Ruth Bradbury-Horton's Blog: Ruth2Day, page 18

The French Gardener – Book review and a couple more

One of my great passions has always been reading. However, as over the years I have at times found myself so engrossed that life and family began to suffer, as in, “golly, sorry did you want to eat tonight?, I’ve kind of had to contain the passion and limit the time my eyes lock onto pages.  I therefore read a few pages before I go to bed, or when I have a few minutes to spare, which means it takes me FOREVER to finish a book.

That said, this Christmas I have managed to enjoy my family times of cooking, eating, playing games etc, and still have enough time to read a novel in its entirety. I deliberately chose a chick-lit book. You know the type, easy-read, make-you-feel-good book, the type you just need when lazing around with a glass of bubbles at your side.

Here is my review of The French Gardener by Santa Montefiore. Please note, I have deliberately not added spoilers. Has anybody read it? If you did, I’d like to hear what you thought. Otherwise, what are you reading? I’ve added 2 books at the bottom of this blog, one I have started to read, and 1 I am going to read. Would be interested to know how they rated for you. Image – Amazon.com

I really loved this book. I picked it for a Christmas read and was well pleased. Typically the story was always going to have a happy ending, and while it did, it wasn’t the sugar-wrapped one I was expecting. Ok, maybe a little, but the twist at the end was good, satisfying.

The characters were as one would expect stereotypes, but that’s life isn’t it. I mean who hasn’t got a Cate in their life, somebody who puts them down under the guise of “helping”.Then there’s Etta, unsure of herself, yet beneath her layers a wonderfully kind person. Miranda and Ava were easy to relate to, and I enjoyed how their lives were interwoven, if not repeated to a certain extent.

The “love” connection is obvious from the start, and I have to admit I was expecting Miranda to follow Ava’s life to the T. When it didn’t I was pleased. As to the infidelity link, it’s not something to be condoned in real-life, yet it seemed to work well with the story.

As I say, enjoyed this one very much, a great, easy read that I have no regrets purchasing.

Two books I’d like your feedback on please

1. The Innocent – Ian Mcewan

2. Life Class – Pat Barker

Who’d have thought a box of chocolates could be so profound

Over this past year my mind has been pulled towards where my life has taken me, and who I have met along the way.

I’ve found myself pondering over how the older I get the more I thought I knew about people, only to find the older I get the less in fact I do. There have certainly been moments when those I’ve valued the most have delivered me the biggest slap to the chops, while folk I have barely known have offered me so much more.

That doesn’t mean my favourite accessory is now a blinged up tissue box on a chain around my neck. No, not at all. All it means is  . . .  well as Forrest Gump was heard to say, “. . . life was like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.”

With days to go before 2015 arrives, I wish you all well and say thank you for so much.

May the New Year bring us more than we all expected . . . as long as it is all good ;)

Please help yourself to piece of chocolate tipped nougat, enjoyed I hope with a nice, chilled glass of bubbles

Donatella Versace, and being eaten alive for art

Is there not madness in this world or what?

Did you see the pictures of Donatella Versace this morning in the Daily Mail? Goodness me. Not sure what else I can say other than hmmmmm without being sued.

How about this story. Paul is going to put on a snake suit and have himself eaten alive while filming it. Oh dear, let’s hope I won’t be telling you this went wrong shortly.

I gave up reading after these two, although to be fair they were far easier to digest (hopefully Paul is easily digestible too, or should that be regurgitated?) than corruption and brutality.

Anybody got a bonkers news story to share over a cup of coffee?

.

Hope you’re having a good day

1000 entries. WOW, blown away. Thank you

Absolutely thrilled that over 1000 people entered my Jedland giveaway via Goodreads. So much so husband and I popped a bottle of bubbles yesterday to celebrate.

There was much apprehension when I added this promotion, mostly because I’d never done this before and had visions of perhaps only 2 people entering, which considering there were 5 books up for grabs would have meant each would have won 2.5 books.

Phew, I’m kind of speechless actually.

I think at this point I can but only say once more THANK YOU to everybody who entered, and to the 5 winners, your books will be in the post this week

Christmas in October

Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? Finished it? Planned a dinner to be slaved over, enjoyed and subsequently settled with antacids?

I haven’t. But if the the local South African retailers have got anything to do with it I should be.

Yesterday I went to Pick n Pay in Claremont, and lo and behold a very pretty Christmas Tree was up, decorated and lit up, well exactly like a Christmas Tree

Happy Shopping all :)

I can’t believe what I’m hearing

Forgive my ignorance, but doesn’t taking the stance Oscar Pistorius is a first time offender and should therefore sweep floors as punishment pushing somewhat?

I’m sorry, but his first time offence was murder, kill, manslaughter, take a life. Call it as you will. Oscar did not pinch a packet of bread from the local supermarket

Thumbs up to the weekend

Husband and I wanted to send out a big thumbs up for the weekend ahead.

Hope you all have a great one

Emma Czornobaj, ducks and life in prison

Have you heard about Emma Czonobaj? She’s 27 years old. She lives in Canada, and she loves animals.

Emma’s love of animals has resulted in her facing life in prison. The animals in question are ducks. The crime she committed is as follows:

“Czornobaj had stopped her car in the left lane of a provincial highway after spotting roughly seven ducklings on the median. . . The self-professed animal lover told the court that she did not see the ducklings’ mother anywhere and was trying to herd them, with the intention of taking them home.”

She has been found guilty of the following:

“two counts of criminal negligence causing death, a charge that carries a maximum life sentence, and two counts of dangerous driving causing death, which comes with a maximum of 14 years in jail.”

Simply put, Emma Czonobaij stopped to help a family of ducks, and in doing so caused the death of a father and daughter who crashed into her parked vehicle. They were riding a motorcycle at the time.

Why my interest? Well I find myself torn. On the one hand, we have a young woman, exemplary by all accounts, clearly with a big heart, who was prepared to save the lives of animals, which to be fair, most animal lovers would do. I know myself I’ve slowed down to prevent hitting a dog. And on another occasion recently I came to a stand still for a tortoise, allowing my husband to leap from the car and move to the road.

Yet on the other hand, her actions on the highway were negligent. One cannot dispute that. I can only imagine she gave no other thought to her actions than possibly assuming whoever came towards her would pass on by. Whether she had her emergency lights flashing, who knows. Regardless of what we know or don’t know, two people have lost their lives, and a mother and wife has lost her family.

There are those that argue Emma should face the maximum sentence, while others are calling for leniency. Google Emma and you will find petitions, stories, Facebook pages calling for support and action to save her.

Reading further today I see a recommendation has been put forward for a 9 month sentence, and or probation. Emma’s fate is in the hands of the judge. December she will know the outcome.

As for myself, I’m inclined to go with probation, citing her sentence will be mental torture for the rest of her life.

What do you think? Should Emma face a sever sentence, or should she be given probation?

Source USATODAY.COM

Let me out!

Earlier this year husband and I were in the UK, and after making the decision to not hire a car, we relied on pubic transport to get us around. As for us, the chance to jump on and off trains and enjoy the local bus service as we sped across the country was pure delight. I don’t even need a hand to count the amount of times we’ve used a train, or a bus in South Africa.   We/I just don’t do it.

Anyway, mostly in the UK we were heading to places within a couple of hours of where we were staying. And while we were highly competent in boarding and disembarking with ease, due to automatic doors – aren’t they so clever? – and allowing people ahead to do the honours, one day it didn’t go to plan.

For the life of me, our destination that day has left me, but wherever it was the requirement was to change trains several times. Easy peasy lemon squeezy? Ah, no. Total embarrassment and hysteria more like.

So there we were loving the rocking motion of the train as green fields flew by, wooly sheep munched grass, cows moo-ched around, industrial areas tarnished the landscape, and let us not forget the occasional buffet car announcement regarding delightful snacks and hot drinks that to be fair should have been left behind, and never ever brought within an mile of the station.

The general rule of thumb with train trips, as we all know, is the train stops, you get off as fast as you can, as in max 1 or 2 minutes before they leave again, and then you run like a looney for your next train, arms flaying, face white, gums exposed as you fight for breath – erm, sorry, that’s probably just me. Failing this of course, you’ll be singing to the conductor on the platform “wish we luck as you wave me goodbye” because there is no way you’re getting off that train until the next station a gazillion miles away. Why you only get a minute of two before the train goes is beyond me. Do you think it has something to do with raising cardio levels for those with little time for the gym?

Well this particular day husband and I had thawed out – you do remember we were in the UK in Spring? –  we’d eaten a pretty darn awful bacon butty, washed it down with coffee strong enough to curl our toes, and sufficiently burnt our gullets in the process. I thought British Rail drinks were supposed to be lukewarm? Do you have to order it this way? You know sort of along the lines of having a skinny latte with wings, as opposed to requesting “coffee to go love please.”

Where were we? Yes, about to disembark. We were ready, tickets clutched in  hands. We smiled at each other, as we do when we know the sprint is about to take place, and headed to the door. Alone. Nobody else was in our carriage. I checked my ticket about 256 times to be sure we were getting off at the right station. We were. I checked it again.

Train stopped. Fellow travellers began to spill out of other carriages. Our door did not open. We looked at each other. Panic reared its head and I swear my bacon butty was readying itself to appear. Sweat began to form.

“Open the door.”

“I can’t.”

“Where’s the handle?”

“I don’t know.”

By now we were banging on the window, hands and fists, shouting for anybody to help us.

“Why won’t it open?”

“I don’t know, it just won’t.”

“We have to get off.”

“I know.”

“Is there a sign showing you how?”

“No”

“Open the window, try to use the handle outside.”

“How do you open the window?”

Teeth were bared and eyes were wide with fear.

Have you ever seen those crazy programs where people are trapped behind glass while everybody else stands there watching, nudging each other, pointing and rolling their eyes? Well let me tell you, it’s true, they really do do that. Even the conductor on the platform who was raising his whistle to send the train on its way.

“We’ve got to get off.” We continued to shout and bang and wave our tickets. We must have looked like right charlies.

“HELP!” we shouted, rather loudly. Anybody would have thought we were trying to escape a crazed loon.

Well I don’t know how long this went of for, but however long it was, it was too long. How either of us didn’t end up requiring oxygen is anybody’s business.

So how did we get out?

The bloody door opened by itself! I swear, we did nothing. There was the usual hiss and clunk and lo and behold we were free.

We bolted, hit the platform, laughed a little awkwardly and joined our fellow commuters as if nothing had even happened.

And what you may be asking did we learn from this?

Easy, we are a couple of idiots!