Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Bonjour!

Amazing. Since I posted about Lucie de la Tour du Pin, I've had a huge number of hits on my site from France via Google. I assume she may be the subject of French children's homework questions, hence her popularity as a search term.
  Not much happening here at the moment. I worked today, so it's sort of a non-day really, but I did talk someone through printing documents, scanning to a USB and sending emails; I knew more than I thought, which is always a pleasant surprise, but I'm kicking myself too.  I'm reading this book at the moment, 



"Tips from your Nana" (Nana, pronounced Nan-na, Kiwiese for grandmother) by Robyn Paterson, all sorts of easy tips to make money go further, the sort of things our grand- and great grandmothers did during the war and the Depression (or mothers if you happen to be an Older Person like me). One of the tips was to throw your coffee grounds into the compost. Apparently they are a great source of nitrogen. Why did I not know this? When I think of all the nitrogen that I've just flushed down the sink over the years, I could spit. What a nitwit.

2 comments:

  1. We feed ours (and tea leaves) to the worm farm as well. Did you ever know your Nana to get tips from her? I never knew any of my relatives and do wonder what I have missed out on.

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  2. No, sadly I never knew any of my grandparents. My mother had me late in life and three of my grandparents had died by the time I was born. My only remaining grandma, my mother's mother, lived in London, as my parents had emigrated to NZ from England in 1958. She died when I was ten, but we did write letters and Mum sent Grandma my drawings. Most of my frugality comes from my Mum, who was a little girl during the Depression and remembered it vividly, that often they only had bread and a cup of tea for their main meal of the day. Then came the war and rationing, which was bleak, but at least everyone got something to eat. Mum lived through the London blitz, working at the Central London Post Office doing shift work, and going down into the basement of the building to shelter from the bombing. I often think what extraordinary lives my parents had (Dad was in the British Army, at the disastrous retreat that ended in Dunkirk, although he was further south at Dieppe, but the conditions were the same all along the French coast), and yet their experiences were quite common for English people of their generation.

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