Just When You Think You Know Someone… You Realise You Don’t!

Hi All

You know how they say that you can live with someone for a lifetime and still not really know them? Well, obviously I haven’t lived with Richard for a lifetime, but I do think that I know him, which is hardly fair because there is no way he knows me…at least, not the part of me that constantly confuses and surprises him.

The latest ‘thought I knew him but obviously do not’ episode happened last week.

I was happily causing mayhem on the internet and a text arrived. It said that my order would be with me in two hours, which was weird because I hadn’t ordered anything, other than that nice Mark Harmon from NCIS and, being a realist, I knew the chances of him being delivered were slim. So I forwarded the text to Richard and received no reply. Considering that this was a mistake on the carriers part I cleared off to Morrison’s to buy some bleach for the loo.

On the way out of Morrison’s I spied a little man sitting at a table collecting for something or other. He looked nice so I dropped a pound in his lap. He said, ‘Thank you,’ followed by, ‘Can I interest you in signing up for organ donation?’ My first thought was that he was asking for my old piano, which in itself was weird because I don’t have a piano, old or new. When it twigged that what he was actually requesting was my offal, I laughed.

‘Don’t think any living skin cell on this body will be of any use to anyone,’ I said, smiling my best smile.

‘You don’t smoke and you don’t drink,’ he said, running his eyes up and down my body.

‘How do you know that!’ I screeched. ‘Are you psychic?

‘I know,’ he said, mysteriously. ‘I can tell by looking at you, so there will be a lot that they can use from your body.’

He then went on to convince me that I’m wonderful and that even the parts I thought were worn-out and buggered for all time would be of use to someone.

Anyway, I’m digressing. I trotted out of Morrison’s totally rejuvenated and clutching the organ donation form in my perfect hand.

I haven’t signed it yet. It’s one of those things that once you’ve thought about it you really should give it serious consideration, and I will. Richard has carried a donor card since the day I met him, 23/24 years ago – not that much of him will be of use to anyone. Except maybe his heart. He has the kindest heart and anyone would be privileged to receive it.


Right, when I got home there was a scrap of paper saying that the parcel had been returned from whence it came as no one was here.

Richard later admitted that yes he had ordered something and he would rearrange for it to be delivered.

The next day I saw a note pinned to the front door advising the delivery to be left in the porch, so as not to interrupt me and my busy schedule (????). At some point in the morning the package must have been delivered because when he came home from work he walked in carrying it.

‘What’s that?’ I said, shaking my head and fearing the answer. You see, Richard sits scanning eBay in the evenings and he can’t stop his grubby little finger from twitching over the ‘buy’ button and things are forever dropping through the letterbox, or the postie is standing there leaning on the doorbell, laden down with Richard’s latest ‘need’.

He set about opening the box and pulled out a….wait for it…. banjo!

Yep, a sodding banjo.

‘What the **** have you bought THAT for?’ I shrieked, not holding back on the expletive. This was definitely a more serious purchase than a sticker for the Land Rover.

‘Because I’ve always wanted one,’ he said, grinning, running his hand lovingly over the stupid thing.

‘What do you mean, “You’ve always wanted one” I’ve never heard you mention you’ve always wanted one in the twenty-three years that I’ve known you. You can’t play a triangle and you’re tone deaf.’

‘Well I have,’ he said, obstinately, continuing his loving caresses.

‘You can’t even play it!’

‘I’m going to learn,’ he said.

‘How?’ I said.

‘From the internet.’

‘The internet!’ I bellowed.

‘Yeah, You Tube.’

I had to turn my attention back to NCIS, but before I did I said, ‘You’re not playing that thing in the house.’

‘Don’t intend to,’ he said. ‘I’m playing it in my shed.’

Yeah well, good luck with that. But then, thinking about it, why not? He has a wood burner in there and a large leather sofa and a TV and a radio and wine (maturing in the corner) so he may well disappear into there at the start of autumn and not be seen again until the spring. Much like a grizzly. Suppose I may have to supply him with the odd casserole and crust of bread…but small price to pay for not having my ears subjected to the sound of a million wailing cats.

So, this is the point. You never really know someone. Richard has been hiding the fact that he wants to turn into a banjo-playing hickory-hollow-guy for a very long time, which is really strange because the guy can’t hide anything. He is as readable as a large print book.

I know what has started this. He thinks I don’t, but I do. He tracked down a very old film recently and they do that ‘duelling banjos’ thingy. He likes it. It offends my ears. But anyway, that’s that. The banjo has been taken to work today for an expert to ‘tune it,’ and then it’s off to the shed and away he goes.

I kid you not, my dears, it will be back on eBay by the end of the year!

Take care my lovelies x015








Posted by on September 17, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Wasn’t Really Going For The Princess Fiona Look!

Hi All

Being a mainly happy dude, and pretty much a positive human being, it grates with me when I wake up grumpy – no, I don’t mean Richard, as you very well know.

We all have days like that, don’t we? You wake up feeling a bit grumpy and then the first thing on your agenda goes wrong and it sets the day’s tone.

Some time ago Richard convinced me that I needed a new iPod and Bose Bluetooth speaker. I won’t bore you with the details of his argument and although I agreed, in theory, the little voice in my head said that this was a dumb idea and a waste of money.

Over the years I have learnt to listen to that little voice. At first I thought I was merely hearing voices, as you do, as it seemed like a natural conclusion, but then I began to realise that the little voice was sent from my gut and it was purely gut instinct. Anything that wakes that little voice is usually a bad idea.

Back to the Bose speaker and iPod. After having given the speaker a long spell in a drawer because it had peed me off the last time I’d attempted to use it and couldn’t connect it, I decided to have another bash. Obviously it was as flat as a pancake and so I allowed it time to charge – and I gave the iPod a top-up as well. When the thing was charged I did what you need to do to pair the devices. One hour later, I gave up and threw the thing back in the drawer. This was the cause of my bad-day beginning. One hour of my life spent on that crap!

The day did get better.

This morning I set about doing the ‘accounts.’ Sounds grand, but it is simply a matter of reconciling money ‘ins’ and ‘outs.’ Having binned the speaker yesterday, I was using the iPod with earphones. Chea was on the chair at the side of me and she was still sleeping so I didn’t want to wake the dear soul by ‘going large’ with the din – although, she has shown a liking for Pink on full volume! Absently scrolling through the playlist and sucking the end of the Paper Mate, green-gel pen, I was surprised when something warm flowed into my mouth. Removing the pen, I stared horrified at green ink trickling out of it and onto the table. It took me twenty minutes and half a tube of toothpaste to remove the ink from my mouth and tongue – and my chin is still green where the ink had trickled out of my mouth before I could make it to the bathroom. How the hell do they get that much ink in a pen?

So, I’m hoping that like yesterday the day will get better. I’m considering suing Pape Mate. I mean, I didn’t see any warning saying ‘do not suck.’ There were more warnings on the bottle of cough medicine I bought last week – apparently that was going to confuse me and cause disorientation. Fortunately, I wouldn’t notice those side effects, they would blend, and damn easier than this green ink.

Richard now has ‘my’ cold but the brave man has plodded off to work this morning. He had a mini meltdown last Saturday, when, with my snotty cold and deafening cough, he spied me in the garden – digging.

‘You must be feeling better, then!’ he announced over the runner beans. ‘If you are digging the garden.’

‘I wouldn’t say I’m feeling better, Richard,’ I said. ‘But what do you expect me to do? Just sit down and do sod all?’

‘Well, I thought we might go out today to look at properties, and then you got up and appeared too ill, and yet here you are gardening – so you must be feeling better.’ he said sulkily, sounding genuinely disappointed that I wasn’t actually dying and too ill to stand up straight.

I slammed the spade into the ground, which really hurt my throbbing head, and turned to him.

‘Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, Richard. I mean, I’m sorry that I might appear well enough to walk into the garden and dig up a dandelion! I’ll try to have a relapse if it will help…perhaps pneumonia? Would that please you?’

He grumbled something about me being silly and that he didn’t mean that, and then cleared off, to reappear ten minutes later with a mug of tea for me and coffee for his mardy self.

I do see his point, but I literally have to be ‘off my legs’ with something before I give up and in to it.

The irony of this is, another weekend is here, and now dear Richard has ‘my’ cold. See? It’s ‘my’ cold, and I have given it to him. Well that shows what a kind and sharing human being I am. So, I’m now waiting to see if we go gallivanting looking at properties this Saturday, or if he takes to his sickbed. I know which my money is on – after all, he is a man! Though, in fairness, he is a brave little soldier when he wants to be.

Mind, I’ll have to get rid of this green chin before I can be seen out in public looking like Princess Fiona!download (1)

Take care my lovelies x


Posted by on September 5, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Never Stop Topping-Up The Memory Jar…

Hi All

I guess when you get to a certain age your ‘memory’ jar is pretty full, but surprisingly that jar can always accommodate more, and that’s what I’ve been doing over the last ten days – topping up the memory jar.

We attended a wedding in Cornwall ten days ago and the greatest memory retained from this was the memory of laughter. It never stopped. Put the right people together and it’s a done deal. The down-side to this is just how much my ribs ached afterwards, and still do.

I have always had a strong bond with my cousin, Dawn, and when the two of us are together we find the whole world hilarious. And when we can’t laugh at the world we laugh at ourselves. One incident will remain at the top of my memory jar for a long time. If you don’t like toilet humour then read no further.

Yep, thought so, you’re still reading!

During the reception I needed to leave the hotel and go back to the car to find some flatter shoes. Everyone else seemed to manage on heels (that doesn’t include Richard, obviously) but I couldn’t, and each time I stepped on the grass my heels sunk in and my feet left my shoes behind, which for some reason I found hilarious, but then I’ll laugh at pretty much anything. As we left the hotel, Dawn turned to me and discreetly mumbled, ‘I need a trump.’

I was bloody surprised because I’ve known her for a while and to date she has never shared this sensitive kind of info’ with me. I was looking understandably astounded as we pushed through the door, leading out onto the beautifully landscaped gardens, when Dawn turned to me and announced, ‘I’ve trumped!’

I turned to her, requiring clarification, and said, ‘You’ve trumped?’

Suddenly she wasn’t there. Her legs buckled and she collapsed in a heap on the gravel. One of her shoes winged away into the bushes and she was prostrate on the ground. I (we) laughed so hard that I did exactly the same thing…but without the falling over bit. Her tights were torn and her knee was bleeding – which made us howl – and she couldn’t get up – which made it even funnier.10579222_10204828446254830_587700490_n

Eventually I managed to get her on her feet and we cackled our way to the car, doubled over and hysterical. I’ll tell you something – I have no idea how she managed to pass wind so privately and yet it still managed to blow her off her feet.

Richard came looking for us at one point but he never found us. He said he could hear us hysterically guffawing in the bushes but he couldn’t find the right bush. I don’t think there’s an answer to that?

I must add that at this point neither of us had been on the falling down water. Seemed Dawn didn’t need it.

Another memory was founded at the weekend when Jake and Grace (grand kiddies) came over for the day.  We trotted off down the road and into the fields at the back of the house, where there are dozens of blackberry brambles with ripe, ready-to-pick fruit. They each had a bowl and Grace (3) picked the lower berries and Jake (7) picked the higher. I picked fruit at the next level up and we sent Richard into the brambles to get those that none of us could reach. The sun was shining and all was well with the world. At one point I stood back and watched them, chatting away excitedly about picking as many as they could so that we could make jam. Jake instructing Grace, ‘You need MORE than that, doesn’t she Grandma?’ They were totally absorbed and there wasn’t a PC game or the equivalent in sight. Everything was free – and fun. I shall hold the memory of little blackberry-stained fingers and mouths for many years – possibly always.2014-08-25 12.04.41

Some memories remain when you wish that they wouldn’t. Last night I was tapping away on the old laptop talking to my friend Deb McEwan, (If you fancy reading something poles apart from what I write take a look at Deb’s books… when there was an almighty thud behind me. It sounded like Richard had thrown the sofa across the room.

‘What the eff was that?’ I yelled. (Ladylike as ever, hey?)



More silence.


‘Me,’ he whimpered.

Amazing how such a big bloke can have such a tiny whimper when he’s in the wrong.

‘I tripped…I’ve spilt my wine.’

‘Well you hadn’t better have spilt it on my rug?’ I warned, still tapping away on the PC.

‘I’ve spilt it everywhere,’ he announced, sounding rather too brave and proud of the fact for my liking.

‘What?’ I bellowed, getting up from the computer to discover that the wine he had been carrying was now all up my recently purchased curtains, the wall, the rug, the floorboards and the French doors – and it was his homemade red wine at that!

‘Why are you so bloody stupid?’ I bawled, pointlessly, because I know why he’s so bloody stupid. He practises being stupid on an hourly basis.

‘I got my foot stuck in my trouser hem and tripped,’ he said.

‘Why are you walking around with a glass of wine in your hand anyway?’ I was still shouting, which wasn’t doing my recently acquired sore throat much good. In fact, I truly believe that the sore throat is a leftover from all that laughing at Dawn, a week ago.

‘I was coming to wash the pots,’ he said’


Needless to say, it was me who had to swab the bloody curtains. I’ve told him if they stain he can go and buy some more.

So, another memory.

Well, it takes all kinds, hey?

Take care my lovelies x




Posted by on August 28, 2014 in Uncategorized


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If They Could See Me Now That Little Gang Of Mine…

Hi All

There have been many occasions, and times during my life, when I have been reminded of those lyrics from Sweet Charity…if they could see me now that little gang of mine, and as I write this I am once again reminded of them. Because if you could see me now you would probably crack-up.

No, I’m not wearing a wet tea towel around my mush while I avoid the migraine-triggering, vinegar smell boiling-up from the chutney, as in the last blog, I am wearing my hair differently and I resemble a curly-whirly. There is a reason and I will tell you, well, you always knew I was going to, didn’t you? Otherwise why would I mention it?

I am going to a wedding. Not my own, because I am too weird for Richard to want to marry me now. He used to want too, and asked me at least three times a week. My answer was always the same…no! I am going to my nephews wedding, in Cornwall. Because I am a troglodyte-type person – happier in compost than Chanel – I spend on average, three minutes a day on my hair. A hand pushed through each side in turn and an applied bobble, pony-tailing it, is as good as it gets. However…

I decided that it was time I tried something a bit different and make a bit of an effort. Why? Lord knows. It seemed like a good idea when the thought leapt into my brain, and so I made an appointment with my lovely hairstylist, Emma.

Emma has known me for some time now and is well aware of my little idiosyncrasies. My fringe must never fall out with my eyebrows. My ears must not be lower than my hair, and one or two other little quirky things that I’d really rather not mention. It was a practice run. We were going to curl my locks and try a few styles. As Emma neatly and professionally curled each segment of hair I sat watching. When every hair was corkscrewed she asked, ‘What do you think of it so far?’

What did I think of it so far? I cracked up, snorting and giggling. All I could see before me was one of those Judge-type dudes, sitting behind a mahogany desk, with the curly wig. After thirty seconds I spluttered, ‘I feel like I should be placing a black cap on my head and giving out the death sentence!’ I couldn’t remove the image and was relieved when Emma ran her hand through my hair and I lost my Judge-locks.

Several styles were applied and Emma took pics’ of them, because my dear cousin, Dawn, is going to have to copy the one of choice (she doesn’t know that yet)…and NO I am not putting a pic’ on here. I may be stupid but I’m not mad.

Anyway, when Richard walked in from work I was dishing up the salmon, courgettes (God more courgettes) the new potatoes and runner beans (God even more runner beans) and I remarked, ‘I’ve had my hair curled.’ You might think this strange…that a grown man needs  telling that my hair has changed from a pony tail to something out of Dynasty, but without me mentioning it he wouldn’t have noticed. And for two reasons.

One, when food is in the trough, Richard has tunnel vision and I wouldn’t even be in sight, and two – he never notices anything – unless it involves the car, motorbike or Land Rover.

‘I like it,’ he said.

I swear he is trying to kill me with surprise.

‘But the wedding is seven days away, won’t it be straight by Monday?’

As I live and breathe.

So, here I sit, typing away with my curly-whirly locks bouncing away like Medusa’s spitting snakes, and if Richard knows what’s good for him he will curb the comments or he could be turned to stone.

I fear that whilst I’m away my garden will resort back to a wilderness. The runner beans are already attempting to grab onto the lower birch tree branches, and the huge courgettes are lying around like alien space pods.

I did manage to make the jam that I said I wanted to make. All that remains now to make is the tomato chutney. They are starting to turn, so hopefully they will be ready for picking when I get back and then it’ll be back to the wet towel and my Dick Turpin impression….although, to be honest, I can’t keep Adam Ant from my mind’s eye singing, Stand and deliver …your money or your life!

Take care my lovelies x2014-08-09 18.08.40


Posted by on August 13, 2014 in Uncategorized


Just A Quickie.

Hi All

Just a quickie to stay in touch.

The garden is still taking up masses of my time – but then I figure that’s OK.

Life isn’t always about batting along at a rate of knots, is it? Sometimes – often in my case, it’s about standing and watching the bees on the lavender, and the butterflies on the buddleia. It’s about smelling the roses – literally. It’s about collecting the hordes of snails that chomp their way through the sunflower leaves and seemingly anything else that’s slightly green. I often wonder how long it takes them to make it back to my garden after they have been winged over the hedge and into the neighbour’s garden. (I’m pretty sure someone wrote a book about that? The time it takes for snails to return to a garden? But I may have dreamt it!)… It’s about watching Chea trying to get herself stung by irritating the bees, patting and pawing at them until they buzz off, laden with pollen. She hooked out a little yellow frog the other day and left it lying on the ground with its skinny legs akimbo, looking like something out of The Kama Sutra (not that I know anything about that). I was so pissed off with her, and her continual attempts to kill everything that moves, that, after a very harsh scolding, I shut her in the house. Unfortunately the postman caught the gist of it. We tend not to get much mail these days.

The courgettes are manic. I think they grow just to spite me. Four-inch long babies suddenly grow into teenagers overnight and in the morning they are lying there, all grown up and waiting to be picked. This has caused a glut so last week I made nine jars of courgette chutney. As I mentioned, in the previous post, the boiling vinegar gives me a migraine so to combat this I have to dip a tea towel in water and then tie the tea towel around my face so that the acidic stench cannot get to me.  This works out quite well – in private, but it’s kinda scary for anyone who might venture to the door during the cooking process. The fact that all my tea towels are black probably doesn’t help. 2014-07-24 10.51.32

I’m now waiting for the tomatoes to ripen and then I’ll make a batch of tomato chutney – red with the ripe ones and then green with the ones that don’t make it through the ripening process before autumn shuts everything down. And I decided today to make some apple and ginger and apple and blackberry jam. The apple trees are full of fruit this year, so many that as they grow and expand they push against each other, lose their grip and hurtle to earth. It’s quite dangerous, actually, because an apple could hit you on the bonce at any time.2014-07-24 18.55.10

The other hugely time-consuming thing is the new book. It’s coming along quite well – although some days I do lose control of my characters and the following day I have to delete half the dialogue. It’s currently around 46,000 words so I’m reasonably happy with that.

And, of course, there is Richard. He is the least time-consuming, but nonetheless he does require some of my time so I’ll pop and see if I can find something from the bottom of the freezer for his tea. Freshly concocted delights are a rarity at the moment.  I’m pretty sure that the last time I was head-down in the freezer I saw a lasagna from the Beatle’s era. That’ll do.

So, dudes, happy gardening, preserve making, writing, snail throwing…and whatever else takes your fancy. Oh, by the way, I sprayed the little yellow frog with my plant spray and thirty minutes later it crept back into the beetroot patch. Result!

Take care my lovelies x




Posted by on August 8, 2014 in Uncategorized


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The Games Children Play.

Hi All

I hadn’t realised how long it’s been since I posted something here and then a ‘friend’ enquired if I’d died? Well, no I’m still here.

The days flash past and I truly don’t know where the hours go to. Although, having said that, I do spend many, many hours in the garden at the moment.

The blackcurrants and gooseberries have come and gone and the strawberries are dwindling, but that might have something to do with little fingers plucking each and every one? Jake and Grace, (7 and 3 years) harvest the ripe fruits and eat them so fast that it’s a real struggle to make them wash them first. I know I should insist, but there is something about small children wandering through a garden wilderness, seeking and finding ripe berries and eating them immediately.

The red gooseberries didn’t last long either. They are (were) a particularly sweet variety and I have to admit to eating them by the dozen, straight from the bush. I couldn’t rescue any this year to turn into jam, because little fingers also found them, but I was luckier with the blackcurrants. I made a dozen jars of blackcurrant, apple, and ginger jam. Also, the rhubarb cropped heavily and is going like the clappers even now, so that was turned into rhubarb and ginger jam. You might be noticing a theme here? I seem to be adding ginger to everything these days.

I’m hoping that the apples, courgettes and tomatoes can get their acts together and be ready simultaneously as I’m now scouting for some interesting chutney recipes. I haven’t made any for a few years, mainly for two reasons. 1) The boiling vinegar gives me a migraine. 2) Richard eats half a jar at a time on chips and jacket potatoes and with no concern for the effort and time that has gone into producing the stuff.

So, there you go. I’m not dead – just busy with the garden. And I have to admit that I encourage Grace and Jake to ‘mess around’ out there, too. It pleases me to watch them play. To create things that only a child’s imagination might create. There are a hundred life-lessons to learn in a garden.

One of their favourite things is hunting for worms. This is something that I stand back and watch, even though cries of, ‘Grandma, come and look at this – it’s really big and this one is having babies!’ are constantly heard. I know my limitations, I’ve never been a great-picker-upper or lover of worms, but even so I insist that they find a pot from the potting shed and place a bed of soil in the bottom on which to place the worms, and then, when the harvesting is over they have to release the worms back into the damp, shady soil.

Jake’s passion is looking for treasure. This takes the form of stones. One time he will be looking for flint, another for smooth round stones. At the end of the session I find him a plastic cat pooh bag (unused by the way) and he takes them home, much to daddy’s displeasure. Daddy asks, ‘Do you really need to take those home? Haven’t we got enough of our own?’ Daddy doesn’t understand that these are not just any common or garden stone these are precious gems, discovered from underneath bushes and beneath soil. These stones could have lain with dinosaur bones. These stones had to be tracked with the compulsion and determination of Indiana Jones searching for The Holy Chalice!2014-06-02 08.38.31

Occasionally I have to answer questions like, ‘Grandma, why is that dragonfly on the back of that dragonfly?’ But we are quite grown-up about it all.

Other than the garden taking up my time, I have also started a fourth novel. So…busy, busy, busy.

I’ll be back in a day or two – this is really just me putting in a brief appearance to let certain people know that I’m alive and well – and looking in earnest for recipes that include ginger. If you have any be sure to let me know?

Take care my lovelies x







Posted by on July 23, 2014 in Uncategorized


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I Can Truthfully Relate to Barry Manilow…

You know that Barry Manilow song, I Made It Through The Rain? Well, that’s how I’m feeling right now.

The week before last was horrendous. OK, so no one died, but it was still horrendous. Two steps forwards and one step back. Nothing went right, and then, as the week came to an end I thought, right, draw a very thick line under it and look forwards to next week (last week). Then came the killer blow…Richard announced that he was on holiday the next week (last week). It was at this point that someone did almost die…me.

The thought of another week, attempting to sort out the backlog of things that were still wrong, with Richard floating around, almost polished me off. It was at this point that I had to give myself a strong talking to and convince myself that I could, and would, get through this.

First on the agenda, bright and early Monday morning, was a ride out to my brother’s house. This was not a social visit. This was so that he could figure out what I was doing wrong in my futile attempts to contact the USA tax office. Richard did, in fact, come in quite useful because he drove and all this stress had given me a headache.

My brother fiddled with my phone before shutting me in his office and telling me to stop buggering about and just get on with it. With no confidence whatsoever I dialled the number and waited for the same old drivel, “I’m sorry but we are unable to process your call.” When that message didn’t actually slam back at me and a voice informed me, “Thank you for your call…the waiting time is 3 minutes,” I almost fainted.

So, job done. I’m legal. No, I am. Thanks to my brother, who is brilliant. Not sure why I’m bulling him up? He never reads a word I write. Sometimes I wonder if anyone does, but that’s insecurity…isn’t it?

On Tuesday, I took a day off from everything. In the morning, I let Richard take me to Melton market. This is a cattle market that is run every Tuesday. It also sells rabbits, chickens, ducks, garden produce, fertilised eggs, etc. It was here that I fell in love with a little duckling. He/she was all alone in a cardboard box and when I peered in, he/she peered back, and its little peepers said, ‘Buy me. I won’t be any trouble. Look how pretty I am with this little pompom on the top of my head.’ This is the point at which you just know that I came home with the duckling? Well, you are wrong. I zipped up my heart and walked away. I bought a dress instead. Did I mention that there was a dress stall? This is the only dress I own and it was purchased purely for sitting out in the garden…because I do a lot of that, don’t I? No. Hardly ever. Too much weeding, watering, hoeing, digging, compost turning….I think you get the picture?

Richard disappeared on Wednesday. I don’t mean he vaporised. I’m not that lucky (joke).  He roared off on his bike to some air force thing and so I was left with time to myself… and the chance to sort out some of the backlog.

I have now almost caught up. One thing is outstanding. An eBook is being reformatted. I know nothing about this but a virtual friend, who has now become so much more, is sorting that out for me.

You know me now, and you know that I believe that something positive always comes from something negative and yet again I have proved myself right. Through this very trying, hair-ripping-out time, virtual friends have stepped in, and for absolutely no gain of their own, have spent endless hours creating, advising, and just plain supporting me, and I will be eternally grateful. So, to these friends I say a heartfelt thank you… and my offer of returned support does not have a sell-by date.

You know who are you and I only refrain from naming you because I know you are all so God-damn modest. Oh, and the other reason is, if I tell everyone who you are, and that you are the nicest, most wonderful guys (gals) on the planet, they will all be scurrying to your doors and you will no longer have the time to get me out of my constant pooh pile! See, I’m not as stupid as I may appear.

Richard has gone back to work today. Weirdly, I’m kinda missing him. I have no excuse now to bugger around doing nothing. Sooooo I’m going to crack on.

Take care my lovelies x


Lastly…I can now announce with a triumphant fanfare that …..The Sleeping Field is now available in paperback! Again, produced by a dear friend and absolutely nothing to do with me.



Posted by on July 7, 2014 in Uncategorized


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