Oh, My Days!

  Yesterday’s blog post prompted a comment about the trickiness of Christmas shopping this year, especially with what’s going on in the world and the organisational chaos and uncertainties that have ensued. Already, consumer groups have been ‘warning’ us to ‘buy early’ to avoid hold ups in the delivery systems that have struggled to keep up with the rise in online shopping. Therefore, we need to ‘think ahead’ in order to save us from a Christmas full of ‘disappointment’. I have to admit when I heard this snippet on the radio, I thought, ‘Oh, ffs...’ and rolled my eyes. I may have also muttered, ‘Get a grip!’ under my breath. But then I did think, perhaps I SHOULD start shopping now. You know...just in case. What is wrong with us? Have we become so embroiled in high expectations of perfection that the thought of simpler and less stressful ways to celebrate the festive season fill us with feelings of horror and failure? Like the whole day will be a disaster if the napkin rings don’t matc

  It’s Michaelmas Day today. Also known as Goose Day. Michaelmas in honour of the Archangel St Michael, patron of seas, ships, boatmen, horses and horsemen, and responsible for hurling Lucifer, that naughty angel, from Heaven straight into a bramble bush. For that reason, we are warned against eating blackberries from herein because upon landing in the aforementioned bramble, Lucifer a.k.a the Devil, spat all over them in a fit of pique. But if you like your blackberries with a serving of Satan spit, please carry on a-picking. Maybe give them a sluice in bleach before eating.  And Goose Day because it is traditional to eat a goose (fattened on the stalks of the recently harvested fields) to celebrate the end of the harvest, the beginning of the winter curfews (some one should tell our government that this is a VERY outdated tradition), and the seeking of new employment. It’s one of the Quarter Days of old, where employees sought new employment positions in the various job markets, and

 Today, I have three VERY Important Questions to put to you. Please think VERY carefully before you respond because this year’s Annual Much Malarkey Manor Christmas Story Extravaganza (already in initial planning stages) may well depend upon your answers corresponding with my own, and therefore correct, beliefs on these matters. I shall reveal the correct answers tomorrow. Or maybe the day after, if you all go shy on me. Don’t think silence will help you, either. I am prepared to hold the Christmas Story to ransom on this one, mostly because, after sooooo many years, I am seriously running out of festive ideas. Are we ready?  Question 1: The correct way to take the top off a soft boiled egg is a) to cut it with a knife like this... or b) tap it with a spoon, like this... Question 2: when making a cup of tea, is it correct to add the milk before the tea, or the tea before the milk? N.B Marks will be deducted for those who make tea by slinging a tea bag straight into a mug and bypassing

My WeightWatchers package is coming to an end in the next two weeks. I am not renewing. I’ll be paying £13.95 for what is, basically, a glorified food tracking app. Think of the cake one could make with £13.95 of ingredients each month?! All right, I’m joking, of course. And the WW app has been very useful these last 5 months or so. It has kept me focused and I’ve lost 2 stones and, more importantly, I no longer feel like I’m ‘dieting.’ I’m used to eating less and all the new habits I’ve introduced this year have stuck. I have other plans to initiate the next phase. And they are free.  Part of the ‘keeping one on track’ has been the accumulating of ‘reward points.’ So, every time you record a meal or activity, you ‘earn’ 5 points. The weekly weigh-in is worth 25 points. And if you track three breakfasts in a row, you get a 10 point bonus. Easy for me, because I never miss breakfast.  Anyway, you can swap your points for rewards. I was slowly working my way up to 4,000 points in order t

 Yesterday, whilst His Lordship Malarkey and I were living the high dining life in Pizza Express, Himself said, ‘Now, you can so ‘no’ but I am thinking of buying you a bicycle for your birthday. Because you had mentioned finding ways of getting more exercise.’ Dear Reader, in theory, I do like the idea of a bicycle. Images like this immediately sprang to mind... ...me on a lovely lady bicycle, sunshine on my face, a gentle breeze wafting through my hair, flowers in the basket, along with maybe a novel and a nice sandwich, so I could stop somewhere gloriously scenic on my perambulations and partake of a leisurely luncheon. Or, even better, this... ...accompanied by my new and VERY cute canine companion. My what fun and larks we’d have, scooting along the country lanes, around the parks, or following the miles of canal paths there are around these parts. Oh yes, we’d go for days out, stopping at a waterside pub, maybe, for a light luncheon, or detouring to the local town on the way home

 Last Christmas (I gave you my heart...no, no George Michael...you didn’t. Go away...) Andy and I received one of those restaurant gift cards as a present. Very thoughtful, the gift of a meal out somewhere. We thought we’d use it for a Valentine’s Day treat, but then remembered that I had an evening date with the marvellous Anne Widdecombe at the local Festival Centre, so the Valentine Meal didn’t happen. And then Covid-19 happened and all the restaurants shut down for a few months.  Fast forward to August, and eateries were starting to open again. The granddaughters were visiting. We thought, let’s use the gift card, let’s go to Nando’s. After some considerable faff whereby, upon arriving at the chosen Nando’s, we had to use one of those Q codes to book a table then wander off for half an hour until we were summoned by text as the next table became available, I said to the 12 year old waiter that we would like to use our gift card as part payment for the meal. He gave me the sort of l

 I ran today. I was at work, it was after lunch and the work gang and I were taking a post-lunch walk. The wind had whipped itself up to chilling proportions. The field ahead of me was very green, very open, downhill (which helped enormously) and only a little bit scattered with sheep poo. Okay, there was a lot of sheep poo but I was wearing my wellies so it mattered not. And suddenly I had the urge to run! So I did! Arms spread wide, head back, I galloped, yes dear reader, GALLOPED, down that hill in my parka coat and wellies, and two of my walking companions galloped with me. We reached the bottom of the hill and for a brief moment I turned and thought, ‘And now I shall gallop back UP the hill to meet the rest of the group so I can gallop back down again!’ Yes, I think I suffered an endorphin rush.... But I didn’t run up again because a) I thought it best to pace myself, I mean it was straight after lunch - indigestion and all that - and b) the hill suddenly looked a lot steeper goin

Last week, in order to continue pushing and motivating Myself, The Writer, I downloaded an app called ‘Daily Prompt’ which sends a writing suggestion every day to be completed within 24 hours. The basic app is free - of course, you are nudged to ‘upgrade’ in order to reveal the full glories the app has to offer, but I am more than happy with the freebie version. Once you’ve completed a writing prompt task - up to 500 words - you can upload it, share it, and it can be read and commented upon by other app users. Early days, but promising thus far. There are also little competitions to enter. The prizes are in U.S dollars so I am guessing the app is American. No matter.  Today was Day 5 for me. So far I have completed four 500 word mini stories. I set myself an hour to write them, and a couple of them have been a close run panic to meet that deadline, but I don’t want to spend more than an hour a day on this kind of exercise, and if I take a fancy to something I write, I can always return

We had visiting dignitaries at the farm today. On being presented to the local Mayor, the service user with whom I was working said, ‘All right, mate?’ Fortunately, the Mayor seemed a chap of kind humour and not at all hoity toity, as he smiled and replied, ‘Yes mate, I’m all right.’  The Mayor was accompanied by a lady High Sheriff. Or maybe the lady High Sheriff was accompanied by the Mayor, I really don’t know the correct hierarchy of these things. Anyway, I was disappointed she wasn’t wearing chaps, Stetson and spurs, with a massive star pinned to her tasselled suede waistcoat, and toting a pair of pistols in a low slung holster. Oh, she looked very nice, don’t get me wrong, in her smart black suit and a rather fetching hat garnished with a large ostrich plume, but I do feel she missed a comedy trick there.  This is the Lady High Sheriff of Shropshire. I do not know her name.  They didn’t stay long. And I was far more impressed by the visit we had last Thursday from Morrison’s beca

 Seriously, I have NO idea where today went. How I ever managed to work full time, I shall NEVER know. The beautiful weather continued on, so I chucked a load of washing in the machine first thing, and made some lemon buns for His Lordship Malarkey’s packed lunch before the kitchen grew too hot for baking. I then phoned my boss at the farm to give her an update on the previous two weeks because she has been on holiday, allowing me and my colleague chum to run riot managing the place in her stead. All was well, I hasten to add. We like to think we are renegades when left to our own devices, but we are sensible and organised renegades.  Next job - a mass postcard writing frenzy. It has been on my ‘to do’ list for a couple of weeks now, and since the post lady delivered my recent order of 48 stamps this morning (to save me going into the post office, and boiling and panicking in a face covered queue) I cracked on and wrote 9 postcards plus a get well soon card. Sending postcards is a habi

 National Day celebrations today focus mostly on food. It’s National String Cheese Day, for example.... This is string cheese. It is an abomination to cheese. Why would someone think to do THIS to cheese? In fact, I am willing to bet that this is NOT cheese. That it is something like recycled car tyres and plastic bags with 0.1% cheese added in order to appease the trade description people, then sprayed with gloss paint and marketed within an inch of its non-cheesy life as a fun way to eat cheese. It isn’t. Eat cheese properly, folks. I beg you. Cut from a block with a cheese knife and perched on a high quality cracker. Pickles optional.  It is also National Fried Rice Day... Marginally better than string cheese by virtue of it being sprinkled with vegetables and proteined up with egg. But my experience of fried rice is one of extreme stickiness whereby I believe the last time I ate some, circa 2003, the result has been there is still residue attached to my large intestine. Why cook ri

Today’s harvest haul from the garden... ...tomatoes, raspberries, carrots, beans and a couple of comedy cucumbers. I’m picking a good pound of tomatoes every day, and a bowl of Autumn raspberries, too, which have been coming into their own over the last two weeks, taking over almost seamlessly from the Summer canes. The carrots are coming to an end now, as are the cucumbers. It’s the runner beans I am most pleased with, though! I planted the bean seeds back in April and they grew into lovely plants, which I then transplanted into the garden, only for them to be decimated by the Bastard Slugs, pretty much overnight. Fortunately, I had some Emergency Bean Plants in reserve in the newly built greenhouse and they stayed there until they took on triffid-like proportions and then I planted them out, and they got chomped by the Bastard Slugs, too, but to a lesser extent. By then it was too late in the season to re-seed any more bean plants so I persevered with watering and willing Bean Batch

 I am pleased to announce that Youngest Granddaughter, Elizabeth, has won the ‘Christian Vision and Values’ award at her school for this week. What does this mean, one might ask? Is she destined to become clergy of some parish, a hip and trendy lady vicar, with her big pink glasses, crazy curly hair and penchant for all things unicorn and mermaid?  Sheesh, I hope not. I mean, I am glad she has won the award because it shows she has displayed the qualities of kindness, helpfulness, caring for others and being an all-round good egg of a human being. No mean feat for a six year old, especially in this day and age. And I shall forgive her that she didn’t want to talk to me yesterday on the FaceTime because she was in a bit of a grump. All vicars-in-waiting have their off days. In fact, in my experience, some of them have more off days than your average lay person, but that is another story. However, I’m not sure being a vicar is her true destiny.  Christian values are, I think, something t

I have absolutely NOTHING to blog about today. Nothing. Zilch. Zero. But, because I am a writer and I am making myself blog every day as a discipline in writing, I am going to blog SOMETHING. You are excused boots if you wish to exit, stage right, now and go and do something more stimulating, like cleaning off the burnt on grease on that enamel pie dish.  So, today. Went to work on the care farm. Wasted a lot of time standing in the sunshine watching the new piglets that were born a week ago. They are tiny, and a variety of colours and spottiness. They are VERY naughty and highly entertaining, racing around in their paddock, scratching themselves, chasing each other like puppies, being horribly revolting sticking their noses in each other’s pees and poos. A total waste of time, but ambrosia for the soul.  A representative from Morrison’s supermarket dropped by the farm with a bag of doughnuts for us, which, because I am a cynic, I believed to be a bribe to prevent us jumping shopping s

A few weeks ago, I met up with a dear friend for a meditation and healing afternoon, both of us being light workers on the spirit pathway. It did me good to re-engage in a bit of focused energy channelling (because I have let my practice slip somewhat) and during the afternoon the words ‘sun puddles’ popped into my head.  Now, I know this wasn’t my human brain thinking these words because I have never heard the phrase before; when I arrived home, I looked it up and said to myself, ‘Aaah, you mean sun spots!’ This is a sun puddle... ...there! That thing that Flora is lying on. No, not the sofa - the warm patch of sunshine on the sofa. Here are Flora and Bambino sharing a sun puddle... This proves that no matter how much they scrap with each other and try to denude each other of fur all over my rugs, they secretly share a mutual and fond admiration. I think. And here is Bambino on a sun puddle that has come to rest on my legs... It’s his casual, ‘I’m so cool’ pose. Metaphorically cool, o

  This is my little sister, Jackie. She died almost 28 years ago on 12th December 1992 from a rare bone cancer, Ewing’s Sarcoma. Today would have been her 50th birthday.  I can’t imagine her being 50. I bet she would still have bright auburn curls, though. Not a hint of grey in sight. I imagine that she would be living on a canal boat somewhere, earning a living from crafting beautifully intricate silver jewellery. She had patience and an eye for detail.  She was an artist - a painter and sculptor. She rang the bells at our village church. The bell chimes were updated the year she died and they are dedicated to her memory. As soon as she passed her driving test she drove her Fiat Panda into the back of tractor trailer. When she was a child, all knitted items were declared to be ‘scratchy’ and if she didn’t want to eat something she would say her teeth were puffed out. Because of her long hair she earned the nickname ‘Dougal’ after the dog from ‘The Magic Roundabout.’ In later years, sh

 Look at this happy, serene little face! During a super-Ninja supermarket shop this morning, I discovered this little lady in the middle of Lidl and decided she would come home with me and sit in my reading and meditation corner in the Zen Den. She has the most peaceful look on her face, doesn’t she? She tells me her name is Maud, which, when I looked it up, means ‘Powerful Warrior’ so I am glad to have her on my side. Full of calm yet with an edge of ‘but don’t mess with me.’ And yes, I know she is carrying another cactus and that I don’t like cacti, but that, my friends, is incidental. The new landline phone arrived today, along with many balls of wool for the knitting of a short jacket pattern I found in a magazine. This is the wool... ...it’s green! I have never worn green. It’s not a colour that appeals to me to wear as I’ve always considered it best left to grass and trees, but I thought I’d give it a go - be more ‘tree’. It’s 100% wool, and not at all scratchy. Looks like it wil

 Defrosted the freezer first thing this morning because Andy has been muttering about making cider from the proliferation of apples we have produced this year and to me cider making = wasps, so I thought I’d better crack on getting some of them into the freezer for the making of Future Crumbles. The apples, not the wasps. Wasp crumble? Are you MAD??  First batch ready to go. The apples are, supposedly, eating apples, but they tend on the side of tartness so cooking them up to freeze is the best way of preserving them.  Whilst cooking, I was exchanging messages on the Messenger with Heather about various topics continuing on from yesterday evening when she was suggesting various forms of exercise to me. This is the woman who gets up at the crack of dawn to participate in a boot camp, of all things, on Folkestone sea front. Don’t worry, I’m not in any danger of copying that malarkey, partly because we are at least an hour from the nearest coastline, partly because I don’t like being shou

 Mostly, I like a quiet life. Keeping my own counsel, biting my tongue, avoiding arguments or courting conflict. On the occasions I have raised my head above the parapet of so called rights of free speech, I’ve caused myself aggravation and huge feelings of personal discomfort, like something has grabbed hold of my soul and washed it in acid. So I do - I do keep quiet as a means of self protection. To save myself the hurt and weariness of being shouted down to the point where I believe that yes, I MUST be wrong about everything. And in doing so, I fail to support myself and my beliefs, and turn myself into a turd of a third class citizen. I am neither socialist, trade unionist nor Jewish, but the sentiment in this poem can be applied to any tribes with which we might identify.  I’ve used it as a stimulus in drama lessons to great effect and as such it has been in my mind, in the background of thoughts, itself causing its own discomforts for many years.  Recently, I spoke out in support

 Andy was off today to Lancaster, to visit his mother who is still languishing in hospital. After two weeks of believing visiting was NOT allowed, we discovered that it WAS allowed, for one person for one hour. Just don’t get me started on the poor communication going on in this corner of the NHS or I shall be blogging about why I didn’t join in the Clap for Carers when all that malarkey was going on. The red mist will descend, so best not wave the rag at the bull... Anyway, I stayed home and tidied up the loose ends of the week.  Firstly, the landline phone. It has taken to screeching like an owl with is nadgers caught in a mangle and crackling like a popping candy overdose on a very wet tongue. There’s all sorts of hissing going on, too, and trying to hear what anyone is saying on the other end of the line is nigh on impossible. I declared the phone to be in its death throes and ordered one of these as a replacement... ...it’s top of the Best 10 Cordless Phones 2020 in the LiGo techn