to my decrepit well-being in general it’s more like a ram’s horn. No, I exaggerate. But my shoulder blades do tend to stick out a tad if I don’t make a concerted effort to stand up super straight and pull my shoulders back.

And there’s the thing.

When you stand as such it automatically makes your chest stick out and considering my cheekbones are the sum total of anything of mine that comes in pairs that can actually be considered prominent, you could be forgiven for thinking this is a beneficial move. Quite possibly but it feels silly but then I’d rather feel it then look it. I mean, who wants chicken wings on their back. I’ve done the yellow canary hair and that’s as far as I care to go in my emulation of anything ornithological as much as I adore them and animals in general.

Except snakes.

And to end on a familiar note. You are now acquainted with the electronic singing choir in the Rosie household? Well, to add to this list I now have a tapping telephone. Yes, my telephone taps, although, it could be described as a tick. Tap… tap… tap or tick as I can’t quite make up my mind, and then a pause, and just as I’m beginning to relax, another tap. What next – a whistling kettle that doesn’t?

Best to you. Tap, groan, chirp, miaow! That was the cat. And quite an acceptable response too when a hasty ex-husband treads on her tail.

Rosie
x

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Sally and the Sign People by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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Spanish athletes are feline

IMG_0002 (2)

Mum’s poodle, Meg, Guernsey, circa late 80s. On her return from the poodle parlour. That’s the dog, not Mum. Yes… do you reckon the stylist was having a bad day or something because I never knew they gave short back and sides to dogs.

Yesterday I couldn’t make up my mind if I was feeling hot or cold. The heating was being turned on and off so many times it looked like I was attempting a Morse code message with my Calor gas flame. Ah, well, at least I’m not on the receiving end of any birds knocking at the window which is always a good sign although the other day there were a couple of chaffinches flitting about in the naked tree pecking away on something only visible to birdy beady eyes.

Tina, the cat, spied them and instantly began a one-way monologue.

Tina is a little strange which has nothing to do with the fact she’s from Spain. I’m sure of it. Like all good Spanish she’s a superb athlete and loves playing with her squeaky mice, catnip mice and my supply of Labellos. She lobs the flying toy back and forth with such skill you could be forgiven for thinking you are in the middle of a tennis match. Or she’ll jump with both arms raised to intercept the flying offender in a move that any goalie would be proud to emulate.

The weirdness comes into play when she attempts to scale my back like Edmund Hillary.

As I’m sitting upright at the time I can only surmise she’s stuck flypaper to the soles of her feet in her hope to scale the summit and plant a Spanish flag on the top of my head. Well, it would make a change from a tin of organic tomatoes flavoured with basil.

I think I’m a little weird so the cat is in good company so to speak.

She’s a rescue cat from Spain hence the flag of her country. I trawled through all available cat rescue shelters to find her as company for my ex-husband. So he wouldn’t miss something weird and catty muttering about the place when I’ve returned to the UK. And that’s weird in itself, I mean, who stays with their ex-spouse? Does any of this ring a bell with anyone out there or is it just me?

Talking of which… all right! Bear with, bear with! Let me get my little plug in. “Cat Tales” is continuing to do well on Nook. Three excellent reviews. Well, two and one with five stars but no comment. Probably lost for words. Thank you kind readers for your input whomever you are.

Well, back to it.

Happy New Year to one and all, and just a thought, say hello to that old person down the road who lives all alone. Maybe even offer to help with something or pop in for a cup of tea. One day, that could be you. Or me. Oh, nice! What an inspiring note on which to finish. Can’t do it. Think on. One is never truly alone when one is in the company of good music, good books, and a good dog (or cat)!

Best, best,
Rosie x

Additional blog:
http://enigmawolfblack.wordpress.com/

Working website:
http://www.rosemarybachholzer.co.uk

Cat Tales by Rosemary Bach-Holzer

 
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Posted by on January 6, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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