I’m having trouble with...

 me equipment!

I now find I can’t answer comments, well I can on occasions, however it seems to be something to do with my lunar cycle? Bi/tri/mono/tandem/penny farthing, luckily not menstrual.  If I run outside scantily dressed as a wood nymph casting fairy dust, the odd spell, three Hail Marys and a bowl of hearty porridge sometimes it works.  Now in amongst that cornucopia of mystical cavorting I inadvertently find the way in.  Trouble is next time I can’t ruddy remember the magical formula.  The ageing bod isn’t up to all this clambering in and out of wisps of floaty material, apart from the old grey cells not being up to speed on the sequence to the ‘Open Sesame!’ Of this infernal machine.

The dance of the Seven Veils could end badly as poor old Isadora Duncan found to her cost!  Oops that reminds me I forgot to put /motor/ in my list...

For sure I know age...

 creepeth upon me.  Fair bitten me on the bum.  No, no it is not the big pink knickers, elasticated legs notwithstanding.  

It is the sudden and unforeseen desire (I use the term loosely)... for of all things...

plaice.  

The food I had hitherto regarded as the food of the gummy godless, china choppers to a man.

Does this mean I am officially  in Tear 3 of decrepitude, I idly wonder?

Porridge ingredients...

 

and Ovaltine in the hottie bottle... things sadly have moved up a gear with Audrey.

I don’t think I will...

 blog today and here’s the reason why...

Hope you can read it?

Makes you stop and think?  I’ve never had any truck with Facebook and now I know why.  It has always seemed to me real life is on hold while we all live vicariously through others and their lives, and what they think of us and ours.  While what is actually happening has past us by never to be recaptured.

Did make me laugh though!  And obviously blogging doesn’t count!

The key is in my...

 podgy mitt.  I can hardly believe it.  The afternoon has been spent pottering, a little light digging, the hours just flew.  It was touch and go, first it was on then it was off, then it happened, I can hardly believe it...

I have a dress...

a beautiful, beautiful dress; to call it a frock would be to denigrate it.  From the day I bought it probably the the most expensive dress I have ever bought it hasn’t earned its keep.  Like so many items of apparel it was bought with a special occasion in mind.  I wore it there and strange to say even with the amount paid it didn’t deliver.  I never really felt comfortable wearing it. I ought to say to my shame I only ever wore it the once.  I decided the parting of ways had arrived... not least because where the hell would I ever wear such a magnificent ‘gown’?

Sell, sell, sell!

From the back of the wardrobe I got it out, I tried it on. The funny thing was suddenly I felt happier wearing it.  Should I sell?  Yes, I think I will.  Hanging it up to photograph it for eBay, horror of horrors I spied a mark on the front, yes a canteen medal!  The dress is made of wonderful ruched silk velvet.  How to get out a mark smack in the middle of the front?

Sadly back to the drawing board?  And the back of the wardrobe...

So many books so...

little time to read them all before I die.  My trouble us I am too light for heavy books and too heavy for light books.  

A funny day today.

We took a picnic to walk Ellie on Bircher Common... okay with Boris and Co. Section 11 in the book of how to keep yourself safe in these troublesome times...

‘You can and should travel to attend the care and exercise a pet’

Hamsters notwithstanding as they already have their own means of perambulation i.e. a wheel.

We took a bowl each of bean salad to at the very least put a spring in our steps... or some such!?!  Oatcakes and Ludlow’s finest H2O.  There is no doubting, we sure know how to live?

We all had a lovely time, Ellie met a cut out soldier stood as a mark of remembrance smack in the middle of the common.

Then on to meet a black horse with one eye, who to start with we all thought was made out of the same ply that made up the soldier. As we stood and watched a way off, he slowly sat down, we were concerned that the horse didn’t seem to engage with what was going on around him.  The husband went to investigate, the horse wasn’t tethered as we at first thought, a wild (?) pony... maybe?  On closer inspection the horse seemed okay, content even.  Himself reported that all was well as Ellie and I stood back in case there was a problem.

Home now with supper in the oven and the thought of which book to choose from the pile beside my recliner resembling the learning tower of Pisa...

 

Who knew fish fingers could...

be sexy? 

It has been an interesting week.

‘Is that Ellie?’ a lady enquired to the husband stood outside the cheese shop.  

Himself was dumbfounded, it doesn’t take a lot!  When I stumbled out of the pleasure dome of cheesy crumbliness, I was informed that the lady now in the shop was Alison a reader of my blog.  Himself was a tad crestfallen that it was Ellie that had drawn the admiring glance and not his manly bod!?!  We waited outside for me to say hello.  Alison lives in Ludlow and reads about our exploits.  Memo to self... best be careful in case my cover is well and truly blown.  How lovely to meet an actual living breathing reader.  

The next excitement was a package arriving with a raft of vegetable seeds for me from MG.  A lovely surprise thank you Martine, no slacking now on the allotment!  

We have a mystery in our garden, rats notwithstanding... still in ruddy residence.  The sink pond is being visited by something LARGE, we have no idea what?

The level drops there is muck up the side and cr*p on the edge.  It begs the question who are our latest nightly visitors? There has been the odd crow perching on our humongous tree, although any self respecting bird is tucked up snoozing on a branch come night time.  Any ideas?

This poppy I nearly pulled up, I am so pleased I didn’t as it is valiantly flowering... still.  The seeds I have harvested and will be sowing with huge pleasure, all through the garden and my allotment.  My grandchildren call me Poppy.

The fish fingers were featured on Nigella’s programme, which we were hugely entertained by, only because her archery was so blooming OTT.

Tartery taken to a whole new level, her being so arch had us in stitches... Gypsy Tart anyone?

The allotment cometh...

 This afternoon found us with the key through the magic door into the secret garden.

This is my (our) allotment come December.  My ‘Be Patient’ tablets are rapidly losing their efficacy. Through the gate we walked, me full of excitement, I had at my request been granted a compassionate visit to calm my frazzled nerves.  And here it is in all its overgrown glory...

The hut at the end is in the communal area where get togethers and general swopping of plants and produce take place.

My shed and Ellie

The husband measuring where the pond will go...  right in front of the shed.  

The allotment is right beside the ancient town walls which we have to keep clear.  Nothing is allowed to be grown on the walls.

I am a tiny bit...

worded out. 

 Is it me?  Of late too much twaddle has been uttered. 

Instead let’s just take a moment and remember.

She foxtrots in the arms of...

 Morphia, slowly, smoothly she glides on a cloud, pain a mere bagatelle very much taking a back row seat.  The tempo increases as from the dark sidelines in swoops Dr Diarrhoea.  Morphia’s power fades as the rumba intensity fires up.  If only it was the Trompette mushroom she had for her tea?  Sadly not even in this febrile of times... tummy ache of a global kind.  The shit hitting the fan!

This is where we’re at in the rapidly diminishing world of Audrey.

I have promised her I won’t phone. She is one hell of a strong woman battling her internal demons by way of a fading 96 year old body.

A few weeks ago she had a bad fall injuring her back, taken to hospital after a couple of days there, she was sent home with Morphia as a companion.  When I heard my heart sank, her back pain was kept at bay in equal measure to her reliance of her new bestie.  Audrey’s confusion and antagonism grew as daily she battled her two demons Morphia And Dr. D.  From afar I am powerless to help.  She is cared for by two neighbours and chums with the patience of Job.

She FaceTimed me yesterday the decline in her sharp intellect was scary in its intensity.  Our ‘mother’/daughter relationship has gone up a gear.  

I said 'I will go and tell Steve when you die!’

‘I have told him to expect you!’ She said between her rambling repetitions...

On the cusp of a...

meltdown I have woken up manically over excited... tears before bedtime territory.

I don’t know where to start?  At home might be as good a place as anywhere.  My equipment is failing, well at your age of decrepitude what is there so special about that you might be tempted to think?  No, no, I mean this ruddy contraption of torture of a cerebral kind, kind it ain’t! Since I indebted myself with payday loans, wall to wall loan sharks hammering on the door I have been having a bit of bother with this supposed-to-be latest must-have of a techie piece of kit, kit, I said not sh*t.  It isn’t all it is cracked up to be, first off it thinks it knows better than me, which maybe, just maybe is a moot point.  I answer my comments and it doesn’t always post them I get a ruddy ‘Whoops who’s done a boo-boo message?’ Which after three laps of the ceiling the ole BP is still battling like mercury to fire out of the thermometer in Vesuvius gobs. Alright I know you don’t test blood pressure with a thermometer but it makes for a better verbal picture in the old minds eye... don’t you agree?  These problems have slowly been happening since at vast expense we got the strolling tech-whizz to sort us out.  It just couldn’t possibly be down to the operator, now could it?  I was planning this week to trot off to Hereford to visit the Apricot shop and plead insanity.  Trouble now is I don’t really feel I can face the marauding bog roll bandits.  So like the hero I so obviously am, will battle on alone... chuntering!

The other thing to cause me distress in the form of over excitement of a vomit-making kind is the absolute horror that Trump will be re-elected.  Why should I worry some might say and I would be hard pushed to come up with a half sensible answer, mind you I am hard pushed on a good day to come up with a sensible anything!?!  The thought of going into lockdown and watching, reading and absorbing through every pore of my ageing bod the civil unrest that will unfold in America, just doesn’t bear-bare thinking about. 

 

I’m having a bit of...

a moment.

Lockdown, lockdown, lockdown.

Panic buy, panic buy, panic buy.

This morning found me abroad in Ludlow rushing round in full-on knickers-in-a-twist mode.

Buy, buy, buy.

This is my swag bought today...

A girl can’t have enough flagons and chenille fabric...

Hoarding bog rolls is so yesterday...