If Only Giving Up Was In My Nature!

If only giving up was in my nature I’d be a hermit by now living in a hovel on a windy Norfolk cliff edge. Why a Norfolk cliff edge? Why not, I like Norfolk.

I think I’m writing this today because I feel a desperate need to connect with a human being, any human being to be honest, who can relate to where my head is right now. You know me, I’m a jolly little person getting on with silly little mundane things, battling on against the incoming tide – sorry, for a second there I was already on my Norfolk cliff edge watching the waves coming in, munching a breakfast of dandelion leaves and clover. I digress . . .

I think it was the bloody washing machine trying to go into orbit, early last week, with a crashing noise like the house was caving in that started this latest desire of mine to metamorphose into a hermit. The whole kitchen vibrated. The crockery fell off the draining board and Chea (kitty) ran for the hills and no attempts to encourage her out from under the sofa worked until she heard the rustle of her favourite treat being opened.

Of course, ‘my man,’ said he would ‘look’ at it and in fairness he did, over a period of 3/4 days before announcing it was not repairable. Hallelujah! I could have told him that a week ago.

Then, two days ago, in my over exuberance to place the lemonade bottle to the back of the cupboard, over the top of 12 bottles of spring water the whole shelf collapsed. Chea ran for the hills.

This resulted in 3 smashed side plates, 1 halved dinner plate and 12 bottles of spring water landing on my toes.

Then, today, after catching on the news that people who lost a couple of kilos of weight were less likely to get diabetes and taking exercise is still the best way to beat depression (and/or in my case having overwhelming desires to become a hermit) I decided I wouldn’t sit on my bum, scoffing Nobbly Bobblys and Lidl’s nutty caramel bars while ‘my man’ went to the pharmacy for me, no, I’d go myself . . . and I’d walk.

The pharmacy is only half a mile (there and back) so a mile. OK, so my dicky hips, painful legs, old hernia repair wound might twinge a bit but so what, if losing a couple of kilos would help to prevent diabetes and a mile’s hobbling would lighten my mood it was worth it.

There was no one in the chemist so all good. On went my mask. I shouldered open the door and embarked, following the yellow floor arrows till I arrived at the counter. I gave my name and waited. I will at this point admit to having had a niggling feeling that there would be a problem. I’m jolly clever like that – predicting problems! I’m not sure if the assistant was grimacing beneath her mask put I reckon she was as she said . . .

‘Er . . . we don’t have these. They are due to come in later today . . . or tomorrow.’

‘Today . . . or tomorrow,’ I muffled (I’m wearing a mask, obviously)


‘And that’s definite,’ I muffled.

‘Er . . . I can ring and ask . . . oh, I have one, you can have that.’

She held before my eyes an opened box.

‘One foil,’ I said. (A foil holds 7 tablets)

‘No, one tablet,’ she said.

I admit I snorted, like a pig wearing a mask. ‘One tablet . . . no you keep it you might need it for someone else.’

I wasn’t picking up the elixir of life just a flipping acid reducing tablet. Why wouldn’t they keep a stock – and the order was placed over a week ago? And you wonder why I want to go and live on a cliff edge? Come to think about it I reckon I’m already living on a cliff edge? I gave her my mobile number and asked her to text when they were in, I’m not walking back and forth, back and forth until I know they are there for sure. You can have too much exercise, right?

The outcome? A new washing machine is due for delivery on Saturday – what could possibly go wrong? The delivery might happen but ‘my man’ fitting it? The shelf has been put back and I’ve taken some of the weight off it. It meant rearranging all the other cupboards to get the extra bits in because I’m nothing if not organised and neat and tidy. Thank goodness it wasn’t the shelf holding the 65 tins of baked beans, that gave way!

And before you accuse me of stock piling it isn’t true, I am merely ordering 6 tins of beans with each delivery. It’s called being prepared. I also have a jolly nice stock (if you don’t mind me using the ‘s’ word?) of toilet rolls – a necessity with that many tins of baked beans. See? Prepared.

P.S. I HAVE now moved the 65 tins of baked beans to a base unit – along with the 12 tins of mushy peas, 15 cans of tomatoes, 10 cans of . . .


Going Into Lockdown? Bored? Try This Little Offering?

From today till 9th November The Sleeping Field is offered for download for 99p.

It’s a decent enough read and some people have gone as far as saying they like/love it BUT – can you always rely on ‘some’ people?

Only one way to know for sure – try it? And if you don’t like it what’s 99p? You can’t even buy 4 Nobbly Bobblys for that! ( see last post).


I’d be hugely grateful if you’d spread the word. I’ve been so fragmented this year (haven’t we all?) that this is the first time I’ve brought my head back to my novels.

Take care, stay safe . . . and big love as always x

The Best Laid Plans Of Mice And Men Often Go Awry

I’ve said now, one or two times, that I’m coming back and I am . . . but I wasn’t coming back today.

Today, because ‘he’ is out all day, I’d planned to do something with yeast. Nothing weird you understand, I haven’t sunk quite that low yet and even if I had I wouldn’t know where to start . . . I mean, who would? Though, Google probably would. Just a thought.

Anyway, the plan was still fresh in my mind as I manoeuvred my painful hip from my pit and wobbled to the bathroom.

It was there, in the bathroom, that all plans fell apart.

I sneaked the bathroom scales slowly towards me with my big toe and stepped on and it was at that point that I realised I would not be doing something with yeast until possibly 2022?

First, I haven’t the faintest idea where 5 extra pounds have come from and second I haven’t the faintest idea of how to get rid of them, although one small idea sprang to mind – stop scoffing bloody cinnamon swirls and don’t make another 2 batches today!

When I say ‘I haven’t the faintest idea where 5 extra pounds have come from,’ of course I know, I’m not stupid, it’s that old calories in/calories out thing but . . . if you could witness, just once, how hard I work at the wood pulling out mile-long blackberry brambles, lugging trees around etc. you would think, as I do, that there isn’t a floating calorie left in my blood stream by the end of the day.

I do have one theory. I reckon it’s 5 pounds of extra muscle that I’ve built up. Come on, who could work like a little carthorse and still put on weight?

I do have a second theory. Could it be that I’ve almost exhausted Netflix and Amazon’s series? In my defence I have to say that I don’t sit watching them in the mornings, just with my lunch . . . and afterwards while I have a couple of lollipops for pudding – Nobbley Bobbley lollies are to die for. Oh, and I do quite like Tesco’s own brand crisps. We have deliveries from Tesco now and it’s bloody brilliant, I mean, their mixed bags of crisps contain 30 packets, yes, 30 packets! I do leave the prawn cocktail ones for Richard – he’ll eat just about anything. The packets are quite small so you need 2 . . . or 3 while watching Corrie. Of course then you fancy something a bit sweet so I’ve also discovered Lidl’s peanut choco bars, again quite small so . . .

I think there are a couple of carrots in the bottom of the fridge – I’ll have a munch on those – should sort it out in a jiffy.

P.S And don’t for a minute underestimate how much energy goes into driving Eric – named after my late father because he too was old, grey and a hard worker.

Mind, he’s poorly at the moment.

Catch you soon. Off for a healthy fruit tea and a tiny piece of cake – left over from my birthday. Be rude not to eat it.

Seriously? Take care and stay safe xxx