Meg’s Diary. Not a (German) Shepherding Dog

1/2/2026

A very bad morning. I was out, Husband took Meg into the garden. There was a duck on the lawn, Meg tore after it, ignoring Husband, caught the duck, killed her. I am so angry with Meg. I have repeatedly tried to teach her not to chase my birds, repeatedly distracted her so she doesn’t bark at them, constantly tried to teach her to be safe around them. But clearly, she is not safe with them.

The ducks are semi-wild (mostly the offspring of wild ducks which I have rescued from crows and raised on the pond, and they have decided to stay because I feed them). In the Spring, the drakes are annoying, so the hens will fly over the fence onto the lawn, away from the drakes. Usually, when they hear us in the garden they fly back, onto the pond. This one obviously wasn’t fast enough.

By the time I got home, there was nothing that could help the duck, who was lying, terrified, under a tree. I gently picked her up, and laid her in a nest of fresh hay, safely enclosed, so she could die in peace. Horribly sad.

I am so angry with Meg. I know that her instinct is to chase (although not to kill—she must have been very rough to have killed it) but she knows that she must not touch my poultry, which is why she was running away from Husband as soon as she had it, why it became a game to her, something to play with. It shows complete lack of obedience, lack of impulse control, lack of empathy (because I am sure that his tone of voice should have warned her that this was not a game, and she should stop).

After I sorted the poor duck, I went into the house. Meg was shut into the utility room. I told her to go into her crate. Something in my voice subdued her. She knows she has been bad. She knows I am angry with her—her tail is down and her ears and back and she is not making a fuss to be free, even though she would not usually be confined to her crate during the daytime. I am so angry and upset I need space from her for a while. After that, I will try to decide what to do. I have no idea whether there is a way to teach her not to touch the birds—it’s not as if I haven’t tried. I need an albatross to come and terrify her, so she never touches birds again. When things like this happen, I just feel defeated, and want to rehome her. I have not felt like that for a very long time now, but today I could send her back to the breeder and replace her with a normal German Shepherd dog. One who listens to me. Like Kia did.

Thursday 12/3/2026

We needed to go to Sheffield (to collect goose eggs to hatch) and I didn’t want her in kennels again so soon, so we took her with us. She was perfect. (Never thought I would write that!) We put her into her crate in the boot, loaded our cases, and set off. After several hours we stopped at services. I walked Meg round the car park, and through the services (because there was no sign saying dogs couldn’t enter) and Meg was great. There was noise, and people, and sliding doors, queues for food, people eating (so food smells) a games area full of flashing lights and loud sounds—Meg walked next to me on the lead, noticing everything but unperturbed by any of it. Marvellous.

When we arrived in Sheffield, we set up her bed in the Airbnb and had a cup of tea. Then we left her, in the strange house, while we went out for dinner. Meg was fine (I checked). She curled up in her bad and slept.

I didn’t attempt to walk her along the streets (she’s always awful) and I decided that being either inside or in the garden for a few hours was no worse than being in kennels. Meg seemed fine. In the house, we could hear the dog next door barking. Meg growled a few times, but mostly ignored it.

The next day, we put her back in the car and drove home. Again, she was perfect. She sat and watched the traffic, or lay down (not sure if she slept) and when we stopped she walked nicely beside me, toileted on grass next to the road, got back into the car without a fuss. I was very pleased with her.

As I said, we were collecting goose eggs. I hope to hatch some. I also hope that while I am raising the goslings, I can involve Meg in a calm way, and that she will realise they are fragile, and that instead of being things to chase they will be things she guards. (Surely, deep inside, there is some shepherding instinct??) This is my hope. We shall see…

Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week and all is calm in your world. Take care.
Love, Anne x

Artificial Intelligence

Posted by anneethompson

Have you used AI at all? I am bit of a dinosaur when it comes to technology, and I tend to only learn what I absolutely have to learn, in order to achieve what I want to achieve. (I am waiting for when AI can clean a dirty bathroom and sort the laundry out–that would be an excellent use of resources.) However, I have used the picture-drawing tool on my WordPress site, for my blog, and this has been fun. Mostly though, AI has removed some of my fun. One of the features that WordPress offers is details of various stats–how many people have read my blog, which countries it has been read in, which posts are particularly popular. It was fun, and after publishing a new post I would usually check to see how much traction it gained, always hoping it would be shared on social media so it would spread beyond my faithful email followers. Maybe one day something would ‘go viral’ and a post would become ‘famous,’ read by millions.

However, this changed recently. I noticed my normal stats (in addition to my 500 followers, usually around 30 extra readers each week) had suddenly shot up. I didn’t think this was because I was more popular, I think it’s because my work is being read by bots. I think computers are reading everything on the internet, AI is learning, my blog just happens to be one of the things hundreds of bots are reading. Which is much less satisfying than humans reading my work. I do not think it’s coincidental that most of my ‘readers’ are now in the US, India and China. It feels a little weird to be ‘read’ by a machine. But I guess if they are ‘learning’ then my blogs are as valid as any other voice. Perhaps they will one day even understand my humour.

I am regularly ‘fooled’ by AI in everyday life. Like when I try to complain about something, and am having an online conversation with a ‘person’ who seems to be on a loop–a sure sign that I am talking to a machine. I also believe things that I shouldn’t–like that a restaurant has lots of brilliant reviews, when I know that AI is able to write reviews and post them to any business willing to pay. I understand that even online news articles are sometimes written using AI, which means what we read as ‘fact’ might not be factual at all. It makes for a confusing world, one where we are not sure what to trust. I guess we need to learn new ways of looking at things.

I think it’s more of a problem for older people (like me). I was discussing my fears with one of my sons, saying that when I watch cute cat videos on Instagram, I am sometimes aware that they are fake. Cats would never behave like the ones in the video, it has been created by AI not filmed by a loving owner. My son said this problem was not particularly one for younger people. They have grown up knowing that anything online might be fake, seeing is not believing. He said it is my generation who read something in the news, or see a video, and automatically assume it is true. Because in the olden days, when I was a child, it would have been true. Something in a photo really happened. But not today. Today we need to be wise, we need to not trust the media, not trust what we see. Which seems a shame. But perhaps it has always been like that. Perhaps we gave authority too easily to the church, the school, the BBC. Perhaps even in the olden days we should have paused more often, we should have questioned ‘is this true?’ Perhaps information has always been unreliable, or biased, it’s just that today we are more aware of it. What do you think?

For my readers who are not bots (and who might enjoying sharing the occasional blog with other humans) thanks for reading. Be wise and pause before you trust.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Person wearing an intricate golden crown standing in a dark, old room with vintage decor

A Short Rant

Posted by anneethompson

Feeling Entitled

I love England. I love the countryside, and I love the people—nowhere else seems to have the ironic humour, the lack of fuss, the basic honesty of British people. (Yes, I know there are exceptions.) If you’re standing at a bus stop in the rain, someone will make you laugh. If you drop your purse, probably someone will give it back to you. However, the big fault that I see in my fellow Brits, the one trait that might break us, is a sense of entitlement. (Be warned, there is bit of a rant coming.)

This seems to be a modern thing. When I watch old movies, or series set in the past on telly, the overriding trait seems to be one of duty. ‘What ought I be doing?’ But not now. Now I hear people complaining that their problems are not being solved by the government, by the NHS, by the schools… People seem to think that if they have a problem (don’t we all have a problem of some kind?) then someone else ought to solve it.

If a child has a disorder that makes them not able to learn as easily as other children, then they are entitled to extra help, special treatment, provided by the school. (Who do they think will pay for this? Who will lose out because the staff are giving extra time to their child?) Surely a diagnosis is helpful so they can form strategies to overcome the problem, not to make an excuse, certainly not to off-load the problem to the school. They may need extra help, and they can ask for it, but should they feel entitled to it?

If someone has a health problem, they think the health service should sort it, at whatever expense—irrespective of how much has been budgeted, and therefore which other patients might lose out. And they think that they should be seen locally, with little or no waiting time, by a friendly helpful professional, in a clean environment with comfortable chairs and facilities in case they need them. Oh, and easy parking or transport provided. All for free, of course. And if they find it difficult to walk, they should be able to park their car wherever they find convenient—irrespective of the danger to other drivers or pedestrians. And they should be provided with flat walkways. Because they are entitled.

The one which really annoys me is when things happen globally (not naming any names) and it messes up things like the oil supply. Instead of recognising there is a crisis, thinking about how to get round the problem, people feel entitled to compensation. If the cost of living goes up, the government should ensure no-one loses out. People still expect to be able to buy their coffee (imagine if they had to make it at home!) They still expect to have a holiday (somewhere sunny). They still expect to be able to have a car for every driver in the family, and a computer for everyone in the family, etc, etc. Because they’re entitled to. Aren’t they?

Now, I know that we pay taxes, and these taxes provide education and health services. But it’s not a magic pot. The money is only there if we put it there. And lower taxes are another thing that people think they are entitled to. There is a mentality of ‘let the rich pay.’ I’m not sure who ‘the rich’ are. Do they mean media celebrities who earn millions entertaining online or on the telly? Or perhaps they mean people who have inherited millions from their families (irrespective of what costs they might also have inherited). Or perhaps they mean the people who worked hard at school, and studied after school, and then worked long hours (not spending their evenings at the pub) and therefore earn more than them? Is ‘anyone richer than me’ the people who should pay? Because I am entitled.

This worries me, because it is not sustainable, and it breeds discontent. I think we need a change in thinking. Life is full of problems, and some of them will disadvantage you. But instead of seeing a problem as belonging to other people, of feeling entitled to not solve it ourselves, we need to take some ownership of the difficulty. If we have a problem (health, educational, financial) then it is our problem. We can look for help—and often it is available because we live in a great society—but we are not entitled to it. Sometimes having a problem means we need to change something, we need to forgo something, we need to accept that something will be more difficult for us. A child with a learning disability should be taught strategies to overcome the problem, not expect society to bend to them. A health problem might mean finding new ways to cope. A financial problem might mean living differently.

I’m not saying that our society shouldn’t help—it’s helping that makes us human. It’s the sense of entitlement, the continual moaning, the feeling that every problem (even when it’s our fault for buying something unwisely) should be solved by other people. Let’s take ownership of our problems. Let’s find solutions together, which might involve asking for help but please, can we try to not feel so entitled. At the end of the day, no one owes you anything.

Okay, rant over. Thank you for listening. What is your ‘pet hate’? What worries you in society? Add to the comments below, and perhaps we can create a perfect society!
Take care.
Love, Anne x

anneethompson.com
****

Badly Behaved People and Jersey Zoo

Posted by anneethompson

I have just been out for lunch. My sister Ruth is visiting from Canada, Husband suggested I should break from work and have a pub lunch with them. To be honest, it’s too hot to achieve much decent work (lots of slow blinks as I read scholarly articles) so off we went. We arrived as the pub was opening, and it was initially lovely and peaceful. But then two women entered and chose a table near to where we were sitting. You might think I am going to moan about the volume of their voices, or that one spoke on the phone at the table (most people are incapable of speaking at normal volume on the phone). But no, they started to play music on their phone. Not quietly, full volume music. Not even good music. I realised they were watching a video of a concert. They started to sing along (I nearly choked on my french fries!) Then, to help things no end, Husband also started to sing along! I thought (hoped) this might encourage them to reduce the volume. No such luck. The pub started to play background music of its own, so now we were surrounded by screeching singing on one side, and hits from the 90s on the other. It was not peaceful. I thought about saying something, or taking a photo (people get very huffy if random strangers take their photo) but I did nothing. No point in making an enemy over a bit of loud screeching.

I did however take photos at Jersey zoo. We visited towards the end of our holiday, and it is the best zoo in the world. Lots of animal-friendly cages, not so large you want to die before the end, some spectacularly pretty landscaping. The zoo was originally set up by Gerald Durrell, who looked a little like Russel Crowe of Gladiator fame in later life, but he’s better known for his books–which I read many years ago. It really is a lovely zoo. Somewhat spoiled by people behaving badly.

The badly-behaved people were in the butterfly house. This was an amazing area–you walked through doors and plastic screens and entered a world of huge blue butterflies. (There were other colours, but the blue ones were the best.) There was a window into the hatching area, where recently emerged butterflies were hanging to dry their wings. There were feeding stations of nectar and fruit, and you wandered amongst the plants enjoying the wonder of it all. Except for the people–a family–who were encouraging their children to hold the butterflies. I mean, who does that? Who doesn’t understand the fragility of a butterfly, that children holding them is never going to end well for delicate wings? I was too annoyed to trust myself to say something appropriate, so I left.

Unfortunately for you, I did not inherit my sister’s patience for photography, and she wasn’t with us. Therefore my photos are mostly more like ‘Where’s Wally?’ pictures (other than the ones ‘stolen’ from the walls of the bird house). I will leave you to spend happy hours trying to find the animals in my photos, but really you should go to Jersey, even if just to visit the zoo.

Hope you avoid all badly-behaved people today. Thanks for reading.
Take care,
Love, Anne x

Really poignant display showing devastation of smuggling animals.

Jersey Holiday

Posted by anneethompson

Jersey 2026

This is my second time of writing this. I am sitting on a veranda, in the sunshine, and I merrily typed on my keyboard while not being able to see my screen. When I checked what I had written, it was all in Hebrew script! It made no sense, because I had used English spellings, so it was a complete waste of time. I shall start again—in English…

It’s the end of July, and we have joined the family in Jersey. We rented a large Airbnb in St Martins, and as I write I can see the sea over the tree tops, and hear birds singing, a dog barking, and not much else. It’s very peaceful. We’ve never visited Jersey before. It’s part of England, so wonderfully familiar, yet not attached, so it feels slightly different. Driving, language, currency is all like home—but the island is quite small and very well-kept, so very pretty. The sunshine helps of course.

We haven’t done much, and various family members have worked (online) on different days, which has worked well in the house which is big, with rooms people can escape to or meet for (loud) chats depending on their mood. The days have passed much too quickly—walking next to the coast, visiting castles, eating lots of cake. One day we rode on an amphibious vehicle to a nearby island. Husband and I sat in a secluded garden and drank coffee while the others watched canons being fired.

Today we went to the tunnels—built during the German occupation by their war prisoners. There were shocking signs announcing that the the government had decided to not, ‘repeat not’ defend the island when the Germans attacked. Can you imagine how it would feel when the islanders read that for the first time? The tunnel displays showed what life was like under German occupation, much was sad (they killed all the cats and dogs because there was no food for them) and some things were practical, just getting on with life during difficult circumstances. It makes you question your own core beliefs—how would you behave when compliance with the enemy would enable food for your children? I had previously thought I would definitely be part of the resistance movement—no one forces a Thompson to do things. But some of the soldiers were 14. Big children. I don’t think I could have been involved in killing kids, even if they were the enemy.

Today we plan to visit the zoo. This deserves it’s own post (it’s an excellent zoo) so I will write some separate blogs when I am home. Thanks for reading.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

Things I Heard in Jersey/Only in a Family:

Is someone watching a video in the bathroom?

Don’t throw rocks at your brother.

I’ll give £5 to anyone who can hit him with a pebble.

Let’s get the curry, the linguine and the roast dinner, and then share them.

Stop trying to open the car door—that’s not our car!

Don’t open the flip-top bin with your foot, you’ll break it.

Please can we have a designated quiet area in the house?

(When playing Code Names): Oh great, that’s just what you want your vocal and dominant teammates to say…

Your washing is all over the lawn; let me introduce you to the peg basket.:

*****

Handwritten complaint letter about furniture defects next to an envelope and pen on a wooden table

Dear Virgin Media

Posted by anneethompson

Dear Virgin Media,

Thanks for allowing our query to go to arbitration after your complaints department deemed it something they were unable to resolve. I understand the arbitration has also proved unsuccessful for us, which means we must accept the decision. And wow! What a decision! I am writing because I am surprised this is acceptable to you. But perhaps it’s not. Perhaps you are just a person working in the Customer Services department, wishing there was air-conditioning that worked and wondering why the clock moves so slowly. Perhaps you, the person reading this, has no real idea (nor possibly interest) on what is actually happening to real people in the real world. Or perhaps I have misunderstood. In which case, please do reply and let me know. It would be nice to discover that Virgin Media is not exploiting vulnerable people…which is what it looks like.

The situation (from where I am sitting, in my non-air-conditioned room) looks rather grim in terms of customer service and honesty. The situation looks very like you (not you personally, obviously, but the company for which you work) have found that ripping-off elderly customers is a really easy way to increase income. I guess it is an easy way to make money. Especially if you put a friendly person with an authoritative voice on the phone—who wouldn’t believe them if you phone to query your bill and are told that this deal (double what others pay) is the best deal? Most elderly people would trust that, wouldn’t they? But I like to think this wasn’t your plan. I like to think there were strange coincidences along the way.

We must go back in time, to 2018, when my mother agreed a package with you. It seemed reasonable, we relaxed (this was our mistake). Every few years, the price would mysteriously rise (I know, cost of living, need to have a holiday, the first price was never meant to continue at that level anyway, etc, etc). We warned Mum (not easy to get your mother to take advice—have you found that?) that the price being offered was probably not the best deal. And so Mum (who did listen on this occasion) would phone Virgin Media. She would speak to a lovely person (I am sure you are all lovely) who would convince her that the price they could offer was the very best price available, they were doing her a favour really—you know the sort of thing. Now, these calls were recorded (by you, not Mum—that would be a bit too difficult and possibly illegal). Strangely, these recordings no longer exist. Isn’t that strange? You still have the transcripts, written by a Virgin Media person who is possibly unlikely to write: ‘I offered a really high price and the old lady seemed confused but accepted it, so we’re good to buy decent wine for the office party this year, soo easy to rip-off vulnerable old women! Go Virgin Media!’ Yes, it seems unlikely they would phrase it like that. And of course we cannot compare what they did write with the actual conversation because you no longer have the recording, apparently. I love my mother dearly, but I doubt if she would have seemed especially savvy on the calls. I don’t suppose they confused her with a stocks trader.

All we have are the basic facts. Virgin Media assured my mum that £63 a month, for the most basic package, was the very best deal available. So, from 2019 at £36:19, to 2025 at £62:27—that is quite a rate of inflation! Do you pay that much for the basic package at Virgin Media? I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I really am curious. How much do you pay for the most basic package?

The really funny thing (this will come as a shock, I know, so maybe sit down before you read it) the really funny thing is that when my husband phoned Virgin Media on her behalf, they offered a price of £33. Yes, £33 for the most basic package. Isn’t that strange! Now, I don’t like to think this is because my husband does not sound like a vulnerable elderly person—but he doesn’t. I don’t like to suggest that if he had sounded like a vulnerable elderly person Virgin Media would have decided to exploit his vulnerability to maybe increase the bill even more rather than halve it. Yes, practically halve it. But it’s certainly strange, don’t you think?

Now, we contacted your complaints department, but they were unable to help. (I think they offered a token gesture, but given how much money an elderly person has over-paid this seemed worth taking further). We continued to arbitration. I don’t like to think they are possibly biased, are not working for the consumer nor setting rigorous standards for the industry, but they decided that a vulnerable elderly person being exploited for several years by Virgin Media was an acceptable situation. We lost. Nothing more we can do. The amount paid to Virgin Media over several years is not insignificant to an elderly lady living on a pension—but I guess that’s of no concern to you. I guess nothing illegal was done, if exploiting vulnerable people is an acceptable practice for Virgin Media, then why worry? But I do wonder what you (this time I do mean you, the human who is reading this letter) I wonder what you think? You probably have a granny, or an elderly aunt, or someone a little vulnerable. Do you think it’s okay?

Thanks for reading. Take care.

Love, Anne x

I sent this to Virgin Media as a courtesy before posting on my blog. I will let you know if they reply.

Not Getting Home

Posted by anneethompson

Hello, you may remember from last week’s blog that we had trouble getting home from Italy. After a week in the Italian alps, we packed ready to catch our flight home on Sunday. At 3am we received a message from BA saying our flight was cancelled (there had been storms in London and the plane did not arrive in Italy ready to take us back). We therefore booked into a hotel in Milan, and waited for our rescheduled flight on the following Tuesday. (Yes, Tuesday.) The hotel was lovely, and we had internet, therefore although inconvenient it wasn’t the end of the world, we could both work, there are worse things in life.

However, by Tuesday I was SO ready to go home. There was a limit to how useful my work was without my computer (I could access the library on my phone, but reading theology books on a phone is not quite as easy as reading them on a large screen). The weather was really hot, so although we were near Milan, a hot hour on a train to get to the centre, followed by tourism in an overheated city, was very unattractive. So we stayed in the hotel–literally inside the hotel. Which after two days made me a bit desperate for fresh air (but when I ventured outside, the air was thick with fumes and it was so very hot, it was not ‘fresh’ at all!)

Tuesday morning, we packed our things ready to go home. I joked with Husband about how I had mixed my clean and dirty clothes before, and this time I wondered whether I should try to keep the not-too-dirty ones separate…just in case… But I didn’t. Although I did decide to keep snacks and water bottles, thinking I would discard them at the very last moment.

We left the hotel and entered the stale-aired chaos of the airport. Too many people, concentrating on pulling luggage, avoiding other travellers, signs flashing, noisy tannoy, watching the red letters on the information board, keeping track of my valuables, ignoring the smells of fast-food outlets, and perfume, and bodies, trying to balance on the escalator. Much too much noise and smell and stress. (I am not a happy traveller.)

We checked in and left our bags. BA had moved us down a group when it reissued the tickets, so we requested to be put back into the group we had paid for (Group 4–so nothing fancy, just not left until the very end when all the overhead lockers would be full.) The kind person at check-in moved us into Group 3. We walked to the gate. Due to Brexit (so much I could write) we have to go to passport control via separate screens, entering details about visas and right-to-stay, which adds another long queue to enter and depart Europe. We eventually arrived at the gate, waited to board.

We boarded the flight pretty much on time. Then we waited. There was a fault on the aircraft; an engineer was sent. We waited. After a couple of hours (yes, hours) they brought round cans of drink and biscuits. At one point they warned us the lights and air-con would turn off, as they were ‘switching everything off and then restarting the system.’ This reminded me of my son’s advice when my computer won’t work. It did not bode well. After about 4 hours, we were told they couldn’t fix the fault, we should collect our luggage, and we would be sent to hotels and contacted about new flights. Super.

We went back to the terminal (via the annoying extra queues because of Brexit) and collected our bags. There was no one with a sign telling us what to do or where to go. I went to security, and they suggested I should go to the BA lounge. There was a BA representative, but he did not make his presence obvious, and certainly did not make any announcements. If I had been travelling alone, I would have felt very insecure. I chatted to a couple of passengers who were travelling alone, and told them the information I had. When we left, I went via the lounge and told them they should send someone with a sign to the arrivals hall, because people did not know what to do. I’m afraid the bossy-school-teacher is still in me.

However, I was not alone, and 40ish years ago, I chose wisely. As soon as the flight was delayed, Husband had looked online for other flights leaving Milan. The instant they announced our flight was cancelled, he booked tickets on the flight the following day, and rooms back at the Sheraton. I suggested that if the flights BA sent were better, maybe we should use those? He made non-committal noises.

We returned to the lovely Sheraton. No clean clothes, yuk. But I still had water and snacks. We got to our room sometime after midnight. A message from BA arrived. They offered us tickets at 5am the following mornings (so after maybe 3 hours sleep) to Zurich. Yes, Zurich. We would then spend 12 hours in Zurich airport, and catch the evening flight to Heathrow. We declined, and requested a refund.

Wednesday, three days after our scheduled flight, we returned to the airport. The flight was delayed, which worried me, but after about an hour, we taxied to the runway. We made it home. It was so lovely to finally arrive, to see the animals, to unpack, to have clean clothes and my own bed. In the grand scheme of things, a few days in Europe staying in a hotel is not so bad. But something about being in limbo, of not being able to do things we have planned (I missed the funeral of a friend, for example) was very unsettling. We have our plans, and we like things to be normal. Normal is something to be valued, but we often don’t notice it until it’s missing.

Hoping you have a nice ‘normal’ week this week. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

La Thuile 2026

Posted by anneethompson

It’s holiday season, so we escaped to Italy for a week. We did very little, so enjoy the photos (but the diary is possibly not worth reading unless you want to see what doing nothing in Italy means!)

A Week in the Italian Alps

Taxi 5:30. Flew BA to Milan from Heathrow. Now, I don’t book the flights, therefore I have no right to criticise. But I would like to say that there are nearer airports, and cheaper flights, and I am not convinced that BA are the best. But that is just my opinion (and mostly I am just grateful that I don’t have to book the flights.

Picked up a Fiat, drove to La Thuile. Apartment opposite Montana Lodge (nice). It overlooks the glacier from the front, and the meadow from the back, so wherever you sit is beautiful.

Dinner in La Grotta, and we had to sit outside, which is not my favourite thing (insects always bite me). Husband had cheesy starter and cheesy main. A LOT of cheese.

Each day began in the same way: I open the shutters and windows, in rushes the crisp cold air, the sound of cow bells from the forest, the smell of pine trees. I make coffee and sit on the balcony reading my little Tanakh. Lovely. Later we have a second coffee and croissant on balcony. No kettle but hob super fast for boiling water. I hadn’t realised the advantage of convection hobs before, they are very space-age.

Our days varied, but we never did very much, we just returned to the places we have enjoyed on previous visits. Walked up to river (the little local shop we used on previous holidays has closed).

I did some washing (yaay). I do like having a washing machine on holiday (this is not sarcasm, I actually do).

Mostly we ate at La Grotta, but it’s closed on Tuesdays–many places were closed on Tuesdays. Actually, most places haven’t even opened for the season yet—coming before July is very quiet, which is mostly good but does limit restaurant choices. We managed to book dinner at Lo Tata. Very lovely. We shared a cheese and meat platter, drank wine and beer. I then couldn’t eat all my spagetti, and received an angry scowl from the owner!

One day we drove to the most beautiful valley in the world. Still beautiful. It was early, so not too hot (excellent) but we got entangled with a herd of cows going to be milked, on a narrow path next to the mountain edge. They were very big (a bit worrying). Made it back unscathed.

It’s hot and cloudy. Thunder is rolling round the mountains and odd spots of rain fall occasionally. Some evenings the storm passed over the valley, which made walking to restaurants rather damp (the day that we had hail, Husband drove, but mostly we walked unless it was too wet).

We returned for dinner in Lo Tatà again. It was busy. They put different parties on shared tables. Boss lady wouldn’t allow Husband to mix meat dish and pasta dish (‘In Italy this is not possible.’) I thought maybe she was joking, both were available on the menu. But no, she refused to serve them at the same time. He switched to a more Italian-acceptable order. Nice food.

Saturday was a sort of nothing day. I started to pack, we strolled around Gollet and found the restaurant (now closed and overgrown) where we enjoyed an unexpected lunch a few years ago. We watched several lorries unload sheep onto the meadow, then different lorries collected most of them. We tried to guess why. (A sale place? Switching to Swiss lorries? A respite break?) They were still there the next day.

There were storms in the evening again, but it was dry enough to walk to La Grotta for dinner. Nice to be back somewhere familiar with no scary Italian women checking our behaviour!

I finished packing, set alarm for 6 am, went to sleep. It has been a lovely week, and now I am ready to go home. I miss my animals and my books, and just being at home with the routine of days. (Sometimes I wonder if I am slightly autistic, I prefer routine.)

Sunday

Husband woke at me at 4am to say BA had cancelled our flight and put us on one Tuesday evening. I was so sleepy, I couldn’t think. There was opportunity to try to get on an earlier flight, but I needed to decide quickly. I was too sleepy. I didn’t have my diary, but thought I could probably stay if I could extend the animal care for an extra couple of days. But I wouldn’t know that until England was awake, which would be too late for quickly booking an earlier flight. Chicken-and-egg situation. And I was SO sleepy. Agreed I would get the allocated flight.

Then it was difficult to get back to sleep. Put a load of dirty clothes in washing machine (not enough socks for the extra days!) Sort of dozed until 7.

We left apartment and drove to Malpensa airport. Three hours, good run. Returned hire car.
Then we headed for the terminal, pushing cases that never roll straight, avoiding crowds of other passengers, into the noise of electronic announcments, flashing advertisement boards, flicking flight information. Just being there, bombarded with stale air and too many people makes me feel tense. Then, just as I braced for a difficult route towards the hotel, there it was. Before we even entered the main terminal, there was a sign, and electric doors opened before us, and whoosh, we were in an atmosphere of cool air and calm.

Checked into Sheraton Milan Airport (Husband had booked it as soon as he heard about our flight). It was very easy. I did not know such places existed. I shall seek airport hotels whenever we travel now.

Hotel is nice. Big. Quiet. We have access to the club lounge due to Husband-who-travels gold card. They have nice drinks and snacks. Our room is okay. Weather hot (35°) so we’re staying inside.

Went for a stroll around airport terminal. Husband ate a Pret. Looked at art in the foyer. This was really good—portraits made from buttons, drink cans, circuit boards. If you zoom in on the photos you will see how clever they are.

Dinner (small one) in the lounge (a bit crowded). It was okay (I wasn’t really very hungry). In room, phoned family.

Monday

I was really tired, so slept well.

We went to the exercise room, 20 minutes on a treadmill. Then breakfast . Fresh orange juice was €8, so we stayed with the free stuff! There was a trolley of take-away fruit, with little paper bags. Very nice touch. I had an apricot (nice).

We both worked in the morning, then went into terminal for Pret sandwich (never nice). Husband had online meetings all afternoon. These are always very loud, and (not unreasonably) he uses the only desk and chair. I was therefore somewhat dislocated. It was too hot for tourism. I went to the executive lounge (free with Husbands card) and tried to work. Tired, so switched to watching Bridgerton on my phone.

Then they brought in some food I had a glass of red wine. I sat there, Hebrew grammar book on the desk, watching Netflix on my phone, nibbling parmesan cheese dipped in honey and sipping red wine. Not too much to complain about. Now have a headache.

We checked in for flight tomorrow. I so want to go home…

Thanks for reading. I hope any unexpected problems that happen this week are easily resolved.

Take care.

Love, Anne x

PS. Things did not go as smoothly as hoped. I will write a post for next week!

Dear Member of Parliament

Posted by anneethompson

I have been reading the news lately with a sense of doom. Yet again, the Prime Minister has been ousted from office—not because they were found to be undertaking criminal activity, nor having an affair (anyone who can’t keep solemn promises to their spouses is unlikely to be trustworthy in power) nor were they found to be abusive in some way. Nope, yet again, a prime minister has been shoved aside because (in my opinion) other politicians (you) think they would like the job. Of course, this is all dressed up in rhetoric about it saving the country, about taking society in a different direction. But really? Do you honestly expect us to believe that the person who a few short months ago was being lauded as the best leader in the country has suddenly had a personality change? Perhaps has been converted to a dodgy ideology? Has been found to be secretly working for the enemy? (I’m not even sure who the enemy is anymore.)

Now, I should admit, I am not political. I have no interest in the political manipulation that is part of running for office. I want to stay at home with my animals and books, with occasional visits with family and friends. I am very happy to stay in my box and let those with ambition run the country. But please, can you get on with it? Can you do the job we voted for you to do and run the country, and not waste all this time and money and energy in looking out for your own career? Because it seem to me, that being a member of Parliament is just shorthand for ‘wants to be prime minister and will be constantly looking for an opportunity to criticise the current one.’

I am not suggesting that our previous leaders (and there have been a lot of them) were perfect. Mistakes were made. However, have our social-media-minds made it impossible to think in the long term? Do we look at ‘now,’ feel dissatisfied, and holler for a change in leadership? How does that allow anyone time to learn the job? How does that allow for long-term policies which might be unpleasant now but will in time improve the country? … improve the country…now that’s a thought!

Do any of you think about that any more? Do you think about how to make this small piece of land a good place to live? Or do you focus only on the popularity polls? Does it matter more that the voters like you, or that what you are doing is good? I understand this is a problem with democracy—that to be voted for you need to be popular, and if not voted for you can do nothing. But surely, this could be a problem limited to the times of a general election? Surely once we have voted for a party, that party might change focus and become engrossed in running the country? Could you, I wonder, forget about your own career for a few years until the next election, and allow the person who we all voted for, to run the country? We might change our minds—we might decide we made a bad choice—but could you, as a member of parliament, please show some loyalty, some stability, and support that person (in public if not in private) until the end of their term?

I find it disappointing when newspapers have phrases like ‘voted for the person most likely to ensure they keep their jobs at the next election.’ Is that truly the situation? Is that honestly why we have seen one leader after the next undermined by their own party (the party that voted them into the position in the first place).

I have a suggestion for you. Look at the policies of the person who you are voting to lead your party, and choose wisely. But then, after the voters have voted them into power, take some responsibility—stick with them, loyally supporting them until the end of their term. Keep your arguments for the private debates, not the newspapers. Even when they make mistakes (could you perhaps try and help them so the mistakes are fewer, or do you gleefully think that if they go down, you’ll go up, so mistakes are great?) Maybe we need to make this law. Maybe we need to say that unless there is a reason (health, criminality, indecency) we are all stuck with our freely-voted-for leader until the end of the term. Maybe that would change your focus, so that running the country is what matters.

So, Dear Member of Parliament, please could you think about it? About running the country, I mean, not enhancing your political career. Could you consider whether you want to SERVE the people who voted for you, and if not, then look for another job?

Hopefully yours,

Anne

P.S. To my foreign readers, who might have read that we didn’t like our leader because he didn’t support a certain war, please be assured that this is not true. I have heard many views from people who disliked our prime minister (although I personally thought he was okay) and not one of them has thought we should have entered a war which we considered to be ilegal. Just to correct the record.

walking with a stick while a dog holding a large stick and three cats on a forest path

A Bad Back

Posted by anneethompson

My back muscles gave out this week. It always surprises me how this affects everything (which shouldn’t really because obviously all other limbs hang off the back, so when your back is agony, so is lifting a fork or taking a step). If you’ve never suffered with a bad back, you probably don’t fully appreciate what I’m saying (and everyone who has had a bad back will be nodding along in sympathy!)

It’s very annoying, and very bad timing. I was planting sunflower seeds, and I didn’t feel anything aching, so I guess I wasn’t being particularly protective of my back (which is an on-going weakness). I stood up and ‘click’ something snapped. (Well, it didn’t snap, but it felt like it!) I was at the far side of the field, without a phone, and I wondered how I would get back to the house. Mad Meg was not helpful, rushing round with a log and trying to entice me to throw sticks for her. Nor were the cats, who saw me walking (hobbling) slowly and came to enquire whether I would like to stroke them, rubbing against my legs and jumping on my feet. I made it back to the house and told Husband he would have to sort the geese and cook dinner.

The timing was terrible—the day before Husband left for Egypt on a work trip. He did offer to stay at home, but his trip looked fun, and I knew I could manage, so I told him to go. I took ibuprofen (marvellous drug) and rested, hoping and praying that it would be better in the morning. It wasn’t. Which meant I had to cancel tea with my daughter-in-law, which has been a treat in the diary I have been looking forward to. Illness is rarely convenient, life is often disappointing.

I am currently managing, whilst being in pain most of the time. I know it will pass, it’s only muscles/ligaments I think, because if I rest and take Nurofen it starts to improve, and when I move (the animals and me still have to eat) then it stiffens up again. I am existing with life at a new level. If I drop something I look at it, lying unhelpfully on the floor, knowing it will stay there for a week. (It’s a little like being 9 months pregnant, when so much of life is beyond reach.) If I put on clothes inside out, they stay that way because it’s too much effort to change them. Drying after a shower takes on a whole new logistical procedure. I can manage slippers and wellies, shoes are beyond me. I found a nice fat stick in the garden, and now use it to walk to feed the animals. I hobble slowly, like an old woman. Meg bounces along next to me. I can’t take her for a walk, but she seems happy enough just following me around, and she sleeps in my room when Husband is away, so she has become my (rather smelly) shadow. Some furniture (the comfortable kind) is no longer possible—I use the upright chairs to avoid getting stuck.

The thing is, when life goes wrong (and in my experience it often does) then we have to cope with bitter disappointment, and then get on with solving the new problem. I appreciate my back in a whole new way, and I realise that in our modern world of pain killers and dishwashers (but only the top shelf—the bottom shelf is too low!) even a bad back is not so bad. I am very grateful this didn’t happen when I was in Edinburgh for my review, or when travelling. This week I can cope. One day, we will all be old, or ill, and have to adjust to a new way of doing things, perhaps wearing inside-out clothes or eating less well because it’s too difficult to cook. That is life. It has some difficult times, and we just have to get on with it. Perhaps illness is a way to practise, so that when we get to that stage in life we know to live in the moment, to focus on the good things, to not let the pain dominate.

I hope you are currently pain free. Thanks for reading.
Take care.
Love, Anne x

Anne E Thompson

Author

Author: anneethompson

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A Week in the Italian Alps

Dear Member of Parliament

A Bad Back

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A Week in the Italian Alps

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