My stout legs pumped...

like billy-oh!  Fuelled with anger!  I ought to explain...

New year’s day on the farm.  The farmer suggested we go out for a walk in the Dales.  A lovely idea to get away from the 24/7 graft of life milking cows and shovelling  s**t, I was up for it!  Hold tight... he insisted he invite his brother, which I wasn’t too happy about, as I was looking forward to some quality time just the two of us somewhere other than feet deep in the proverbials!

We verbally tussled; he picked up the phone and the invite was extended, his brother didn’t want to go.  So what did the farmer do? 

Proceed to persuade, cajole, bully him into going, reluctantly he agreed.  All the while I stood by with steam under pressure escaping my earholes!

In a hissy fit, I said

‘Count me out!’

I would have gone if Chris had agreed more readily.  As it was, it seemed obvious to me the man was only leaning on his brother to get back at me.

He left.  I got my bicycle out and rode the ten miles into York.

To say I was unhappy was the understatement.  Wandering round, the world seemed full of couples enjoying their day and each other.  I knew then as I climbed back on my bike to cycle ‘home’ that the marriage was over.

Can someone tell me...

why when we are all encouraged to recycle as much as we can, why is it label manufacturers insist on using shit to a blanket type industrial strength glue?

Labels on jars, books, gifts packing of all sorts.  You then have the job of peeling them off in order for the recipient of your gift to see that what they thought was a thoughtful gift was in fact a bargain bucket buy of humongous discounted proportions?

Glue to me I often thought had a nap like velvet, pull it one way and it clings to life with the tenacity of an oyster to its pearl,  pull it the other and it gives up without a fight.  Am I wrong?

I always reuse jam and pickle jars in order to make my own and at the same time save the planet!?! If only it was that easy?

The pussy cat ones I manage, the more aggressive species I give to himself who adopts a variety of lines of attack, from the water board treatment of soaking and then teasing off the offending article.  More radical approaches are nail polish remover, moving swiftly on to wire wool and elbow grease.  The limpet mine on the bottom of a submarine technique has been found sadly wanting due in no small part to the faff of having to stick the shards of glass back together after the explosion.

Flame throwers have also been discounted as not being very PC due to using the earth’s dwindling resources.

For the time being I am stuck (if you’ll pardon the expression) with 

the very real problem in my narrow world in Ludlow.

If someone has any ideas or better still the email address of the man who invented post it notes I’d be very grateful...

Breaking news...

after all these years I have made a major discovery...

I am most definitely not an origami type person.  I can and have over the years turned my hands to lots of crafts with good results.  Okay my style does tend to be roughty-toughty, no counted cross stitch here!

Having made sewn birthday cards this year I thought for my granddaughter’s card I would make an origami scorpion for hers.

Well you wouldn’t believe the fiddling?  My first problem was to get the paper accurately cut to size... easy!  Even with a set square and craft knife, I couldn’t  do it.  So I delegated!  

Yesterday afternoon found me sat at the kitchen table following closely the youtube and photographic instructions.  I fiddled and faddled and could I do it?  Oh dear me no!  With my patience worn thin I decided that maybe a sewn scorpion might be better after all?  Back to the drawing board.  I’m a free spirit not a precision personage.  Closely following rules has never been my bag... surprised?  No I didn’t think you would be!

£££

‘Have you still got your ten pound note buttonhole?’  I asked himself just now as we sat up in bed drinking our tea.

Ooh tricky question here T he thought as he carefully answered 

‘No!’

‘Did you spend it like the rest of our guests?’

‘Err... I must have done, as I don’t know where it is!’

The water he felt was getting deeper!?!

The question hung in the air.

I ought to explain, twelve years ago we got married on the London Eye.  We thought it a good idea as we were both recycled!

My bright idea was to have buttonholes made out of ten pound notes, in origami.  Before you think I am crackers and rich, we only had seven guests, so not a huge outlay and in the spirit of the occasion... fun!

I found on the internet a lady who  agreed to make them for me.

She made a superb job from very crisp newly minted notes.

My asking himself about whether he still had his was in order for me to take a photograph.

I did understand: as the water receded from around his feet... husband lives to fight another day!

Ted with his tenner on the London Eye just about to be wed!

Me, as requested.

On a brighter...

note... Err!?!

Told tight, I am going to have to think about this?

Our task was to sell signed and numbered prints of the artist who our ‘boss’ had taken under her wing!?!

Emily and myself were trained cordon bleu chefs, what did we know about selling art?

It mattered not, as the great and the good were gathered at this most salubrious of addresses in London for a charity event.

After we got over the vision of the likes of Madonna rubbing shoulders with Ronnie Corbett.  Oh alright, to be more precise his shoulder and her left bosoom.  We looked and looked until our I Spy books of the rich and famous were full.  Settling down to the job in hand we attempted to flog these prints.  All was going well until we discovered we had both sold and marked 26/200 to different celebs.

Well, I don’t mind telling you, I was highly amused Emily not so.  She had a mini meltdown...

‘What if the boss finds out?’

No worries said I not giving a stuff!  In the unlikely event that

David Frost nips round for tea with Anthea Turner, or vice versa, is it likely that either of them will notice that their prints are numbered the same?  Added to which their prints were probably in the same place our unsold 4000, minus  obviously the 26, no, 27 copies of the blooming awful pictures that we did manage to sell... 

The ruddy bin!

She did eventually see my take on things as I laughed fit to bust.

The boss never knew, they never knew.  We knew though, as we both went back to our respective roles in both houses, all the while knowing our Cordon Bleu was best exercised at cooking not flogging dodgy art!

A fruit salad of...

thoughts, not all of them sweet!

As hard as I try not to, I am worried that Trump will be 

re-elected.

Audrey is failing and sleeps most of the day.

We have suggested we go down to see her and she is happy for us 

to. Her thinking so far has been to completely self isolate, so this is a complete sea change?  I said to her yesterday on one of her very rare calls, that maybe her sleeping all day was her preparing for the big sleep.  She laughed and said she fully expects to live to 103!  She is 96 on the 15th September.

The so-called democratic countries and most of their leaders grimly holding onto to power at all costs!  What is that all about?

Money, I suppose.

I am changing from a glass half full girl to a drip in the bottom of an empty glass girl.

Having to diet is making me grumpy.

Ellie is making me happy.

Looking to move far from the madding crowd I find every other bugger has the same idea!

The company making our stairs have bumped us back to late November. Not happy! We are getting another firm to come and quote.  

Porridge of the gods...

28g oatbran

28g organic porridge oats

4 brazil nuts,4 hazelnuts,

4 dried apricots all chopped.

Soak with skimmed milk in a bowl with a sprinkle of sweet ground cinnamon. 

Leave overnight in the fridge for a delish brekkie... blooming ambrosia and slimming as well, what is there not to like?

The pond being dug is getting closer, the huge rose and two of the box balls have been spoken for.  I do love a potter in the garden that keeps me content.  Thinking about it I potter, not do much actual work!?!

I love planning, dreaming and scheming.  Sadly I just can’t be!

A definite design fault of having lived an action-packed life I suppose?

My mindfulness has taken a back seat, which should be a huge help, if only I could find the time in my busy day doing sod all!

Paint sample pots are being ordered, I can feel my slumbering interior design guru stirring from the bowels of my very being, not literally obv!  If himself only knew he would be cowering behind the garden room.

I await with excitement my latest book...

Untamed by Glennon Doyle

Brace yourself world...

We went to the pub for...

lunch courtesy of that nice Mr Rishi Sunack.  His £10 meal deal.

Walking to the restaurant with Ellie I suddenly felt my head feel a little strange.  Trudging along trying hard not to let this blooming thing get me, I thought am I going to get there and have to cry off?  Mind over matter, I carried on, not breathing a word to himself who would have walked in and cancelled our booking on the spot! We were shown to a lovely table overlooking the river and by a much needed open window.  Luckily he didn’t notice my stiff and upright gait resembled an ironing board!  I didn’t dare move my head for fear of it getting worse. My gaze never wavered as I locked onto the husband sat across the table.  I glanced at the menu, chose what I wanted, even ordered a glass of wine.  Small talk was about all I could manage as I fought to overcome this strange feeling.  This time I knew that it wasn’t the usual BPPV, it seemed oddly connected to my hearing?  An inner ear infection maybe? 

A landlocked type of seasickness?

Very weird.

With willpower on speed, mind over matter type of thing it started to recede, I even glanced out at the fast flowing river which until that point I had been frightened to do in case it made the whole thing really kick off.

It went: for the first time I had conquered it without staggering around like a drunk or worse still   throwing up!

As we walked home through the woods, I came clean about how I had felt and asked him to fight for me if it ever became something serious!

An odd end to a government sponsored luncheon date?

I can feel a load of...

twaddle coming on!

I got to thinking as I perused, nay read other folks blogs, we all seem to be in that no man’s land of ‘What to do next for badness?’ writers’ block, type of thing.

Himself said to me just yesterday, that I write a really good

‘Sorry to hear your husband has died’ sort of missive.  Humour in my life is what keeps me going. 
Death is patiently waiting to take us all into its embrace.  There is humour to be found in the most extraordinary of places, why should dying be exempt? 

The human race is a good place to start.  Why do we all take ourselves so blooming seriously?  When you think about it, or maybe that is where I go wrong, maybe I shouldn’t thunk, then I wouldn’t see so much the funny side of things... maybe?  We are all but a grain of sand in the great planet we all find ourselves washed up on.  If I get my knickers in a twist today will it matter much tomorrow? I think not! Is it of great importance to discover in your family history that you are 26th in line to the throne of Tonga on your mother’s side?  Or that great, great, great, great Uncle Bert was a ‘peer’ of the realm because his hobby was to lurk in copses waiting for couples to copulate in their coupe on Clapham Common?  To my mind it is of no significance, that is history.  And what place does history play in any of our todays?  What is of value is how we get through our lives being caring of each other.

And yes, my email yesterday did, I hope make my much loved friend chuckle about ‘stuff’ in amongst the pain of her husband’s death.

She knows me well enough and has said ‘How you find the right words I do not know!’

Says it all in a strange way.

Twaddle is alive and well and living in Ludlow.  For those that know me are all too aware it comes from a place of love.

The world has definitely gone....

MAD!

You heard it first here folks.

Are you sitting comfortably?

This is very much a story about the very strange world we all find ourselves inhabiting at the mo.

And before you think this will be a little amoeba with knobs on tale, you couldn’t be more wrong if you tried to catch one in a butterfly net.

Today’s post has come as a shock for him who always, but always is the right side of the law.  A debt collection agency were chasing him for the sum of £80, owed to the DVLA.  With the speed of light he flashed upstairs to find last year’s diary only to discover that I was abroad on the 1st November 2019.  A carefree shopping trip to Hereford, surely I hadn’t jumped the lights in my Aston Mervyn, first cousin to Martinmobile?  My brain was never more wracked as all the botox was expelled like shot out of a blunderbuss from my  furrowed brow as I thunk and even thunk some more to remember whether I had been a naughty motorist?

He phoned the agency and discovered that he had forgotten to tax our vehicle for the zero tax that was due on our oldgitsmobile!?!

This is the truth, every year you must tax the princely sum of zero for your car to be legal.

You couldn’t make it up could you?

I’m feeling all...

doolally-tap!

‘More even than usual LL?’

I spent the whole of yesterday chuntering about, well just about anything and everything.

‘That’s it I’m off!’

Not like cream, mind, although with this humid weather that is a distinct possibility!

Himself slowly reached for his Dad’s Army tin hat safely stowed away in his commode.

A smile resembling a wind pain smile crossed his ageing phizog, closely followed by a resigned look of Now What?

All day I searched Mr Google’s emporium for hovels and caves and sadly drew a blank.  You wouldn’t believe the prices?  Bumped up by folk with the exact same desire.

In the cool of the evening common sense came riding to the rescue like a fat Thelwell pony.

‘What am I doing?’  I said to himself as he surreptitiously swifted the tin hat back into its place of safety.  His whole demeanour changed, the smiles were no longer wind assisted.  Things had suddenly looked up as my grumps rode off into the night.

‘Now about this pond!’

I’m having a rethink...

about just about (strange word when you think about (there it is again!) it?)...

every ruddything!?!

Friends who live on Skye came to visit us the day after we arrived home from our holiday.  They were down to visit family and to pick up the last of their possessions, their caravan which when they arrive home with it will mean they have finally upsticks and moved to their new self sufficient life.

A chance meeting with Ian in my local Waitrose where he worked, we got into conversation, no, no not about the price of cheese, but about their plans for a major move.  Chance meetings have been a major staddle stone of my capers through life.  Never one to waste time talking about the mundane, get to the nub of the problem, plan, dream or scheme has been my motto.  

We were booked to go and see them in late September enroute to the top left hand corner of the UK for this ruddy pressure cooker demo with the ‘boys’.  What they had to tell us about the exploits of the staycationers stopped us dead in our tracks.  Did we want to impose ourselves on areas of natural beauty along with the hoi polloi of the rest of the country?

One morning a well known beauty spot beach on Skye was left littered with 40 discarded tents and the flotsam and jetsam of rubbish and not to put too fine a point on it shit of a carefree camping life!  Hold tight!  Was it a good idea for us to go and add to the volume of traffic of folk more used to baring their bums in Magaluf?  The answer was definitely NO!  Added to which the possible transference of the quietly biding its time wee beastie bug!  Be sensible LL and stay home every once of the old bod was crying out.  And of course, the worry of a up close and personal cooking demo planned to show these old dogs how to cook 21st century style tricks!?!

Their letter goes in the post today.  I am sad as I so wanted to 

get them cracking on a new tasty way of cooking all the wonderful meat they have.  My plan was that Iain would no longer come in from working the sheep, to get the dinner started, fall asleep in the armchair and wake to a house full of smoke as the pot had burnt dry.

This gadget would pressure cook for the allotted time, then let the pressure slowly off and keep the meal warm until required.

I plan to maybe next year when things hopefully are more settled to go up to Inverness on the overnight sleeper, hire a car and drive the rest of the way. 

Who knows what next year will bring?

Ian and Claire our friends from Skye totally understood our deciding against going and maybe breathed a sigh of relief?

I flung my bra across..

the room like a frisbee!

‘Begone contraption of the devil!’

I cried as with a huge sigh of relief my bosoms floated free. 

The weather here in Wales has been 

laverbread hot, as hot as the inside of a volcano’s knickers.

Yesterday we trogged the coastal path, the humidity had us in it’s inhuman embrace.  This weather would kill old girls like me on their 73rd birthday given half the chance.  To add insult to injury the hills were alive with the sound of... Oh dear me no, not music but the rumble of muck spreaders weaving their magic, as well as their pong.  Humidity high, heat off the scale, and the air filled with minuscule atoms of cow shit.  A birthday to remember!

Can you see the tractor silhouetted against the skyline?

In the yurt, Ellie enjoying her birthday present, she was born two years ago in August, so I thought it a good idea for us to celebrate on the same day.

Sound like a plan?

The grass is...

greener!  Or is it?

I am thinking about digging up the garden which is mainly laid to paving stones and replacing with a lawn.  Well, a lawn of sorts, hardly big enough for the smallest of bijou mowers.

To many it might seem a 

backward step! 

What do you think?

My reasoning is these last few sweltering days have only 

emphasised how much convected heat you get from stone, added to which the world is being paved over by man, who in his infinite wisdom thinks it is progress!  

What do you think?

With a dog I can Oh so clearly see where this is going, and go she will!  I have so many happy memories of sitting under a magnolia tree on my wildflower meadow of a lawn, well that is my romantic take on the unkempt turf!

With an area so small would all the effort be worth it?

What do you think?

With scissors in one hand, glass of wine in the other I could stretch out and chill...

Mindfulness personified.

Mindful first and foremost of the turds lying in wait, obv...

What do you think?

???

Not  brilliant photo, but you get the idea.

It has started already...

I can’t download my photo’s now...

so if I fart and fly out of the blogging window you will know I have been finally knobbled!

Good bye cruel blogging world...

Take a big red...

trug fill it with water ostensibly for watering the plants.  Leave in the sunshine in order for the chlorine and nasties to go away.  Then decide on a quick easy and efficient way to shower the dog in readiness for her trip off on her hols.

The water was sun-warmed with floating petals of purple clematis blooms.  Don’t you just remember those oh so far away days of romance, a huge double bed scattered with petals in the shape of a heart, the candles lit, the bath run with lotions and potions of an aphrodisiac kind. 

Something similar but not quite awaited Ellie.

Much to her disgust she was plonked in and the aloe shampoo 

was vigously applied.  The hose on low then gently rinsed her.  We lifted her out for her to shake herself and me to towel her 

dry-ish.  Solar and air dried,

she retired into the cool confines of her very own Clematis Cottage.  In the palatial and safe haven she sits her wet bott. on the earth, that will fall off as she gallops gleefully around the field later.

She is now sitting drying off in the sun.

Clean and carefree...

a dogs life!

Saving the planet as well, the water will still be used for the plants, what is there not to like?

You’ve heard of...

the Beverley Sisters,

the Andrews Sisters,

the Pointer Sisters, I’m sure!

But have you ever heard of the

Verruca Sisters?

No?  I can’t say it surprises me neither had I until last night.

I turned my foot over to investigate and there they were.

At least I think that’s what they are, I haven’t had the misfortune to have made their acquaintance before so how am I to know?

If you think about it, in lockdown surely it is pretty nigh impossible to get verrucas.  I wear the same shoes, sandals and slippers, don’t go anywhere much and hardly paddle around anywhere without shoes on.

The big question is where have they come from?

Last night I sat up in bed playing  youtube clips on weird and wacky ways to banish them.  Is it any wonder I didn’t sleep that well?

My best guess is this hot weather holds the key, they have under cover of darkness flown in through the wide open window and landed on my left foot stuck out of the duvet.  Does that sound feasible?

Probably not!

Today’s exciting job is a touch of the self administration of strange Glasto-type herbals and other mystical capers.

Circle dancing around a toad

type of thing, chanting, spells and potions to be made and applied.  Now where did I put my White Witches Recipe Book and guide to all things helpful and healing?

Any ideas and helpful suggestions on a postcard please.

STOP PRESS...

On closer inspection Dr. Hubs thinks they might be a...
cornucopia of corns!

All this ruddy rambling!
I knew it was no good for your health...

Love in a hot climate...

is cuddling up with mum, on her chair, no worries that it really is too hot to snuggle!

This morning they got up early-ish and took me to the forest, which was a definite first.  I did enjoy it.  Not many dogs had been there before me so my calling card was the first.  Far better than trogging around town with all the visitors not giving a stuff about social distancing.  I really have no idea why they insist on doing it as they know I hate it so much!  

These human parents are a strange breed? At least in the forest the squirrels are red hot on keeping their distance and damned hard to catch, as they will insist on cheating by shooting up trees.

Toodle pip for now.  

Love Ellie XxX

I sashayed into the...

fish shop, sun hat on

face mask on, full slap on,

got to the counter where there was a chorus line of fishes. Kindly the fishmonger enquired as to what I would like, I stood, he stood, we waited, in my empty head I knew exactly what I wanted.  He quickly realised the light was on but no one was home...

Flounder-like I was, not to put too fine a point on it...

floundering.

‘Cod, haddock, sea bass, plaice?’

‘Ah, plaice, yes that is what I would like!’

Oh dear!
Old dear!
Not a good start to my day.

The afternoon more than made up for this senior moment.

Wyre Forest, walking down a track across a mere 100 yards we spied what we both thought was a carved white stag.  That is until it moved!  We were obviously down wind as the stags ranging in colour from the magnificent white hart through brown to black.  There were five of them: we stood memorised for a good few minutes, as they looked across the valley in our direction.  They were eventually turned by Ellie who by then had obviously got a whiff of their presence and started to move slowly through the bracken to investigate.  Even then they just ambled away.  A truly magical once in a lifetime experience.

not my photograph sadly!

I’m bored...

very, very bored!

‘What to do next for badness?’

over the years has become my oft heard stuck-in-the-groove refrain.

What a madam!

I don’t like having my wings clipped, the fact I probably would choose to stay in and do not a lot of anything is by the way.  

When I can’t, I want to!

When I can, I choose not to!

Some might opine...

I am 100% madam of the very first order.

But wait, compared to one who shall be nameless I am a 

purring pussy cat.

On one occasion in my past life I was summons up to the nursery.  In I strolled to be confronted with...

‘What bloody time do you call this for the bloody tea?’

I stood all of my 5’4”, puffed out my not inconsiderable chest with indignation, all the while thinking I’m not having this!

‘I’ve been too bloody busy answering the bloody telephone to get the bloody tea!’ was my pithy reply.

We stood facing each other...

I walked away pride in every step having out bloodied her by one!

They got their tea, she got my message...

Goodbye cruel blogger world...

lettice leaf is feeling the vinaigrette mafia circling.  On her birthday she will be gobbled up by the new improved (I think NOT?) salad dressing called the ‘New Blogger Format’.  The only reason it would appear, is for readers on their mobile phones,  as they blunder into lampposts, step off the pavement into the path of an oncoming artic lorry?  Or worse still knock folk off their bicycles and into the path of the truck, who could so easily not see them as the driver is busy texting behind a wheel.

If Covid doesn’t get you, your freaking mobile will!

The only slightly redeeming feature is at least when I get eaten up by the powers that be, I will be a healthy ingredient for them to masticate.  Just wish I’d called myself ‘Big Whopper’ then I could at least clog up their arteries and over time they would decide back to the healthy, simple and easy to use...

I’m going all dollally...

doolally-tap!

Well, it’s like this... don’t you think when you are bored, oh and getting decrepit you tend to look back?  That is exactly what I am doing.  The clock ticking on the wall is reminding me with its loud tick that time is moving on.

Being a glass half full sort of a lass, it really hacks me off to not be free, so what do I do I look back to times when fun was very much a part of my life.  To laugh is one of the most intoxicating experiences.  Lately laughter hasn’t featured muchly, in fact any day I expect Boris to ban it!?!

So here is a story that could so easily have had a different ending.  When I left the Highlands I bought a small terraced cottage in York, right beside the river Ouse.  Coming home one night I noticed a young guy looking up into a tree on the footpath beside the river.

Never one to miss an opportunity to chat I enquired as to the object of his curiosity,  It was a barn owl, we got into conversation as we stood looking at it sat looking at us.  He was from America travelling, York obviously high on his list of cities to visit.

Well as I was only a short walk from home I said why not come in for coffee.  My thinking, he had travelled all this way and never probably stepped into anyone’s home.  That in my book is how you get the feel for the country and its people.  I had a boyfriend so before you think I had an ulterior motive, you couldn’t be more wrong!  The evening finished with him showing me how to juggle.  It was a memorable evening for him I’d like to think, as well as for me.  My neighbour the next day said

‘What were you up to last night?  All I could hear were gales of laughter!’

Thinking about it afterwards  it occurred to me it could have had a very different outcome?

The tree at the end of Alma Terrace in York minus the owl obv!?!

Sunday evening, wracking my...

brains to think of some of the madcap things I have done in my life.

Did I ever tell you of the time after a convivial evening of drinking mead in the ‘Cock Inn’ at  Cuxton, I took off my knickers and put them on the head of the man driving me home?  Giggling in the back of the car with my coz Chris, her husband was driving, mine was navigator, leaving us two girls to get up to no good.  It seemed like a good idea at the time, the fact that Eddie has all these years later never fully recovered from  the experience is a mere bagatelle.  He keeps getting flash backs apparently!?!
One Christmas Eve we drove out to one of our favourite country pubs where we would sing carols, drink and generally get in the spirit. The breathalyser and the drinking and driving rules were to come!  This particular evening we went in on a cold clear night and in the hours carousing and having fun, quietly and stealthily the snow came.  Coming out into this magical unlooked for world of white was a true once in a lifetime magical Christmas moment.

Getting home in the wee small hours to shoehorn the turkey into the oven for it to be cooked to a shadow of its former self.  Even then it was an odd feeling to get up on Christmas morning to the smell of turkey roasting

I used to sing in french, the fact I had not one word of french wasn’t a problem, at least to me; I was sporting a beret, what more did they want?

I’ve told more people where to hop off from all walks of life than I’ve had hot dinners and that’s a lot!
A cuckoo in the nest of my very respectable parents.

Me being taken for a walk along the prom before I was born!

Having just read...

on John Gray’s blog about the problems he is having with the new blog howsyourfather happening anytime soon.  I thought I’d better tell my very select band of followers that if I disappear in a puff of smoke it won’t me voluntarily going, it will be me self combusting and flying like a fart out of the window!

Maybe it’s me age, but I hate change and the so called ‘new improved’ anything.  In fact a case in point is Aldi’s own brand Fruit Pastilles.  Happily on walks we munch along with a pocket full of sweeties, until the last packet I bought!  One sweet in and I emergency stopped in my tracks, out of my chops it comes, I looked it over, popped it back in and investigatively chewed some more! It most definitely isn’t the same!  Another flavour was swiftly deposited into my rosebud mouth only for my initial diagnosis to be confirmed.  Not nearly as good, so our walks now are much healthier as the fruit pastilles have been sent to the big suppository (I ought to explain this isn’t a typo, it’s my word for depository, so much more graffical I feel!?!) in the sky.

My waistline is already enjoying the new regime. So my demise on blogger when the new regime is finally imposed across the board will maybe just maybe to my advantage... dunno?

On a happier note yesterday’s loaf.