And hello Autumn! Almost. First official day of Autumn tomorrow. There is a fresh chill in the air and the evening light is closing in earlier by the day. The apples, pears, plums and blackberries are ripening by the hour, it seems, and the first leaves are starting to loosen their grip on the trees.
It has been a busy August. Lots of visitors. Lots of activity. Variable weather. Thinking time for me. Very useful thinking time, as it turns out. I am feeling excited about the arrival of Autumn - it is, I think, my favourite season. And as the season is shifting, so am I. I may not be returning to school on Monday, but life is going to be busier than ever. The Universe is pushing change towards me and I am very happy about it, too. More on that tomorrow.
This last week has been taken up with a friend visiting from Kent. She arrived in her motorhome with three Chihuahua dogs she inherited from an old friend who died around 3 or 4 years ago. The Chihuahuas are called Pepe, Daisy and Tula, and arrived into the care of my friend in a right old state. She has done them proud since she's had them, sorting out teeth, diets, behaviour issues and house training. They're not my sort of dog, what with their bug-eyed, snorty nosed, yappy ways but they have their own charm, I suppose. They didn't stay in the house - Flora would never have forgiven me - but camped in the motorhome and ran riot amongst the bantams whenever they could. Their presence confirmed to me I am a cat person. Don't anyone ever leave me a dog in their Will, eh?
Anyway, one evening our friend took us out for a meal at the pub up the road. For the carvery.We were chatting away (one has to wait five minutes for the vegetarian accompaniment to the carvery to make it from the kitchen to the carvery area, presumably via the microwave) when suddenly our friend leaned forwards and said, 'Did you hear that Donald Trump wants to buy Snodland?'
(Snodland is a small town in the middle of Kent. I wouldn't want to live there. It's the sort of town best 'passed through'.)
'Why on earth would Donald Trump want to buy Snodland?' we said.
Our friend leaned back in her seat. 'For the snod,' she said.
I looked at Andy. Andy looked at me. 'The what?' said we, in unison.
'Donald Trump wants to buy Snodland for the snod,' said our friend. 'Apparently, Snodland is built on snod and it is valuable mining commodity.'
Well, we couldn't help but laugh. Was she joking? Snod? Surely she was having a laugh at our expense? But no. Our friend was deadly serious. 'It was on the radio,' she said. 'There was a proper debate going on about it. People are unhappy.'
There followed a flurry of activity on mobile phones (not mine - I don't use one) firstly to discover the social media outrage that was bound to be in evidence following the cheek of Trump wanting to mine snod from 'neath Snodland. And secondly to identify this substance called snod.
Of course there was nothing to be found. Some spurious attempts to identify the origin and meaning of the town's name, yes, but nothing more. 'We think you've been had,' we said to our friend, who, to give her credit, had stuck to guns about the news story through the whole phone internet search and the arrival of my vegetarian carvery option.
'Well,' she said, 'I really thought it was a genuine story.'
To be honest, I reckon she still thinks it is. Knowing our friend as we do, I expect she is, as we speak, going all out to verify the story and will do all she can to provide us with evidence that we can expect Trump at any minute to arrive in Kent with his snod carrier and start blowing holes underneath Snodland and squirreling out all the snod to build snod houses and snod roads and whatever else one uses snod for. I'm glad I've moved to Shropshire.
Anyway, she's gone home now so there will be no more talk of snod at Damson Cottage. Plenty of talk about other things but we are a snod-free zone. And now I can't stop saying, 'Snod.'
Stoke PDSA Open Day tomorrow. Wish us luck!
It has been a busy August. Lots of visitors. Lots of activity. Variable weather. Thinking time for me. Very useful thinking time, as it turns out. I am feeling excited about the arrival of Autumn - it is, I think, my favourite season. And as the season is shifting, so am I. I may not be returning to school on Monday, but life is going to be busier than ever. The Universe is pushing change towards me and I am very happy about it, too. More on that tomorrow.
This last week has been taken up with a friend visiting from Kent. She arrived in her motorhome with three Chihuahua dogs she inherited from an old friend who died around 3 or 4 years ago. The Chihuahuas are called Pepe, Daisy and Tula, and arrived into the care of my friend in a right old state. She has done them proud since she's had them, sorting out teeth, diets, behaviour issues and house training. They're not my sort of dog, what with their bug-eyed, snorty nosed, yappy ways but they have their own charm, I suppose. They didn't stay in the house - Flora would never have forgiven me - but camped in the motorhome and ran riot amongst the bantams whenever they could. Their presence confirmed to me I am a cat person. Don't anyone ever leave me a dog in their Will, eh?
Anyway, one evening our friend took us out for a meal at the pub up the road. For the carvery.We were chatting away (one has to wait five minutes for the vegetarian accompaniment to the carvery to make it from the kitchen to the carvery area, presumably via the microwave) when suddenly our friend leaned forwards and said, 'Did you hear that Donald Trump wants to buy Snodland?'
(Snodland is a small town in the middle of Kent. I wouldn't want to live there. It's the sort of town best 'passed through'.)
'Why on earth would Donald Trump want to buy Snodland?' we said.
Our friend leaned back in her seat. 'For the snod,' she said.
I looked at Andy. Andy looked at me. 'The what?' said we, in unison.
'Donald Trump wants to buy Snodland for the snod,' said our friend. 'Apparently, Snodland is built on snod and it is valuable mining commodity.'
Well, we couldn't help but laugh. Was she joking? Snod? Surely she was having a laugh at our expense? But no. Our friend was deadly serious. 'It was on the radio,' she said. 'There was a proper debate going on about it. People are unhappy.'
There followed a flurry of activity on mobile phones (not mine - I don't use one) firstly to discover the social media outrage that was bound to be in evidence following the cheek of Trump wanting to mine snod from 'neath Snodland. And secondly to identify this substance called snod.
Of course there was nothing to be found. Some spurious attempts to identify the origin and meaning of the town's name, yes, but nothing more. 'We think you've been had,' we said to our friend, who, to give her credit, had stuck to guns about the news story through the whole phone internet search and the arrival of my vegetarian carvery option.
'Well,' she said, 'I really thought it was a genuine story.'
To be honest, I reckon she still thinks it is. Knowing our friend as we do, I expect she is, as we speak, going all out to verify the story and will do all she can to provide us with evidence that we can expect Trump at any minute to arrive in Kent with his snod carrier and start blowing holes underneath Snodland and squirreling out all the snod to build snod houses and snod roads and whatever else one uses snod for. I'm glad I've moved to Shropshire.
Anyway, she's gone home now so there will be no more talk of snod at Damson Cottage. Plenty of talk about other things but we are a snod-free zone. And now I can't stop saying, 'Snod.'
Stoke PDSA Open Day tomorrow. Wish us luck!
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