Tattoos: Art? Or a pain in the arse?

I am a great fan of the English language, and language in general, and enjoy finding out how words and phrases are linked, how they evolved and their counterparts in other languages. Equally interesting, I find the use of English by foreigners a source of much smug chuckling, over spellings and grammar. That is not to say that native English speakers don’t make mistakes, like the ‘food now been served’ notice outside a pub close to where I work.

When we lived in Warsaw, I would find the sports footwear shop Athlete’s Foot highly amusing every time I went past it. Childish humour, but very satisfying. So it was with great delight that I spotted this sign outside a Katowice tattooists. I stared in disbelief, mouth open, at the first sight of the sign and was even more aghast at finding out they have not one, but two shops in the town centre. Surely someone understands enough to explain to them. When Agnieszka translated for a friend, the friend’s face registered a kind of shocked laughter.

I can only shudder at where they would offer to pierce...

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (part two)...

On Monday of this week it started to snow. There had been a dusting earlier, just before New Year, but Monday night's fall was prolonged and heavy. We were woken around 6.30 by the sound of spade scraping on tarmac and a quick look out the window showed a taxi driver stuck outside the house. He was gamely attacking the six or seven inches of snow that had fallen but, as Agnieszka pointed out, he should have been clearing the snow, not trying to remove the road surface. Every so often he would get back in his car, rev a little, skid a bit, then get out and start further pointless digging. Anyone other than a taxi driver and I may have gone out, but as they know all there is to know about driving, I left him to it.

As everyone knows, more than a third of an inch of snow = day off. I had rung in by 8am and then wandered out with Agnieszka as she went to get a bus. First, putting their customers first as usual, had suspended all services. Later in the day, when they resumed, they weren't using Bolton bus station as it was snowbound. I know this is an outrageous thing to say but, why weren't the drivers clearing it in the morning? I mean, they couldn't go anywhere could they?

So with both of us off we had a mid-week fried breakfast and then trundled off into the park for a walk. I love the silence of the snow, everything seems to still, peaceful and untouched. That is, until we reached Moses Gate ponds where a selection of Farnworth's (and probably Bolton's) finest had removed some large road signs, bent one edge and were using them as sledges. Some had even gone to the trouble of punching holes and fitting ropes to make them look more streamlined.

We walked back along the main road. No plough had been down here. In fact, there were no signs of any activity on the part of Bolton Council to clear anything. We saw no gritter, no council staff, nothing. It is as if our ability to deal with a problem suddenly evaporates when the snow arrives. Everyone is helpless and, it has to be said, giddy. I think it was summed up by a comment on an idiot board, sorry, online forum. It said, roughly, 'why can't we cope when countries that have snow regularly can?' As far as I can see, the answer to that is in the question: other countries cope because they get this kind of weather every year. We don't. The last time it snowed like this was, according to the Guardian, 1982. So it is no wonder we don't invest in snowploughs and blowers, shovels and grit. If everyone did a little, then all would be well, but I noticed on our street, I am the only one to clear the front of the house.

Anyway, enough moaning. Here are some photos.

The back yard, with the covered chicken run and hut on the left-hand side.

Me, sure I'd left the car outside the house.

Oh, there it is.

Market Street, Farnworth at 9am on Tuesday. It would still be like this at 5pm.

Hungry swans on the pond at Moses Gate park. Other photos in this post were also taken in the park, thanks to Agnieszka for being patient and taking them while I ran around like a loon.

Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow (part one)...

Under orders from tesciowa we made sure we booked flights early in 2009 so we could go to Katowice for Christmas. We bought them in March for £200. By October the same tickets were up to £500 - half the price they were in 2008 - and they stayed around this level. So why so expensive last year? Maybe the stories about lots of Poles returning home are true and easyJet are finding it more difficult to sell seats. I don't really care, we still got our flights at a good price and it was lovely to arrive in Kraków and hear the pilot say it was minus twelve degrees outside. The looks on the faces of the all-girls school choir were priceless, as was their disbelief when they were expected to cram, suitcases and all, on to the bus to the staion.

From tesciowa's flat on the tenth floor all was clear, crisp and white and we felt sure it would last until Christmas. This meant, unfortunately, that the game of mini-golf was out. Here is the course:

It's been a couple of years since we were here for Christmas dinner proper and I had forgotten just how much food you're expected to eat and enjoy. We had six courses: barszcz, pierogi, cabbage and mushrooms, pasta with poppy seeds, compote and one other I've forgotten. There was no way I could finish it all. This over-indulging continued for the next three days, with course after course being produced from a kitchen the size of a postage stamp. Every time one of the dogs moved there was a rush to see if they wanted to go out for a walk, to get abit of exercise to work off a few calories. At one point, even the dogs got fed up going out and refused to move from their comfy places. It was phenomenal and, at times, painful. It would've been nice to see more of Alicja and less of the food but...

This isn't Christmas dinner, this was the breakfast the day after...

Although Christmas Day in England was, I am told, white, there was no hint of snow in Poland. What there was disappeared along with the sub-zero temperatures and we basked in a balmy five degrees for the best part of a week. We went to Warsaw on the Sunday as we had bank stuff to do and on the Monday, as we tramped around from bank to town hall to court (doing what could and should be done far quicker and more easily online), we were constantly ploughing through snowflakes.

Although it had stopped for our journey back to Katowice, on the Wednesday morning when we got up to go to the airport, it had started again with a vengeance. We waited for the bus, which arrived on time, on this street, and there will be more about snowy roads in a later post.

We were in town on time, on the train on time, at the airport on time. The flight left on time. Compare this to the 6mm (half an inch in old money) of snow that fell the weekend we left which closed several airports for a couple of days, leaving many irate Poles stranded in the UK for Christmas. From what we saw on the television, they weren't impressed at having to spend their festive season stuck at an airport.

Finally, as we come from different cultures and celebrate Christmas in slightly different ways, we find we adopt certain characteristics from each other's culture. Being in Poland I embrace the quiet, family-orientated Christmas, where the emphasis is on a nice meal with close family. However, as I am English I take some of our traditions abroad. Normally this is just crackers for the table (the ones with hats, mottoes and crappy jokes) but this year Agnieszka made a traditional English Christmas cake, although she did substitute the 'dead flies' (currants, raisins and sultanas) for 'proper' fruit like figs, dates and cranberries. We took icing sugar and marzipan and decorated the cake while we were there.

With all belated best wishes for the Christmas season and good luck for the New Year 2010!

Wszystkiego najlepszego!

Pre-Christmas allotment...

As I write this the snow is piled high outside and all over the north west people are grumbling: about blocked and slippy paths; about roads with no grit and councils with no idea; about having to take flexi instead of being paid to stay at home. So it is with a touch of embarrassment that I post these photos from the allotment during what was described as 'possibly the worst snow fall of the winter' back in December. How little they knew.

Here are our winter onions, just poking through the dusting:

The leeks that continue to provide tasty leek and potato soup:

And one of the hives, where inside the bees should be snug and warm. It's too cold to check so I have to hope they're ok.

In a bit of a spin...

One of the problems, I find, with a blog is that sometimes nothing happens for ages and then a load of things happen at once and you end up with a backlog of things to write about. This has happened since my last post in December so I have decided to try and do things in a chronological order so that it makes sense, to me at least.

A week or two before Christmas we travelled up to Darwen, along Agnieszka's favourite satanic route, the A666, to visit the mid-Lancs Guild of Weavers Spinners and Dyers. It was there, amid the rustle of polyester and the occasional high-pitched whine of a hearing aid, that we met a very nice group of people (several with Polish conections) who were busying themselves with a variety of crafts: knitting, crochet, tatting, spinning, weaving, rag-rugging and so on. By not limiting themselves to just the spinning, weaving and dying aspects, the group was able to incorporate enough members to keep going. They were a lively crowd, and very friendly, unlike the Knitting Nora's and their cliquey clacking. As well as being called 'young man' and 'flower' I learnt how to properly card my lumpy fleece and spin it onto my spindle. Agnieszka was shown a quick way of tatting and we're both looking forward to going back in January. Until then, I have two fleeces to turn from smelly lumps of wool into yarn ready for plying...

The tools I use, from top: raw fleece from the Shetland sheep I sheared last summer; drop spindle; rolags ready for spinning; carding brushes.