Sunday, 15 August 2021

BIg pink knickers…

 eat your heart out.

Those of you who on occasion have been tempted to plough through my ramblings might remember my horror of dahlias and my likening them to big pink bloomers.

Whether it is reaching the age to be walking distinctly sideways up to the contemplation of actually buying a pair, I really have no idea.  However yesterday evening I wandered lonely over to the allotment and picked a dahlia.  Last night it wasn’t fully open, this morning I was greeted by this…


I think I’m in love.

Saturday, 14 August 2021

The thing is…

I really don’t do birthdays.  I never have, Why? Who knows.  As an only child who lived a solitary life,I became very self sufficient.  Although I do remember in those far-off August days the weather was always hot.  On one memorable occasion I got so excited at having a birthday party I made myself sick with the pent up fever of excitement.  So much so, I was posted off to bed while the party went ahead without me.  I can hear now from my darkened room the whoops of delight at my bestest chums scoffing all MY jelly and blancmange, sandwiches and cake.
As a consequence of this Freudian, probably totally wide of the mark assessment of my disinterest of the date in the year that marked my entry into the world, I get very few cards, in the main because I send so few.  Although having said all that when I glance across at the windows of houses as I wait for the traffic lights to change, seeing the rows of cards I often wonder if this is what comes to folk who remember everyones birthday.  Bit like a round robin type of thing.  What goes round comes round.  And the worm of wonder does start to think and turn… maybe?  The lights change and I roar off, never giving it another thought until the next red traffic light beside a home where a popular person lives!

It is my birthday today and for some strange reason I have quite a few cards… not that I deserve them, mind.
Thank you Monica for remembering.

Wednesday, 28 July 2021

Two bluebottles were ganging…

up on him. The squeaks even I could hear.

Ellie alerted me to our latest visitor to the Wrenery.  I heard a scuffle and thought the frog that had the audacity to sit in her water bowl was back.  I couldn’t see anything so with my alter ego Insp. Clouseau found hiding in the closet(where else would you expect?)I decided with magnifying glass clapped in my left hand to go investigate.  All I can say at this juncture is… a ruddy good job I had this excellent additional appendage to the fore.  After tiptoeing around, not easy for a fat lass in a trench coat sort of macintosh.  I spied through a glass darkly a teensy-weensy little ball of fluff, making the most awful racket and for one so petite, who would have thought it?  The bluebottles were closing in for the kill, pretty much like billionaires with not much else to do having got bored with counting their squillons, going on safari to shoot the hell out of a brace of rhinos’ssss, an odd giraffe and rounding off with a lion for good measure.  That sort of behaviour.  Well, I don’t mind telling you the field vole who had purely by chance got lost finding himself in the barren plains of the wrenery and weak with lack of seeds, roots and other nourishment of the field vole kind was in a very sad state.  Until that is Lettice Leaf and sidekick Hubs rode to the rescue.  The poor wee mite was rescued and promptly captured (too weak to run) and taken across the road to the sunny uplands of the the allotomentoes.  Where seeds a plenty awaited the 50p piece size tiny muchly weakened beastie. 

Not the man in question sadly.

Tuesday, 22 June 2021

Life on the


A flavour…


Ludlow town wall stands guard


 No Dig is the way forward

Charles Dowding

Sunday, 23 May 2021

You know the...

 sort?  The ones that you really have no idea if you devour them or they you?  In an earlier age you would (may?) have parted with £9.99 to enjoy their company.  Now the fifty pennies that you part with to get them in your grasp seems like a safe bet.  Even if the money spent is ill advised and you decide to chuck them out of the window, or better still take them back from whence they came.  This way the charity shop gets another bite of the cherry as it were?

I am of course referring to a tome like this...

all 833 pages.

The print you need a microscope to read.  The density of words on the page you need the skills of Bear Grylls to navigate. The eyes of a hawk to see.  The intellect of Plato to understand (an easy read if you have stickability) and the fortitude of Saint Daniel to not be sidetracked.

I am in the full flush of heart thumping first love, nay call it lust.

I will report back...

Thursday, 20 May 2021

‘I didn’t think...

 dying would be like this!’

How many people have thought that this year I wonder?

The grim reaper on piecework this last year must have made scythe-loads of crypto coin?

Audrey is sat in an end of life ward... waiting...

Her only one designated visitor reports that on his last visit she was nowhere to be found.  Hold on, was that her under what he at first thought was a pile of bedding?  Audrey was sitting out of bed with her head on a table under the covers.

She is becoming more confused by the day.  Each day’s dementia questions she sails through, then sinks back into whichever otherworldly place she occupies?

Audrey in better days.

Tuesday, 18 May 2021

Allotment update...

There’s something about tilling the soil that moves me, calms me, consoles me.  Being outside I feel free, even the weather on Sunday doesn’t dent the desire.

Hail falling like snow, mid- May for goodness sake.

This is the allotment today, a hodge-podge of treasures and my wild imaginings. 

From this

To this...

and this...

just wish everything would grow now... it is so blooming COLD!

Saturday, 15 May 2021

The sequel with guest appearance of...

three ruddy ducks.

Carding Mill Valley is a favourite of ours, magnificent scenery and the wide open spaces allow Covid-free passing places.  What is there not to like?

As we puffed up a hill there hanging in a tree was a pom-pom.  Never missing a thing my eagle eye spied the aforesaid ball of wool blowing in the wind.  Looking round to see if no one was about I casually strolled over to inspect with my  ‘Hello, hello, hello what’s going on ‘ere?’ cape, not dissimilar from the bobbies cycling attire of the fifties and sixties. This item of apparel I don when the investigative mood takes me. The mood I ought to say takes me to the strangest of places...  This forlorn multi-coloured answer to the real things wandering by with their lambkins just a rolag away had a message of that I was very sure?  And right enough there it was...

Hopefully you can read it?

To start with I hung it in the college entrance thinking that it would be gone in a trice.  No chance!  After two days the suspension as it where, was killing me so I moved it just inside of the allotments.  Maybe my fellow plot holders channelling their inner Percy Thrower would spot it and enter into the spirit of things?  Still waiting!

Three ducks the local ménage a trois have been hanging about, one drake puffed up and feeling important, the other pretty quacked oft!?!  Six webbed feet landed without ceremony onto our glass roof giving us quite a Duck a l’orange turn.  As they processed onto the roof of the Wrenery I quietly with feather duster spear crept Zulu like to the door.  A quick shove up the third ducks departing jacksie was enough to ‘temporarily’ bring their nest-hunting expedition to a speedy conclusion.  With my bosom heaving with a ‘job well done turn-of heave’ I flopped back into my recliner.  Minutes later the six webbed feet descended onto the fence, their nonchalance hung in the air for the nano second it took me to launch myself from prone to 60 feathers a minute in 0.2 seconds.  Feather duster AND angry whoops accompanied this their second foray.

Their third and final attempt saw me pawing the ground, steam escaping from my nostrils I galloped down the path in hot pursuit.

‘Duck off!  If I catch you, your next appearance will be on my wall!’. I cried my dander well and truly  up.

Thursday, 13 May 2021

The paparazzi and the


At sparrow-fart yesterday  I was up and dressed and looking fairly respectable, well as respectable as I am ever going to look these days.  My dental appointment was at 8.45am, far too early for a woman of my advanced years.  I often say to the dentist I could have bought a small terraced house with the money I have handed over looking after my teeth.  He looks pained as he delves further into my rosebud!

On return home I decided on a session on the allotment.  Being of a slothful disposition I stayed in the same ‘being abroad in the big wide world’ attire.  My usual bag-lady allotment look was relegated to the compost heap that is my covid clothes pile.  Getting lost in the tilling of the soil I was happy in my own sweet world.  Husband was pottering, Ellie was guarding, all was cheery in this Ludlow idyl.  The chairman bustled up and enquired whether we would mind having our photograph taken for a local magazine.  Both of us replied ‘Err... no chance!  Even Ellie slunk into the shed.  Idly the thought occurred I am looking fairly normal for me not my usual ‘Hungry and Homeless’ doorstep look.  Mind you the size of me wouldn’t convince many.  The photographer by way of bribery said how much he would love Ellie in the picture.  That was the coup de grace.  The job was a good’un in normal speak.  

Later in the day, still in the same dental outfit minus the mask obv. I was just about to set off back to my little piece of paradise when flying down the hill came our vegetable delivery cargo bike.

‘Would you mind having your photograph taken for us to publicise our bicycle deliveries?’

In for a penny in for a pound, I agreed all the while thinking what am I doing?  My ‘I want to be alone’ header statement about keeping a low profile was crumbling around my ears.

This morning I stepped out fully expecting stepladders-a-go-go to be in full force as the photographers lay in wait for the newly emerged recluse to show.  I peeped out not a ruddy soul.

Disgruntled I smartly stepped up the hill to the market smarting at the waste of slap and spritz I had carefully applied this morning. 

Sunday, 9 May 2021

Trench coat collar...

turned up, trilby pulled low over my eyes Inspector Clouseau-like I followed her.  I overheard, (that in itself is a miracle, with me being so flaming deaf! ) a table and chairs being mentioned.  A few days prior our local charity furniture warehouse had collected a set of finest Ikea dining room chairs.  I ought to say here I have a penchant for chairs.  Our home on occasions has resembled a dodgy backstreet clinic with chairs lining the walls.  As only two bums reside here there is a very good case for discovering exactly why so many chairs are required?  Freud might have a sound explanation, I couldn’t possibly comment and even if I had a sneaky idea I wouldn’t tell!  As the van roared off up the road, I jokingly said to himself, it won’t be long before I buy more.  Little knowing that just nine days later I would be on the case to acquire more, hence me following the lady in question.

This time I am doing the advanced having bought an Arts and Crafts table and four beautiful high backed chairs and one side table.

The problem now is how to get these latest treasures on the the wheelbarrow down the hill and home?

They sure as hell beat the Ikea chairs.  My addiction has gone up a notch. I’ve gone all Burne-Jones,

husband’s gone all peculiar...

Saturday, 8 May 2021

Not sure whether I...

am still here or not?

Not sure whether I even want to be or not?  

Imagine the scene, my lovely mum was head over heels with a guy who was she decided the love of her life.  Until that fateful day he called to take her out standing on the front porch wearing a bowler hat.  Yes, you read that right a bowler hat.

Love died as she opened the door.  

That’s the way I feel about blogging at the moment.

Added to which I find I can no longer comment on mine or other peoples’ blogs.

BIg pink knickers…

 eat your heart out. Those of you who on occasion have been tempted to plough through my ramblings might remember my horror of dahlias and m...