WD40 stain removal ...

Have you ever got pine resin on your clothes? It's a really tough one to get out.

Where we live on the Costa Brava we have such amazing pine trees. They're so rugged and majestic all at the same time, and they produce the very best pine nuts. Emi and his little chums go crazy in the summertime to collect them, and carefully crack them out of their protective cases to eat.

The only issue that I have with these beauties concerns the sticky resin that they secrete. In our garden we have a particularly lovely old pine tree that throws its shadow over a couple of garden benches. In the summertime this makes for the perfect shady spot to sit and read, whilst you keep a parental eye on the action down at the pool.

Recently Mr B sat down to read on his favourite bench whilst Emi was playing with his remote control submarine. When he came back inside and turned around it looked as though someone had run a paint roller back and forth across his butt. Nobody'll notice, he said sheepishly, when I pointed out the problem. But, honestly, the only people who wouldn't have noticed would have been the folk with the white sticks who were out walking their guide dogs.

I tried to wash the offending marks out of the fabric, but every stain remover that I could find between London and the Iberian peninsula had no effect whatsoever. I thought dark, uncharitable thoughts about what a klutz Mr B was.

Then, a couple of weeks later, I went and sat on the self-same bench to watch Emi perform some new and polished aquatic manoeuvre in the pool. In fairness he was yelling in that excited way kids do when they need your total attention RIGHT NOW, so in my defence I'm going to say that I was distracted by the drama of the moment. When I got back to the house after the performance, however, Mr B feigned great concern that I might have accidentally sat on the barbecue grill or something.  Grrr... . And of course I had to admit to having sat on the self-same bench that he'd got an earful for sitting on earlier.

Once again I was stumped as to  how I could get the offending stains out of the clothes.

I mentioned all of this to my friend (the Whippet Mummy) at a party on Saturday night (I know we're a wild and crazy pair!). Now the Whippet Mummy is a bit of a whizz when it comes to sorting out problems like this. Straight out of the blocks, and without a moment's hesitation, she advised me to try some WD40 lubricating oil. So I zipped over to the hardware store first thing Monday morning and bought myself a bottle.

Want to see a before picture?

Not a pretty sight, and bear in mind that this is after it's been through various wash cycles with various stain removing potions.

Yesterday Maxi and I spent a short period of time in the sunshine oiling and scrubbing the offending marks with a nail brush on the picnic table outside. The really stubborn bits we rubbed with kitchen roll soaked in surgical spirit. And this is what we got for our labours:

Amazing or what? I was seriously impressed. Admittedly they do have a slightly petrochemical whiff about them, but another wash with strong detergent ought to sort that out. The back of the WD40 bottle boasts that it's also great stuff for getting rid of chewing gum if you ever happen to get that matted into your clothes.

So now I'm passing on my new stain-removing tip: when all else fails reach for the WD40!

All the best,

Bonny x
As shared on SYC

Maxi missing in action ...

I've had a pretty terrible few days. I haven't been able to think straight or to write anything.

You see what's happened is that we've suffered a couple of bereavements: both my father-in-law and his older brother, my husband's much-loved only uncle, have died within a very short space of time. Papa J passed away back in March, and Tió F passed away on Monday. They were our much-loved patriarchs, who'd lived through some pretty tough times and had the very best stories to tell. But it's all too raw and personal to write about. What I can say is that they have left a gashing hole in our family circle that will never be filled.

Then to make a really bad situation worse Maxi went missing, and it felt like I'd also lost a child. Emi was really upset, and I was really upset because my little boy was upset and because I was upset to have lost Maxi, who means the world to me. The already-sad house felt empty and haunted by his absence.

On Tuesday he was taken from our back garden, where we thought he would be safe and well, whilst we went to our uncle's funeral. Since then I've spent sleepless nights, pacing around, wondering where he was, and what was going on in his little furry head. Did he understand what was happening? Were they being nice to him, the people who had taken him? Was he missing me as much as I was missing him?

And in the middle of all my misery I started to think of those poor parents of little Madeline McCann. Now I'm not for a moment suggesting that my loss was anything to equal the awfulness of their loss. But I had a small sense of how terrible it must be for them to have the never-ending uncertainty as to what has happened to their little girl. The not knowing bit is a torture; the dark corners of your mind suck you into a black abyss where you imagine the most awful outcomes.

Now having written all of the above, and, at the risk of being accused of being a drama-queen, I am delighted to report that Maxi has been returned safe and well. It's taken days of frantic phone calls and multiple visits to our local police station to track him down and get him back, but back he has happily come.

And I'm so very happy to have him with me again, and you can rest assured he's enjoying an obscene amount of cuddles and treats. So this week my very special Friday Find is my darling little Maxi.

All the best,

Bonny x

As shared on Friday Finds

Maleficent

It was a tough job getting Emi talked into going to see Maleficent this afternoon.

It's a re-imagining of the Sleeping Beauty story, Mr B had explained patiently, but that really didn't cut the mustard with an eight year-old who'd spent all weekend imagining what D-Day had been like for his two great-great uncles who had landed on a Normandy beach seventy years ago. Emi's head was filled with tanks and guns and soldiers. Sleeping princesses and their wicked fairy godmothers really didn't feature.

But Mr B, who had his own Jolie-focussed agenda, persisted. Admittedly he had to resort to bribery in the end: popcorn and something called a frozen Tango changed hands before the deal was sealed.

Having finally got everyone to the cinema I enjoyed Maleficent much more than I ever remember enjoying Disney's original Sleeping Beauty. I was never much of a one for pretty princesses who spent their lives passively waiting around to be rescued by passing princes. I think they were rubbish role-models for young girls, to whom we ought to have been telling stories about the sisters who were doing it for themselves in life.

And that sentiment neatly leads me on to Angelina Jolie, who is a truly magnificent Maleficent: she totally carries the movie. And it's great that Disney has moved past its black and white view of the world as somewhere filled with only very good people (who were invariably blonde, thin and beautiful) and very bad people (who were usually dark, fat and ugly).

This Maleficent comes with back story, which helps explain why she places the terrible sleeping curse on Aurora, the blameless new-born baby. Like most of us, she's dragging along her fair share of emotional baggage. And when it's all explained, we end up rooting for her, especially as we can see her working through her issues during the course of the movie.

The special effects are pretty amazing, but, as is so often the case with these things, the script could have been tightened up a bit here and there, and personally I found the Sleeping Beauty's unblemished, blonde, smiley goodness a bit too prissy.

As for Emi he gave the movie an enthusiastic thumbs up having greatly enjoyed the monster battle scenes and the beautiful queen with the horns (Maleficent), for whom he'd been rooting throughout. I think he's taking after his dad ... .

All the best,

Bonny x

Shepherd's Bush Market, London, W12 8DG

Just a stone's throw away from the glittering, marble-clad shopper's paradise that is Westfield is Shepherd's Bush Market, a traditional London street-market. And it would be hard to conceive of two more different shopping venues even if you resorted to tripping on hallucinogenic drugs (which, to be very clear, I am NOT recommending that you do). They are the retail chalk and cheese of the rich and varied spectrum of shopping that our great capital has to offer.

Don't take my word for it, have a quick look for yourself:

The glittering halls of Westfield's Village, admittedly the swankier end of the complex

and

The colourful life of the market

Now I'm not going to say that one is brilliant and the other is rubbish. They're clearly pitched at two very different types of shopper, and I think that both of them deserve to exist. I'm also not saying that I'm going to buy a load of stuff in either of them: I'm not. Westfield Village is way too glitzy and over-the-top for me, and Shepherd's Bush Market sells a lot of stuff that I don't have much use for. I don't wear hijab, eat Halal meat, enjoy Ugandan-hot chillies, or look like I belong in the many, lovely, but very brightly coloured textiles that they sell.  If I lived round the corner I'm sure I'd buy my fruit and veg there, I'd pop in if my mobile phone needed to be fixed, and from time to time I'd buy things from the haberdashery stall.

The sad thing is that the market's future is looking very uncertain. There's a regeneration order floating around, which may just do away with it altogether. And I for one think that would be a crying shame. It's a really colourful place, built along the side of a railway viaduct. It's been there since 1914, and is clearly a popular shopping venue with many of the locals who can't find what they want in the fancy boutiques down the road.

There's a real textiles buzz about the place. There are numerous stalls selling fabrics and haberdashery, and what really made my heart sing was the number of enthusiastic young ladies in their late teens/ early twenties who were shopping for their next creations. They had that lovely, excited, anything is possible attitude as the bales of fabric sent their imaginations into overdrive.

The market leads out onto the Goldhawk Road, where there are another half dozen established fabric shops.

And while we're out on the Goldhawk Road it's worth checking out the traditional pie, mash and eels cafe. Jellied eels are a traditional dish in the East End of London. And, whilst I've lived here for most of my adult life, it's a taste I have yet to acquire, so I resisted the temptation to pop in for a mid-morning snack.

Instead I wandered back down the market for another look at what it had to offer.

There were hats; lots and lots of hats in every colour, size and shape.

There was some street art.

Now to some this street art may be nothing more than graffiti. I looked at it carefully and decided that it had some merit, and then I wondered how they'd managed to paint it up there. Did they scale the roof, and then daub it on upside down with one guy dangling the artist over the edge by his ankles, or did they come in the dead of night with ladders and do it by torchlight?

I was impressed with the carpet shop that was also selling astroturf. It's good to diversify, don't you think? And I can tell you straight up that you have no chance of finding astroturf in the designer halls down the road.

There were more stalls selling the foodstuffs and things that the local folk want to buy ...

... and so many things caught my eye, like the special offers on goat meat and boiler chickens. You certainly wouldn't find anything to match that down in Waitrose or the M&S Food Hall, but again this is the type of food that the people who live round here eat. And without the market those communities wouldn't be able to find it in the quality and quantity presently available. There's clearly a rich culture of home-cooking going on in local family homes and it would be a shame to do anything that might interfere with that.

People were selling makeup, umbrellas, sweets and everything in between.

As you can see the two shopping centres couldn't be more different. Separating them in a sort of retail frontier-land is Shepherd's Bush Green ...

... which boasts a few unique shops of its own that also cater for the specific cultural requirements of the neighbourhood in a way that the designer shopping centre doesn't.

Personally I think it's marvellous that such diversity can exist in the stretch of a few city blocks. We live in a truly multicultural society here in West London, and I think the planners ought to think long and hard about how the local, maybe not so well-off, folk in these parts would be affected by even the temporary closure of their market. It would be a travesty if it were to be regenerated into another characterless shopping mall selling over-priced coffee and little that was of any real use to the locals.

And, to change the subject, I really love our groovy new red buses. Aren't they wicked? 

Have a super weekend!

Bonny x

Benjamin Franklin: my hero and his autobiography

Now I have a confession to make straight out of the blocks: I am a huge fan of Benjamin Franklin. He was, in my opinion, a true giant among men, not simply in terms of his physique (which I understand to have been large) but in terms of his intellect, his wisdom, his moral character, his good humour and his compassion for his fellow men. For me he epitomises all that was good about the Enlightenment. Let's just take a quick roll call of his many occupations: Founding Father of the USA, inventor, politician, philosopher, civil rights activist, scientist, newspaperman, linguist, traveller, diplomat, writer and no doubt a few more that I've overlooked along the way. In my view he was a true polymath, who, when he passed away, left the world significantly better off for his having lived in it.

His autobiography, which is written in an accessible, discursive voice is now well out of copyright - and some! If you'd like to read the great man's personal account of his own life you can download it free from Amazon kindle:Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin.

I've just finished reading it, and I have to say that I've enjoyed it enormously. It evidences how he remained down-to-earth and proud of his humble beginnings for all of his long life. There's nothing flowery or melodramatic in there. It's the account of a matter-of-fact character who was very comfortable in his own skin.

He had a very twenty first century enthusiasm for self-improvement, which I found rather endearing. If you download his autobiography on page 71 (Loc 1187 of 2513) you'll find his list of the 13 virtues that he tried to cultivate throughout his life. He tells us that he started on this little list at the age of 20 and kept going, never having totally perfected them to his own satisfaction. They were as follows:

1. TEMPERANCE. Eat not to dullness; drink not to elevation.
2. SILENCE. Speak not but what may benefit others or yourself; avoid trifling conversation.
3. ORDER. Let all your things have their places; let each part of your business have its time.
4. RESOLUTION. Resolve to perform what you ought; perform without fail what your resolve.
5. FRUGALITY. Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; i.e. waste nothing.
6. INDUSTRY. Lose no time; be always employ'd in something useful; cut off all unnecessary actions.
7. SINCERITY. Use no hurtful deceit; think innocently and justly, and, if you speak, speak accordingly.
8. JUSTICE. Wrong none by doing injuries, or omitting the benefits that are your duty.
9. MODERATION. Avoid extreams; forbear resenting injuries so much as you think they deserve.
10. CLEANLINESS. Tolerate no uncleanliness in body, cloaths or habitation.
11. TRANQUILITY. Be not disturbed at trifles, or at accidents common or unavoidable.
12. CHASTITY. Rarely use venery but for health or offspring, never to dullness, weakness or the injury of your own or another's peace or reputation.
13. HUMILITY. Imitate Jesus and Socrates.

He explained that he tried to work on these individually in the sequence outlined, hoping that when he had mastered one it might help him master its successors. He openly acknowledged that he fell short of the standards set on numerous occasions, but concluded that the attempt to live by them made him a better and a happier man. He devotes numerous pages to these 13 virtues in the hope that some of my descendants may follow the example and reap the benefit.

His tone is that of the fellow sinner. There's nothing hectoring, pompous or arrogant about the way in which he imparts his wisdom. He not only quotes Pope: Men should be taught as if you taught them not, And things unknown propos'd as things forgot; but he also puts that principle into practice in writing his autobiography.

And, if you consider his 13 virtues, I think you'll have to agree that they're not a bad set of rules by which to try and live your life. We have so many self improvement books on the market today. And most of them, when you actually get down to it, are ninety five percent flimflam and five percent useful information. As a genre I loathe them. I hate the way they beat about the bush quoting anecdote after pointless, self-serving anecdote, before they get anywhere close to getting down to business.What those authors could learn from the great Dr F ... .

Anyway, that's what I've been reading this week, and a jolly good read it's been.

All the best for now,

Bonny x