Keys
I bicycled down to the post office Monday morning with the intention of checking my PO Box for the very first time. I got the thing a month ago, but have been slow to get my changes of address info out. As a result, I had to look up the number, and didn’t remember which key on my chain went to it.
How embarrassing.
See, the thing was that trying different keys on my chain didn’t work. There were plenty of keys I didn’t have to try because I know very well what they go to – car keys and front door keys and such. As you can see, that left plenty others to choose from, some of which have been on my chain so long that I have no idea what they go to.
None of them worked.
Having taken 45 minutes to get there, I wasn’t about to turn tail and run so easily. So what there were a lot of people around getting into their own boxes. So what there was a line at the counter. I queue up and tried really hard not to laugh at myself.
When I got to the counter I put my keys on it and said, “Which one is my PO box key? Is this one it?” Polk, polk.
I just know those people behind me who started laughing were laughing at me. Well, the clerk went over my keys and eliminated them all. Apparently the PO Box key wasn’t there at all.
I fled. But only as far as a little stand off to the side, where I started digging through my backpack, hoping I’d dropped the key in there. I’d just wrapped my little piddies around something that might be it when a kindly, gray haired man came up and said,
“Would it help to see what one looks like?” He held up his own key for me to examine.
It was nothing like I’d expected, but it was just like the one I’d pulled from my pack. I thanked him profusely, and flounced off to check my mail.
It’s on my chain now. Can you guess which one it is? If you can, I’ll give you a cool keychain. As soon as I can find one.
Puurfect Blog Award
Susan gave me this one. Sort of. Actually, what she did was list a bunch she had received and drop my name along with some other people and suggested we each pick up one of our choice. I like this one.
I’d love to give it to Laria Lee, but she only does a group blog, and it’s actually her book I’d give it for. Instead, I’m going to put this one up for grabs. Anyone who likes it can claim it.
My Day
I’m not a precise person, but I do tend to get a little… um… how shall we say… accountantly. What? Me, retentive? Well, sometimes.
So when you all asked me to do a day in my life instead of picking something like a recipe or sewing project for me to feature, my first reaction was to pick a day. I picked Wednesday.
That isn’t really fair. One day is NOT just like another for me. For instance, I’m a lot more likely to be online on Thursday, but not over at FanLit Forever. These days I spend my weekends packing at the old place while I’m already living at the new place. Yeah, I know it should have been done weeks, if not months, ago. Also, I tend to take in different major projects on different days, and to be busier on some days than other. For instance, Monday and Tuesday Mr. Al and I were busy trying to go vertical in the storage units so there would be enough room to unload the van, which was full of stuff from our trip to the old place over the weekend. Wednesday was pretty much the luck of the draw.
I actually kept track of everything. I wrote it all down on a slip of paper that is currently sitting on my desk. Unluckly for me, my desk is currently 50 miles away.
So here’s kind of more or less how it works out. If you MUST have the details, I’ll have to give them to you some other time.
The alarm goes off at 6:30 am every morning. I do not get up. Nope, not me. No way I’m getting up that early. So I hit the snooze alarm and roll over. This is actually a necessary function for me. Without the snooze thing, I wouldn’t get up at all. By 7 am I have stumbled to the kid’s rooms, turned on their lights, stumbled back to bed, levered myself out again, pounded on their doors, and decided I really am not going to get more sleep, so I might as well do the dishes.
Dishes are great. They are noisy, which helps get the kids up. I generally have the kids out the door by 7:30 am, and Wednesday was no exception. No coffee, tea, or chocolate is involved as I can’t have any of them due to the nasty things caffeine makes my heart do. It gives new meaning to “heart attack breakfast.”
So anyway, on Wednesday as soon as the kids were gone and I’d had a chance to check my email, I worked on painting the back porch.
This isn’t a fun little project – this is self defense. When we first moved in I found black mold growing everywhere on that porch. I desperately need the porch for the sake of storage space, but didn’t dare keep anything there the way it was. If the mobile home were on my own land I’d rip the sucker out and put up a new one. Unluckily for me, the park it’s in has covenants against anything resembling construction. The paint I’m using is supposed to stop and block the mold. I hope it will be enough.
You gotta be bored by now. If not, here’s some more: (more…)
Oh, Yeah?
Jack: Darling, that is the saddest thing I’ve ever seen you make. What’s it supposed to be?
Jill: A hat. For you.
Jack: Oh.
Today’s theme is Sad
Previously in Jack and Jill 20/20 Vision
saturday photo scavenger hunt
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Suzie’s House 87: Drew Steps In
This starts where last week ended
“What’s wrong?” Drew’s voice was soft and comforting, and nearly made Suzie jump out of her skin. He’d come out of the living room behind her so quietly she hadn’t known he was there.
Standing in the cool comfort of the dark hall, trying not to cry over her son’s rejection, she wasn’t prepared to deal with anyone, especially Drew. Oblivious, he set his hands on her shoulders and began to kneed the tension out.
“I thought I heard you in the kitchen. Talk to me, Suzie.”
At first, when she didn’t want him touching her, when she thought she might still hide something from him, his massage made her more tense. Then she realized how futile her efforts were. He already knew exactly how she felt about him and Ben. There was no need to hide anything. The tension rushed out of her, leaving her feeling weak. She leaned against him, defeated.
“That’s better.” He moved down her arms, squeezing reassurance into her. “Except you still haven’t told me anything.”
“It’s Ben. He won’t do his homework.”
Drew chuckled. “Does any kid want to do homework?”
“No. I mean he WON’T do it. He refuses. He’s never refused before.”
“Oh.” His silence held too many thoughts. She could hear him lecturing, telling her how Ben was a teenager now, and teenagers are supposed to rebel. Or maybe something about how it was going to take Ben a while to get used to being back. Or any number of things she had already thought, but that didn’t make her feel better. When he finally spoke, all he said was, “That’s rough.”
He turned her around and leaned forward to look her in the eyes.
“You will get through this. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but it’s worth it.”
She bit her lip and nodded. He pulled her close. It felt so good to press her cheek to his chest while he stroked her back. After a few minutes she started to think things weren’t so bad. All the things Drew hadn’t said were true. Ben hadn’t turned into a hoodlum, he was just having a rough time right now.
She wanted to tell him she would be there for him when he was ready. She wanted to let him know, right that minute, that she understood. She pulled away from Drew, then pushed past. He caught her by the wrist, gently pulling her back.
“You should let him be for now.”
“But…”
“Give him time.” Drew pulled her in, holding her in a way that both comforted and excited. He nudged her head back, and gave her a kiss.
It was a slow kiss, a soft melding of lips to lips only a couple steps up from simple friendship. It made her feel loved, respected, and understood. She twined her arms around his neck and pressed a little closer, enjoying the moment.
“Mom!?” Ben’s voice came from behind her.
Suzie wrenched around to see that her son stood at the end of the hall. He had the recipe file in his hand. “What are you doing?”
Suzie shoved at Drew, trying to pull away like a guilty teenager. He didn’t jump back, though. In fact, he held on, making it hard for her to put any distance between them.
“Drew,” she grumbled, still trying to break contact.
“Remember our agreement?” Drew spoke quietly. “You bring him back, but you don’t let him get in the way.”
“There are reasonable limits,” Suzie hissed back.
“Yes, but this isn’t it.”
“What do you mean by ‘you bring him back’? Are you saying Drew was the one who wanted me? Not you, Mom?”
“The kid has sharp ears.”
Ben’s face grew thunderous. He looked at Suzie as if she’d betrayed him somehow. Then he rushed past them, shoving Suzie out of his way as he went.
“Ben!” Suzie shouted. She took a step toward her son as he whipped into her office, but Drew stopped her.
“Let me. It’ll be easier coming from me than someone he really cares about.”
“But…” What exactly did Drew intend to say?
“Trust me.” He squeezed her hand, then went after Ben.
Trust him? Suzie drew a deep breath, trying to get her whip-sawed emotions under control. She’d already trusted him in so many ways, but how much more would he demand?
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Thursday Thirteen 46: Things I have read out loud to my husband:
1. Into the Night by Suzanne Brockmann:
“Do you have a girlfriend?” she heard herself ask instead and was instantly horrified at herself. What did she care beyond basic curiosity?
2. Every Breath She Takes by Suzanne Forster
After explaining that the heroine is a women’s self defense expert having a bad day.
“Stay right there!” she shouted, holding him off with the spray while she got out of her car. She knelt to confiscate what she expected to be a weapon and realized it was a detective’s badge. LAPD, RIHD. She’d heard of the elite robbery and homicide division that dealt with high-profile crimes, but she never would have imagined —
“A cop,” she whispered. “I’ve Maced a cop.”
3. Hawken’s Heart, Suzanne Brockmann
He sat on the second of the two double beds in the room, and Nell thought for a second that he was sending her a message. Their night was over. He was doing to sleep alone. But when he looked at her, she realized that he was feeling as uncertain as she was.
“You look like you could use a back rub,” she said softly.
He met her eyes. “What I really want is to make love to you again.”
Nell’s mouth was suddenly dry. She tried to moisten her lips, tried to smile. “The odds of that actually happening will increase enormously if you sit on this bed instead of over there on that one.”
4. The Masque of the Black Tulip by Lauren Willig
His valet, Downey, had been decidedly unamused by the process. (of removing broken china from his cravat.) and when it came down to a choice between his valet and his mistress… well, there was no question. No one kept linen quite as fresh as Downey.
5. The Barefoot Princess, by Christina Dodd
“The marquees is nothing but an overgrown bully who commands that we pay him rent on a poor, battered house the cows would be ashamed to call home.”
“I rather like my house.”
“The roof leaks.”
“It has atmosphere.”
“Miss Victorine, that’s not atmosphere, that’s rain.”
6. The Perfect Lover by Stephanie Laurens
Her senses leapt when he stood, stripped off his trousers, then turned.
Her eyes locked – not on his. She was conscious of her lips parting, of her eyes growing wider, rounder.
She’d touched, but hadn’t before seen.
The visual was even more impressive than the tactile – at least to her mind. In fact, her mind wasn’t at all sure —
“For God’s sake, stop thinking!”
7. The Unsung Hero by Suzanne Brockmann
“When you’re so old and your doctor is so young that you look at him and know you haven’t had sx since before he was born, chances are, he’s not going to have a whole hll of a lot of good news,” he’d told Joe grumpily as they’d driven home.
8. Getting Lucky by Susan Andersen
Nooo! She abruptly sat down on the edge of the bed, and for one of the few times in their life, she wished she were a swearing woman. Her few, pitiful expletives simply didn’t cover the depth of her feelings. But, poop!
9. And Then You Die by Iris Johansen
“Why are you here? What are you looking for?”
“Money”
“She stared at him in bewilderment. “Money?”
“If you find any, don’t touch it. It’s mine.”
10. Conspiracy in Death by JD Robb
“Ah, do you want me to… do anything here?”
The sound Mira made was between a chuckle and a sigh. Eve sounded nearly terrified the answer would be yes.
11. A Kingdom of Dream by Judith McNaught
“You — you madman! You’ve stolen a PRIEST this time! You’ve actually done it! You’ve stolen a priest right out of a holy priory!”
12. Always Dakota by Debbie Macomber
“I already know you married me for the ranch,” she told him. “I’m not so beautiful, but those cattle of mine certainly are.”
13. Don’t Look Down by Jennifer Crusie and Bob Mayer
“That’s not enough,” Lucy said. “I want to do something now.”
“Good,” J.T. said. “You can learn to fall off a bridge.”
“What?” Lucy said, jarred out of her fear for Pepper. “What happened to ‘the molecules won’t part for you’?”
He handed her a harness. “A controlled fall. On a rope. If something goes wrong, you need to be able to go over the side of this bridge, and I’m going to show you how to do that.”
Could this be why he thinks he knows something about Romance novels?
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By George! How to Lose Friends and Make Enemies
What was happening in the world at large while Prince George, Princess Caroline, and Lady Jersey did their very public dance? Napoleon
The situation in Europe was tense. Surprise! It was the French, again. Double surprise! The crowned heads of Europe were on pins and needles. The Prince could not help but notice that several junior colonels, some very junior, had been promoted to major-general. Among that number was nineteen year old Prince William of Gloucester.
That really got the Prince’s undies in a bunch. He had had a falling out with William’s dad a few years before and the wound had yet to scab over, let alone heal. He sent the Queen one of his typically overblown letters full of woe and the perfidy of false friends. He asked her to speak to dad about a promotion and a posting that would show the world the great general he knew himself to be.
The Queen wrote back that she was very sorry for the situation, it really broke her heart to see her boy so disappointed, BUT…His fathers mind was made up and he had the whole military establishment behind him on this one. The Prince of Wales would never be a general. She went on to warn him off going to the Whigs in hope of forcing a political confrontation with the Crown over the matter.
She knew her son and she knew he was hurt enough to do something stupid. Using the Whigs to force the issue was his only option if dad wouldn’t go quietly. She told him in no uncertain terms that if he did that there would hell to pay. Henry Dundas, the Secretary for War wrote to the Prince telling him the same thing. “It is impossible that your Royal Highness, after a moments cool reflection on the subject, can put any consideration whatever in competition with those important interests which are now at stake.”
Hoe your own row, boy. Things in Europe are bad enough without you busting open a political hornet’s nest on the Home Front.
The Prince’s good friend, the Earl of Moira wrote that he hoped that the Prince would one day get to attain the rank he desired, but begged him that he should “not let any fretfulness seduce him into the oppositions camp if His Majesty persisted in rejecting the application.”
The Prince backed off the idea of political confrontation. That left him no option but to beg, plead and whine, in person and by letter. No good, the answer was the same. One day, His Majesty informed him, you will be King. That is a much greater responsibility than being a general. For the sake of the Realm, you must remain at home. He added that should the French invade, he knew his boy would do a splendid job protecting his family.
The Prince’s brother, the Duke of York, had been promoted to Field Marshal. The Prince approached him with a view to his putting in the good word for him. The Duke promised to do so. When nothing came of it the Prince had a Royal Blowout with the Duke, accusing him of not doing enough. The Duke responded that if the Prince weren’t such a giddy, drunken prat perhaps dad might take him more seriously. Or words to that effect.
The Duke and Prince were not on speaking terms for quite a while after that.
The Prince was nothing if not a Renaissance man. He held wide interests and took pleasure in displaying his good taste, his interest in the arts and sciences and his general approbation of learning. There were wide interests in his personal life as well. The ones not connected with drinking, gambling and pissing away the taxpayers money involved women.
As might be expected of any gentleman of his rank, he had his passing fancies. The occasional romp in a dark corner of Vauxhall while out carousing with his pals. These things barely merited a footnote in the Prince’s history. Some of the other women, however, were somewhat more noteworthy. Not least because of the beastly way he treated them and their reaction to it.
For example, you, gentle reader, might like to know what happened to Lady Jersey. Well… It would seem that not long after the birth of his daughter, the Princess Charlotte, the Prince fell ill. While the illness was of short duration, it was intense enough that the Prince was sure he was on death’s door. To prepare himself he penned a rather longish Last Will and Testament.
It came in at around three thousand words. The remarkable part was that he left all his worldly goods and property to Mrs. Fitzherbert. Then, as an afterthought, he wrote on the back of this document; “I forgot to mention that the jewels which she who is called The Princess of Wales wears are mine, having been bought with my own money, and therefore…I bequeath them to my infant daughter as her own property and to her, who is called the Princess of Wales, I leave one shilling.”
No big surprises there. It did show, however, that the Prince’s thoughts were fixating once more on Mrs. Fitzherbert. It also showed that the bloom was off the lily as far as Lady Jersey was concerned. He left her nothing. Not even a shilling. Since the Prince didn’t die, the will didn’t come into play.
For roughly three years, 1796 to 1799, the relationship with Lady Jersey became more a game of cat and mouse than one of illicit snugglebunnydom. Even someone as easily manipulated as the Prince had his limits. Of course, the Prince could hardly be insensible to the fact that Lady Jersey was becoming the most hated woman in England.
The more time he spent with her, the more popular Princess Caroline became. This was a “rankle” he could not tolerate. Being the Prince, however, the only way he knew of for dealing with unwanted females was to ignore them until they went away. Lady Jersey would NOT be ignored.
– Mr. Al
Do You Remember When?
A friend of mine is having some trouble with motherhood right now. She’s on her second child, and is finding it hard going. Lack of sleep and stress are riding her.
I remember those days vividly, but in a strange way. It’s almost like a favorite movie as much as my real past. I keep thinking there are things I must have blanked out.
If you’ve had kids, do you remember how you dealt with the early years? What kinds of pressures were you under and how did you handle them?
Proximidade Award
Looky what Eaton gave me!
This reward is in Portuguese so the translation is below.
“This blog invests and believes, in proximity”[meaning, that blogging makes us ‘close’ -being close through proxy] How awesome is that??
“They are all charming blogs, and the majority of them aim to show the marvels of friendship; there are persons who are not interested when we give them a prize, and then they help to cut these bows; do we want that they are cut, or that they propagate?
Then let’s try to give more attention to them! So with this prize we must deliver it to 8 bloggers that in turn must make the same thing and put this text.
I’m going with a slightly different tack on this. I’m giving it to eight people I miss.
1. CM
2. India Carolina
3. Lynn Simpson
4. Mary Danielson
5. Rebecca DeCoursy
6. Sandra Cox
7. Ericka Scott
8. Mean Kitty
What Next?
By now those who read my Sunday posts know that I am a closet Suzie Homemaker. I don’t mean to be the one on the block who always has cookies or bread coming out of the oven when someone comes to visit. I don’t try to end up in public wearing only items I made. I am NOT a quilter, I just happen to make quilts.
Any advice I give, including recipes, is bound to be something I cobbled together.
I have a question for you. What would you like to see next? A pie? How to make a skirt? More tile work? If you really want I’ll go ahead and do the pinata, but the kids have both insisted they don’t want one. They have outgrown them, apparently. Have you?
20/20 Vision
Jill: I’m so glad we went away for the weekend. Everything is so beautiful! Don’t you think so, Jack?
Jack: I can’t see a thing! Stupid bifocals.
Today’s theme is view
Previously in Jack and Jill
saturday photo scavenger hunt
The rules for Photohunt can be found here.
Be sure to visit the home page.
Suzie’s House 86: To Break a Mother’s Heart
This starts where last week ended.
“Fhuuuu!”
Suzie wasn’t sure which of the culprits in front of her had almost sworn – Ben or Miranda.
The two of them had whirled around to come crashing together, shoulder-to-shoulder, doing their best to block her view of the counter. It was a futile effort. Suzie already knew there were recipe cards scattered all around the file.
Her file.
Her special, third generation recipe file which she kept locked up in her desk.
How had they gotten to it? Stupid question. The key to the drawer where she locked the file was in another drawer in her desk. She’d never told anyone about it, but both her life-long friend and her son would figure it out quickly enough.
She sighed in exasperation.
She’d have to have a word with each of them later. Right now she had more important things to worry about.
“Ben, it’s time to do your homework.”
“Homework?” He looked so bewildered he nearly crossed his eyes.
“Yes. Homework. I know you must have some. In fact, knowing your father I would guess you’ve fallen behind.”
“No I haven’t. I do it in school.” Ben bristled, his chin coming up and his eyes narrowing.
“Homework, by definition, is what you do at home.” Suzie could feel her own temper rising. “I’m not talking about your class work. I’m talking about what your teachers expect you to do at home.”
“I don’t have any!”
Since when had Ben’s voice become whiny? Since when had he ever talked back to her? It rocked Suzie back on her heels. She didn’t know how to deal with him anymore.
The thing was, if she weren’t so badly out of the loop, she’d have counter arguments. She’d know if his grades were holding up. She’d know what assignments were due, and what was coming up. But because of the argument with Mrs. D. a few weeks ago Suzie had steered clear of all Ben’s teachers.
Maybe Ben was telling the truth? How would Suzie know?
“Aw, cut the kid a break,” Miranda said. “If he has any homework, he can catch up on it later.”
Ben nodded enthusiastically.
He’d rather spend time with Miranda than with his own mother. Her best friend and her son, buddies. It just didn’t sit well.
But what could Suzie do? She didn’t dare press Ben. Not until she knew more. She had to back down.
“All right, but you promise you will do whatever it takes to get your grades up if they aren’t all A’s and B’s, right?”
Ben swallowed hard, but nodded agreement.
Suzie sighed in frustration. She knew down to her bones he needed help. She just didn’t know how to give it to him.
“Fine. I’ll let you off for tonight.”
“Yes!” Ben pumped a fist in triumph. Miranda gave him a high – five.
Then they watched expectantly until Suzie walked away. Only when she reached the doorway into the hall did they turn around, at the same time, to poke through her recipes.
Miranda bumped Ben with her elbow. Suzie could see her friend’s grin even though Miranda had her back to the hall. Ben grinned back. She said something about what else they would cook.
Miranda was teaching Ben to cook? But that was Suzie’s job! And when had Miranda learned to cook?
Suzie almost marched back in there to take Ben in hand, but she couldn’t see anything good coming out of it, so she let it go. She didn’t get very far down the hall before she stopped. In the cool, darkness of the central hall, she breathed deep, fighting sadness and frustration.
Letting go was so hard. When she sent him off to safety, she didn’t realize she could loose him this way, too.
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Thursday Thriteen #45: Banners
I tend to be a little proprietary where it comes to my Thursday Thirteen banners (sorry Jan) because I make them myself. You’ll notice I normally but my web site on them. This time I made a bunch specifically with sharing them in mind.
The way this works, for those who haven’t done it before, is you left click on the picture, chose Save Picture As to copy it to your computer, upload it to a place like Photobucket or Flickr, then copy the code they give you and past it wherever you want the picture to show up. Photobucket will even let you copy this straight off me to your own account.
I’m still planning on using these, but you are welcome to use them too. I hope they serve you well.
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By George! Reconcile or Else!
As we’ve seen over the last few Wednesdays, Prince George and Caroline should never have married. So how do they make the best of it? Not well.
The Prince adamantly refused to allow his wife to go anywhere, for any reason. The people in her household were the Prince’s employees, if not his partisans. When she complained to the King about this he threw up his hands. His Majesty expected reconciliation; he most certainly DID NOT want the gruesome details.
He told Caroline that the Prince’s behavior was regrettable, but he wore the pants in the family. A wife’s duty was to obey her husband. Yes, her husband was a drunken jerk, but he was still her husband. And just as all good Christians must obey Gods Will, not that His Majesty could recall an instance of God being a drunken jerk, so a good wife obeys her husband. She didn’t get any further with the Queen.
Caroline was not happy about any of this, but if the King and Queen would not side with her on this issue, she had to take her lumps. It is a curious thing though, the Prince told anyone who would listen that he found the Princess to be loathsome. He found her so repellent that the mere mention of her name put him off his feed bag.
And yet…the thought of her with another man, and, it must be said, there were several likely suspects, including George Canning, a future Prime Minister, would send him completely around the bend. The Prince behaved like a man in the thrall of sexual jealousy. He never put such restrictions on Mrs. Fitzherbert. But then, Mrs. Fitzherbert never gave him a reason to be jealous.
His Majesty did have a word with his boy about his treatment of the Princess. Much as he would have liked to ignore it, something had to be said. The reconciliation wasn’t moving forward at all. The Lord Chancellor, expressing the views of His Majesty, told the Prince that he was about as popular as the Devil and any steps taken on his part that would increase his unpopularity could not be taken without danger to “the publick safety.” It therefore was of the “utmost moment to preserve even an outward appearance of cohabitation.”
Go back to your wife or there will be rioting and civil disturbances. How many husbands get THAT thrown in their faces?
And as if His Highness didn’t have enough to worry about, he was having money troubles again. At the time of the marriage he was receiving 73,000 pounds a year. Upon marriage, this was increased to 138,000 a year plus 52,000 pounds to put the finishing touches on Carlton House.
This would have had anyone but the Prince farting through silk. The Prince, however, in anticipation of all the extra money that would come his way as a result of getting married, allowed himself to run up his tab, so to speak. And what was his tab, you ask? In the eight years since his debts had been cleared in 1787, the Prince of Pleasure went into the red to the tune of 630,000 pounds! The only place to get that kind of money was from Parliament. This, of course, meant making his debts public knowledge.
Prime Minister Pitt, no friend of the Prince’s, to be sure, proposed that the Prince’s Duchy of Cornwall income, about 13,000 a year, be set aside to cover his debts. In addition, 25,000 should be deducted from the rest of his annual income for the same purpose. At that rate, the Prince would be in the black after only twenty-seven years. Provided he didn’t incur any more debts during that time, of course.
Talk about asking for the moon.
During those previous eight years the Prince had, thanks in part to Mrs. Fitzherbert, had very little to do with politics. As a result, he had no political allies and many enemies. Pitt’s suggested settlement was shouted down in Parliament. No, no. Parliament wanted a lot more from His Royal Highness.
So bad had the situation become that the King himself had become a target. Since his recovery the King had enjoyed enormous public sympathy. Once the word was out about how much the taxpayers would have to fork over to bail out his booze soaked buffoon of a son, the sympathy disappeared.
Making his way to the House of Lords in October of 1795, the state couch was pelted with rocks while the crowd shouted, “Down with George.” The Prince himself, either out of self preservation or an exceedingly rare flash of common sense, managed to get the matter put on the backburner by volunteering the Cornwall income and 65,000 pounds a year.
It was enough to cool tempers to the point where the government was not forced to resign. Not that Pitt was about to thank him for it. He had also agreed, as if he had a choice, to the appointment of a commission whose sole job would be watching his money.
Never content to let sleeping dogs lie, the Prince found another “rankle” at this time to belabor his poor father with.
– Mr. Al
What's Behind Your Computer?
I’ve been monkeying around with my desktop, trying to get wireless for our household. I should have known it would mean adding even more wire. It’s getting so thick back there I can’t tell what goes where even with a flashlight. It isn’t even all that much. No scanner, no fax, no external drives. Who’d have thought a basic system would end up such a mess?
