Around The Home

Musings on all the little things that niggle and humour around the home and out and about. From filling handbags with every which knick-knack, to hearing aid shenanigans and the wonders of the television remote control.

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Hello everybody, it’s good to be back with you again. I’m carrying on with the series in That’s Just Life and we’re going to look today about things around the home. So I’m looking at everyday things that we all encounter constantly, things that will be familiar to most of you.

Well there is something that I can’t do without and that is my handbag. How some women manage with just a tiny bag or just their phone containing a couple of cards, I’ll never know. My family have often been known to ask sarcastically if I’ve got my suitcase when we go out, whether to the supermarket or even for a day’s outing, meaning of course my copious handbag.

Do you really need to take all that stuff, my husband asks. Of course, I say, I’ll never know when I’ll need something from it. I really couldn’t imagine or manage without my purse, my phone and my glasses. Then there are tissues and make-up and a comb and my diary or a mince and a separate wallet for business cards. I’m also always ready with band-aids and safety pins and keys. I surely do need to carry these things with me.

There is a game we used to play where we named the objects and they’re called out and women had to see if they could produce the item from their bag. Well that was one game, often I had a fair chance of winning. Here is my poem called My Handbag.

Now this is an ode to my handbag,
Something I cannot do without,
I wouldn’t ever leave it behind,
When I am going out.

I do not mind of what it is made,
Either leather vinyl or rag,
Though I prefer it to match my dress,
My strong and trusty bag.

It needs to be big and roomy,
Either plain or with a border,
With lots of pockets in which to keep,
Contents in good order.

All things that I carry I do need,
Come, I’ll let you have a look,
There’s my purse, nailfile and lipstick,
Phone, tissues, pen and book.

There’s a calculator, cards and keys,
Addresses, pad and safety pin,
And many other valued treasures,
Are hidden deep within.

My handbag does get mighty weighty,
And my shoulders they tend to sag,
So I’ll just carry it in my hand,
For I must have my bag.

I don’t know how men ever manage,
Having just a tiny wallet,
They always seem to be quite content,
If they have a pocket.

The other thing I want to talk about is that I encounter on a daily basis my husband’s hearing aids, or as he calls them, his earphones. Philip lived in denial for a couple of years and wouldn’t admit he needed hearing aids. I was told if I spoke clearly and stopped mumbling, he could hear perfectly and to face him when I had something to say.

It was then that I realised he was getting very good at lip reading. I was becoming used to repeating things several times and asking for the television to be turned down. Eventually he agreed to go for a test so that I would realise he didn’t need aids to hear. Well, after the test he was soon fitted for hearing aids. Shortly after acquiring the aids, we went on holiday in our motorhome. He went outside for a while and when he came back in, he complained that the aids were beeping loudly. I was able to reassure him that what he could hear was the microwave in the caravan next to us.

Lately he’s been fitted with some updated aids that he hears when the phone rings and nobody else can. He hadn’t told me of these new aids until I caught him, what I thought, was talking to himself and I worried that perhaps he had a problem. I still find I repeat myself when talking to Phil, partly out of habit and also because I can never be sure whether he’s wearing his aids or not. I couldn’t resist writing this next poem and it’s all about his hearing aids.

He thinks his hearing is okay,
But I’m often misunderstood,
I will ask a simple question,
Like, “I’d be grateful if you could

Pass me the embrocation cream,
So I can massage my bunion.”
Then he goes to the local shop,
And comes home with an onion!

I may innocently ask him,
If he likes my new china dish,
And with a look of hurt he says,
“You know I rather meat than fish.”

Coming inside from the garden,
I comment on the pink flower,
He then reaches for his tool box,
To repair the leaking shower!

And so it goes from day to day,
For longer than I can mention,
But we will sort out the problem,
That is surely my intention

“How about a cup of tea dear?”
My man said, “Huh, what did you say?”
I point to the cup and kettle,
Which has become the usual way.

I said, “Would you like a biscuit?”
My man said, “Speak up I can’t hear”
I repeat again, and again,
“You need hearing aids I think dear.”

“I’m not deaf, you always mumble,
Just look straight at me when you speak,”
I shouted, “Get in the car love,
And a hearing aid centre we’ll seek.”

At the clinic, in a big chair,
They clamped some ear- phones on his head,
Monitors rose and sounds did buzz,
“You need hearing aids,” the man said.

My man staggered from there quite dazed,
“I’m not deaf,” he said in denial,
I looked at him and said, twice more,
“Well, let’s give the aids a trial.”

We picked them up weeks later,
And he plugged them into his ears,
Now he can hear all kinds of sounds,
He hasn’t heard for many years.

And me? I still repeat things twice,
And shout, out of habit I guess,
So he just switches the aids off,
So we are the same, more or less!

And this one, this next one, I’m sure you’ll recognise, it’s about the remote control. Now many people have talked to me about having the same problem as me in regards to the television’s remote control. Our remote is on a small table next to my husband’s chair. Somehow he has taken control of this piece of equipment. I must admit he watches much more TV than I do.

In fact, I only usually watch in the evening. I can become engrossed in a programme, look away for a short while. Then when my eyes return to the screen, I wonder why I’ve lost the plot of the show. Until I realise Philip has changed the programme. Here is some more information regarding that television remote control.

The TV remote is a wondrous thing,
That sits by my bloke’s armchair,
And woe betide just anyone,
Who dares to remove it from there.

No need for a list of the programmes
That is on television that night,
For he has got the remote control,
So he knows what he’s watching alright.

For he flicks from channel to channel,
And when an ad comes onto the screen,
His fingers start pressing the buttons,
So never an ad has he seen.

I just sit there doing some knitting,
For I’ve learnt now my mouth to keep shut,
“Cos if I say, “Put that gizmo away,”
He looks kind of hurt and says, “But,

I’m sure you don’t want the rubbish
They’re showing on TV so look,
I’ll see what’s on the other side.”
That’s when I start reading my book.

Sometimes I’m enjoying a programme,
Then get up to make us some tea,
By the time I return to the viewing,
Some other show is on the TV

But you see, I don’t always know that,
And when trying to work out the plot,
I say, “Are we watching the same show?”
“Sorry luv,” flicking back, “I forgot.”

I’ve since heard that this is a bloke thing,
So I now know I’m not on my own,
But I wish that just for one evening,
He would leave the darned thing alone!

I hear they have got a new model,
Where, believe me or not but you can,
Record and watch two shows on the box,
That will sure be a challenge my man!