Scrabbletide

Do you only use two programmes on your washing machine? Do you ever set the timer on your oven to cook a meal while you are out?

When my oven was new it switched itself off a couple of times when I was in the middle of cooking a roast dinner; I had added an extra ten minutes to cooking time when I put the potatoes in, but instead it thought it had to turn off after ten minutes. I now never dare to touch the timer once it’s set or even better use the clockwork timer inherited from my uncle’s house. Yes I know you can set a timer on your iPhone, but I don’t want to interfere with Wordle or Planet Quiz… The clock on the cooker will be remaining on British Summer Time as I can’t take the risk of the oven not going on because the clock has been interfered with.

I use Word Press in a similar fashion, not daring to explore the other ninety per cent of things it can do for fear of annihilating the few things I can do. My greatest achievement is to post blogs at all; no one I know in ‘real’ life blogs or uses Word Press, so it either happened by magic or I set up my blog all by myself.

I have been trying to straighten up my WP dealings. I did manage to change to a paid plan without the blog disappearing; my simple aims were to get rid of advertisements for ear wax and to be able to store more of my photographs. There may be other benefits, but I have no idea what.

I have learnt many things from other bloggers, usually after already making the mistakes.  Beetleypete says he only follows one hundred bloggers, why didn’t I think of that? I also realised along the way that I could turn off email notifications, though I hesitated as I didn’t want to neglect or miss my favourite bloggers. Early on I had started following a blogger who loved reblogging and I would be inundated with hundreds of emails a day. I hastily unfollowed him.

When Beetleypete mentioned checking his spam folder I didn’t even know I had one. It turned out it was full of my greatest fans?

Lucky me I ran across your website by chance (stumbleupon). I have book marked it for later

Your style is so unique in comparison to other people I have read stuff from. 

Amazing how many stumble upon and book mark my blog. As I deleted pages of spam comment I came across one of my regular genuine bloggers, how did she have the misfortune to be mixed with the riff raff?

I have tidied up my list of interesting blogs I follow, but it is sad to remember bloggers you didn’t want to lose. What has happened to Biff Sock Pow! I just had to follow a blog with a name like that and I loved his drawings and funny writing. Kim used to post on Sunday morning three quick questions you had to answer without thinking, that was fun. She had chronic health problems and they sold their house for a simpler life on the road. That was interesting to follow until she decided to stop blogging. I wonder how she is getting on?

How many blogs do you follow? How do you choose who to follow?

Busy Buses

When I was lying on the couch having biopsies taken, the doctor said ‘Do you want to be treated at Bournemouth or Poole hospital?’ My immediate response was Poole, to her surprise. I explained that though I lived in Bournemouth and the hospital is nearer as the crow flies, my local buses both stop right outside Poole hospital, while Bournemouth hospital involves two buses, waiting and stress or perhaps one that only goes once an hour. After this discussion on buses it dawned on me she must have been certain, with all the tests I was having that morning at the Dorset Breast Screening Unit ( at Poole hospital ) , that I did have breast cancer.

I didn’t actually come back on the bus after my operation, but there were numerous routine visits and breast cancer patients are under the hospital for five years, so my decision was wise. Perhaps I should add that this bus journey does take an hour, which would horrify car drivers, but you can relax and catch up with blogs on your phone or people/passenger  watch/eavesdrop. The hospital is also a short walk from the main town with shops? – well modern shopping is for another blog – museum, eateries and Poole Harbour, so if you have only been to the hospital for a quick blood test you can at least make an outing out of it.

I have been using buses since before I was born, everywhere I have lived, except for an Australian country town; so I have earned my bus pass. If you don’t drive, walking, cycling, buses and trains are essential and we non drivers are good for the environment, not that anyone thanks us. But I totally understand that lots of people have no reliable public transport or just think we are insane. The typical new bus passenger gets on board explaining to everyone that he doesn’t normally go on buses, but his car is at the garage getting fixed. He then looks round for an empty seat or the least weird looking person to sit next to. If, when you go on a bus for the first time, you have waited a long time at the bus stop, the driver is rude, there are some very odd people on board plus the local drunk, the bus is packed with noisy school children and you are squashed standing in the aisle I can understand that you would vow never to go on a bus again.

But part of the fun of buses is you can never be sure what will happen! Sometimes something worse happens, such as hearing that your local bus company has suddenly gone into liquidation… That happened to our yellow buses, just as they were celebrating their 120th birthday. Luckily for me we have another bus company, suitably called More Buses, already running my favourite blue bus, M2, going frequently back and forth between Southbourne and Poole bus station with heating, on board Wi Fi, phone chargers and electronic boards and speaker messages telling you which bus stop is coming up. They stepped into the breach within days ( far more efficiently than governments run countries ) offering jobs to yellow bus drivers and bringing in More buses from all over the place. This has made local trips interesting as buses of all colours and ages have turned up, so you have to be very careful to check the numbers. Don’t get on the green bus covered in pictures of trees and ponies and highlighting the delights of the New Forest and expect to go to this fantastic National Park if it says 1a on the front. There have also been drivers who have to ask the passengers which way they are supposed to be going.

Hey Ho, all part of the fun of buses and then there are the passengers, can you even be a writer if you don’t take buses? Hearing people’s life stories, missing your stop because you have got so involved in the phone conversation going on behind you. One early evening I got on the bus at Poole and a chap at the front had a homemade guitar, literally made of bits of wood nailed together and string tied on. It did actually make notes and he was telling everyone about it, in fact he talked non stop till he got off in Bournemouth, at times like these I love buses.

Do you go by bus? If so, have you had any strange trips?

Silly Saturday – Busy Bournemouth

Saturday used to be a busy shopping day in most towns…

…but on line shopping and Covid hastened the decline of our favourite shops.

What can towns do to brighten things up? Rainbow buses or
What can towns do to brighten things up? Rainbow buses or

cheerful toilets or

have an arts festival with sunshine thrown in.

Strange objects waiting for a performance later.

This looked interesting, but I don’t do queues, so I can’t tell you what it was like inside alas.

You will have to read the book instead.

What is it like to be a bee?

Everywhere was busy.

We may keep losing shops, but at least we have a permanent upside down house.

I decided it was time I looked inside and

out of the upside down window.

Find out about upside down houses and the arts festival.

Just Going For A Walk

I had been planning to blog about our earliest form of transport for a while, then walking took on yet another aspect last week with the royal funeral, the various processions leading up to it and of course The Queue. But first back to basics.

Have you heard people comment, or perhaps you have said it yourself…

I don’t do hills. I don’t do walking. I don’t like walking.

I was once watching a comedy in which the teenager daughter greets her mother’s return home. ‘I didn’t know where you were, I thought you’d gone for a walk.‘ Mother replies ‘Walk! I’ve never been for a walk in my life.’

Someone describing how the heat was not a problem in Singapore with the air conditioned malls… I asked ‘What if you want to go for a walk?’ He replied looking puzzled ‘Why would you want to go for a walk?’

Why would you not want to walk, the most natural activity for humans, exercise that costs nothing and a handy way to get where you want to go. During Covid lockdown it was one of the few activities allowed and non dog owners discovered new delights. I love walking, but I have no desire to trek to either pole or up to Everest base camp; solo or with companions, who I would be intensely irritated with by the third day… But ordinary walking, enjoying the fresh air, scenery, perhaps photography and probably ending up at a nice cafe or pub is fun for everyone… What do non walkers do when they go for a day out or on holiday? You may think National Trust Houses have large grounds because the original owners owned all the local land; no, it’s so we can have a nice walk before having lunch in the restaurant and looking round the house. No holiday is complete without a walk along a cliff path or a steep ascent up a hill to enjoy the view.

Modern technology, from super electronic wheelchairs to state of the art artificial limbs allow many who are disabled to get out and about with their friends and family who are fit and able to walk. Walking is freedom and not to be taken for granted; those under repressive regimes or living in dangerous areas cannot just go out for a walk. If you are used to walking everywhere it’s a reminder of the privilege when you ‘do something’ to your back or knee and suddenly can’t walk. The leaflets we were given when having chemotherapy suggest that ‘going for a short walk will help combat fatigue’ – this turned out to be a joke as most of each three week cycle it was a struggle to get to the front gate or up the stairs. It was an insight into the chronic fatigue that people with Long Covid and other debilitating medical conditions have to cope with.

So back to the funeral of Queen Elizabeth 11. Whatever your views on royalty or television ( blanket ) coverage of the events, there was a fascination with both the formal traditions and the spontaneous acts of those who came to queue to watch a procession or for The Queen’s lying in. There is something dignified and humbling about the men of the family and others close to the royals walking slowly behind the coffin. Princess Anne joined them, as she did for her father’s funeral, a token man for the day? Presumably it is tradition that only the men walk. If any of the chaps didn’t like walking they were in for a tiring time. I like a brisk walk, walking slowly at a measured pace is much harder, I have tried it round the house. Nor did I go up to London to join The Queue, almost a pilgrimage. They had a long distance to cover at a very slow pace, I wondered if there were escape points for those who changed their minds and just wanted to go home.

There are environmental benefits if everyone walked on short journeys and for writers it is one of the best ways to see real life, but those are topics for another blog.

Are you a walker or non walker? If you enjoy walking what is your favourite sort of walk?

Tidal Thoughts of an Idle Scribe

Tidalscribe Palace

Whatever your thoughts on monarchy, wherever you live, if you are in a safe and comfortable spot and not dealing with war or natural disaster, you will be well aware of The Queen’s death and either following or avoiding the lead up to the funeral tomorrow. Though a sad time, it is also one of the greatest shows on earth, full of human interest from the folk in The Queue to the many royals, world leaders and assorted dignitaries arriving. If you get in a panic when you have a family gathering or visitors coming to stay, imagine the preparations for this get together. Of course plans are always in place for big events, but have to be tailored at the last moment down to the finest detail of diplomatically deciding who will sit next to whom.

I think most humans love some pageantry and colour in their lives; history, art, music, beautiful horses and dear little choir boys all come together and lift us above the seedy world of politics and the mundanity of everyday life. The monarch and the government have a responsibility to defend their country and their people. The monarch is the chief of the armed forces, hence the wearing of military uniform by so many royals; no, I don’t know how they manage to acquire quite so many medals! Alas we know that a peaceful world is still unattainable, we need our armed forces and they are proud to be marching.

However, the solemnity of the occasion does not stop me having irreverent thoughts. When will the Lego or Playmobil Royal Funeral sets be coming out? Think of all the colourful characters to collect.

Where do the royal family and all those other officials who dress up, keep all their uniforms?

Dipping in to the endless chat on the radio I heard a presenter talking to some important military person about the funeral procession. When he mentioned the Royal Canadian Mounted Police taking part she asked him if they were bringing their horses and he said he wasn’t sure! How would they bring them, but how could they not bring them? Would they have to borrow ponies from the local riding school?

It was feasible that I could have jumped on a train at Bournemouth, up to Waterloo Station and sauntered down to the South Bank to join The Queue, a long walk to the end of the queue, but not as long as the slow walk to finally cross the River Thames and approach Westminster. I am impressed by those who have gone and it seems most were making new friends and having quite a jolly time. When they interview those who come out after their few moments passing by the queen’s coffin they all seem to have found it an amazing, solemn experience that will stay with them forever. But I didn’t go, I never have gone to London for the big crowd events, I have enough trouble deciding what to wear or take for a normal day out.

If any of you have been to pay your respects in any part of the country during The Queen’s journey from Balmoral, tell us how it was. Or will you be watching the funeral tomorrow at home or perhaps on one of the big screens local authorities are putting up so people can watch together?

The Queen’s final resting place will be at Windsor Castle.

A Strange Week.

This is where many of us feel we have been this past week.

For many the summer holidays are over and a new school year has started. After having all the family visiting, not quite at the same time and being away helping with tiny Tidalscribes last week, I am keen to start my autumn term in the blogging world.

Apple Harvest

Strange goings on at Chez Tidalscribe

Beach you can eat.
Children should be neither seen nor heard.

But as Prince Louis and my youngest grandson both started school and my eldest grandson became a teenager, there were far greater landmarks about to happen.

The death of Queen Elizabeth 11 on Thursday September 8th seemed to come suddenly. It was only on Tuesday that our new prime minister, Liz Truss, had been pictured meeting The Queen, who as tradition demands, asked her to form a new government. She looked frail and the meeting took place at Balmoral to spare Her Majesty the journey to Buckingham Palace, but it was only when we heard news later of her family rushing to Balmoral that her health was obviously worse than the public knew.

A drama and a moment in history that no script writer could have made up. The only monarch most of us have ever known had lived to see her platinum jubilee and just long enough to ‘see off’ Boris Johnson, as he put it.

King Charles 111 spoke movingly and seems so far to have people’s support. Whatever your own religious beliefs, the Queen took her oath sincerely to serve God and her country and Charles spoke of God Almighty and his faith. It is surely welcome that royals, unlike politicians, acknowledge a higher power. I always envy those people who brave the crowds, bring their flowers, chat to the press and make memories that will last. Many more of us have been following on television. It is a sad occasion, but also full of drama; from the many people of all sorts on the streets, to the interesting traditions, mostly involving colourful uniforms, coming into play as we lead up to the funeral.

I see no reason why Charles should not be a good king and perhaps at his weekly audiences with our new prime minister he can steer her down the green and humanitarian route we so badly need. My grandchildren will hopefully live to see three kings in their life time.

To round off a strange week this single rose had appeared in my garden when I got home on Friday.

Don’t Mention The Weather

We were on a college summer camp on Rottnest Island in the middle of the Indian Ocean, well only 18 kilometres from Fremantle, Western Australia, but one of the girls had to be airlifted off by helicopter as she had heatstroke. Happy days – when we emigrated to Australia in 1964 nobody worried about skin cancer or staying hydrated. Fortunately my parents were aware the sun was hot. Dad was out in Egypt after WW2 before he was demobbed and told of ’idiots’ being stretchered out with third degree burns after sun bathing. Fortunately my parents avoided the beach after being taken to Scarborough Beach by our sponsors on our first day in Australia. Huge waves and hot sand did not appeal and we went to pleasant shady spots by the River Swan.

My novel Quarter Acre Block was inspired by our first year in Australia.

Unfortunately school outings were gloriously free of sun hats and sun lotion and I recall an early outing when we spent the whole day on the beach and next day my nose peeled and bled! Outings with youth groups on hot days were often followed by me feeling sick the next day; setting off without any money and probably a picnic with a plastic bottle of cordial, I obviously didn’t drink enough. At school we did have plenty of water fountains, I didn’t spend my whole time dehydrated, but my sister recalls that if you were thirsty when you were out you stayed thirsty. I’m sure other people were buying bottles of coke and cool drinks of lurid colour, but we were not.

Sun and shade in Western Australia.

Our current heatwave has brought endless dire warnings of the dangers of going out – or staying inside homes not designed to cope with hot weather. Modern parents never let their children out without a bottle of water, but they should not panic – if Prince George could sit in the heat of Wimbledon dressed in a jacket and tie there is no need to pamper children.


How is the weather where you are?

Beach Hut Tales

We are having a heatwave, bad for my garden, but perfect for being in the sea, except first you have to get to the beach or your beach hut…

Yesterday after writers’ group I decided to get on a bus and get off at Woodland Walk, which as its name suggests is a cool and pleasant walk from a busy road to the cliff top. As soon as I left the shade of the trees the heat hit me. I crunched across our toasted cliff top to approach my beach hut from the other direction to my usual walk from home.

The stone building is not a castle, but the toilet block by our beach huts.
The descent down the ravine, more fun going down than up.

The hot weather reminded me of last year when my daughter-in-law sent a clip of a beach hut on fire. I quickly ascertained it wasn’t our strip. Everyone was safe, but I imagine there wasn’t much left of the beach hut or its neighbours! Gas rings, flapping curtains and wooden huts are a recipe for disaster perhaps. In the local paper the owner was quoted ’my nephew came to fetch me and said Aunty I think the beach hut is on fire… ’ hmm, my suspicious mind wondered what the boy might have been up to..

I fully expect that one day calamity will strike my hut, either one of the regular cliff falls or a cliff fire in scorching weather. But other dramas also occur. I am now a member of that group ’widows who sit in beach huts.’ There are three of us in my little strip and it is only recently I heard the stories of the other two ladies, widowed a good while. We were all chatting when the most senior said to the other ’I don’t think you were here back then when my husband died.’

‘Oh yes I was,’ she replied ’I remember doing CPR on him on the beach hut floor!’

Beach Hut Drama

On Valentine’s night February 2014 Britain had a huge storm, not dramatic compared with world disasters, but several people were killed and the walls of our brick house shook. In the morning the storm was still raging and tales emerged of dramas; the public were warned to stay away from coastal areas, so I looked up the time of high tide, 9am and told Cyberspouse we must walk to the cliff top. We could lean straight into the howling wind coming off the sea, safe from being blown off the cliff, but as we peered over the edge we had a shock.


Beach huts were reduced to matchsticks and heavy gas bottles blown along the promenade. Naturally I insisted to Cyberspouse that we go down, along with other sightseers. Beach hut owners were shocked to see their huts no longer existed and searched the wreckage for any belongings they could salvage. Of course losing your home is far worse than a little wooden box and easy to say as our hut, further along and on an upper level was fine! The owners who had lost beach huts certainly did not look happy. But I had an idea for a story, what would happen to anyone down on the promenade that night? my idea even became the start of my novel ’At The Seaside Nobody Hears You Scream.’ Read more about the novel on my About page.

Beach Boxes

Winter walk on the promenade.

An Australian visitor once commented ’Why would you go to the beach and sit in a wooden box.’ Fair comment, though we hope to sit outside it in the sun, it is good to retreat into if it rains or gets very windy. jThere has been unexpected blogger interest in beach huts. They are all different, no that’s not true, rows and rows of identical huts all the same size, though interiors can be very creative. our huts have no facilities except callor gas rings, perfect for mulled wine at Christmas.

When we first moved here the late Cyberspouse was at work and thought he would ring up the council and ask for a beach hut. He was told there was a six year waiting list and we did wait six years! It was worth it if you consider that had we not gone on the list we would not have got one at all. He liked to cycle there after work and have some peace and quiet – if I wasn’t there…


Beach Lodges with kitchen, toilet, shower and sleeping for six. Rent from the council for mid week or weekend stays. I can’t tell you how much, that would depend on the date and I couldn’t negotiate the website, though I gather you have to be quick.

Next time – beach hut drama!