Older Brigade Club

So there I was, mid-thought, in solving my YouTube Hurdle last evening  puzzle (high-stakes stuff, people!), when hubby suddenly drops this curveball: "Does ice cream have a lot of sugar in it?" Now, as a sugar-savvy wife of an insulin-dependent diabetic, I explained that, yes, your standard shop-bought stuff is usually high in  sugar.   But if you make it at home using natural goodies like bananas, you can totally skip some of the sugar crash.  There are sugar free options and low sugar, but when you make your own you know exactly what goes in! He then hits me with the next question: "How do you make homemade ice cream?" Simple, I say— if we had a blender . Cue the magic words: “Let’s get one!” Translation: “Please spend your evening on the internet, comparing specs, reviews, and prices until your eyes glaze over why I watch the football.” Challenge accepted, I have wanted a blender for ages! After an hour-long scroll-fest through Amazon and eBay, I found a b...

Ahhh, Sunday again—she’s strutted in with her sunny skies and warm breezes, wearing nothing but good vibes! No coats, no jackets, no boots—just slip on your sandals and let the sunshine kiss your skin. It's one of those glorious days that practically begs for a stroll and a smile. As I soak in the warmth, I can’t help but drift back to those dreamy Sundays of the past. I can still smell the roasts wafting from open kitchen windows, each one a delicious signal that it was Sunday roast o’clock on our street. Mum would be cooking up a storm—gravy bubbling, meat roasting—and Dad would be lounging with the Sunday papers, utterly at peace in his armchair kingdom. Meanwhile, me and my two fabulous sisters, the teenage trio of the sixties, were fully immersed in the latest hits on the radio. Hair teased, eyeliner winged, and minds lost in the wonder of what colour lipstick would turn heads that week—or if that new mini skirt was a bit too mini. (Answer: never!) Those days may be tucke...

Can someone please explain how the British weather flips faster than a pancake on Shrove Tuesday? I mean, one minute I’m at the bus stop turning into an icicle alongside fellow frozen souls—one woman practically shouting, “I’m putting on my big fluffy dressing gown the second I get home!”—and the next, we’re all being slow-roasted under what I can only assume is that rare glowing orb in the sky... oh yes, the sun ! Now, I’m not complaining exactly (heaven forbid!), I’m just putting it out there—why does this country go from freezing to furnace in 0.2 seconds? There’s barely ever an in-between. It’s like we skipped spring entirely and jumped straight into a weather-themed episode of “Survivor: Heatwave Edition.” Everyone’s out in shorts, crop tops, and vests like they’re auditioning for “Love Island,” while I’m over here rocking my flowy tops and comfy trainers. No stilettos in sight—those bad boys retired years ago! Comfort is queen these days, although I still try to keep things sty...

Yesterday, I accompanied my husband to our local surgery to try and get him a much-needed urgent appointment. He’s diabetic and had been feeling pretty out of sorts over the weekend. It started with one hand tingling like it had pins and needles.  Then, he said his wrist felt "heavy"—which, by Sunday, had spread to his upper leg.  Come Monday morning, we headed out bright and early—thankfully it's just a two-minute walk away—because, as anyone who’s ever needed a GP on a Monday knows, it’s practically the Glastonbury queue of the healthcare world. Sure enough, by the time the door opened, about five other  patients had lined up behind us. The door was opened without a smile or a chirpy “Good morning!” (not like the receptionists many moons ago). We followed the receptionist in and were summoned to the desk where the welcome vibe didn’t exactly scream, “We’re here to help!” Honestly, we both felt a bit like we were an inconvenience.  Then came the new triage system. ...

Reaching Out to Others Today is Father's Day—a day set aside each year to celebrate the bond between a child and their dad. For many, it’s a chance to show appreciation and love, whether they’re young, grown-up, or even parents themselves. But for others, this day can feel complicated. Not everyone has had the chance to know a supportive or present father. Some may have experienced absence, distance, or disappointment—and that can leave a mark, especially on days like this. It’s important to acknowledge that these feelings are valid. Just like other significant days—Mother’s Day, birthdays, Christmas—Father’s Day can stir up emotions that aren’t always joyful. Many learn to live with these feelings and carry on without much thought. But for some, the weight lingers. If this resonates with you, know that you don’t have to keep it to yourself. Sometimes, talking things through with a friend or family member can ease the burden. And if that feels too close, speaking with someone outsi...

How do I even start this? Alright, deep breath… here goes. I have feet. Not just any feet. W-I-D-E feet. Hobbit-wide. Duck-paddle-wide. The kind of feet that turn shoe shopping into a battle, a full bring it on mission!    Ever since I can remember, shoe shopping has been a saga. My poor parents—bless their souls—used to approach the task with the same grim determination as storming a castle. And to make things even harder I always wanted red shoes. Bright, glorious red. Not the practical black or navy ones deemed “school-appropriate.” Nope. I wanted to click my heels like Dorothy and fly off to Oz! As I got older, I did what many wide-footed sufferers do, I crammed my feet into cute-but-cruel shoes that weren’t quite wide enough, gritted my teeth, and broke them in, limping around for two weeks and cursed the fashion gods. Eventually, wide-fit shoes started popping up in stores. Progress! But alas, the struggle didn’t end. It was always too long but wide enough or just the ...

So it's Tuesday—just your average, nothing-special kind of day… until I fell down a magical YouTube rabbit hole and stumbled upon a musical short that stopped me in my tracks! 🎻✨ There was this incredible young talented Italian musician playing his instrument, and next to him an equally amazing vocalist singing  “Time to Say Goodbye.” Yes, that “Time to Say Goodbye”—the goosebump-inducing classic made famous by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman. I first heard their version years ago and it’s still one of my all-time favourite classics.  Here is the link to the young man and the vocalist.  Now, I wasn’t expecting to find this gem in a random YouTube short, but there it was—like a little unexpected gift from the internet gods. And let me tell you, that young guy is pure talent. I could listen to him all day (and I just might… 😄). Naturally, I got curious and looked up the lyric. Of course, it was in Italian.  It took me back to when I was 16 and made a friend a...

Is it just me, or do weekends vanish faster than a slice of cake in my house? Friday rolled in, and off I trotted for a lovely stroll through the park, soaking in the thought: Ah yes, the weekend! Time for a dose of grandson giggles on Saturday. Bliss! Saturday arrived, and hubby and I made our way to see the boys. Two of them were basically on another planet — locked in their rooms, chatting on mobiles and battling monsters (or footballers? dragons?) on something called a PlayStation. Whatever it is, it involves a lot of shouting and button-smashing. Thankfully, our trusty companions Charlie and George still hang out with us (for now, before tech gets them too!). But whoosh — Saturday zipped by like a squirrel on espresso. Sunday, I told myself, would be slow and easy. Maybe a bit of lounging, a cuppa, some daydreaming... Lies. Sunday sped past like a Spitfire on turbo mode. One blink and it was lunch, another blink and tea time had ghosted me. Where did the day go? As evening crep...

Well,  this  morning has been quite the epic saga—think DIY meets comedy of errors! Over the weekend, we welcomed a brand-new bed frame and mattress into our home. Exciting, right? That is... until the old bed base decided it wasn’t going down without a fight. Thankfully, my hubby had assembled part of the new frame yesterday (hurrah for preparation!) or we’d still be tiptoeing through a minefield of screws and mystery metal bits. But the real drama began when we tried to evict the old bed base. Let me tell you, some of those screws were  defiant —as if they’d signed a pact to keep that base firmly rooted in our bedroom forever. Cue the tools: Allen keys, pliers, and finally, the mighty wrench. The battle was fierce. My poor hubby—who,  81, has traded flexibility for wisdom—was huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf himself. Honestly, I half expected the whole room to come tumbling down around us. At last, with one final grunt and a victorious twist of the wrist, ...

Bake a Cake Day! While rummaging through my baking cupboard I noticed a bag of self-raising flour creeping dangerously close to its best-before date. Clearly, the universe was telling me: Bake a cake! So, what better excuse to whip up a classic coffee cake for my husband — you know, the man who likes to stick with the "what we like" kind of guy? Out came the kitchen scales, the brown sugar, margarine (yes, margarine — it’s what the recipe calls for), self-raising flour, and three eggs. I chucked the sugar and margarine into the bowl and whisked them into creamy perfection. Then, in went the eggs — already pre-whisked like a proper prep queen — and a generous few tablespoons of good ol' Camp Coffee . Ah, Camp Coffee — that nostalgic 60's and 70’s liquid gold. Back then, it was the budget-friendly drink of choice for broke young couples (aka, most of us). These days, it goes into my coffee cakes!  I wonder how many mortals from the 60's and 70's remember the da...

This morning, with the looming threat of tomorrow's soggy forecast (thanks, June 5th), I armed myself with the shopping list and set off for a mid-week grocery trip. First stop: the gluten-free-friendly supermarket—because, I’m coeliac.  Then off I trotted to the next stop—our good ol’ wallet-friendly warrior: Aldi (or as I like to call it, the “Land of Decent Alternatives”). I zigzagged down the aisles, ticking things off and tossing them in my trolley. But then… a thought popped into my head. "I need something… moorish!" Ever get that feeling you’re stuck in a dinner déjà vu loop? Like you’ve been buying the same things for the past seventeen years , on repeat? It’s just hubby and me at home, and let me tell you—my better half is as adventurous with food as an out of date lettuce! I remember asking him many moons ago , “Fancy trying something different for dinner?” His response? “Let’s just stick to what we like.” Excuse me? We?! Since when was I included in this cu...

So… I’m 74 (well, almost—where did those years go?), and the other day I caught sight of my hair and thought, “Drab, love. Absolutely drab!” Clearly, it was time for a change. A trendy change. Now, here’s the thing—I’ve got my eye on styles that are probably more in the “fabulous forty-something” zone, but  why let age put limits on style? Not one to be discouraged, I dove headfirst into the internet rabbit hole on a mission: find a hairstyle that says “modern,” “stylish,” and “this gal’s still got it!” Somewhere between chic and seventy-four fabulous. But oh, the struggle! Every click brought up glamorous celebrities with hair that’s clearly been blessed by stylists who charge more than my monthly grocery bill. Who are these people? Do they even breathe the same budget air as the rest of us? Two hours later, eyes feeling like they’d been toasted under a desk lamp, I had found… exactly nothing. Not a single style that jumped out at me and said, “Yes! This is it!” The internet, f...