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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…http://www.debbiemcewansbooks.com/) 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?)

Silence.

‘Richard!’

More silence.

‘Richard!’

‘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’

‘WITH A GLASS OF WINE IN YOUR HAND?’

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

 

 

 
17 Comments

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

 
14 Comments

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

 

 

 
14 Comments

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

 

 

 

 

 

 
11 Comments

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

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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.

 

 
20 Comments

Posted by on July 7, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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The Path To My Inner Calm

Hi All

I still haven’t got through to the USA regarding the tax issue, although, in all fairness, I do have to admit that I have only tried once since last Thursday, and that was yesterday. I got the same old message, ‘Unable to process your request.’

I’m the kind of person who won’t give up until something is sorted and accomplished but by last Sunday I had reached the point where I wasn’t safe to be around and so I decided to take time out from this mental virtual world. 24 hours away from the computer.

Equipped with my mug of tea, and my feet rammed firmly into my wellies, I took off up the garden, letting the chucks out on the way. It was only 6.30 am and they blinked a bit in surprise at being allowed their freedom quite so early in the day.

I had a bit of a dawdle through the broad beans, fought off the million baby spiders hanging from threads in the greenhouse, and watered the tomatoes, and then, as I walked under the brick archway, decided to take up the entire path and replace it. Weeds had multiplied and pushed through the spaces making it look messy and untidy, and although the day was about to turn hotter by the hour it was nice and cool beneath the clematis covered arch.

It took me a couple of hours to lift the bricks and remove the weeds. It was at this point that Richard appeared and stood, with shaking head, and a scowl on his down-turned mush.

‘What!’ I said, which was pretty big of me considering that I wasn’t speaking to him because he’s a pillock and he’d caused me to have a major rant the night previously. I’d threatened him with putting the house on the market and sending him packing. I do this from time to time. It’s normal. He expects it. Anyway…I continued with, ‘The only other thing that pisses (yes I swore…and on a Sunday morning with church bells ringing in the distance) me off more than having to do this REALLY difficult job on my own, is YOU standing there WATCHING ME!’

‘Why are you doing this? I can’t be helping in this heat. If you did it at a sensible time I’d help,’ he said.

‘Sod off! I don’t need your help!’

He cleared off then, shuffling down the path in his stupid flip-flops, frightening pollen-feeding bees off the cosmos.

I found a roll of weed suppressant in the potting shed and laid that before embarking on the task of replacing the bricks. I found the whole thing extremely rewarding and, with each brick laid, I found the stresses and annoyances of the week evaporating. I can’t stay mad when I’m in the garden. It is my comfort blanket. Chea came and helped, laying on the weed suppressant and cleaning her paws as I laid the bricks around her.

Richard reappeared with a glass of iced water a while later and muttered something about, ‘Contrary to popular belief I don’t want you to get dehydrated.’

Well he wouldn’t would he? If I collapsed who would lay the path? Actually, I’d chilled by then and so I allowed him to fetch a bag of cement-type-stuff for between the awkward gaps. He wasn’t trusted to apply it though – so he watched.

Honestly, he drives me mad. The other night I caught him looking at me and when I turned to him with raised, questioning brows, he said, ‘When you lose weight your face gets thinner …and your hair looks thicker.’

What? What the hell did that mean? So normally I’m fat-faced with thin hair?

He can talk. At least I don’t hide my double chin beneath a stubbly beard – well, not yet.

Then, trying to justify the comment he said, ‘…or is it just that your hair needs cutting?’

I passed no comment. The look I flashed him said everything.  He blinked innocently a few times and then buried his nose in his laptop.

I’ve just had to close the door as Chea has come back to the house with a mouse. I don’t do mice. It has taken refuge behind the log basket. Richard will have to find it when he gets home. I’m making him a list, pick the broad beans, pick the peas, run me to the bank… and remove a mouse. At least I’ve calmed down enough to speak to him now, otherwise I’d have to leave him a note haha.

I think Chea must have found a family of mice because this is the third little creature she’s brought back. But here’s the lovely thing, she brings them back, gently releases them, and they scamper off back up the garden. Of course it could be the same mouse? If so it must be major peed off by now.

So, my answer to a week of hell? Turn off the computer. Take 24 hours – and go and smell the roses…or lay a brick path.

Take care my lovelies x2014-06-23 06.38.44

PS The promotion I set up for The Sleeping Field did actually work! I know, a bloody miracle, BUT it ends today at 6.00pm UK time, so if you would like a copy at 99p make sure you download before then. And a big thank you to those of you who have already supported me and purchased a copy. If I knew how to put a ‘smiley face’ here I would, but I don’t, so I can’t.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Sleeping-Field-Jennie-Orbell-ebook/dp/B00H1XSTW0

 

 

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on June 25, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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To Stumble Blindly Over Molehills…

Hi All

I was busting my gut for Richard to toddle off back to work on Monday because I was going to move mountains without the-love-of-my-life (?) stuck under my feet and within a metre of my vision, and if not mountains then hills or…slight rises in unchartered territory. What I’ve actually done is nothing more than stumble blindly over molehills. Yes, I know, it’s the velvety coated Mr Mole who is almost blind but…

I feel like I’ve been trapped in one of those hamster-wheel thingy’s, running like mad and merely ending up where I originally started from. But, unlike the hamster, who merely stops after his exertions and pops off for a peanut, I was stuck, spinning faster and faster. Over dramatic? Possibly.

Anything and everything that I have attempted this week has been met with problems. I spent the whole day yesterday attempting to contact the USA tax office. I probably made twelve attempts? An automated, “We cannot process your request…we cannot process your request…’ informed me that – they could not process my request! How the hell did they know that they couldn’t process my request? I never got as far as making a request!

Around 9.00pm I gave up and watched the second half of England getting their backsides whipped. Why is it that I, knowing precious little about football – other than the ball goes one way for 45 minutes, before they all strut off to stuck on an orange, return, and the ball goes the other way for 45 minutes  – can sit on my sofa and see where they are so obviously going wrong? Oh! I also know that they have ‘injury’ time added on to that. That’s ‘real’ injury time (?) and ‘pretend’ injury time. Those precious minutes where a player goes down clutching a broken leg and then rises, like a phoenix from the ashes, to sprint down the pitch faster than the Derby winner to score a goal? The goals against us last night were scored in exactly the same way. England left the goal scoring area open and unprotected and Mr Whatever-his-name-is whacked in two goals. I can see that, why can’t they?

Anyway, I digressed there a bit.

It’s been a truly crap, waste of time week. The garden has been shouting at me to go and stand at stare at its splendour and the chucks have gone googled-eyed (more so than usual) straining their little necks, expecting to see me on my way up the garden to let them out. Yesterday they got so totally peed off that they started screeching like hell’s demons and made it impossible for me to continue with my call to the USA. I had to buckle and go and let them out. Actually, I needed it too. There is something about picking up warm chicken pooh that tends to refocus a person.2014-06-20 10.37.17

I put my short story collection on offer three weeks ago, or so I had thought. It never ran because I’d programmed it incorrectly. I have attempted to put The Sleeping Field on offer from Saturday 21st June – Wednesday 25th June. I say attempted because who knows? Nothing else has gone smoothly this week…or even right. However, having got myself into all sorts of dead ends, and horrendous time-wasting exercises, I do have to say that without a shadow of a doubt I have received tremendous help and advice from several friends. I would have imploded or jumped off one of those bloody mountains that I was expecting to climb, without your kind help. You know who you are (M.M, G.G.P, P.E, D.M) so thank you. Seriously.

Having experienced the kindness of these people it has once again confirmed my belief that something positive always comes from something negative. And because the chucks are screeching and demanding to come out to tear up the garden I will keep it short and go. There is no way I am attempting to contact the USA tax office today!

At least I have a friend in all this confusion!!

At least I have a friend in all this confusion!!

Take care my lovelies x

For those of you who are kind enough to support me, here is the link to ‘The Sleeping Field,’ BUT, please check that it is 99p and not list price…because I’m not yet convinced that my ‘messing everything up’ session has passed?

http://www.amazon.co.uk/The-Sleeping-Field-Jennie-Orbell-ebook/dp/B00H1XSTW0

P.S. Welcome new followers, Baitress and Kim Clair Smith.

 

 

 

 

 
6 Comments

Posted by on June 20, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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