Thursday, 19 July 2018

I watch people...

that’s what I do...
doesn’t everyone?
Where we lived before in a village off the A21 to Hastings. I would drive by a house right on the side of the busy road to the coast.  Every time I went to Tunbridge Wells I would see a man lovingly tending his garden in his freshly laundered overalls.  I had names for him and his wife.  I made up a little story in my mind about their lives.  They moved away and the beautiful garden was left to go to rack and ruin.  My little tale was at an end.

Let me introduce...
Family Crack, new characters for my imaginings.  
Now Crack you have met before leaning on the rail moodily staring out to sea.  He seems completely oblivious of the fact his shorts defy gravity by hanging suspended under his enormous belly.  He must be on holiday as we see him and Mrs Crack come down
to the beach, him to fish, her 
to sunbathe.  They I think, live close by because most mornings Mrs C on her way to work as a hairdresser brings rubbish down to put in the bins?  
The other day Grandma Crack brought the little Cracks down to the beach to of all things feed the seagulls!?!  Naturally it wasn’t long before the little ones were petrified by the gulls  dive-bombing them.  
Squealing they scuttled home accompanied by a flotilla of 
hungry birds with an eye on the sliced white still clutched to Grandma Crack’s heaving bosom. 

People watching... the greatest free show on earth.
Am I alone in my simple pastime I wonder, or should I get out more?

Tuesday, 17 July 2018

‘That’s £130 per...

square metre!’ he plaintively cried.  That was yesterday.
Today we set off on the hunt for just a few tiles for the downstairs cloakroom.  No problem some might think?  Me, like a galleon with the sales full of ‘I will know it when I see it!’ wind.  Hubs was relieved to have escaped the £130 debacle of the day before... 

‘It is only for behind the loo, after all!’ fresh in his mind.  

As I powered into the tile shop, the tiles on the shelves quivered in anticipation.  Hubs was happy feeling like he had survived to fight another day?  Gamely he showed me the boring, all the while with every muscle trying to snag my interest in the morbidly mundane.  I, it maybe won’t surprise you to learn was having none of it?  My eye was caught by brightly coloured Andy Warhol 
mis-shapes, every inch oozed...

‘How much are these a square metre?’  me knowing all the while we were in bank loan territory!
Himself turned from tart’s boudoir puce to gent’s urinal yellow in the space of a nanosecond.  

‘£300 per square metre!’

Suddenly the £130 of yesterday seemed strangely appealing!?!
I did know even for me they were a tad OTT.

‘These glass tiles at £3 each, do you have any similar only not so knobbly?’

‘Let me go and have a look!’

He returned.

‘I know what I can do for you!
How about you take these three 
boards and use these..
for free!’

Man by this time had slipped down the tiled wall in a dead faint.
‘Free! had a rallying effect, he scrambled to his feet and was suddenly up and about and taking  nourishment.
We drove away, me happy and hubs relieved to have survived another retail skirmish!

These are the last tiles to be prised off the backing board and I ought to say my least favourite,  however beggars can’t be choosers...  

Sunday, 15 July 2018

The owl and the...

pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat.
Except the cat forgot to let the owl know of its plans.

This morning for the second time a beautiful black and white cat has been strolling along the wall of the prom.  I sent hubs across to retrieve the puss, mainly because  I wasn’t dressed! 

The traffic on the straight road has been known on occasions to exceed the speed limit... never, I hear you cry!  We know mog lives somewhere in the road behind our house.

Easy really, just coax it into your arms and carry it home.  After rolling on its back and generally being a feline tart, at the sight of a very determined man on a mission, the cat had other ideas!  Keeping just out of reach it sauntered under the camper van.

We had to go out on a mercy mission to A., driving back we spoke of whether there would be in the road a black and white flat- pack Davy Crockett hat?
No!  Next question, did the inhabitants lure it into their van and drive it back to Belgium or did pussy decide without owl the trip in the pea green boat was definitely off... so wandered home?

Saturday, 14 July 2018

My latest pash...

George, I don’t know how to say this, however I will cut to the chase... in my world you have dropped down LL’s ranking.  Look I fully understand that a film star is used to the knock backs in their working life.  This I know will be a shocker, however you do have a very glamorous wife, intelligent too.  I do hope the hurt heals along with the bruises and grazes from your recent motorbike accident.  

Now Pierce... no, no girls not Perce, you ever heard of a film star called Percy?  No neither have I!
Anyway, back to more serious matters, like, not to put too fine a point on it LUST.  Early this morning I was reading an article in today’s Times Saturday Review about the making of ‘Mama Mia Here We Go Again.  The interviewee was the one, the only Pierce Brosnan.
Now if there is one thing that makes me go weak at the knees, apart obviously from suave and handsome with an innate sense of dressing well.  And that is a sense of humour, I would even go as far as to say... short, fat bald men in an orange singlet might, just might work their magic.  Okay that’s a fib, however I do feel a sense of humour and self depreciation is very, very sexy.  Pierce seems to have it in bucketloads, shedloads even.
I would show him my shed anyday he cares to call.
Idle curiosity makes me ask who is your moisture-making squeeze?

P.S. He is faithful and loves his wife.

P.P.S.  And he seems to like big women!  What is there not to like?

Friday, 13 July 2018

Evensong yesterday in...

Just what I needed!
Magical soothing of the soul.

Today the faffing has started, I do love mincing around tweaking my treasures, as it were!?!
First phase... the dreaded 
cow parsley.  Not right there but I will eventually find it a home albeit a temporary one until I find a new love.
We have had a glorious week of no builder, no mega cooking, waistline-ish returns(?) peace reigns.  Next week sees the cloakroom done and the the major job of the huge glass sections going in.  

I wouldn’t mind but all of this is  my bright idea... methinks I am getting too old for this caper!?!

Thursday, 12 July 2018


The streets were strangely silent?
An ideal time for a spot of cloak and dagger?  At my suggestion of a little light pilfering, he looked at me strangely, surely not after all these years?
Armed with secateurs and an outrider I set off.
The long straight coast road between Hythe and Sandgate was as I expected deserted, not a car in
sight.  We drove along all the while me scanning the verges between the golf course and the sea.  The odd car sped by, rushing to get home... can’t think why?
All the while as I gathered the object of my desire, hubs drove along aside keeping an eye out for trouble, as only a retired copper can!
The magnificent examples I had spied a few weeks ago had already been snaffled.  

Getting home, already beginning to itch, I did idly wonder if it was such a good idea?  Memories of another much more malign cousin of this still horribly fresh in my mind, even though it must have been twenty years ago when foolishly I allowed it into my embrace!  Another story, maybe?
This was my quarry...

Cow parsley!  
Now how to dry it... any ideas?

Wednesday, 11 July 2018


I just knew I shouldn’t?
This working hard carry-on!
Yesterday, I was on a roll, gardening, washing, bottom up in the far reaches of cupboards.  Rearranging my pantry, lifting, carrying, planting a rambling rose, moving plant pots, shopping, ordering carpet, cooking, shopping, a visit to the library.
With intermittent worrying about A.  In general, working hard at the illusion of being a domestic goddess!  At this point those that know me will be chuckling fit to bust... sadly!
Collapsing in a chair, I lent over to retrieve my latest library book and then it happened.
The world shifted, ever so slightly.  Not one to be put off easily I tried to carry on reading, the words wobbled, I closed my eyes to clear them.  Opening them the carpet was also on the zig-zag.  
I’ve overdone it, I knew me and
work wasn’t a good idea this confirms it, was my first thought!
The nausea started, then I knew.
Benign Poroxysmal Positional Vertigo.
The last time I had it, I was going full pelt getting ready to move.  It happened at yoga, where in true me tradition I have to give it some welly.  Not the way with yoga I am reliably informed?
That time I had never experienced it before and fully thought I was in the throws of a stroke!  On the third day of feeling still delicate, not a normal state anyone could describe of me, I deigned to go to the doctor!

‘BPPV’ he instantly cried...
‘You are the fifth case I’ve had recently doing yoga,it is not good for you!’

Bugger! thought I!

Yesterday, I knew, so it wasn’t half so scary.  I was sick, went to bed and slept for four hours, got up and felt more my old self.
Today I feel a little light 
headed, but better.

Trouble now is I am frightened of triggering another attack.
Best I get back to my normal MO...

‘Peel me a grape... anyone!?!

Tuesday, 10 July 2018

The plans are...

in place.  At all times we are within hailing distance of a phone.  Yesterday we three went out to lunch after a free and frank discussion about our duties as executors with lasting power of attorney.
She said...

‘I don’t care!’

I said...

‘All well and good for you to say that, however your friends will want you to have a funeral!’

If A. gets her way the teaching hospital after they have allowed their students to get up close and personal with her bits, will do the deed.  If not, then her earthly remains she wants disposed of without fuss.
Yesterday she was bright, had a good lunch and her tummy was on its best behaviour.  The tennis 
and football will keep her mind 
off things this week.
  Her thirst for life is unquenchable.  She is failing we both agree.
Each morning I facetime her.  This morning she spoke of her tum, the number of times she has to get up in the night and this morning before getting out of bed her feeling very breathless.  By the time we spoke she was feeling a lot better.  It is a worry!
Putting her out of my mind I got on with pottering in the garden.
The iPad gurgled, I rushed in to the missed call, thinking the worst.  When I called back she was calling to show me her new haircut, and the purple streak that the hairdresser had put in the front of her hair.  I had completely forgotten I had given her the powder when she mentioned doing something with her hair!
She was bright and happy with her new look.  I was over the moon, 
although I do idly wonder if the worry will take me off before her!?!

   A. in better days... 
94 in September!

Sunday, 8 July 2018

Snippets from...

the seafront.

Don’t look now but Camilla, The Duchess of Cornwall has just walked along the prom.  The early morning sun has brought them out before the heat goes up a gear.
Beer bellies I’ve mentioned before, we now have the horizon marred by the sight of a very large, like tall and wide with a bum crack in serious contention with the channel tunnel leaning on the steps.  He is ‘fresh’ out of the water and as he gazes out to sea he idly bounces a ball.  Perhaps that and his dip is his exercise for the day?  I would have loved to have captured the moment for posterity or maybe posteriority!?! Unfortunately I would be invading his right to personal privacy.
Beautiful women in lovely white skimpy dresses, the odd six pack, a long flowing haired guy topless doing his stuff on roller blades... all the while looking for adoration!
Oh and then there is me... just off on my scooter... I may let hubs have a go... watch this space...

Not his best side, I admit, he’ll kill me for this.  Live life on the edge is my motto!

Saturday, 7 July 2018

‘Another fine mess...

you’ve gotten me into Stanley!’

We have put our names down to instruct the finer points of pétanque to the under 10’s Football Club of our Ditton Pétanque Club.
On one of the hottest days of the year to a gang of minors who are only really interested in football.  Not forgetting of course England also will be playing a match!?!  Will they be interested in playing a strange 
game that at ten they probably won’t even be able to pick up the boule let alone wang it down the piste! Will their frebile little minds be on anything other than 
the flaming England match?  
Added to which since we moved it is blooming miles away!

Whose bright idea was this?
I suspect it was mine and I don’t even like kids!?!

In my dreams I look like this when I play...

Friday, 6 July 2018


It is early in the morning, peaceful with mist over a calm sea.  All is quiet in my world, although from upstairs I hear the floorboards creak... please let him have gone back to sleep!  After yesterday’s crabby post, I feel I should explain.  I am becoming increasingly deaf, in the grand scheme of things... nothing!  If you haven’t experienced it no amount of words come close to describing the alienation it brings.  I am as you may have guessed a larger than life, in the main full of fun sort of a girl, always looking on the bright side.  This has floored me.  My superb hubs is full of concern and understanding.  I marvel at how lovely he is with me.  If it was the other way around, I am ashamed to say I wouldn’t be so kind.  As on occasions he hasn’t heard me; that first snap of irritation, before I have even said anything in reply, stops me in my tracks and I realise what it must be like for him. 

With the first inkling, you naturally think it is other people mumbling, well you would, wouldn’t you?  Especially me with the well honed public speaking voice... some might say the timbre of a  foghorn, shrinking violet me, couldn’t possibly say!
The next phase is denial, which is long and tortuous, then when you eventually pluck up courage to say 

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that, I am becoming increasingly deaf!’

A lot of times, their reply...


To start with you laugh with them and pass it off.  With each time it is said, the desire to hit them 

Next... this is maybe the saddest or possibly the last phase is... (I will let you decide?) you 
pretend you have heard them!
You smile, try and keep them talking all the while without a clue as to what is being said! A few ooh’s and ah’s keep them off the scent until they stop and expect a reply!?! 

The last stage is solitude.  
Your cotton wool world is preferable to the ducking and diving of being out and about in the hearing world.


‘Are you FDA’d? 
he kindly enquired?

‘FDAs?’ I replied?  

‘Flaming deaf aids!’ he said.

Unknowingly I had always scathingly referred to them as such!

Who would have known?  At least it wasn’t the other F word!?! 

I watch people...

that’s what I do... doesn’t everyone? Where we lived before in a village off the A21 to Hastings. I would drive by a house right on the...