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Sunday, 11 March 2018

A flavour of...

my day.
Mothering Sunday
Sitting on my perch looking out to sea I could see a flock of birds flying in formation close over the sea.
Wonder what birds they are I idly thought as I got on with applying my slap for the day?
The next time I looked out over the top of my hand held mirror, there was a guy stood on the steps taking a photo, his lens were most definitely  pointed at me.
Blooming cheek, the idea is for me to watch the world go by, not for the world to watch me applying many and various layers of the old war paint. I was only pleased I wasn’t plucking the odd hair out of my chin.  At my age it’s an ongoing procedure!

The fish pie got made, together with another as a take away for my ‘mum’.  Where this desire to feed folk comes from I’ve no idea?  Freud would have an answer I’m sure?
Scones were knocked out to serve with clotted cream and bigly fruited strawberry jam.  Alright, I know it’s not a word, but I am sure you get my drift?

Himself went off to get our special guest and luncheon went without a hitch.  Trouble was our 93 year old adopted mum’s car had just died.  What to advise with her health teetering on the brink of following the same path as her Skoda.  Mentally as bright as a button, we paid her the compliment of not pulling any punches re. her proposal of accompanying a friend to Rugby to a funeral.  She saw it coming before I had even begun to 
form the words...
As we drove home from taking her back, we both agreed what an awful thing it is to get old.



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