New Balls Not Required …

Good Morning

Riddle me this – how do I get more than three hours sleep a night? What is wrong with me? Is it simply that I’m a big kid and can’t wait to get up to play with my new chickens? No that can’t be it. That would make me nuts. I don’t think I want to believe that yet.

I did watch the documentary last night that the BBC had quickly cobbled together on Andy Murray. And those pictures of him dressed up to the nines and looking like a rugged movie star were not bad at all and definitely fodder to keep the faint hearted and shallow awake. I do hope this doesn’t change him. I have had my expectations of him squashed and trampled into the dust time after time. Like Henman, I began to fear that Andy would never quite make it to the top. But I didn’t count on the guy’s grit and sheer bloody determination. He certainly has balls  – in all senses of the word. Watching him on Sunday, battling to win the first set and then the second was amazing, agonising and astounding all at the same time. And when he was serving for the match I had tears trickling down my face. And Lordy, Lordy, when he won, I punched the air and almost buggered up another neck disc. Well I am a tad emotional at times. I also have massive pride in my country – and seeing the underdog win.

Richard had left me to it and disappeared into his summer house (shed) with another bloody WWII DVD to watch. I tell you – there is something seriously not computing with that man. Why would anyone, who obviously lives in the past, not want to watch history in the making? Whenever I turn on the TV it is always on the Yesterday channel. I even said to him yesterday, ‘why do you have to live in the past?’ And do you know what he said? ‘Because I prefer it. It was better.’ Sodding charming. Am I not his present? The little bugger had to get his own lunch.

After the Andy thing I caught up with Big Brother. Ha ha, now I’ve really blown my cover, haven’t I? I know, it’s a load of crap but I can’t help it. I like watching idiots being idiots. Who are these people? Where do they come from? I don’t actually know anyone like that. Well, unless you count Richard because as I’ve said a hundred times, he’s weird. But thinking about it, I don’t think he was weird when I met him. Blame it on osmosis!

Back to Big Brother… I’m waiting for the usual comments to start flowing. ‘It’s been a roller coaster!’ No it hasn’t. Not unless they rigged one up in the garden. ‘I’ve been on a journey!’ No you haven’t. What they actually mean is, ‘I’ve come on here for exposure so that when I leave the house I can be famous.’ Famous? Like Andy Murray? Like the guy who has struggled to raise himself up through the ranks, never giving in, never quitting, failing and digging deeper, until one scorching day in July 2013 he accomplished what he had been determined to accomplish for most of his life. Yeah, Big Brother dudes, you have all been on a roller coaster and a journey – not!!!

I think today is the day! The moment when I’m going to let out the new chucks, so that they can officially meet Dust. I’m thinking if I block off a smaller area than is usually available to them I stand a good chance of actually getting them back into the cage? This is a very loose plan. The holes in the plan will probably only become visibly when it is put into action!

Just to bring you up to date with my neighbour – the one who apparently lives under the conifer hedge, because he is always there, waiting to spring out. Last Saturday we were having the clean-up of all clean-ups of the chucks quarters and the neighbour’s voice drifted over the hedge. ‘Gail, what do you know about bees?’

Good question. Considering myself a bit of a Jack-of-all-trades I said, ‘Um …why?’

‘Because they are trying to get into an old bird box. Do you want to come round and have a look?’

I have lived in this house for twenty-three years and NEVER been invited into his garden so sensing more history in the making I trotted round. Sure enough bees were swarming and attempting to move into an old bird box. He seemed on the verge of ringing the council to have them exterminated. The bees not the council! Although, knowing the council round here it wouldn’t be a bad idea.

I flipped and demanded that he must NOT destroy them. I asked him how he dare stand smelling his roses and appreciating his beautiful garden if he wasn’t prepared to give a home to a few bees who had, in all probability, pollinated the bloody thing. I said he would be fine as long as he didn’t walk up the garden eating a treacle sandwich!

We chatted for a while and he showed me the robin’s nest that had been ripped to shit by some cat and all the babies had been taken!! I have a massively strong suspicion that I know the cat responsible. Obviously I defended her. Well you do, don’t you, defend your own? In all fairness I did shut her in for two days after she brought back the half dead/half alive, depending on your mindset, baby bird, but it may have been too little too late. I am under the impression that the baby birds around here have now fledged. I really hope so because I can’t stand any more little dying creatures laid out on the step with a little leg throbbing to the beat of its failing heart. Bloody cats!!

Right! Off to barricade off a piece of the garden. Wish me luck? I might chicken out actually …sorry, no pun intended.


Take care my lovelies x

Sex After Three Sets?

Morning All

It is absolutely hurling it down here in Leicestershire. I’ve been up to the chucks and the pond fish and come back half drowned. I am so loving this summer. Chea is out in it. She usually calls it a day when its raining and tootles in but no, today she is out there in it. At least I’m assuming she is. I heard from the neighbour yesterday that she visits him in his kitchen which is quite worrying because he doesn’t like cats.  Oopps I spoke too soon, here she comes – wet through!

I’m meeting my brother this morning and then this afternoon its ‘Wimbledon’ time. A comfy seat on the sofa and a bit of Andy Murray. I have found it most interesting how the aforesaid Mr Murray has changed over the last couple of years. Two or three years ago he was a sulky-looking, skinny lad whom people found it hard to get behind because of his aloof attitude. Like many things in this world things are not always the way they seem. A sulky nature is blamed for shyness and lack of confidence and experience in front of the camera? He loves what he does and the public and adoration side of it is a part that he didn’t necessarily sign up for.

Because someone chooses something that is public orientated it doesn’t follow that they feel comfortable with millions of people chanting their name. And besides, the press puts so much pressure on the likes of Andy Murray it is unbelievable. And the questions they ask after a match makes me want to hurl something at the TV. Let’s ask ourselves how we would  feel with some tool in our faces asking stuff like, ‘how do you think you played today?’ when you’d just gone out in three sets? Don’t they already know the answer to that? Crap! You’d feel like utter crap.

Then they get personal. ‘Your girlfriend was watching, what do you think she was thinking while you were trying to get back into the match (being thrashed!) and couldn’t?’ I’d have to answer with something totally crass, like, ‘She’d be thinking that after only three sets I wouldn’t be too knackered for sex tonight.’ That would shut the idiots up.

And then of course we have to have the ‘studio’ autopsy where they dissect every move he made and we have to listen to the opinions of ‘yesterdays’ tennis players, most of whom never won a major match and have the personalities of snails. And that’s being unkind to snails. Having said this, John McEnroe tends to know what he is talking about and never takes himself too seriously. John went the distance. As far as I’m concerned that gives him the right to an opinion.

Tomorrow I’m thinking of running the first page of my next novel by you? I may – or mayMC900366520 not. Depending on which way the wind is blowing …


Take care my lovelies x




It’s A Rant – And I’m Too Ratty To Apologise …

Good Morning

I’m not sure if I am fully awake yet. I’m hoping not because I haven’t warmed to the positive and potential of this day. I’m still grumpy. And irritated. And just plain ratty. Had another weird dream where one of my ‘virtual’ friends (I won’t embarrass him by naming him) was protecting me from the evils of life and then some hammer-swinging thug tried to kill me by swinging his hammer and letting it fly at my person. And not just any hammer. A lump hammer. Not the best start to the day!

I think it all had something to do with the state of mind that I went to bed in. We went out for the day yesterday, just a little jaunt to Lincoln, and so I didn’t fire-up the laptop until the evening. I intended to but I got involved in watching Andy Murray at Queens and then the following ‘celebrity’ match. I guess by this time I had peaked and was already on a downwards spiral. I can only see good and sense in my fellow-man for a certain amount of time each day!

Some of the boasting and utter crap posted around the place got my goat – whatever that means? What is wrong with these people? Such opinions. And yes, that is exactly what they are – opinions. Do these people, who write all this crap, actually believe it? It really, really gets to me. This is why I often think that I am not suited to this self publishing world. I’m not sure I can take it all as seriously as some do. I never feel the need to instil my beliefs and opinions on others – especially without being asked. Opinions are personal. They are NOT facts. Never have been. Never will be. Book reviews are opinions. They are NOT facts.  Never have been. Never will be. Everyone is entitled to their opinion. I have no problem with that at all. The problem I have is when these opinions are delivered in such a manner as to give the impression that they ARE facts and should be adhere to. Followed to the letter. Divert at your peril. Stop it, please.

My naughty little fingers hung poised over the keypad as I tried not to comment. It was hard. Very hard. You see, I believe that these strongly opinionated types actually scare off the less brave and the less opinionated and I don’t think that is fair. It can’t be, can it? Writing doesn’t have to be so sodding serious and complicated, does it? If you want to write, just write. You don’t need to listen to some idiot spouting on. These people will put you off because you will end up believing that you will NEVER know as much as they do, never be good enough and in all likelihood give up. Anyway, I kept my fingers under control and moved away from the keypad. Consequently I went to bed angry and someone tried to hammer me to death. At least I had my virtual knight in shining armour! I shall send him an email today and thank him ha ha. He also happens to be one of the humblest writers I know.

I will simmer until the cauldron boils. You see, I don’t actually like upsetting people and hold back with my comments and opinions. It doesn’t mean I don’t have them.

Just had a quick argument with Richard – see, it’s not a good day. He’s flying high and quite jolly – and distracting me from this. He’s just been to book old Betsy-crap-machine in for her second MOT and to get the guy in the garage to do the bit of welding on her old bones. Come Thursday the ancient lass should be back on the road. He will be delirious, of course, because as we all know, little things please little minds. So right now I’m having to contend with Richard singing, making toast and being jolly. NOT the usual Richard. I’ve asked him to stop being quite so happy because it is off-putting and  – weird! He looks confused. No change there then. I’ve told him he’s a dick and that his mother named him well. He said he used to think that was a compliment – twenty years ago. He IS a dick …

I’m being beastly, I know. Can’t help it today. I still see that hammer lunging towards me. And I’m still a bit down from yesterday. As we all know it was Father’s Day and for me the sixth one without my dad. I took him some flowers and tidied his grave. I miss him so much and I don’t know why that still surprises me?

The day and my attitude can only improve. An hour from now and I’ll be the normal, happy, little bunny. Possibly. Hopefully. Think I’ll go and make Richard a coffee and have a little chat with him about Betsy, poor soul. Oh, and tell him he isn’t a dick, at least not by nature – only by name.

He appears to be writing a ‘to do’ list – on MY pad! He may be wearing the coffee?026


Take care my lovelies x