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Soft and Scented Honey Unicorn’s Bottom!

 I enjoyed a pleasant hour or two mooching around a Makers’ Market yesterday. The one I went to is pretty good as far as this type of artisan malarkey goes although probably half the stalls are foodie ones - bread, pies, pastries, cakes etc - and I don’t buy from them because a) I bake and cook these things perfectly well myself and b) I bake and cook them for probably less than half the price. I watched someone pay £20 for a bog standard sponge-type cake yesterday and thought, ‘Sheesh - £20? Really??’ Ah well - takes all sorts, as the saying goes. Fools and their money etc etc. I did make one foodie purchase though and that was because the stall holder was putting all his energies into a marvellous sale pitch and I thought it needed rewarding with a sale. The product was a ‘soft granola’ - the only one available in the WHOLE country, apparently. The chap was holding out little sample test pots and shouting, ‘It’s no good just looking at it! You’ve got to try it to taste how good it is
Recent posts

Sunshine On My Shoulders

  Such a beautiful morning here! Although barely above freezing at 6.30 a.m, less than two hours later the garden thermometer is nudging 10 degrees C and the Sun is a gem of warmth in a clear blue sky. I reckon Spring is here. It’s the Spring Equinox next Thursday - I shall be celebrating in my own witchy way - and there are plenty of buds appearing on the trees and shrubs around the garden. The rosemary, in particular, is looking a very fine and handsome lady indeed: Here is the view from the top of our garden, across the field at the back: I take Nell for walks around here sometimes, but not of late because although it looks very smooth and dry, it is, in fact, boggy and lumpy. Like rice pudding. 🤢 Give it a few dry weeks, though, and it’ll be good walking ground again. Nell continues to show excellent recall when off-lead away from home. We’ve been going for walks along the canals that are situated just beyond the back fields. A two minute drive to park in our village hall car park

Stable Table

Chatting to Heather yesterday, she mentioned that she had taken to work one of the crystals that I gave her. She said it had helped enormously during the day on account of her having to teach sixth form college students who are learning to be bricklayers, plumbers and mechanics and are under the false assumption that they ‘don’t need no English qualifications ‘cos I can already speak English, innit?’ and ergo, they can present a teaching challenge by being utter arses. Not all of them are arses, but in any class you’ll find one or two arses who generally spoil it for the non-arses. It’s just the way it is.  Anyway, Heather said the crystal -green aventurine - had called to her that morning, so she’d popped it in her pocket and felt it had been a calming influence for moments of frazzlement during the day.  I usually have a crystal about my person during the day, too. This week, I’ve been carrying lepidolite for numbing the pain of sciatica (it’s cleared up now, thank goodness and Pilat

Ridiculous

 All this hoo-ha about the photograph released by the Princess of Wales as a celebration for Mothers’ Day yesterday - have you see it? Seriously, I cannot believe that the BBC has made such a song and dance about something so trivial - shame on them. As a broadcasting and so-called news corporation, they grow more ridiculous with each passing month. Their reporting that social media has gone frantic with speculation (speculation about what?? I’m not on social media, so am unaware of the feeding frenzy) merely highlights that some people are becoming ever more nasty and petty. I despair ever more of the human race. I am researching how to build an underground hobbit house so I can hide away from it all. I shall NOT be requiring a TV licence. But in a show of solidarity with our Princess, whom I happen to think is a pretty amazing woman, here is a photo I took this morning of Bambino hiding out in his cat tower like some sort of evil Bond villain plotting a take-over of global tuna produ

Meeting Myself Coming Back

 Where does the time go? It’s not like I’ve been able to lose hours in the garden, although the weather has been better of late i.e it’s NOT been raining, and the ground is less saturated. But oh, the bitter winds! (Meteorological, not anatomical - hush with the giggling at the back, please.) The garden is waking up but it’s going to be another week or so until The Great Garden Wrangle 2024 is able to begin in earnest.  I’ve been in reflective mode the last ten days or so - thinking about past happenings, impacts and outcomes, and how I’ve been affected for better, for worse, for goodness’ sake. This is all very boring for you, dear Reader(s), which is why I’ve not blogged for a few days. You’d all be muttering, ‘Go and see a counsellor, for chuff’s sake.’ And quite right, too! But at an average of £55 an hour (I’ve checked) I would rather sort myself out and spend the money on something nice, like a new throw for the sofa or an attractive pendant of a cat from Etsy, which is arriving

My Exciting Day and Other Animals

 Today: …put washing in machine first thing, hung it on washing line at 8.30 a.m which immediately caused rain to appear. Whilst polishing the dining room table, noticed that it had sustained some damage because SOMEONE had used it as a saw bench on Monday in order to cut the end off a piece of windowsill ledge that needed installing because SOMEONE ELSE has been jumping into the front window and scuffed all the paint off the windowsill with her scuffy little paw nails. Felt marginally miffed at damage to dining table AND windowsill, and immediately went online to look at new dining tables and to check resale prices of second hand cockapoos. Irritation assuaged, put Nell in car with intention of visiting Trentham Gardens for a long walk, which made rain pour even harder. Set off, regardless, because I am, if nothing else, a hopeful sort… …stopped off en route to buy some eggs from ‘Ben’s Eggs’ at Loggerheads. Ben keeps a little cabin of eggs on the side of the road with an honesty box.

Birthday Buckets

My Mum is 84 today. I sent her a box of birthday goodies which she enjoyed very much, and this morning I FaceTimed her first thing with birthday felicitations before she went off a-gallivanting with Auntie Pollie, a mere stripling at not quite 82. (Auntie Pollie has recently informed me that her doctor has now banned her from chopping her own firewood. ‘I still do the kindling, though,’ she added, conspiratorially.) Anyway, this octogenarian birthday celebration got me thinking about my own next ‘big’ birthday which will occur in 20 months’ time. I shall be 60. I can’t quite compute the idea of reaching 60 on account of the fact I still feel the same as I did in my thirties (possible younger) and, touchwood, my health continues to fare well. This morning, Lord Malarkey and I took Nell for a walk around a country park which is very hilly bumpsadaisy , and therefore a good cardio workout. There I am, striding up the hills in a stiff breeze, leaving Lord Malarkey behind, who is 5 and a ha