The someone in question is my beloved sister, Mary, who is busy farm-sitting at the moment. Apparently, Mary misplaced her reading glasses three weeks ago and has been struggling on without them ever since (luckily she discovered that there is such a thing as Kindle Reader so she managed to read “Flowers for Algernon” for bookclub last Sunday after all).

Happily, Lizzie’s little bundle of joy arrived this afternoon at fourteen minutes past five and all is well (you probably know by now that Liz is my niece who has been in hospital for nearly two weeks awaiting the arrival of her baby girl). Mary received the news by text, just as I did, and I called to discuss the happy event. Lizzie’s sister Katie answered the phone.

“Hi Sally,” she greeted, “in case you’re wondering, I’m on Mum’s phone to make good the text she sent to Martin. Mum thought she had written ‘Wonderful news!’ to the proud parents but when I checked it actually read, ‘Wunderberg Nasty elf!'”

What about a naughty elf? Click below.

My regular blog readers will no doubt remember my last post, The Men in Orange (written 12.9.14), in which I told of the men who work on the rebuilding of our sea wall at Dawlish, and how they all wear bright orange overalls. About an hour after posting my blog entry I noticed that there were several visits to my site from folk who live across the Irish Sea; it wasn’t until then that I had considered the similitude between my title and the Orangemen of Ulster. I imagined the disappointment of those who had checked the Internet to find out more about Orangemen only to find my praise of the men in orange overalls; likewise, I considered the many keen historians around the world who may have been hopeful that I was referring to the Orange, as in William and Mary of Orange (the title traditionally granted to Dutch monarchs); and I even spared a thought for the few old television commercial buffs who may have been expecting to read about the little men dressed in orange rubber and orange gloves with which they used to Tango unsuspecting victims and turn them orange. My apologies to everyone for the perhaps misleading title.

Even stranger still was the eerie coincidence of the death of the Reverend Ian Paisley, Unionist politician and church leader in Northern Ireland, and “an Orangeman, of an especially deep hue” (according to journalist Sean O’Grady), on the same day that my blog was written.

Below are some photographs and information for the disappointed visitors.

William III of England

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

William III
William III by Sir Godfrey Kneller
Prince of Orange
Reign	4 November 1650[1] – 8 March 1702
Predecessor	William II
Successor	John William Friso
Stadtholder of Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht, Gelderland and Overijssel
Reign	July 1672 – 8 March 1702
Predecessor	William II
Successor	William IV
King of England, Scotland and Ireland(more …)
Reign	13 February 1689 – 8 March 1702
Coronation	11 April 1689
Predecessor	James II & VII
Successor	Anne
Co-monarch	Mary II
Spouse	Mary II of England
House	House of Orange-Nassau
Father	William II, Prince of Orange
Mother	Mary, Princess Royal
Born	4 November 1650 [N.S.: 14 November 1650][1] Binnenhof, The Hague
Died	8 March 1702 (aged 51) [N.S.: 19 March 1702] Kensington Palace, London
Burial	Westminster Abbey, London
Signature
Religion	Protestantism

William III (Dutch: Willem III; 4 November 1650 – 8 March 1702)^[1] was a sovereign Prince of Orange of the House of Orange-Nassauby birth. From 1672, he governed as Stadtholder William III of Orange (Dutch: Willem III van Oranje) over Holland, Zeeland, Utrecht,Gelderland, and Overijssel of the Dutch Republic. From 1689 he reigned as William III over England and Ireland; it is a coincidence that his regnal number (III) was the same for both Orange and England. As King of Scotland, he is known as William II.^[2] He is informally known by sections of the population in Northern Ireland and Scotland as “King Billy“.^[3] In what became known as the “Glorious Revolution“, on 5 November 1688, William invaded England in an action that ultimately deposed King James II and won him the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland. In the British Isles, William ruled jointly with his wife, Mary II, until her death on 28 December 1694. The period of their joint reign is often referred to as “William and Mary“.

A Protestant, William participated in several wars against the powerful Catholic king of France, Louis XIV, in coalition with Protestant and Catholic powers in Europe. Many Protestants heralded him as a champion of their faith. Largely because of that reputation, William was able to take the British crowns when many were fearful of a revival of Catholicism under James. William’s victory over James at theBattle of the Boyne in 1690 is still commemorated by the Orange Order. His reign marked the beginning of the transition from the personal rule of the Stuarts to the more Parliament-centred rule of the House of Hanover.

Well I’m sure there must be more handsome men in the world than Brad Pitt but he entered my mind first when the subject arose at bookclub last Sunday. We were having afternoon tea under the gazebo in Mary’s garden at the time; the other bookworms were tucking into scones with jam and cream or cheese scones with butter whilst I dipped carrot sticks into just a smidgen of humus (which must be fattening because it tastes nice!). I’m not sure who began the conversation on male attractiveness but I do recall Diana, who was sat next to me, pausing to bite into a lovely looking buttery scone while considering her answer. Unfortunately, I couldn’t comment on Diana’s favourite handsome hero because I didn’t recognise the name, but I’m sure she has good taste (judging by that delicious-looking scone she was eating).

“Who do you think is the most handsome man Sally?” our gorgeous bookclub leader leaned back to look me square in the face.

Now Reuben isn’t exactly a plain man himself; in fact, had I been in flirty mode I might have hinted that his poetic good looks were in the running, but I held back.

“Brad Pitt,” I answered without hesitation.

The gasps of agreement amongst the females assembled around the table possibly drowned out any rumble of dissent from the males.

“Harrison Ford is attractive, and Clint Eastwood is handsome despite his age,” I continued, still trying to think of all my favourites in the handsome stakes.

“I bet you like manly men,” suggested Reuben who is tall and muscular yet refined and long-haired.

“Oh, like Arnold Schwarzenegger? Yes, he’s alright and quite a good actor these days,” I responded (Chris and I watched “Terminator 3” last week and very much enjoyed it).

Reuben nodded his handsome head and smiled.

“Did you know that Arnold Schwarzenegger is only about five feet two inches tall?” Robin (maximum 5’9″) piped up from the other side of the table.

“Nonsense,” I said, “he’s over six feet tall – probably around six feet two.” (I have a good eye for things like that.)

“I agree with Sally,” Reuben said in his delightful voice.

“But he’s shorter than Kate Bush (Robin loves Kate Bush)!” Robin stuck to his guns.

“He’s one hundred and eighty-eight centimetres – that’s over six feet”, concluded Reuben, after checking on his iphone.

“My hero is Nicholas Cage,” said Robin.

“But he’s not handsome, and he’s a bit wooden,” I argued.

“I loved ‘Captain Corelli’s Mandolin’, but he was a bit wooden,” conceded Diana.

“He may be a bit wooden in some films – depending on the length of his hair – but, as a general rule, when his hair is short he is brilliant and manly,” Robin contended.

“I expect he’s a very nice person,” I added, not wishing to hurt the feelings of either Robin or Nicolas Cage.

That was last Sunday. Oh, and we also discussed “Flowers for Algernon” by Daniel Keyes – a wonderful and thought provoking book in the Science Fiction genre.

This morning I awoke earlier than usual and ran upstairs to the bathroom to check my weight on the scales (5 pounds lost over all but no change this morning, in case you’re interested). I was rather surprised to find Chris shaving his face in the bath.

“You are up nice and early,” his face lit up.

“What’s nice about that?” I answered grumpily (never too keen on talking first thing – besides there seemed to me to be an inference that I usually get up too late).

Chris got the hint and kept quiet.

“I wonder if Brad Pitt shaves in the bath?” I asked a tad sneeringly.

Then I remembered that Brad now sports a beard (a slightly grey one at that). I’m not too keen on beards… But I’ll have to let him off – he is handsome. I’m still having a chuckle to myself.

I picked up Lizzie’s youngest three from school again today, brought them back to my place for ice-cream, drinks and snacks, and then off in the car to Exeter in order to see their mum in hospital (still no appearance of baby Rosie… or is she going to be an Isabella, Emily or Dolly?). To be honest with you, I really enjoy having the children with me on our own (not that I’m after the full-time job). I feel I’m getting to know them better – stuck in the car together what else can we do but talk?

Hubba Bubba (alias Daniel), being the eldest of the three, sits in the front passenger seat of our big French car with a dash- board like the Star-ship Enterprise, while Fairy Mary and Sporty Lotte (Charlotte) sit, with the arm rest between them, in the spacious back seat.

We were all having a nice chat about sleep-walking (as you do) and it transpired that Hubba is in the habit of such perambulations; and Sporty Lotte thinks she, too, might be a sleep-walker because she sometimes goes into her parents’ bedroom in the middle of the night and wakes them up! I felt rather chuffed when Hubba began to tell me that he had had a dream about Chris and me (fancy that!). Apparently, in the dream Chris and I owned a bakery and Hubba called in for a cake or doughnut. Chris disappeared into a room at the back and didn’t come back. Fearing that something was amiss, Hubba and I went looking for Chris only to find that a sinister transformation had taken place and Chris had turned into a vampire bat! Hubba couldn’t remember what happened next but he told me that whenever he dies in his dreams he is always relieved to discover that a message comes up – “Game Over”.

On the ward a little later Sporty Lotte announced that she had been born on a Wednesday. Now whenever someone says they were born a particular day somebody else always recites the nineteenth century rhyme that begins with “Monday’s child is fair of face…” My niece did the honours and stopped at “Wednesday’s child is full of woe”.

“Oh Charlotte,” Lizzie had a worried look on her face, “Wednesday’s child is full of woe – do you mind being full of woe?”

“No,” Sporty Lotte (six years old) beamed, “when I was playing basketball and football the other day Aunty Sally said ‘Whoa!'”

Whoa! What wit!

And for those of you who have trouble remembering the rhyme…

Monday’s child is fair of face,
Tuesday’s child is full of grace,
Wednesday’s child is full of woe,
Thursday’s child has far to go,
Friday’s child is loving and giving,
Saturday’s child works hard for a living,
But the child who is born on the Sabbath day,
Is lucky and happy and good and gay.