Second Hand Rose

Tonights story will be one told over a few days as it's a long one.  I will probably post bits of it every now and again until I reach the end of this particularly epic tale!

Second hand Rose is Bubble and Squeaks Nana, Whilst the Dowager personifies Downton Abbey,  Second Hand Rose is a scatty, harebrained ditsy eccentric who CANNOT pass a charity shop, car boot, church sale, garage sale or table top sale without stopping to have to have a quick look. Many bargains are to be found, the odd bit of treasure unearthed, and more often than not promptly sold on at a quick profit.  When we were all young and daft, she delighted in finding "stuff" to furnish the odd assortment of flats, houses, caravans and boats we took up residence in.

A seamstress by trade, she is always, always busy. Now in her 70's she still has barmy ideas to make her fortune and spends hours and hours making stuff, secure in the knowledge that "one day" she will drop on something that will make her a fortune. An extremely talented and hard working lady (I have a dustbin bag full of patchwork caps that I am still trying to sell), she upholsters, makes curtains, bedding, dresses, carrier bag holders with owls on, teddy bears, laundry bags, knits, crochets, does the crossword every day, finishes the suduko, finds time to eat out most days and generally has a pretty good time.

The downside to being an eccentric however is that everyone around her cringes when she says "Hang on minute.....I have an idea!"  or even worse  "erm....I have done something!"

To give you an example of just how off the wall she can be, I want to share one of the stories the ex-beloved used to tell me about his childhood.  The ExB was one of 4 children and when he was a little boy his sister had a pet mouse which duly escaped.  Every conceivable attempt was made to catch his sisters pet, all of which failed spectacularly.  The little mouse managed to make itself a comfortable residence in the bottom of the sofa and when anyone went anywhere near it it used to scuttle back under the sofa never to be seen again.  Time passed, and the mouse was by now happily ensconced in the front room king of its castle.  Trapping was out of the question, as was poisoning - this was after all somebodies beloved pet.  Rose came up with an amazing idea - "I know we will get the mouse drunk!  It will fall asleep and we can just pick it up!"

The drink of the time was Newcastle Brown Ale  (it was the 1970's and we are northern). A bottle was duly bought and some of the potent brew tipped into the lid.  The mouse loved it!  Drank the lot, retreated back to it's lair a happy mouse and slept the day away.  The following night two lid fulls were left out and the mouse once again drank the lot.  By the end of the week the ExB has vivid memories of tiptoeing across the front room with his younger brother on their way up to bed, trying not to disturb the plethora of Newcastle Brown Ale lids, all strategically placed around the front room while Rose kept a lonely vigil with a dustpan and cardboard box!  

Finally at long last (about 10 days!) the mouse drank enough Newcastle Brown Ale to sink a battleship, and triumphant at last Rose emerged from the front room with a comatose mouse, a gazillion lids from the beer bottles and a smirk on her face.

Roses ideas range from the bizarre to the downright eccentric and last autumn I answered the phone one evening to hear the words  "Erm....I have done something, is there any chance you can help me?"