Oh, My Days!

 I had a bit of a fracas yesterday with a lady Queen wasp who seemed intent on starting a nest in the laundry. I pointed out to her that 1) she was on private property 2) she was building RIGHT in the doorway and therefore in my way and 3) the swallows have already rented the property for the season and subletting was not an option.  She said...well, I can’t repeat what she said because it is unbecoming of a lady of my ilk to repeat it and it is CERTAINLY too navvy-like in expression to impose on the tender eyeballs of my reader(s). Suffice to say she got a bit shirty.  We’ve had Queen wasp nests in the laundry before... These are they: very delicate, very beautiful, full of eggs that hatch into other wasps who then decide to make huge nests in the eaves of the house which is NOT good, neither for us (all that scratching and demolition of pointing between bricks) nor for the wasps - death by Pest Controller.  And I can’t be doing with having things pest controlled. I am a Friend of Liv

 I’ve been wearing glasses since I was 11 years old. Short-sightedness, brought on, I like to think, by my childhood bookworm habits. Anyway, for the last 44 years I have been meticulous about having regular sight tests as dictated by my optometrist, which meant every year until my eyeballs reached adulthood and settled in their prescription, then every two years hence.  This rhythm was interrupted by the arrival of the zombie apocalypse, of course, so my latest test was delayed by a few months but yesterday I booked an appointment on-line and arrived for aforesaid appointment at 8.30 this morning.  I was made to stand outside until EXACTLY 8.30 a.m, and then the door was ceremoniously opened and the greeting assistant instructed me to ‘enter and stand to the right THERE and wait, please.’ Which I did. She then fired a thermometer gun into my third eye and declared my temperature to be ‘fine’ at 35 degrees centigrade. She then approached with the ubiquitous bottle of hand-sanitiser. ‘N

This morning, I’ve had a go creating some English Language GCSE exam questions. What do you think?  1) When so much poverty and inequality exists in the World today, it is/is not a good idea to spend billions  of money (insert currency of choice) on space travel to Mars to fly a helicopter for 39 seconds because...? 2) The majority of sensible people do not give a shiny shite about football. Therefore, explain (using as few words as possible) why you care/ do not care about so much news time being taken up with a vacuous hoo-ha commentary about the formation of a new ‘super league.’ You should include the phrases ‘grow up and get a life’ and ‘toddler tantrum’ in your response.  3) Write a cheerful dialogue which conveys positivity and hope for the future. There should be at least two characters in your script - one called Christopher Notwitty and one called Patricky Frilly Bed Valance.  And now onto the more important issues of the day/life/Universe - namely that the First Swallow of S

 It helps enormously to have good weather when kick starting a new gardening season. I’m afraid I’m not a stoic when it comes to going out in all weathers. Cold + rain = stay indoors and read. It’s the law. Anyway, this week has been marvellous for Good Gardening Weather so after working on Tuesday and Wednesday, and attending a funeral on Thursday, I was out in the garden on Friday with a large trug and a pointy weed digger thing determined to do unto death (whilst they are still tiny) as many bastard thistles, docks, nettles and other assorted weeds of a perennial and undesirable nature as possible such as dandelion and buttercup. I was also intent on targeting certain plants I do not want in my garden, namely aquilegia and crocosmia. I’ve been tackling these two rampant spreaders for a couple of years now and believe I am now on the winning side. Anyway, forth I set - two solid days of gardening. I’d already cleared all the weeds growing between the paving slabs of the courtyard and

 I was up at 6.20 this morning, having woken with the urge to have a womble and do a litter pick along the stretch of road ‘pon which I live. I did my usual morning chores first - fed Bambino and cleaned out his litter tray, let out the hens and fed them, avoided collision with a cockerel dismounting wildly from high up a tree, the usual stuff... ...and by 6.40 a.m I was on the road with a bin bag, a litter picker and pair of gardening gloves in case I found anything truly disgusting. Well, I’ve heard tales, you know, of things that the less considerate chuck from their vehicle windows.  This is the view on emerging from our driveway... Ignore the recently installed 50 miles an hour signage. Most people do. And this is the view from our driveway of the length of road leading to the dog leg bend to where I litter picked. You can just see the black and white chevron road signs, where the tree and hedge line ends (in the middle of the photo), which mark the bend. It is about a quarter of

  I think that if I hadn’t begun my Healer training journey back in February, then I wouldn’t be getting back to having a grip on life as quickly as I have done after the events of the previous two weeks. I lost track of time a bit, and I think that was a good thing because it means I have been living life at my pace of time and not the pace dictated by clocks and calendars. Time can flex, you know, speed up and slow down if we let it, to suit our needs and purposes at any given moment. Before my healer training I wouldn’t have known that it could do that - but I do now and because of that experience I can draw on it in the future. Lesson learned - don’t let society expectations dictate how you manage the breadth and length of your days. They are your days, no-one else’s. As someone who’s always been a bit of a clock watcher, this is a big realisation for me. I’ve been grateful for little pockets of joy and good news, too, that have dotted themselves into the oddness of this time. Chri

  Flora Bijou Mybug 21st July 2013 - 2nd April 2021 ‘Too cat to be human, too human to be cat.’  xxx

  One of my favourite photos of Andy, with my curly girls doing a pile on! He’s such a brilliant Grandpa!  Last Sunday we had a phone call. Andy’s mum, Ruth, had suffered a massive stroke and was unconscious in hospital. On Monday, Andy travelled two hours to be with her. It wasn’t good news. He sat with her and, in his words, chatted rubbish, hoping she could hear him. And then he drove two hours home. And then, the same evening he travelled two hours back again, because he didn’t want her to be on her own. He sat at her bedside, reading to her from a novel she had just started because he thought she would like to hear how it finished.  On Tuesday morning, Ruth passed away peacefully, surrounded by her family, having never regained consciousness.  And I’d like to say thank you to Ruth, my mother-in-law for almost 20 years, for bringing into the world such a kind, gentle, clever yet modest, generous and big-hearted man, who will do anything for anyone, who is mostly a big kid at heart,