At The End of the Orchard

 

Once more a book is judged here by me with one simple question; did I learn anything? This book gives so much about effects of the terrible hardships of the early settlers as they spread across North America in those harsh days.  

At the end of the Orchard, is sewn together as skilfully as the nine square quilts these bold people slept beneath. The story is heart breaking and heart warming. As a side effect, I learned more about the culture of trees that one could possible think was interesting, but it surely is, combined the culture of those poor farmers. The story slyly not telling the reader what did actually happened 'At the Edge of the Orchard' but holding the dark secret in your mind. It was cunningly done and was well worth waiting for. The characters are all so strong. I like to cast the movie in my mind as a read an enjoyable book and I have Tom Hardy as James the apple growing father of an ever expanding and diminishing family, and Carey Milligan as the spiteful, pickled in Apple Jack, mother. I am thinking about Emma Watson as the lovable harlot. So far I have not cast the son, I'm having spot of bother with him. 

 Poignantly, I was staying in an orchard in a Gite in Burgundy whilst I read this wonderful story. 

I have read several books that have those travels at heart. One of those was also written by Tracy Chevalier and was another book that I was stunned by; The Last Runaway, worked around a Quaker girl travelling out from England to Ohio to join her sister. 

At the End of the Orchard, was the seventh book written by Tracy Chevalier that I have read. Most people have read the famous Girl with a Pearl Earring, and been enthralled with that story about the subject of the Vermeer Painting that we travelled to Den Haag to see. I equally loved Burning Bright, that has William Blake as a central figure. My favourite still, is The Virgin Blue, that I can barely speak of, so struck was I with that time slip idea. 

Too many wonderful books, so little time.

 

 

 

Cabin Fever

 

 

 

Suffered from a spot of cabin fever today due to the fact that it did not stop raining at all. I kept checking up on Accuweather and first thing this morning it said ‘Rain will continue for at least two hours’ then when I checked it two hours later, it repeated the first message and so on and so fifth. There was also an Orange flood alert for the area. I did not bring a coat of any kind. I expected to find summer here as usual, I think I have said that before.

 

I had wanted to go out and watch the guys trimming the trees in the road outside this Gite. It’s so entertaining this obsession with tidy trees that the French have. Every tiny twig sprouting anywhere on the lower part of the most attractive trees, up to I would think about 35-40 feet up the tree must be trimmed. The lower bark is left completely clear. How sad am I to find this work completely absorbing and mesmeric? 

 

 

At about 1pm I had a call from Steve to say they had finished work in the Antiques Fair in Avignon and that he was starting off for the drive home. Yes, he called this converted barn in the orchard of the gite we have stayed in for donkey’s years now, when ever we have a long work stay in these parts, ‘Home’. We are very comfortable here. Steve had been away since Friday and I had been on my own whilst the owner’s were also away. Very peaceful.

They arrived back on Sunday and we exchanged greetings since they had just left us a key with a friend when we arrived over a week ago. Then having been nice to each other and asked polite things, I moved on rather than let any more rain fall on my hair and encourage curls. I drummed up my best French and told Jean Francois that the TV was not working. He told me that he knew that! It needed a part and it would arrive in three weeks! Oh well that is the French for you. 

Steve got back in time to take me out to dinner and we went into town to find one of the few restaurants that open on Monday. The joy is that many of the restaurants offer posh wine by the glass so you can experiment until you fall over. This is not a test for me since I have my favourites.

 

 

Alone in Beaune

Last night I spent a peaceful evening alone in darkest Burgundy, alternating a bit of writing, and sewing a few threads of silk in the plain denim shirt that I am brightening up with a little of my mad embroidery. I played some music on my iPod player for a bit, then later reading from my Kindle in bed. I am just over half way through ‘At the Edge of the Orchard’ by Tracy Chevalier. I usually read a little when I go to bed and carry on until I start to feel sleepy. Once I drop the Kindle and that jogs me awake again, I put it away and snuggle down to watch the big Tonight Show in Dreamland. 

 

The above it is my view over the wall from my gite.

Very little time had passed, maybe a couple of dozen ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ’s When an almighty clap of thunder rumbled through lasting a good minute. Within no time at all there was a symphony of ear shattering bangs and cracks putting many an eighty piece orchestral crescendo to shame. No twenty minute flash in the pan for this thunderstorm. It was impossible to sleep under the timber roof of the converted barn of the gite I am staying in right now; the noise of the accompanying downpour of rain could have shattered eardrums. The storm that seemed to have been hemmed in by the height of the Côte d’Or just behind the house, where the vineyard adjoining slopes exquisitely up to the top of hill that has a handful of seven kilometre bike climbs to get up it. That is the only account I can think of, as to why the fearful heavenly rant lasted until the early hours of the morning.

 

 

Today I was planning to go for a long walk through the vineyards, notebook in hand as usual, camera at the ready, stopping at one of the many little wine villages for lunch. I am too long in the tooth to deliberately go out in the rain, especially with regard to the fact that I have come here without a coat. I was expecting summer.

Yesterday afternoon, this was of no matter, it was baking hot and my hair dripping beads of sweat, whilst I watched the late stages of the 24 hour silly bike ride that was storming to a close. The once sparkling two person machines that had gleamed and preened at the start, were now caked with mud after riding through the deluge of Gods objection to the race. It was jolly entertaining and most admirable for those who rode it out in every weather condition known to man including inches of hail stones. Below is my favourite endurance bike, I think in had many pit shops including one to re-affix his head and another because his tail dropped off! Imagine pedalling that around for 24 hours.

 

 

The Dragon Who Lost His Tail 

He’s the bravest dragon there ever was

I know that it’s true my dear because

I’ve seen his bravery at first hand

When I was in France that foreign land

Each year they hold a fantastic race

It takes courage and endurance to face

The race goes on for twenty four hours

They pray for sunshine and not for showers

All home made bicycles so it would seem

But they must also have a heroic theme

Two riders must be together on each craft

Building the stead must have made them laugh

It should combine both knowledge and skill

Strength of spirit, body and pig headed will

This if not an event for a Sunday biker

Who normally is just a settee hiker

One needs stamina and pendulous balls

To get through this day when duty calls

Thankfully there can be a team relay

But these changes are fast so not to delay

Working as a team with a cycling mate

Boundless energy has them feeling great

Pedal onward hour upon exhausting hour

Not time for second thought or to cower

Lap after lap endlessly through the night

Thru' darkness whilst pedalling into the light

Power to pedal those heavy dual bikes

As thunder cracks and lightning strikes

The competition is fierce from super powers

Batman, wonder woman, and green hulk glowers

Handsome dragon has the greatest beauty

Determined yet to fulfil his greatest duty

Through endless laps he will prevail

Ignoring the fact that he lost his tail

 

 

 

 

 

Beaune Market

It absolutely deluged, from11pm last night until 6am this morning. I felt so sorry for all the people cycling their funny vehicles all night. Thunder. Lightening. etc.

Went in to the market early this morning to find it is a as fabulous as every. I meet as many people I know here as I do at home. The difference is that they say my name with and accent over the E and plant kisses on my cheeks.

 

 

 

 

 

24 Heures Beaune

Walked into town to see the start of the 24 hour bike ride. It s all a bit of a panto and some of the teams were back in the pits within 30 minutes. Some of the vehicles look way too heavy to ride for a whole 24 hours. Everybody was having fun and there will be music and Tom Foolery all night.

 

Further report on how many survive to follow tomorrow. The event ends or at least the bikes finish at 7pm Saturday.

 

 

 

Our home from home in Burgundy

Although Accuweather forecast heavy thunderstorms for today, it did nothing of the sort and it has been suddenly baking hot summer here. This is the barn conversion that we are in.

 

 

Steve has been getting the rest of the work in the town done before he has to driver to the South of France. The photo above is the house the owners have been restoring lovingly for years and years.

 

 

I have been put out to grass, as far as working at the big fairs is concerned. It is very hard work. Steve is ditching me here in Burgundy in our three house enclosure and orchard that I will have all to myself and that will not exactly be a hardship. Photographic evidence is presented here. Above is the house the owners have lived in as long as we have known them. It is just across the orchard from our barn accommodation.

 

 

This is our usual accom. in the town over the last God knows how many years. Its lovely.

Steve and Nigel who works for us will not be back here until Monday night late.

I plan a lovely long walk through mile of vineyards on Sunday.  

Towns in France are potty about trimming their trees and it has been a crowd drawing attraction just outside of the house where we are staying. This is not the Pollarding that they also do with such mastery, but a massive cleaning up of the tall avenues of trees. No little twigs are allowed to spoil the lines. It is like something from Cirque du Soleil. One team throw light ropes up and then pull a stronger and stronger rope up. Finally the skilled man gets into his harness and then stirrup like shoes and he then appears to step up as if climbing the stairs. It looks death defying once he starts cutting branches off. He is followed by tree eating machine that turns the fallen branches into mulch. Fascinating.

Burgundy bike ride

Having had bad weather yesterday, it was a blessing that there was wall to wall blue sky when we woke up this morning. French antiques dealers are not the worlds early risers so that on these trips there is always time for a run or a bike ride before Steve has to start work on the collection of the furniture and smalls things that our clients have bought in and around the town.

Steve went out straight away and then came back for me almost an hour later. Once we were ready
to set off, Steve said, "We'll do one of your flat rides now," knowing that I have done lots of bike rides on my own when he has been out working here. I have to ride in front on these rides because he does not know the route. At one point he caught up to me and said, "I hope you know where exactly you are because I am completely lost." I told him that we were almost at our turn around loop. On the way back I took a right turn that fooled him completely and he said that at that point he would have turned either of the two other ways and is was lucky I was so familiar with the area.

Once we turned back to head in toward our  base we were both surprised to see that the blue sky was completely gone and huge black clouds were building. We hoped that we would get back without getting soaked and did just get in before it started to spit.

The scenery is devastating every where around. It is the most fabulous place for a bike run holiday although it is work that has brought us here for the umpteenth time.

Vineyard run

 

 

This morning Steve and I went and did our favourite run here in Beaune in Burgundy. The route takes us out into the vineyards and right up to a pretty spot where all you can see, miles and miles of grapes. Oh and we had to jump a three foot adder that for fortunately a little sleepy with the cold weather. Photos here as evidence of the beauty. People working out in the vines are all very friendly and wave and shout greetings. It is so beautiful.  We ran down the other side of the rise over into the next wine village of Pommard. There are so many of these ancient villages. We have been coming here for probably thirty years and still find new gems every visit. Its cold here today though and we both wore a light jacket. The forecast is to be twenty degrees warmer by the weekend.

 

 

Afterwards we did a little shopping for our Gite. We have been coming here to the same place for so long that the people who own the property take their own vacation and leave us alone here. The grounds are about two thirds of an acre with a small house that was once I would think the staff house for the large house that the owner has been restoring for at least twenty years. We stay in the converted barn on the other side of the garden. It has high walls and electronic gates the garden backs on to the vineyards. Sadly one of us has to work whilst we are here. Luckily its not me!

 

 

 

The Venice Connection

My alarm went off at 5.10 am to be ready for my taxi at 6.45 to get to Gatwick for my flight to Geneva. I saw only one Police officer with a machine gun. Nobody at all looked at my passport. I had done online check in and printed my own boarding pass, but never the less; I find that is very scary.

Steve met me outside at Geneva airport, where I did have to show my passport on his return from three days work in Venice. We are now in Beaune in beautiful Burgundy. It was an alarmingly smooth running day. How rarely does a busy travel day go completely without hitches. From a high point on the drive from Geneva to Burgundy we could still see Mont Blanc. In this security obsessed world we are all now getting used to there was nobody at all at the Swiss border.

 

 

Steve starts the next line of tricky jobs that will take up the next thirteen days, Mainly on the South of France at the three big Antiques Fairs. In Beziers, Avignon and Montpellier.

 

Holding the fort

It has been a little bit hectic this week with the boss being away. I have been rushing around like one of those fly's, I am sure you know the sort.

There have been a lot of things to finish off, plus Steve emails and texts with extra little jobs that have popped up that he has no way of doing since he is on a massive moving job in Venice. They have all our trucks (Two medium size and the small one) don't get ideas about a huge fleet. They are transporting furniture for some rich folks. It has been taken there by road, but then we all know about Venice, or should. Its very watery. They then have to unload some of the truck load and move it onto a barge. Take a nice scenic canal ride to the posh apartment. Then with two guys lifting from the barge, which is on water of course, so a bit wobbly, they are passing it up to two men hanging out of a window in the apartment!!!!! Three apartments.

I think Health and Safety takes a dive in Venice. It has been three days now of little loads on barges.

Meanwhile back at my desk I have had loads of what seems like trivia in comparison, but has taken me well into the evening each day.

I have a car coming for me at 6.30 am tomorrow to take me to Gatwick, or Gatport Airwick as I prefer. Steve will hopefully have finished in Venice today and be on the road. He should pick me up at Geneva Airport at noon tomorrow before the next massive operation commences in France with a different set of clients going to Beziers, Avignon and Montpellier.

Wish us luck.

Flying Solo

I heard from Steve this morning. He was waiting for the barge to arrive for them to start the huge job they have in Venice, that will take at least two days to complete. They were all ready to go but the bad news was that is was raining. Raining. When the job is to unload the trucks one at a time, load the furniture in a barge, climb on board the barge and glide on the romantic canals in central Venice to the closest spot that the barge could tie up at, to where the furniture is to be delivered, then unload the barge and wheel the pieces one at a time on trolleys to the place of delivery. Then carry them up stairs to be placed in their new homes.

I wonder how long it will take the men doing this, for the gloss of a trip to Venice to wear off. Not long methinks. 

Meanwhile back in blighty: I took  a multi lap bike course close to home so that my husband/training partner/coach would not have to worry about me getting a flat out on a road far away from home. It worked well actually. I waited for rush hour to be over and managed to do twenty short-ish laps without having to slow down or stop at all. Hot sweaty person by the time I got home. Useful session. 

This afternoon flying solo again I drove to Chichester on my own and did some shopping for those annoying little things that you can only buy in one particular place. On this occasion it was to pander to my whim to have toilet rolls with a perfumed core for the toilets in my home. These particular ones can only be bought in M & S in East Gate, Chichester, and so I bulk buy two or three times per year. I buy their perfumed handy pack tissues at the same time. 

It is unusual for me to go clothes shopping. I hate shopping for clothes and usually only buy on line. However. On my way back to my car to deposit the toilet rolls and hankies in my car I passed the Chestnut Tree Charity Shop; my pet charity. Some may remember that I did 75 mini triathlons in 75 days to raise money for Chestnut Tree Childrens Hospice  on the days approaching my 75^th birthday a couple of years ago, raising over £6000.00 for the kids there. Anyway, back to the plot, I took a look inside and bought a dress. Yes, me, a dress. It had a good label, from Wrap. It was pretty in a sort of mad poet lady way so it was perfect for me. Vast expence. £9. If I never wear it, I will still be pleased.  

 

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the Chichester Festival Theatre for a matinee performance of Enemy of the People with Hugh Bonneville in the lead doing a superb job. I thought he had lost a little weight since The Hollow Crown on TV.

 

 

 

Billy No Mates

Billy No Mates 

Steve left home yesterday at 5am to get to the Shuttle and on down to job one in central France. Today he moves on to a nightmare job of work in Venice. Yes, I hear you….. Venice?... Nightmare?... Hardly. It is actually because they have several trucks and have to unload into barges to go by canal to the nearest delivery point that a barge can tie up to, then, carry every piece to the three apartments they are going to. Then repeat and repeat. So yes; it is a nightmare. 

At home, Steve and I stick firmly on a time schedule that allows us both to get all our daily triathlon training done early in the morning and all finished so that Steve  can get cleaned up and into our business at a reasonable time leaving me my computer jobs to do. This normally means that Steve turns the telly off at 9pm. He is one of those people who gets into bed pops in his Audible ear buds and pretends to listen to his current book for a while. What actually happens is that he goes to sleep immediately, even though I have the light on so that I can read a couple of chapters of whatever book I am reading before I turn the light off. 

While the Cats Away however, I catch up on the things that Steve won’t watch on TV and last night I started The Hollow Crown. Now I knew it was, The War of the Roses but I think I had it in my head that they had adapted it to a sort of Netflicks ‘House of Cards’ type series. I was obviously very wrong indeed and once started, I could not tear myself away until Part I had finished at gone eleven o’clock. Well past my bedtime by house rules. My man hates Shakespeare so it had to be done when he was away. I will hit Part II tonight but start much earlier. I did manage to wake up wondering what the devil the noise was, when my alarm went off at 5.22am, Stephens alarm is much more gentle of tone but it’s gone away with its daddy. 

Good swim 6.30-7.30am. Now, home again and have had my instructions from afar by telephone. Sitting at my desk at the upstairs window of our little cottage, I can see the Apple tree in the centre of the garden over the road, aptly named, Apple Tree Cottage. The little tree is so beautiful wearing its dainty summer blossom.

 

 

Gettin' Old

Gettin’ Old

 

I’ll be seventy seven in a few months time month’s time

Next year to seventy eight the years past will climb

I’m talking seventy three and holding there right now

Putting off the inevitable rise in numbers somehow. 

My goodness me, how the years have broken into a run

Believe you me when I say that getting old is not much fun

It’s no good panicking about it, that won’t help at all

Counting the wrinkles in the mirror will just appal. 

Better work at spending each day in an economical fashion

Get on with what you want to get done with a degree of passion

Wasting time must always be listed as the number one sin

No matter what your state of health or the mood you are in. 

Half a century is a birthday party that when we are forty, dread

Passed three quarters of a  century every year jumps ahead

How did I not see all this coming or those years going past?

Make note now young things, youth is pretty but it doesn’t last.

 

Dmitri the Demon Driller

Dmitri the Demon Driller 

My computer plinked an alert sound when I turned I turned it on and 5.30 am. 

Daf- Dentist 8.30a.m.  

That was the unwelcome message that assaulted my bleary eyes. Oh well, my six month period since my last visit to the dentist was up. Still that was later. First coffee whilst I checked my email. Then get ready to go swimming in the town pool on the sea front. That would take care of 6.30- 7.30a.m. For swim training rather than a leisurely splosh up and down that most people would call exercise. Then a quick shower plus the changing room chatter. Normally I would go out on my bike for another hour after swimming but there would not be time for that before offering my innocent tombstones into the charge of Dmitri the Demon Driller, that is the less than kind name we call him at home.  

It seems only fair that since he is allowed to terrorise and torture me every six months without involving the law, I think it only fair that I give him a bit of a hard time back. 

I pop my head round the door and greet him sweetly, “Hello Dmitri, I see you have a new assistant”. 

“Yes, you will meet her in a moment”, he replied in his Russian accent. 

“Did you scare the other girl away” I gently tease. 

“No” a breath, “No, why you say that to me”?  

He went into an explanation that she has had a baby and will be back in September.

He gestured for me to mount the torture chair. He shoots over seated on his on the little chair with wheels and stops, glaring into my ancient eyes.

 

“Why you say bad things and call me names”? 

“I call you Dmitri the Demon Driller, is that what you mean”? 

“Yes, why”? He asked pretending to look hurt. 

“You’re the Dentist man”! Just a tick before I assured him, “Nobody likes the dentist,  fair do’s”.

 

Mum's White Cardigan

This photo popped up as a memory on Facebook yesterday. It shows my mum and my elder brother Peter sitting on the wall of the family home. It took me aback yesterday as if I had been slapped when I saw that picture, and so for our Saturday bike ride this morning, Steve and I rode into Worthing passing all the places where I remembered time spent with my family. We rode slowly down Cranworth Road and I pointed out who had lived in each of the houses when I was a child. My husband added “And the house across the road that got bombed during the war”, pointing to the only house in the road that was less than a hundred years old.

            The White Cardigan 

Whenever a white cardigan before my eyes takes a place

Instantly above it presents an image of my mothers face

Then, even then, the memory can be harsh

She won’t go away then I think, for a little while

And that thought alone in my head makes me smile. 

It was a big thing with her, I remember that well

Ingrained from somewhere in her past, you could tell

That the bright white must be what people saw

You must always have a new white cardigan every year

Even though her clothes were worn thin, they must not sneer. 

She sat knitting by the radio, in the kitchen, of a winter night

A plain one for herself but for me a daintier, prettier sight

Mum’s was nearly always a ‘v’ neck shape and mine

Buttoned to the neck with a wheat sheaf pattern or cable

Worn only for best, maybe to visit Aunt Lot’s, if we were able.  

There I am, cardi on, in all the old photos somewhere

Squatting in the chicken run with frizzy hair

But wrapped in long sleeved white wool

Unkempt blowing around me, my dirty blonde locks

Taken with the handed down family Brownie Box 

Every year as I too quickly for mum’s pocket grew

The old one posted to a younger cousin or a friend I knew

One day she switched me to a new design

A puffed sleeve angora bolero with bobble edge

Climbing like a boy, “Watch your cardi on that jagged ledge”. 

The fluffy bolero years lasted through those childhood ways

They warmed me through my junior school days

Mum glowed with admiration for her neat stitches

Her knitting looked like shop bought but for less cost

A slap round the head I got when my best one was lost.  

The hug-me-tight was forced into my young life

Starting ballet class gave mum just one more piece of strife

Wrapped around the front and neatly crossed over

With two long tails that were neatly tied

After slipping them through a little slot on the side. 

White goes with anything mum declared with firm voice

But as far as I was concerned there was not any choice

You would think I had said a really bad word

When I dared ask for a pink one or even green

Wide eyed horror on her face was for a long moment seen. 

So you see now why as the brochure page I turn

That the white one pictured is not what I yearn

Mum’s white cardi on a model there gives pause

There she is again, to myself I softly say

Once more her face will not for a while go away. 

She still wore them well into her old age where

Nothing had changed bar the colour of her hair

Then her silky white permanently waved tresses

As she lay, small and still on her death bed

“A perfect match to my cardi”, she would have said.

 

 

 

My Untold Wealth

The poem here is one from the early days of my: How to get through having three broken bones trying to heal and trying not to fidget, rule. To keep my head on straight I told myself to write a few lines per day whether it be a poem or a dream or just a rand against the state fate had left me in. The system works out well but left me with a bothersome scribbling habit.

 

I may not me a wealthy lady

But I’m rich in many ways

Treasures not from something shady

These memories of golden days 

Happy times with my darling girl

Lasting joys forever become

When she grew into a priceless pearl

My greater benefit to be her mum 

Friendship lifts my spirits o’er life’s hard knocks

No trouble as bad as first it seems

Keep thoughts from life’s ceaseless ticking clocks

My friends a rope to hold my dreams 

A husband who never  let me down

In life and work and love we share

The precious jewel in my crown

I turn and he is always there 

In later years I’m brought to see

Fortune brought them to my life

Just how much they’ve done for me

To ease the pain and mend the strife 

We don’t need houses, jewels and wealth

Just life’s kind souls so trusting climb

Above sad times to spiritual health

With friends and family a hearts sublime 

 

 

Use it or lose it

We have a very old fashioned hardware store in our area. Its one of those shops where you can walk in with a screw out of something you bought at about the same time as Noah started work on his ark and say to the man, “Have you got one of these”? He will go out into the back store and a couple of minutes later will return with exactly what you want. It looks like the same place that the Two Ronnie’s did their classic Fork ‘Andles routine inside.  

When I went into the launderette yesterday and gave my duvet in to a harridan of a woman in charge she gave me a firm dressing down about not expecting them to take things in just like that from people who are not regulars. I told her that I fully understood that but could I bring it in the next day? Having won round one, she let out a huge stage sigh and took it in anyway. We had further words, when she said that it was King size and I said it was only double and that my husband and I don’t like overhang. She did not take my word for it but searched all around the edge for the label and ‘Huh-ed’ again having to admit that I spoke the truth. I waved a tenner in front of her and asked how much it was. She grabbed the money and said “That’ll do” and walked away. She shouted over her shoulder that I MUST pick it up before 11 am next day.  This woman could easily get a part in TV’s East Enders. Peggy Mitchell, eat your heart out! 

This morning when I went in to collect it at 8.30, she told me that it had taken a lot of drying …. She had not realised it was feathers, she said, and asked me for two pounds more.  I suppose the logic was that if I can afford a down filled duvet then I could pay more. I admire a bit of spirit and a woman who can stand her ground, and I have to say that I found her strangely refreshing in a world where you are supposed to watch every word in case you upset somebody. 

A few days earlier I had bought summer bedding plants at the small nursery half a mile away but had had to go to the Garden centre that claims to be the biggest in the UK for the herb plants I wanted.

Of the jewellers anywhere nearby, we take watches for new batteries to the (Oh wait here a minute, I have had lessons from the Gorgon at the launderette), to the bloke who has a shop filled with retro bits and pieces, ration books, old radios etc. Now he appears to be completely out of his tree, raving bonkers, totally barkin’ but in a nice amusing way. He will however, not turn down a job because it’s a bit difficult or give you a hard time in any way. To prove this point, I took him my husbands sports watch to put a battery in and whilst he wrote the ticket I gave him a driving licence I had found at home that was from shortly after WW11. His little face lit up and he said, “That is so kind, thank you very much indeed”. 

I frequently use the couple of small ‘Open all hours’ corner stores, even though things are a little more expensive. Service is a dying art. Use them or lose them. Support your local small stores.

 

Getting it wrong

The weather forecaster to day told a complete Porky when I looked on line early today. The forecast said that it would stop raining in an hour and gradually turn brighter during the course of the day. 

It was raining when I got up and looked out of the window into our tiny garden, it was raining when we left to go swimming an hour or so later after Steve had spun his legs for 45 minutes on the turbo instead of going out on the road on his bike. There were huge puddles that stretched from one side of the road to the other. We went to the pool wearing running kit, had a decent enough swim, intending, to go for a short run afterwards having left the bikes at home. Still raining through all my jobs this morning, taking the winter duvet to be cleaned ready to put away for the (Ha ha) summer, off to the craft centre for this and that and then bought some pots of herbs and a couple of strawberry plants at the big garden centre. Well, it didn’t stop until later this afternoon. 

That was not the only thing that did not work out today. I had noticed in my Mslexia Magazine that there was a competition for a poem written by an adult for children of seven to eleven years old. I set about writing a nice little poem this afternoon. Trimmed it up and looked for the website to send it to. AHHHHH! I had missed the closing date of March 31st. Still it won’t be wasted since I know a number of littlies and for a start I sent it to my friend Helen across the road for her to read to her granddaughter Amelia though she is possibly a little young but will still be happy to be read to. It’s a variation on one from the other day, or ‘Here’s one I did earlier’ as they say on the cookery programmes. So you can test it on your own young ones. The thing that marks this one out is just that it is number 600 in my poetry writing old age.  

The Cheeky Crow 

You really are a naughty bird

The maddest bird I’ve ever heard

A cheeky boy, yes that’s the word

The noise you make is quite absurd

Caw! Caw! Caw!

How smart you are I have to say

Shiny black feathers you display

Every day you come in to play

Sometimes I wish you’d go away

Caw! Caw! Caw!

I heard that you are called a Crow

I’d like to learn the things you know

Even when the cold winds blow

You still come in to say hello

Caw! Caw! Caw!

You take the others birdies food

Fighting because of your bad mood

Take some food to your young brood

To the wife that you have wooed

Caw! Caw! Caw!

You are not a pretty bird you see

Who flies in daily from that big tree

To pick up anything that’s free

And come to keep me company

Caw! Caw! Caw!

The sun shines on feathers black

Your heart black too when you attack

You may indeed good manners lack

But I will smile when you come back

Caw! Caw! Caw!

 

 

Competitive Streak

When I was a child, my mother (She who definitely must be obeyed at all costs) worked her fingers to the bone to send me to dancing lessons. Tap and acrobatics first then Ballet, Natural Movement (touch of the Isadora Duncan’s), National, Character etc. She entered me into dancing school exams, and for all of those I can boast to good results. Dancing festivals were several times per year. I progressed from Primary to Elementary. Then I was a teenager and I paid for myself to have lessons in Jive and then Ballroom dancing and Latin, up but not but not quite to teacher level. 

Many years later I went to a folk dance club on Friday evenings, where I arrived feeling pretty cream crackered after a week of work and came home after a very energetic evening of dancing feeling completely refreshed.

Later in life came learning to do Front Crawl (I was a breast stroke/backstroke person) I did a few road runs with my husband and we both drifted very quickly into triathlon. If you can swim a bit and you can ride a bike 25 miles and you can run 10km then pretty soon you do an event or two or a hundred or several hundreds.

Where I am going today with all this is that having three years ago this Thursday, started writing poetry as a mental exercise whilst I recovered from an accident, I am still competitive. I have entered some poetry competitions because I think that if you have a passion, you should take it to your limits and push. 

Today I entered five of my most recent works into a poetry compo for the cost of a few coffees. That is in addition to the two previous compos that I entered earlier this year. Pretty much like triathlon I do not expect to end anywhere except somewhere near the back of the field. But, you have to show you mean business in whatever you turn to. 

Believe in yourself.