Birthday Fallout

Another lovely photo

I have permission to let you all read the email SIL sent me yesterday, after she'd read both my post and your comments - I think it was rather special...

My goodness, the comments on your blog are blowing me away! Beauty???? I don't think so! But very, very flattering for an old girl, nonetheless.

Yes, I really was an anxious young girl because I'd had such a rough time with my father dying suddenly (in South Africa) just a couple of years before that picture was taken, and being uprooted 3 months later from everything I ever knew and taken to another country (Holland) where I arrived with NOTHING at all as the only suitcase with ALL my belongings was lost in transit. Then being sent to yet another country (England) to continue my education in yet another language. It was quite a lot for an eighteen-year-old to experience, and still stay relatively balanced and optimistic. I find it amazing that I look so serene in that picture when emotionally I was in turmoil.

'Tell that to the youngsters these days and they won't believe you . . . etc.' 

I couldn't better a story like that today.

Late Again!

January the twenty eighth is/was* my sister-in-law's birthday. By some quirk of my stupid mind, even as I started to type this I wrote 'February', and part of me can't get out of this habit of picking the wrong month. I am full of remorse, and in a little while, I will telephone her in far off New Zealand to grovel, grovel. But I have been thinking about her all day today, and have been looking through my brother's photos that he took of her, way back when the world was young.

I think I have found the most beautiful.  So as a tribute to her for her birthday, and to my brother for his life long skill behind a camera, here she is.

With love and best wishes for another year SIL, from forgetful me...

* Explanation for Friko - 28th  it IS her birthday today in England, but WAS her birthday yesterday in New Zealand!!

A Day Down A Rabbit Hole?

And why not, my friends? Having had it brought to my attention here and here, that Lewis Carroll was born on  27 January in 1832, I thought I should spread this news today - as well as a little nonsense - in honour of the occasion. (Thanks go to Fairy Hedgehog, of course, for hosting the event...)

And who knows what you might be tempted to write yourselves as a result?

After little or no consideration on my part, I've let my fingers do the walking, in order to provide something in keeping with his quirky ideas.

The urge to write is upon me. It's hanging round my shoulders at this very moment, but more like a boa constrictor than a feather one, squeezing the words out the way toothpaste, paint or tomato puree may be forced from a tube...

Why not join in the fun and see what you can squeedge into a comment - or a post of your own?
(Now I can see some of you scurrying off like The White Rabbit, peering at your pocket watches, as you mutter "I'm late, I'm late! Oh, my ears and whiskers!" Or some such exclamations...)
.
In Memory Of...

Lewis Carrol had some fun
writing as he did...
I think I'll let a poem hatch
by lifting up the lid
of my imagination,
(Did someone say "Splendid!?")

But rather than a rabbit
diving down a hole,
I see a sort of Jumping Jack
climbing up a pole,
a-losing all his arms and legs
and yelling "Make me whole!"

A Jack Inside a Box, I know
is not a new idea,
but one that has no arms or legs
is surely rather queer?
I bet he'll be the only one
you'll come across this year!

"Jack be nimble, Jack be quick"-
now there's another thought,
for if he had no arms or legs
how could he be taught
to jump out of that pesky box
in the way he aught?

Monday, Bloody Monday!

Yep, we all get 'em from time to time, don't we? Today it was my turn. On Sunday evening, I discovered I had yellow spots on my tonsils - decorative maybe, but not likely to go away without medical intervention. As there were no doctors appointments for anything but emergencies, I turned up to the optimistically named 'walk-in clinic'. Although the walking in is the easy part. The difficulty is sitting there for 90 minutes waiting to see a Doctor.

However, It gave me a chance to study some foibles of mankind. One family group consisted of six assorted adults and one baby. Were they hoping for a discount on group bookings, I wonder?

I silently awarded one of the lads my prize-of the-day for his outfit - obligatory jeans and trainers, plus a shabby nylon blouson, were nothing unusual. But his headgear, which he wore all the time despite the central heating,was something else! I could hardly take my eyes from his scarlet tartan trapper hat, thickly lined with dark grey, synthetic fur. From the back view it looked as though he had headphones on...
Sartorial elegance, or what?

Flight Of Fancy

Moondust

From her tower, the Fairy flew

to catch some early morning dew,

before the moon in all her glory

had time to tell a sunnier story,

as the day began to break,

and the world became awake.

 Monday's Child supplied the original 1930's illustration by Ann Anderson -  thanks bkm! I enjoyed waving my magic wand over the picture...

Brevity

We writers often have a tendency to use two words where one would do, so it is good training to occasionally limit our output! In the tradition of Stony River and and Mr Knowitall, Monkey Man is asking us to limit ourselves to 160 characters to get a particular point across.
This Sunday, he chose a picture of a gavel, but I preferred to exchange it for a hammer. Then, being awkward, I ignored his subject of 'Justice'...sorry! Here's my 160 off-spin offering.

When Joe said he wanted to get hammered, this was not the picture that sprang to mind. His thoughts were more liquid, after his girl friend, Patsy, dumped him.

No Prizes For Guessing

...Who this gentleman was...









It looks as though Dad started drawing at the top, then ran out of page, by the time he arrived at the feet - I know the feeling well...It's not always easy to judge the position of the finished subject when your pencil first hits the paper!

For any newcomers to Napple Notes, it is one of a series of pencil sketches my Dad did, and I've been linking them to Kat and Alan's Sepia Saturday, where there are always more intriguing images to beguile us.

N.B. I've just checked - Mahatma Gandhi made an official visit to England in 1931, which is no doubt when my Dad drew this picture.

Spoilt For Choice

Abroad in Blogland at the moment are prompts from Susan, bkm, Willow and TFE, to name but a few, any one of which can stir a writer into action.
And then there's me. All of a sudden, the Jinksy devilry takes over, and I can't wait to play with their pictures, or take the mickey out of their suggested ideas, which is probably not what any of them intended!
However, I do believe the one that pleased my warped sense of humour this morning, was Willow's picture of three demure ladies in the snow, their shapeless, long garments making them look like dressed snowmen.
But I liked this version best, for Arcsoft Studio 6 has turned them into something from Harry Potter Land.

They have become three School Inspectors, travelling to Hogwart's under cover of darkness, wearing their invisibility cloaks, wands at the ready!

Meanwhile, in the slightly more sensible part of my brain, the following sonnet came into being yesterday, after a long winded prompt for this week's Poetry Bus set me off on another tack. You pays yer money and you takes yer choice today, folks...



Stardust 

I exist inside my head; my eyes
turn their camera lens onto the world
about me. Eventually, to my surprise
the barriers melt. I am unfurled
like a ribbon caught upon the breeze,
until I dip and twirl around and through
every living thing. I am at ease
with this unity, this different view
causes no concern. I disappear
into a universe where time and space
coalesce about an Inner Sphere
which holds us in molecular embrace.

Pulsating energy is all we are,
mere remnants of a long forgotten star...

P.S. There's another version of my Magpie, Picture and Poem, over at Alias Jinksy.

It Had To Happen!

After yet another post of mine over on Fridge Soup, about those bloggers who enable Comment Moderation because they object to Spam or Crank Comments, what should turn up on my Alias Jinsky Blog this morning, but one such entry.

It came from a somewhat embittered male who decided to broadcast details of his strange blog, where he was urging everyone to 'Boycott American Women'.  Would you believe it?! I imagine there may be one or two American Males who would vigorously oppose his views.

I may have been more inclined to take time to listen to his tale of woe, if he had been brave enough to allow comments to be made on his posts - no such luck. So I hope he enjoys his solitary ranting into the silence of a Blogworld which will never be able to offer him a chance of help.

I would suggest he needs to learn how to cope better with his feelings, until he can find a point of balance within himself, but as he chooses to withhold both his identity and email address, he is liable to remain in his unhappy state of self inflicted purgatory for all time.

New Discovery For Today!

Thanks to a comment left on Alias Jinksy just now, by one Catfish Tales, I looked for an example of an Erhu being played, as I'd never heard the name of this instrument before, although I recognise its sound. But this piece, entitled "Predestined Relationship" so captivated my ears, I had to share it with you all! Enjoy!

The Age Of Chivalry Is Dead

But not all of it!   For A DELIGHTFUL DEMONSTRATION of courtly behaviour, before you read my waffling, PLEASE click on Dr FTSE's Spoon in my right hand side bar! There's a Right Royal Tale waiting to be enjoyed on the other side of the logo!

We all know the trials and tribulations of waiting in a long queue at the supermarket checkout, but at the weekend, I thought my luck was in. I only had a few items in my basket, so the quick serve desks near the exit were just what I needed. There were two, on opposite sides of the aisle, and as I approached, there was a customer being served at each, plus two gentleman waiting, who had formed a 'mini-queue' centrally, between them.

As I studied clues, and weighed up which desk would be free by my turn, the right one cleared, and First Gentleman stepped up to it.
Now it was a race against time. Would the Old Lady at the left counter fumble with her purse for a longer time than First Gentleman with his wallet?
(Second Gentleman was still standing bang center in the aisle, to make sure he could dive towards the next free cashier. I shall now call him SG, for brevity.)

After due consideration, I decided the Old Lady, despite fumbling, would be next to exit, so, assuming SG would take her place, I moved across towards the right hand till.
But the stentorian voice of  said SG boomed "Do you mind?" as he raised quizzical eyebrows at me, and nodded to each desk in turn so that I couldn't mistake his meaning. I was proud of my instant reply. With a sweet smile, I looked him straight in the eye and spoke in my best soothing voice.

" The lady to our left is just paying for her groceries, and will be finished before the gentleman on the right. I realise you are next in line, that's why I was moving across to the other desk, because it will clear later."

"Lets just wait and see, shall we?"

His words boomed at me again, as if he were a schoolmaster abrading a wayward pupil. Still smiling sweetly, I halted in my tracks, and remained center aisle to prove I was not intending to 'queue jump', while I prayed fervently to all the powers that be for  my prediction to come true! It did! I resisted the urge to poke my tongue out at SG  and say "I told you so! Perhaps I should have avoided using the word Gentleman...

Look Behind You!

Did somebody mention Pantos? Well, actually, in a kind of way, Blogpal bkmackenzie did with her choice of illustration for her Monday's Child blog, where she encourages us to write poems for kiddywinks. This illustration by one Felix Lorioux made the Jinksy mind go off at somewhat of a tangent, but as it's a dull and dismal Monday, perhaps readers may enjoy a bit of nonsense to start the week with a smile.

Treading The Boards

or

An Actor's Dilemma

Every year at Christmas

the local drama club

put on a different panto.

Aye, and there's the rub!

The members fight for glory,

all wanting the best part-

the most to say -

best clothes to wear -

it make producers tear their hair!

Last year they picked on Puss in Boots

who needs no introduction.

I tell you, no expense was spared

on this lavish production.

The lines were learned,

the costumes made.

Then, on dress rehearsal night

an unexpected hang up

left them in a plight.

Dick Whittington discovered,

as he puffed on a cheroot.

that poor old Tom, the doughty Puss,

was too big for his boots!     

How they cut him down to size

is quite another tale,

on which I'll let you ponder,

as I quaff a pint of ale!

Are They Fading Already?

I wonder how many have been made - and started to shrink into oblivion already? Perhaps, like me, you don't make any to begin with! That way, no making no breaking, eh? The word resolution is much more interesting if you think of it as meaning resolving something, finding a solution, not in the sense of being resolute and sticking to an impossible dream of...what? Stopping smoking? Losing weight? Getting fit? I wouldn't mind betting these are at the top of many peoples' lists of notorious New Year Resolutions.

Somehow, today was not a day for posting more baby clothes memorabilia. Instead I had a 'playtime' afternoon, producing the Shrinking Resolutions graphic, to give me a reason to add this passing thought:-

With New Year comes Resolution,

the past is washed away.
What is left after these ablutions?
It may be hard to say...
Determination?
That has flown.
Procrastination wins!
And so the Resolution
is back where it beginned!

Unbumped

I thought it only fair, in the natural course of things, to Divulge the Bulge in Person, after all these recent references to It...Her! (Him came three years later, but I doubt there are any corresponding Bump Pics available for this second time around.)
Be that as it may, here's the finished article, complete with the bootees which had been knitted earlier. Both items demonstrate how I like to finish what I start.

It may appear I have her bundled up to the Nth degree in a voluminous blanket of some sort. Wrong. She is actually dressed in one of the long Viyella nightgowns I made for her, with an undergarment I only knew of as a 'bed', according to my Mum.

This, also Viyella (a kind of flannelette), was a sleeveless, wrap around contraption which tied with tapes. It crossed over at the front, and one tape from the underneath section, slotted through an opening below the opposite armhole, and wound round to the back, where it tied with its twin tape which had sprouted at the edge of the overlapping crossover section, by the other armhole.

I still have one of these nighties, but not sure about a 'bed', as that may have been relegated to dolls' clothes duties back in the dim and distant past. Now, I can see me needing to go a-ferreting armed with a camera, again. Watch this space for revelations as to what babies wore before Babygrows took over the planet.

P.S. And this was what a 'bed' looked like, in diagramatic form for those who found the word description peculiar! >>>>>>

OK, You Can Laugh

My bump in the previous post progressed apace; Bro's photographic penchant also. It's unfortunate that I happened to be sitting in an arm chair with my legs protruding towards him when he took this picture, as here's me, captured for ever with elephantine legs. As I say, you can laugh - I do!

But the sixties print on my curtains of the day is too good for me to consign the snap to obscurity, simply becuse I look weird in it. I loved those curtains, with their flashes of turquoise and yellow amongst the more sombre tones, and they served us well for over twenty years.

And Bump, now she's here, is still going strong, too, bless her, though she's way beyond her twenty years milestone! As we are now fast approaching another weekend, I shall link this to Alan and Kat's Sepia Saturday blog, for I think my Bro's talent with cameras (of which he now has a sizeable collection, I don't doubt) should be applauded.


P.S. Any knitter will tell you I was KNITTING - to crochet, my hands would be in a totally different position! OK now, RWP?

And Here We All Were!

 

And now you can get an idea of how much washing up there must have been! Because this is a coloured photo, I had it tucked into a different folder, and only realised a few moments ago, it had to have been taken on the same occasion as the black and white shot I posted yesterday. 

As usual with such family gatherings, there were always 'cliques' that formed, who 'did their own thing'.

Big Boys

 

Little Boys

And Girls of All Ages!

Mum and Dad's kitchen may have been small, but the large living room in these pictures more than made up for it. This bay window was level with the treetops of the park which spread its beauty before us on the opposite side of the road. 

As it was dark outside (I think that could be the moon in the top left frame?) my earlier guess at late summer has to be wrong, it must have been well into Autumn, but I can pinpoint the year as 1967, for I had a bump which would eventually emerge as No.1 daughter on the first day of December! 

This explains why I am sitting with my feet in a bowl of water, under the table, prior to some kind soul cutting my toenails which were becoming increasingly beyond my reach. What else are families for?!

The coloured photo shows you my bearded brother in the back row, who for once got in front of a camera instead of behind, and the clicking finger in this case was supplied by the wiper-upper of yesterday. My Dad, as a chef, was busy feeding other mouths elsewhere, and wouldn't have been able to join  us until about nine o'clock. A long journey on ferry and bus would finally deliver him home from Gosport at the end of his shift in the Officer's Mess at St George's Barracks. What a trouper- though never a trooper!

After The Party?

My Bro was ever a one for taking Candid Camera, unposed photographs, which are now proving to be true snatches of history! How's this for a Sepia Saturday special?  I've just come across it in a file of old shots he emailed me earlier this year, and you can see my Mum and my cousin's husband as washer-upper and wiper-upper after some family get together, somewhen during the 60's.

The tiny kitchen was in my parent's flat, and the picture is full of details that make it obvious it's from a bygone age. Look at that Ascot water heater, and the brass tap over the big, Butler sink!

It must have been late summer, early autumn, I guess, looking at the row of tomatoes across the window frame, put there to ripen in the sun, no doubt. The sprightly lettuce in the bottom right hand corner of the picture would suggest a touch of over catering, if there was this much left over?! It's dish is standing on the drop down, enamelled flap of a traditional kitchen cupboard of the day - the top cupboard door of which is showing slightly ajar above it. That, and the cupboard in its base, was the only storage available. Large weekly shopping orders were unheard of - catering was mostly done on a 'buy it daily and use it' system - apart from goods which could be stored in the refrigerator that you can see to the left of the sink.

What a far cry from the fitted kitchens many people enjoy today, with their mod cons and matching units!

DD/MM/YYYY

Oh One, Oh One, Two Oh One One!
That's the date today...
and it looks funny written down
in words, this kind of way!

But now we have to use it
until the day is through -
and then it will be time to change
until Oh One's Oh Two!

Unless, of course, you live elsewhere
and use a different format -
in which case, you will never place
your tootsies on my doormat...

'til you decide to journey
and travel to UK
where we always write our dates
starting with the day...

Never Too Late To Learn Something New

Even on the last day of the year, it's possible to accumulate information about another poetic form - This one is apparently called a Shadorma, consisting of six lines with the syllable count of 3/5/3/3/7/5. 

Apologies to the Blogger whose name I've now forgotten, (but remembered again- Hedgewitch) even though I noted the Shadorma name and numbers. Blame it on my advancing years! Hehehe!

Here it goes!

Two Thousand and Ten;
Eleven
is coming,
eager to push Time into 
another decade.

May 2011 be a great year for all Bloglanders!

How About This?

A perfect partner for my previous post, wouldn't you agree? I'd forgotten all about it, until I scanned in another couple of my Dad's drawings earlier today, and opened the computer file which already contained this little gem! Like my candle holder, there is no real evidence of a potty in sight, but the mind - or at least, my mind!- made an immediate connection one with the other. Hope it makes you smile, as it did me. So from May 5th 1923 to December 29th 2010, just think how many smiles this drawing may have engendered in its lifetime? Nice thought...

Seeing Things In A New LIght Is Good

That's the thought for the day, as the TFE's Poetry Bus driver at Muse Swings asked us to pen a ditty about any strange/unusual/thought provoking gift, given or received, in order to secure a seat on her transport of delight this week.
At first, I thought I would have to be a stay-at-home passenger (!?)  but eventually remembered a pottery creation which certainly came under the 'strange' category. Maybe later today, I'll be inspired to produce a graphic sketch to better explain this strangeness, but for now, I leave you with these lines. Some Bloggers may note with surprise, I have chosen to follow the latest trend for free form poetry which wanders down the page, but have married it to my love of rhyme. Compromise is a wonderful thing.  

The Gift

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder...
I was once given a candle holder
which lacked
the knack
to inspire admiration.
A generation
would be hard pressed
to best
describe
this tribe
of childlike forms,
unlike any norm-
al bodies. Their botties
sat on a circle of potties,
or so it appeared.
The modelling was weird.
I may have misconstrued
these rude
blobs of clay -
who can say?
Perhaps each was meant
to represent
a chair ?
To be fair,
the joined hands
of this happy band
of pilgrims formed a ring,
to sing
the praises
of friendship. It amazes
me each time I recall the delight
of a friend who saw this candle light
and expressed a wish
to possess the dish!.
It was my salvation!
Liberation!
I presented it to her on the spot.
Did I regret it? Not one jot!

The 26th

 Only 365 shopping days to Christmas now folks!

The 25th

My Christmas Card To You

If I've not been able to email you direct, please imagine this Seasonal Greeting is plopping through your Blogland Letterbox! I'm putting one on this shelf (!) for passing strangers to share as well!

It's a Good Time For Finding Things

A few weeks ago, I posted a picture of my Mum and Dad on their wedding day, 1st June 1936, and mentioned that I still had the dress which had been made (from the veil) for my Christening in 1941. Hilary from The Smitten Image, being a lady in love with her camera, asked at once to see a photo of this relic, but as usual, I couldn't find it to order.
But this morning, as if to underline the Discovery Of The Nighties, The Dress fell into my hands as I was looking for a jumper in my chest of drawers. I didn't find the jumper, but one can't have everything. I had to be content with The Dress, which I have now uploaded or downloaded, ready for this post. I shall definitely link it to Sepia Saturday this week, even though today is Thursday. Blogland days have even less relevance than real world days, wouldn't you agree? 
So here are the historical pictures of a very fragile Jinksy garment which is even older than it's present owner. And that's saying something.

The Dress

Closer...

Closer...

Closest

But A Lovely Morning!

Lost is found! Blogland people one and all, I do believe your mammoth efforts at writing all those lovely replies to my plea yesterday, shamed the 'let's hide Jinksy's nightie' gremlins into submission.

After donning my deep lilac (shorter-than-the-others-therefore-not-as-snug) nightie yesterday, I was on the point of climbing into bed, when my inner voice said "Go, now! Look in the airing cupboard for one more time!"I have learned the wisdom of obeying this voice, without question, as it invariably knows best.

The lowest slats in the cupboard are home to socks, pants and bras, with an occasional pillowcase or duvet cover thrown in for good measure, and after removing  and balancing a large heap of the same on the top of the banister rail in front of the cupboard, I peered in, without success.

I'd hardly touched any of the contents of the next shelf up, when a flash of  pale aqua amongst the turquoise sheets greeted me. Lost nightie number one! I'd only just thanked the powers that be for this revelation, when lo, and behold! A pale blue version of the same garment winked at me. This was SO exciting! Within a moment  or two, a tell tale primrose hem peeked at me from the stack of hand towels, and my mission was complete! I swear, I'd already rummaged among those self same contents three or four times, when my nighties first became conspicuous by their absence, but without success.

The only difference last night, was that I had the delightful comments (full of fun and implied good wishes) of all my Blogland buddies, willing me to try, try, try again...And they worked! How can I ever thank you all enough - or will it be a case of "Don't applaud, just throw money?"

Not A Good NIght., No...

I wish I could tell you, as bedtime approaches tonight, that I would be donning a luscious creation like this before retiring to my boudoir. Sadly, not.
At present, I own five articles of nightwear, all of which resemble glorified T-shirts - only longer. Nothing wrong with that. No.

But, can any Blogger explain to me why I am having to exist with only two? One on, one in the wash....WHERE ARE THE OTHER THREE HIDING? Are they huddling together for warmth in some dark drawer or cupboard? Have they turned into an Invisibility Cloak, like Harry Potter's? And let's face it, it would have taken an army of Borrowers to have purloined ONE garment, let alone three...

Why can't I find them?

I shall be eternally grateful if anybody can come up with an unusual suggestion as to where they may be hiding, or how I might set about tracking them down... Even better, if you can do it in rhyme! 

A Quandary

My nighties have got flighty

they've been and fled the coop

I cannot find 'em anywhere -

Am I a nincompoop?

Okay, I'll answer that one straight away - Yep!

Football Fanatics

You may have heard on the news recently, many discussions on the subject of football - not one of my favourite topics.  But here are two of my Dad's drawings which may mean something to those with a greater knowledge of former football stars than I have.

The last painting must have been done very early on in his drawing career - probably when he was still at school - but it's clear to see the dawning of  the artist in his soul!




These are the latest Sepia Saturday offerings from me and mine.

Time To Stand Up And Be Counted!

Are Bloglanders turning into a bunch of wimps and sissies all of a sudden? More and more blogs have 'Comment Moderation' activated which results in that infuriating notice  ' Your comment has been saved and will be visible after blog owner approval.' Can nobody bear to hear even a hint of criticism? Is everybody afraid of seeing words published that don't comply with their idea of 'niceness'?

Do people not realise, ANY comment can be removed by the blog owner at any time, anyway. I see little point in having this vetting process operational right from the word go. In two years of blogging WITHOUT comment moderation, I believe I have only had to removed one comment - and that was because it was written in what appeared to be a Chinese script, and as such was unintelligible to me.

What exactly are people afraid of?

When one is unable to read comments preceding one's own, a blog can end up with line after line of almost identical remarks, each so banal as to make them valueless. At least, when all comments are instantly readable, it gives one a chance to write something more original, and also allows the deletion of one's own comment if mistakes in spelling (or sense) are noticed after clicking the post button.

Come on, folks! Grow up! and take things on the chin a bit more! Take off the dratted moderation, and lets see a bit more freedom of speech.

A Wandering Day In Blogland

Here at least, any snow encountered is the imaginary kind. In my travels this afternoon, I noticed a post by a fellow blogger, Cad, whose choice of picture made me do a double take, and I eventually asked him if I might purloin it. He was kind enough to say "Yes!" I thought it would give exactly the right chilly feel to one of my favourite wintry poems by none other than A A Milne and his trusty Bear Of Very Little Brain. This is, of course, one of the Hums Of Pooh.

The more it snows
 Tiddly Pom
The more it goes
 Tiddly Pom
The more it goes
 Tiddly Pom
On snowing.

And Nobody knows
 Tiddly Pom
How cold my toes 
 Tiddly Pom
How cold my toes 
 Tiddly Pom
Are growing.


It needs to be sung by two people, with the smallest of the pair singing the Tiddly Poms. My brother and I used to take great delight in such a performance, back in the days when he was actually smaller than his Big Sister, a state of affairs which was VERY short lived, believe me. (Short lived - Ha! Get it? You will if you realise he was one destined for the 6ft plus brigade) Snowy weather always needs the Tiddly Poms to complete it...

"Tiddly what?" said Piglet. "Pom!"said Pooh.