After a rollicking from...

Rachel yesterday, I thought she’s got a point, so best I get a wiggle on and brighten myself up, even if only for the blog!  I can then grump around Ludlow to my heart’s content, without my chums in blogland knowing what a crosspatch I really am.  Although I’m not, so that last bit is a fib!  I was struggling to think of something  positive to say when I thought about the receptionist in the opticians yesterday who commented on my sunglasses.
‘I do love your sunnies!’ she said.
It got me thinking there are two things I wear that wherever I go I get comments on, one the sunglasses and the other are these earrings.  I thought that would be a sort-of positive blog post, so I tried to take a selfie of the aforesaid items without showing too much of the phizog!

As I was in the David Bailey zone the postman came bringing post for me!?!  Never getting any mail I heard himself chatting to our lovely postman and thought nothing of it.
In he came with a letter, it’s for you from Canada.
‘Canada?  I don’t know anyone in Canada, it must be for the people we bought the cottage from!’  I said in my best Lady Docker tones.
On closer inspection it was indeed for yours truly.  What a glorious surprise.  

not the best of photographers I do hope you can enlarge it to see?

Thank you Moni, the arrival of this beautiful card made with your own fair hands could not have come at a more appropriate moment.  To say it has cheered me up is the understatement.

Don’t you just love your blogging chums.  I know I do!

Shock horror...

I have with much soul searching

now where did I put that bit of me that I loosely call my soul? decided I really don’t like some people and how they behave. The pandemic made me come to this momentous decision after a full 300 frigging years of puppy-like squirming to be loved, gone in five or so short months.

Looking back over an action packed life of the great and the good, and all stations in between, the cold hard fact is I don’t like what I see. I need new specs that bit I do know, off to pick them up this morning,  The opthalmic howsyourfather said as I left his lair of pie charts, wall art squiggles and torture contraption of rest your chin here and peer through these Titanic potholes rescued from the bottom of the ocean type thing...

‘These glasses will be on a par with the ones you have!’

‘Wot?’  I stupidly thought as I coughed up 69 quid for a replacement lens that won’t do anymore than the cheapo ones I already have!

A monocle would be cheaper and far more stylist I thought as I drifted 69 quidlets poorer out of the shop!

It wasn’t only that though...

I am just that way out at the mo!

Dog training...

or should I say human training?

We have found the loveliest dog trainer Helen, who is a joy to work with.  She came to us for the second time yesterday and put us through our lead work.

The husband’s concentration and skill rival that of a dog sniffing the air to locate the nearest bitch on heat... focussed!

Me, well I was more the wriggly pup who only wanted to roll over and have her tum tickled!

When I struggle with something I revert to my usual mucking about persona, which let’s face it doesn’t help Ellie or me come to think about it?  
It didn’t go well!

 Not for me, anyroad!?!

Twinkle Toes Ted went to the top of the class.  Whereas me, here I sit facing the wall with a dunces hat on knocking out this.

Mind you with words, his prose is the clunking sort that only a police officer could knock out...

‘Hello, hello hello, what’s going on ‘ere?’ type of thing.

That doesn’t stop me hating him though, as he sparkles with doggy fairy dust!  Mincing about with well behaved dog in tow!

I shamble along with dog on a Zeebeedee spring bouncing beside!?!

On arrival home Helen obviously thought a little light homework was in order, strange how mine was three pages while his was three lines?

I can see my report...

‘Must try harder!’

Story of my life really, in one short sentence.

As a child with each...

step I grumbled!

‘Why do we have to trog to the far end of the beach?’  I would whine.

My father strode on listening to not one word of my grumbles.

We would find a lovely secluded section of the beach and settle happy away from the madding crowd.

I also did the same with Aaron who true to form grumped and groused at each and every step!

Looking at the crowds sitting cheek by jowl with each other on the 

Costa del Soulless, am I pleased that a crowded beach holds no appeal to me, thanks to Dad.

The tale of two hedgehogs...

Little and Large.

We feed the hedgehog in a box, we did that at Goudhurst when marauding cats would get there first and scoff the lot.

This system we introduced when the rat decided to get in on the bounty of food available for the birds.  The birds now for the summer have just water, this seems to have discouraged the rat, that and a liberal peppering of chilli powder where it used to pop through under the fence.

We put the light on in the Wrenery  and the other evening we watched in amazement the roof of the box gently lifting?  On investigation by quietly lifting the magazine on the top we saw two hedgehogs jockeying for position at the tray of mealworms.

It is fun to watch who gets here first and last night the little one of the two was the first to arrive.  After some not inconsiderable time in the box obviously eating enough for two, Little decided that a drink at the bunnikins bar was in order.  

Then off to the house tucked beside the water butt for a little snooze before the rest of the nights adventures.

Creeping out I decided that a top up outside was in order just so when Large showed up he would get some.  When he did show he was grazing happily the sprinkles when something spooked him and he shot off at speed behind the water butt. Would a third one show I idly wondered?  No, it was the small one back out, who then proceeded to, yes you’ve guessed it polish off the second lot. 

Better by far than the television.

David Attenborough eat your heart out... along with Little!

Now I would be...

the first to admit... 

I am a top-show sort of girl, 

you know the sort, not matching bra and knicks, clean, but sort of not clean.  It always amazes me how some people look at all times as if they have just stepped out of a grooming parlour, whereas I always look like I have just stepped out of an ice cream parlour.  Squeaky clean, from the top of their shiny hair to the soles of their well cared for shoes.  Whereas me, well I always have an aura of ‘she looks okay, just don’t get down-wind of her’ persona.  

Sad, but there you are!

Okay, okay,I get it, however where are you going with this little epistle LL?

Where I am going is inheriting a garden designer’s garden is a ruddy eye-opener.  All looks wonderful to begin with, bit like a stage set, you know the sort of thing, the inside of a miner’s terraced front room.  Trouble is as you watch the play unfold you notice that the walls quiver as the door is shut.  The standard lamp light doesn’t always come on the minute the actor has put his hand up under the shade to turn on the light.  It looks good however in your gut you have the feeling that all is not as it would appear?

This garden is a case in point, a show garden.  As you delve you discover the plants that were taken out of their pots and plonked in to the bare patches without thought of whether they would be happy there.  They have struggled, their pot-bound roots have hardly had the energy to break out, and why should they when they know this really isn’t the right spot.  I am being used here, you hear them cry, much like a starlet on a pervy producers arm... top show!?!

The garden, as the husband would say is being Letticed.  Out with the showgirl, all frou-frou and no drawers and in with the demure happy-to-help to the insects and wildlife shrinking violets that are the all giving no nonsense plants.

I am exorcising Angel’s garden.

The power has quite gone to my head, casting couch, anyone?

Hard core scrumping...

memo to self...

I must provide him with a bag with ‘Swag’ written on it.

When he gets his collar felt by the long arm of the law, I could easily run up a suit with arrows on and bake a cake with a file in it!

‘You’re nicked Sunshine!’

The tree in question is a wonderful greengage tree hanging over the wall from the allotments on the other side.  It seems only right and proper that we should show respect to the tree and enjoy the fruits of its labour.

Greengage jam will be made.

Home made free from all pesticides and nasties jam... what better?

A genteel snapshot of a morning’s 

pilfering in Ludlow...

My life is like...

a book.  

Well two to be exact,

Dorian Gray

and Silas Marner 

my favourite characters I feel I am morphing into.

As Audrey gets stronger and more ebullient I get greyer, more pale and wan, wrinkles chase across my face, my chops are falling away, my stoop is getting stooped with the weight of the worry I carry constantly in a rucksack on my aching back.

In the meantime Audrey (Mum) gets chirper, chipper and more cordon bleu every second. Cordon being the operative word as I will shortly be throwing one around her to rein her in.  When she hits the whiskey and the Kettle crisps I will know for sure she is big time back!  I on the other hand wither, fade and die.  

Peel me a grape someone!

Silas Marner sits and counts his pile of gold coins.  Much the same as I do as I rootle around in the back of the cupboard and make nourishing soup out of dead washing up cloths and furry bowls of who knows what hiding shyly in the depths of the fridge.  The savings you wouldn’t believe?

The potmeister i.e. me sleeps fitfully at night: dreams, heavy with the worry of my many Swiss numbered accounts drifting across my moon cratered face as I toss and turn and wonder how to spend the fruits of my culinary money saving labours?  I don’t mind admitting the idea of a world cruise with the piggy-back pennies isn’t an option. Or even climbing into a plane and jetting off somewhere exotic has lost its appeal.  Even the thought of a trip to the pub is strangely alien.

Oh woe is me!  I sadly and disconsolately think as I sit with the gold slipping smoothly through my grasping mitts.

‘Stuffed marrow...

 that’s what I am having for supper!’

I glanced at the clock...

Eight O the ruddy clock!

Every bone in my body was disgruntled... all the sodding time over the last few days I have thought you were dying, and now this!

‘That sounds delish!’

the actress in me replied thinking all the while shouldn’t we be talking shrouds?

‘Well, I do love marrow, you know I hate cooking but being given this I thought to make myself supper!’

Opening and closing my mouth like a ruddy goldfish gulping for air in a stagnant bowl of black water I weakly replied...

‘What did you stuff it with?’

‘Well’ she said getting into the zone ‘I had made a meat loaf, which wasn’t particularly successful, I crumbled that together with onions and those chilli flakes, breadcrumbs and egg!’

What about the constant diarrhoea, flitted Oh so gently through my addled brain... I don’t bloody believe this!?!

By this time Audrey was definitely in the all things cordon bleu!

I looked at the clock ten past ruddy eight!  A 96 year old bod having to digest this culinary extravaganza at that time of night?

Feebly I said 

‘Be sure not to let it burn, as you have so many times in the past with all this chatting on the phone!’

Was it that obvious, I wanted to end the call, I idly wondered?

‘Good idea, I’m just going to prod it with a knife!’

And off she went.

Falling back into the chair I said 

‘I don’t blooming believe it... Pass me the biscuits!’

Armageddon has safely arrived...

in Shrewsbury.

It seemed like a good idea to go, if you think about it most things do seem like a good idea as you step out on your next new adventure.  Time and jaded experience whisper a different tale in your ear.  Being deaf you don’t listen and besides you really do need to go to Lakeland and purchase yet more plastic to bugger up the ocean?

Now hindsight, that wonderful flash of inspiration you only really, really get when you have totally cocked up, comes into play...

Why go?  The oceans are already struggling at man’s attention without your two penn‘orth? 

It will be good for the dog to get socialised in a town she doesn’t know... 

What?  Double Wot??

I hang my head in shame!

We parked, she had a little wee on waste ground, we were good to go.

Her little wee was the best bit of the trip.

The town was heaving with carefully social distancing people all wearing masks and two metre wide sumo wrestler suits to ensure folk kept their distance. (As you might guess that bit is a stonking great fib?)

The roads were being dug up, scaffolding crept up the buildings  like a Quatermass growth not dissimilar from the Coronavirus.  Kids screamed, those mechanical pointed digger toothpicks gave throat in the hands of hairy chested tattooed monsters of the road.  Gangs of blokes seemed intent on crumbling the roads in harmony with our world that is falling in on itself.

‘All for social distancing innit!’

We pressed on, dog was not happy, neither were we.  Did we turn around and go home?  Oh dear no, we pressed on like the intrepid explorers we mistakenly thought we were.  All was calm in Lakeland, the shelves were oddly bare, looking for all the world as if the plastic eating locusts had graced the store with their gobbling presence?

We decided it would be good to round off an exciting day by getting some luncheon.  We found a  suitably caring of the planet caff serving organical food and sat outside on the road right by the bus stop where in the olden days buses would have stopped to offload their passengers.  We waited and waited and eventually our food arrived in a paper bag and drinks in plastic beakers?

My chops had just fallen greedily onto my roll when my nose sniffed the air... smoke!  Two women at the next table had just arrived ordered their food and decided while they waited to light up.

Ever so gently I could feel my inner Germaine Greer stir.  I got up and walked over and said

‘Excuse me, (alright not very Germaine, she would have dispensed with that gentle form of address) there is a sign that says no smoking or vaping is allowed!’

Disgruntled they screwed into the ground their rolled up pound notes  and grumbled to themselves about me.

A fitting end to a magical day.

Is it any wonder I flirt daily with becoming a recluse?

We  breathed a huge sigh of relief  as we drove away vowing never to return.

Not one of your better trips LL?

Ellie we have...

decided should be a gun dog.

Why?  Because she has a soft mouth, illustrated yesterday when after a kerfuffle and squeaking in a bush in the woods she appeared to the call with a mouthful of squirrel.  On instruction from he who demands to be obeyed, well at the very least by the dog, she dropped the squirrel.  Ordering her away, himself looked the squirrel over and stepped back a pace or two.  Still alive but in a state of shock the squirrel laid on the path.  Taking his eyes off the recumbent form to look for a stick to end the little ones life, he found a stick and on his return the squirrel had scarpered, thankfully!

Today we are off to Shrewsbury, to see what luck she has in...

you know what’s coming...

catching... shrews?