At the risk of offending the more practical males among you I just have to show you this email attachment that my sister sent me:

CLASSES FOR MEN   (with Bear related comments in mauve.)
Classes for Men at The Adult Learning Centre

My mum would have been 90 today. She was born in Nottingham in 1917 and died ten years ago - the same night that Princess Diana was killed in the car crash.

She spent her younger days in London where, despite wanting to be a teacher, she had to leave school at 15 and take a job cutting dress material for five shillings (25p) a week.

Mum never said a great deal about her lovelife but I gather she had lots of friends and enjoyed 'tea dances' and evenings out.

She married three times:

First was my father, during the war (and on the rebound from the breakup of her relationship with the man who was to become my stepfather). My dad was in the Navy and lived up to the sailors' reputation of 'a girl in every port' (or maybe it was a girl in every street) and while I was still a baby he was thrown out. Apparently we saw him on a London bus when I was a toddler - he was the conductor - but mum didn't tell me till we got off and I don't remember what he was like apart from the photos she kept..

Mum and I always lived with her parents and, although we were far from well off, they spoiled me. We all moved to Norwich in 1948 and Mum worked at a nearby grocers' shop during the day and at the dog racetrack some evenings. When she went out on her nights off she would come and tuck me up and I'd admire her dress and say she looked like a fairy princess.

She met her first love again, thanks to her brother.They both waited (years) for their divorces and then they married ( I was 12) and started up in business together. Pop (as I called my stepfather) ran an electrical shop and Mum had a hardware department adjacent to it. We lived in the flat above.

My sister was born a year later and Mum nearly died from complications involving heavy haemorraging. (Perhaps they left part of the afterbirth behind??) I don't think she ever understood what was wrong herself. 

It was when my sister was taking her 11 plus that Pop became ill. The doctor treated him for flu but eventually they discovered he had serious kidney problems. He carried on working for some years but they retired early and Mum looked after him as his kidneys got worse and he had to have dialysis three times a week.

Then she discovered she had breast cancer. Fortunately they were able to operate and it was successful.

Pop died one day whilst on dialysis and, after a period of mourning we all thought Mum should 'live' a little.

She was pretty fit for her 75 years and we had some  good outings and holidays but she was afraid of being lonely. I had hoped to build her a bungalow in our garden but Bear wouldn't hear of it. He even got cross because she always came for lunch on Sundays.

Mum didn't want to 'be a burden' and looked for other friends. She even tried the 'Lonely Hearts' column in the local paper and went out with one or two pleasant (and rich) chaps.

Then she met Ned. He seemed nice enough - in fact he reminded me of my grandad -  but he turned out to be a nasty piece of work. He moved in with her and they got married on her 78th birthday.

On her wedding day she seemed quiet rather than excited but I put it down to nervousness.

Bear and I took them on 'honeymoon' to our haunts in the Ardennes. It turned out that Ned was an even more fussy eater than Bear and we couldn't even have a meal in a restaurant. Can you imagine living on picnics of bread, ham and cheese in unseasonably cool and windy weather for July when you could be tucking in to real French cuisine?

After several months  Mum admitted that he was 'a bit too demanding' and she was not happy. Despite their ups and downs she missed Pop.

Then her cancer returned with a vengeance. It was obvious she didn't want Ned to look after her as she always wanted my sister or me to be there for her.

When the cancer attacked her bones and stomach there was nothing they could do.

She spent her last few weeks in hospital and for the last ten days she hardly knew we were there. My sister and I took turns to sit with her through the night and I was with her when she died. It was a shock but I felt more relief than grief and a kind of numbness kicked in until well after the funeral.

It was ages before I was able to cry. For many months  I found myself thinking "Oh, I haven't phoned Mum today" and then reality would dawn.

If I had to pick out her outstanding qualities I would say - her unselfish generosity, her sense of humour and the warmth of her love.

We prefer to remember her especially on her birthday, rather than the anniversary of her death, so today we'll be raising a glass in her honour, Bless her.

Ever since our day in Paris, Bear has been wanting to have another train trip. The weather forecast was favourable for once so I suggested going somewhere this week.

We agreed on Lille as neither of us knows it except to walk the 400 metres from Lille Flandres to change for Eurostar.

Wednesday dawned and Bear was suddenly very solicitous for my health when I took a Nurofen. (I often wake up with a stiff neck but it passes once I move).

"Are you sure you feel like going?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. I'm just playing safe. How about you? Are your legs playing up?

"No, I'm fine," he insisted. "I was just thinking of you."

Now, this isn't like the Bear. If he wants to go somewhere and detects the slightest hint of reluctance on my part he makes a fuss.

So we played cat and mouse. He kept 'making sure' I was OK and I replied with similar signs of anxiety for his state of health. No way was I going to take the blame if we didn't go this time but I couldn't help wondering if he didn't feel up to it but wouldn't admit it.

Eventually we set off.

The journey there was noisy because of a family of three children and dad. They boarded the train at the last minute and dad found seats dotted around us and then went to get the luggage.

There were two free seats behind us so I suggested to Bear that we move there and let the family have the four together where we were.

He reluctantly agreed but then moaned because he didn't have such a good view because part of the window was obscured.

When the kids started talking loudly and excitedly Bear really began to simmer. Then a second family of youngsters began to run up and down.

It was a huge relief when we arrived at Lille.

The town is much more alive than Charleville and has many more shops and large pedestrian areas. The older buildings show a Flemish influence and there are some very attractive squares.

We looked in a couple of churches - St Maurice where Vierne first heard the sound of the organ and was inspired to play it himself (he was to become organist at Notre Dame de Paris) - and Notre Dame de Treille where the organ is being renovated. Bear would have given anything to jump over the barrier and get involved but had to content himself with talking photos.

There was a huge choice of cafes and I suggested eating outside at a brasserie offering pork in mustard sauce or cheese salad as plats du jour. Bear ordered pork and I had salad but he didn't like his meal - and I got the blame.

"I wouldn't have chosen to eat here."

"Well, you could have said no and we'd have gone somewhere else."

"No, you insisted on coming here."

Lille has lots of interesting bookshops and I took Bear into Le Furet du Nord where a helpful sales assistant brought all the train books from the bottom shelf and put them within reach for him so that he didn't have to bend. He chose two rather expensive tomes and I found a copy of Jane Eyre (in French) which I hoped would appeal to my friend Yvette.

There were several branches of Paul, a well known patisserie and boulangerie and we stocked up on fougasse and tarte au citron to bring home.

Towards the middle of the afternoon Bear's legs began to seize up and we had to stop for frequent coffees so that he could sit down.

Despite having a map he couldn't figure out the way  to the station and was reluctant to believe that the policeman I had asked had indicated the shortest route but we made it in good time without him collapsing.

The return journey was free from noisy children but the train itself made an incessant squeaky whistling sound that nearly drove us both mad.

When we arrived in Charleville and went to the car, Bear was not happy to find that I had left my window open. Fortunately nothing was missing but it gave him a good excuse to complain all the way home.

It arrived this morning and I tore it open and settled down in my favourite armchair.

The family understands when I get involved in a 'must read' and everyone left me alone with CC providing the occasional coffee.

Only Bear had the odd snipe.

But I did stop to do lunch (yesterdays left overs) and CC did the evening meal - though I have to admit to eating and reading at the same time.

Finished it at 7.30 and despite aching back, neck and head and very tired eyes I have to say it was an excellent and very satisfying ending to the Harry Potter series.

If there are any more fans out there let me know what you think (without spoiling the story).

Bear has been at it again!

We bought a filing cabinet in kit form the week before last and he has had several attempts at assembling it.

He put it together, swore, took it apart again, swore some more and then left it in bits around the house.

This happened four or five times. Each time something broke, or got lost.

Today, hopefully, was the final attempt.

He spent the whole morning hammering, cursing, fiddling and screwing. I was summoned from the kitchen on three occasions when he needed an extra pair of hands and I had to slide the back in twice, the roll front three times and put the top in position three times as well.

I got the blame because the rollfront broke a piece of wood somewhere and some black thing got twisted so I decided to leave well alone and let him get on with it.

It now stands in the conservatory looking very sorry for itself and surrounded by tools, screws and bits of wood.

If you open it you would say that Heath Robinson had had quite a lot to do with its construction. There is an old piece of wood across the front (doctored so that the lock has room to pass) and he has cannibalised the computer table to make a sliding thing from which to hang files.

Unfortunately the rails are too thick and the files only just have enough width to fit in - no room for manoevre at all.

He tried - but I've got to live with the results!

As it the holiday season - even though summer weather is in short supply - several bloggers seem to be taking a break.

One person on my list, though, is giving grave cause for concern. It's Yaxlich. Ever since he lost his mojo back in May he has not written much at all. No doubt lots of his readers are missing him and I just hope he is OK.

Keith, Wendz and Pat ( links on right of page) are taking a short break but the rest of us are soldiering on.

You may have noticed that I've added French Windows to my list. Despite trying to keep my daily reading manageable and not too time consuming I couldn't resist this interesting and informative blog by Gigi.

When my Harry Potter 7 arrives (hopefully on Monday) I may well be otherwise engaged for a few days too.

On Friday 13th a man rang and, because he spoke very quickly, I picked up on the words 'car, accident, collision and witness' but the rest was a blur.

With heart racing I finally managed to clarify the situation. Jay had bumped this chap's car while parking and had left a note with his name and phone number via a witness who spoke English. The car owner was keen to fill in the 'accident form' as soon as possible so I promised to ring back as soon as Jay got home.

Jay's explanation was as follows:

He and another chap were waiting for the same parking space to be vacated.

Jay 'won' but in his haste he clipped the car in the nextdoor space.

The other motorist (who was pipped at the post) was a complete bastard, got out of his car and threatened to take action if Jay didn't confess and leave his details on the windscreen.

Jay parked his car in another space and went back to find this chap had taken photographs of his number plate and was busy writing a note.

Once he realised that Jay's French was not fluent he spoke English and said he'd give him five minutes to put his details down.

Jay asked him if he would do it in French for him, so he crossed out what he'd already written and wrote something else.

There was no damage to our car and, from what he could make out, Jay thought the dent on the other car was not in the right position to have been caused by him hitting it - though he had felt a bump.

Anyway, I went back into town with him and we met the owner of the car. He was a very pleasant chap and explained that, because it was his firm's car he would have to fill in the insurance form.

This is, in fact, a very good idea. There are boxes to tick, a space for a diagram and both drivers have to fill in their details and sign it. They take a copy each for their insurance companies.

We went to our company straight away. The lady smiled sympathetically and suggested that we might see if we could come to an agreement to pay for the damage (if it weren't too much) to protect our no-claims discount, so I rang the man and asked if it would be possible.

He got back to us on Monday and said the quote was for 390 euros and his boss would like a decision  - and payment - by Tuesday morning.

Here's where the good luck comes in.

When I opened the post I found that we had overpaid for gas to the tune of just over 400euros and would be reimbursed within two weeks.

Problem sorted.

The holiday replacement chemist offered  me an 'abonnement'  today and said she'd find me a little corner to call my own behind the counter.

It has to be said that I must be her best customer.

Last Friday it was prescriptions for the Whale but the three monthly injection of Zoladex had to be ordered specially and picked up on Monday morning - when I also took in my repeat slip for Rhinocort (nasal spray).

On Monday afternoon Bear went to see the doctor to get his medication so off I went again.

Today Jay had his verucca injection and the dermatologist gave him a prescription for antiseptic solutions, antibiotics and painkillers.

Then CC saw her osteopath and came away with yet another 'ordonnance'.

The only problem with going to the chemist is that it takes a lifetime to get your medication.

You'd think that it would be quite a quick and straightforward procedure: hand over prescription and Carte Vitale - receive tablets etc. and exit stage left.

But no, this is France.

You go in, say 'Bonjour Messieurs/dames' to all and sundry and kiss or shake hands with anyone you actually know.

Then you wait in a disorderly queue until - eventually - it's your turn. (This can take up to half an hour).

You hand over your prescription (in duplicate) and your Carte Vitale. The chemist peruses the paper carefully, asks if you are willing to accept the generic version and disappears among the drawers and cupboards.

She eventually returns with the boxes and settles down to a long session on the computer. Each box has to have its bar code read and then it is removed and carefully stuck on another piece of paper. For some reason she has to spend ages typing codes - or whatever - into the machine and then, at last, it goes into an apoplexy of grinding noises before spitting out a copy of your prescription with printing on the back.

If you have the misfortune to be served by a 'nonqualified' pharmacist you have to wait until one becomes free before you are given the booty.

Heaven help you if you admit that there is a medicine with which you are unfamiliar. This results in a detailed explanation reinforced with shorthand notes on the box itself.

Even if there isn't a queue you can never count on escaping from the shop for at least a quarter of an hour and it can take twenty five minutes.

Maybe I should have a spare bed there.

Yesterday I was all set to write about the Bear on a "too good to be true" note.

On Saturday, Jay, CC and I had been out for most of the day looking at houses, leaving Bear to look after the Whale. Actually, the only 'arrangements' I had made were to leave two cottage pies at the ready with instructions for using the microwave displayed on the board. Whale can make his own tea provided he has a good supply of water, milk, sugar and teabags as he has his own kettle within reach. Add to that a few biscuits, some fruit and a good book and he is quite happy for hours on end.

However, Bear went over and above the call of duty (or was he worried about using the microwave?) when he went out to buy sandwiches for lunch for both of them.

When we got back everything was peaceful and Bear did not appear to be sulking about me going out with Jay and CC.

In fact, it all seemed too calm, too reasonable and somehow not 'right'. It makes me sound paranoid but I was really expecting some sort of tantrum and it felt very odd when it didn't happen.

I found myself thinking "I should be grateful but this new attitude is almost more stressful than normality".

This dilemma was shortlived however, as after the evening meal the Bear turned nasty. He had a go about me not appearing enthusiatic enough in planning our outing by train. The problem is that Jay is having a painful injection in his foot (for a verruca) tomorrow and I wouldn't feel happy about going off if he is out of action. Of course, Jay had assured me that it wouldn't be a problem but mums worry, don't they?

Anyway, Bear didn't like the thought of waiting a few days and he also took the opportunity to have a dig about me going out with them and not him on Saturday.

It was just a few minutes of invective. His mood had changed again by the morning and he has been quite pleasant since.

It's just that I'm left in no doubt about his real feelings and so I'm waiting for his true colours to be displayed again at any time.

We have had friends round for lunch twice this week. The menus were similar but the ambiance was not the same on both occasions.

On Monday, two friends of the Bear who were touring Belgium and Germany popped in to see us just before going home. They had been staying in very posh establishments and dining on gourmet fare but they were kind enough to say that it made a change to eat 'real' food when I served up roast pork with peas, potatoes and carrots.

CC and Jay tactfully took the Whale out during the visit and Bear was a perfect host, sociable and pleasant, chatting about old times.

After they had taken their leave - in their pale blue Aston Martin -  he thanked me profusely for my efforts and even made an attempt to help clear up!

But yesterday, I had invited our (French) friends for a meal and the atmosphere changed. It has to be said that we had talked about going out, but as it was the only day Marie and Michel were free and we hadn't seen them for a long time I didn't think Bear would mind.

CC and I cooked another roast and veg but the chocolate mousse I had got up early to make was a bit of a disaster so Jay went out to buy a gateau for dessert.

Bear stayed in bed most of the morning complaining of aches and pains but he did get up before our guests arrived and joined in the 'apero'.

He became quiet during the meal and went to sit in his armchair before we had finished. He remained with his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face until our friends left.

When I came in from waving them off he had the telly on and was watching the Tour de France with a map on his lap!