As I tip-toed...

through the...

no, no no, not tulips... the hedgehog crap, I got to thinking...

I’m a feeder.  All my life I have loved cooking: sharing food with friends is a joy.

My wicked dil has always said 

LL never under-caters!

She is right.

The Wrenery is carpeted by the aforesaid hedgehog’s business cards and munched up bits of seeds, fat balls and mealworms.

Ellie has finished off her mince, carrot, celery, pasta and swede 

brekkie.  As it is Friday today I will cook her a casserole of fish, pasta and veggies, this will last her a couple of days and then I will decide whether she should have chicken or shin.  Now before you think I am over indulging her, I buy from my newest fav shop Aldi, her food comes from their freezer cabinet.  She has a side of kibble to nibble and her coat is a shiny testament to her diet... just wish  the same could be said of me and my derrière!?!  The birds get the same level of cordon bleu care.

My days of major dinner parties are long gone, mainly because the cuff of my jumper could no longer hold up to my pulling it over my hand and dusting the table prior to the visitors arrival!

Lockdown tales from

Ludlow.

We saw Halibut for the first time since all this began.

Wot?

Let me explain...

Most days when walking in the woods we would see an old guy walking alone.  Each time we passed we would say good morning, until one day I stopped to chat... remember those carefree days?  We then would often stop for more than a quick good day type of greeting.

Husband would often say I wonder if we will meet Halibut.  Either not listening or me being my usual slow on the uptake it took me a while to twig exactly what he called him.  Until one day I decided in my kindly trained counselling way to enquire as to the name change?

When I worked in Brixton(now there’s a line?) the black community would often have a problem pronouncing the name Albert... the extra syllable would make it sounded like Halibut.

So there I had it.

Over the weeks, we had hoped he and his wife were okay.  Seeing him yesterday we discovered that yes indeed they were both safe and well.

The hedgehog still comes each night to feast on mealworms with a little appetiser of pecans or hazelnuts.  I am seriously thinking of putting a hedgehog sign outside to make the drivers (when they return?) aware of the quality of residents we have in this sleepy backwater of Ludlow.

Pigeongate is going up a gear.

Lettice 1  Pigeons 0

first round.

On coming back from a walk, I walked in to find a flapping pigeon looking to get out of the Wrenery in a rush.  Panicking it flapped up to the glass ceiling, not seeing the three open sides.  when it did, it promptly flew into the sides of the greenhouse!

Lettice  0.5  Pigeon  0.5

second round.

Yesterday before we went out I had the forethought to lean the black large feather duster right up against the hanging mealworm feeder.  Looking for all the world like Darth Vader standing inside on guard.

Arriving home I said to the man, I will go on ahead as advance party,  sliding away on my tum I SAS style approached the property.

Stealthily I opened the two gates and the front door without making a sound. Tip-toeing in I peered out... all good so far, no sign of a pigeon.  

‘Good work DV!’

I said as I tapped him on the shoulder, well I would have done if he’d had any shoulders, being a skinny long pole it was a slight problem... just use you imagination here... okay?

Stepping out to secure the field of battle I peered smugly into the hanging feeder to see not one 

f**king (excuse the language, it isn’t me it is my SAS identity!) mealworm.  The bugger had only scoffed the lot.

Pigeon 1  Lettice  0

Have you ever seen...

an old lass with her grey hair in bunches.  Pop in here to be met by a vision of beautiful bashful bunches.
Far too short (my hair, silly!)for a chignon, far too roughty-toughly for sleek, sophisticated, style...
bunches it is then!

On ebay I have just bought a oversized coat with lots of pockets, oh and a very swish extra large bag. Where and when I am going to have the occasion to don either is an interesting concept?
With eager excitement I await the finish date of a dress to equal the tent I bought the other day.
A parcel arrived with a lovely ebay purchase, I do love a dress.
I ironed it, admired it, hung it up in the garden room to admire it a bit more.  Eventually I will put it in the wardrobe to join the other recycled things bought and not had the occasion to wear section.
Although great excitement an invitation has arrived for drinks in the garden of a neighbour on the 12th, only six of us, mind!  It raises more questions than answers...
Which new dress shall I wear?
Will I be brave enough to get my legs out?

Most importantly can you go to a posh party with your hair in bunches?  

I could always work a feather or two into the up-do...
a pigeon feather... obv!

For MG...

Yesterday I had...

a moment!  Like you do, or more like I do?  Usually my moments are  at the least odd or a tad amusing.

For example the day before’s madcap antics.

In my infinite wisdom (a moot point?)  I decided that we needed a marquee, oh alright a sort-of tent.  Rushing in where fools and all others fear to tread I sent off for just the right thing to give us protection from the sun.  The husband takes little persuading, his MO is to play dead when the pearls of wisdom spill out of my rosebud.

‘Yes, darling.’ he weakly replies with a yawn hovering.

The tent/awning/gazebo/yurt/wigwam/

shade sail/canopy/marquee/

howsyourfather duly arrived.

After lunch we set to, the reviews did say it was tricky.  On one of the hottest days this year, we laughed (well I did), we puffed, we panted, we pulled, we pushed, we bent, we stretched and generally had a bloody good work out.  All good?  Well you might think so?  When like an upturned tortoise we turned it over, three things sprang into our minds

It didn’t really fit the space

It was inside out and neither of us really liked it.  Apart from that it was just fine!?!

The blame I lay squarely at this blooming lockdown.  I am bored and have nothing better to do than WANT!

Himself suggested we take it straight down.  I wasn’t convinced  as I’d had enough of being a Brownie for one day.  I only lasted one meeting when I was a kid, nothing’s changed in the intervening years.  However I did  bow to Brown Owl’s (alright he’s a bloke... but you get my drift?) advice and down it came.

For entertainment  value it was worth it.  For what we, or should I say I got it for, it was a definite no-no.  Back to the drawing board.

Yesterday as we had had an action-packed day on Saturday we decided that a leisurely day was called for.  All good, I just pottered tying up the clematis on the obelisk and generally wandered around looking the part of a lady gardener... Vita Sackville West eat your heart out type of thing!

Until, roll of drums here please, it certainly warrants it!

Languidly sitting in my garden chair I glanced at a sweet foxglove poking up between the steps to the garden room.  Like a thief in the night slowly my head felt strange, I ignored it, do not move LL it isn’t what you think it is.

Oh yes it is!

The dreaded BPPV.

It came out of the blue and bit me on the bum... well the head actually.  

What have I done to deserve this? Yesterday I could have understood, today... No!  I thought as I slowly, like a drunk, crept up to my bed.

Today I am fine... now about this 

teepee?

As quiet as a ....

mouse, peace has fallen over this little piece of Ludlow and the river Teme.

This is the reason...

if you haven’t read it I suggest you do.

A masterclass in how the brave face their problems, dust themselves off and tackle the new world they find themselves in.

Fortune favours the bold.

How true that is.

I openly admit...

 I am prejudiced!

My bete noire is pigeons.

They are okay if they just leave me alone.  Go pester the people in Trafalgar Square.  Oh yes, I forgot there aren’t any folk in Trafalgar Square or come to that any other places of interest to pigeons.  

I know, they think, let’s go to that huge tree in Ludlow, have sex and raise a family.  There is food on tap in an all weather covered venue she oddly calls a Wrenery.  It should be called a Pigeonary, but we really aren’t that bothered!  Free food to be had, although it is a faff waiting until ‘she’ goes out!

The tree is bloody enormous, it sheds lots of twigs that are absolutely ideal for our Grand Designs project.  We could even write and arrange for Kevin to pop by to feature us on his programme... pity we can’t... write, that is!

Building was under way, we got a bit blasé about not bothering that ‘she’ was sitting enjoying the garden right underneath.  Personally I think it was our ruddy wings clattering that gave us away.  With eagle eye she peered up, the glint said it all! 

Strolling casually across, you would never believe what happened next?  She only went and got a huge bamboo stick and rustled it in the tree.  We flew off and regrouped, planning our next move.

Over the next couple of days, we were all on a war footing.  Her attack grew more sophisticated, not content with rustling the tree she even targeted the wife’s derrière with a stick.  Creeping up armoured she caught her unawares while she was intent on a little light weaving of twigs.  Twice that happened.  If she thinks that will deter us ‘she’ has another think coming!

That dear readers is why some of you might think I am not nice to know?  And who am I to blame you?

With collie calm...

we start the day.

All is peace in this tiny patch of Ludlow.  Strangely I feel content, even more strange is Ellie has jumped up on my lap and not been her usual wriggly self.

We had a love, we have a special bond.  Dogs are mans’ best friend. Ellie is my best friend.

After Lettice died I thought I shall never have another dog, because it wouldn’t be fair as I couldn’t possibly love it as much as I did Lettice.  It took me many  tears and six long years to mend my broken heart.

Slowly not even noticing at first my mind turned, the idea to fill the void left by the fifteen year relationship with a very special chum began to take shape.  At the time I made him solemnly promise me that no matter how much I whinged and moaned (and I did!) he would stand firm against my entreaties.  He only went and did exactly as requested!  Unbeknown to me he was also feeling the same way.  One day out for a walk, like a record stuck in a groove I trotted out the same whinging refrain.  I can be a total pain at times... surprise you?  No, I thought not!

His reply...

‘You could always release me from my vow!?!’

Well, you could have knocked me down with a feather!

I would be the first to admit I am not the most measured of people, flying by the seat of my pants has been a lifelong means of travel through my rackerty life.  However this was something I had waited a long time for and wanted to get it right.

It had to be a rescue; why encourage people to breed dogs to be the latest must-have furry accessory?  There were so many unloved, unwanted dogs out there to more than fit my particular bill.

I said, I will know!

And I did.  The same as Lettice, the moment I saw Ellie I knew.  

It took us weeks of visiting the centre, because she was so afraid.

We hung on in there and boy was it worth it.

Ellie 

Lettice

Feet on the table...

sat in the garden I’m...

b o r e d!

The morning found me pottering with my pots, well, you would wouldn’t you?  You know the sort of stuff, rearranging, bit like the deckchairs on the Titanic.  I’ve swept, I’ve clipped, I’ve poked a pigeon up it’s a**e, like you do?  Now like the true Elizabeth Bott personage that I am, I am casting around to think of something to do?

I know I’ll tell you a story of me a broken ankle and an emerald ring?

Well to cut a short story long.

I broke my ankle stepping off a stile onto an unseen pebble.

Crashing to the ground in a very ladylike fashion my first words weren’t what you would expect...

‘Oh f**k!’ 

but...

‘I’ve broken it!’

Himself flew over the stile kindly stepping over my prone form and as we were only a short distance from his home, he sat me upright and went to get the car.

He took me to A & E and yes I had broken my ankle.

We were just a week away from flying off on one of our exotic holidays... what timing?

With every fibre of my body and charm in overdrive I  endeavoured to persuade the specialist to sign me a fit-to-fly certificate.  After dark warnings of the risk of a DVT, my magnetic personality  wove its magic.  The bowed and broken man was on the point of uncapping his Mont Blanc pen when  common sense hit me square between the eyes, I graciously decided that I would follow his expert  advice!

To cut a long story short... it was just as well for once I did as i was told, as without the long haul flight I managed to get a DVT and spent a week in hospital.

You see I can be sensible... surprised, yes I was as well.

Anyway, I haven’t even got to the crux of the story yet...

As I was convalescing a little parcel arrived with this emerald ring inside. 

The card was in my wicked daughter-in law’s writing...

‘Miss Taylor you left this behind on you last visit to us.  We do hope you are recovering well and look forward to seeing you next time.

From all at the Betty Ford Clinic’

Bloody cheek!

I did laugh though.

Apparently when they came down to see me, I was looking in ‘my eyes’ a million dollars, dolled up, full slap on and shades, being pushed around by my ever attentive SOP.  In their eyes however I looked just like this...

You have to laugh!

Two blog posts in one day?

Now what shall I do for badness?

Sadly, slowly I am...

morphing into an old lady who smells of lavender and wee!

I have just sneezed and this early in the day I have a little light leakage.

As for laughing fit to bust, well that is a case for Miss Industrial Tena to ride to the rescue.

Memo to self...

Must practice my pelvic floor exercises!

‘What pelvic floor exercises LL?’

I wish I didn’t...

care about injustice, politics, the state of the world, so many things.

I have a cousin who is just eleven months older than me.  We couldn’t be more different.  Her father was my mum’s brother, our families lived next door but one to each other.  I was a tomboy with little care for my appearance whereas Chris and her sister, their mother would send to bed with a head full of metal dinkie clips in order to put a little light movement into their poker straight hair. I was lucky to have naturally curly hair, their mother never forgave me for that!

Me!

As we grew up our lives couldn’t have been more different.  Chris had one job, married and lived in the same house.  Her appearance and the cleanliness of the house was her only pleasure.  Her one hobby was the state of her hair... yes, really!  I blame it on those blooming dinkie metal curlers! 

In a force 10 gale her hair, not dissimilar to Trump’s would stay unmoving.  Elnett shares soared.

Me, well I have racketed around my life and the world like a whirlwind.  I honestly think that is why I care!

Snorkelling in warm seas admiring the colourful house reefs I would often think about Chris and  because of her fear of messing up her hair marvel at just what she had missed?  As I puffed up mountains, sitting on the top admiring the view my thoughts would turn to her and her life on the margins of an exciting time to be alive.

Sadly we have lost touch, how she is getting on in this strange world we all find ourselves in... who knows?  Her clean gene is probably in overdrive.  I just hope she has stockpiled cleaning products... Oh yes... and

hairspray.

I have started chuntering...

is it a sign of age I wonder, lockdown or just me getting grumpier by the minute?

My instinct is to break out, after all aren’t rules made for breaking?

All my life I have been a rebel, without a cause I ought to say!  However this one is worthy of us all doing the right thing, not only for ourselves and our families but for others as well.

I can’t help thinking that 

St. Boris the patron saint of absent fathers doesn’t get it?

Certainly my instincts tell me he doesn’t as he cracked on about fatherly instincts.

Call me cynical, I don’t care!

I have a horrible feeling come polling day Boris’ worry about him  mimicking Churchill being voted out of office after the war will come to pass.

Has anyone seen the similarities between the Dominic Cummings interview in the rose garden of 
No 10 yesterday and the interview 
Prince Andrew gave in Buckingham Palace?
Car crash TV overlaid with arrogance.