I think...

that’s what I do.

At 4 am I drink tea, I dream, I scheme... the prerogative of an only child, living happily in 

her own head.

Words, ideas, plans, designs

jostle for prime position.

Climbing back into bed...

‘How long have you been 

down there?’

‘Two cups of teas worth, go back to sleep I’m fine!’

Differences of living...

in a sleepy village

to life on the coast?

By the very nature of living at sea level it is flat, well at least along the prom.

Alright, I know I have lived on the north west coast of Scotland where the cliffs drop hundreds of feet into the sea.  Here the town of Hythe is a level walk from the front. I lived in a village classed as one of the highest in the county of Kent.
The first difference is we can easily walk anywhere and everywhere.  I have three supermarkets within walking distance, Waitrose,Sainsbury’s and Aldi.  Being such a retail snob I always cracked on about Waitrose and how much I loved to shop there.  I am now such a tart that I go to all three and horror of horrors, I am increasingly drawn 
to Aldi... I never thought I would ever admit this.  Me, who on one 
occasion told some friends who 
were cracking on about it... to
‘Put a sock in it!’  
How the mighty have fallen.

This afternoon I went for my new patient’s health check at the doctors, what a difference there is in a busy town practice.  The place was heaving.  Set in a modern building resembling a portacabin whereas the village practice was palatial in comparison. 
I went in with a note instead of coming out with a doctors note!  I needed to be sure I said the right words to get the message across. ‘Write it down to remind yourself of the right words,’ he said.
My problem is, I have no finesse, I do tend to say it like it is. 
Sometimes, well most times, if I’m honest, I do tend to open my mouth 
and put my foot in it.
I got what I wanted, saying the 
rehearsed words, all was well. 

Although I did forget myself and challenge one of the doctors
utterances! Oh dear!

There is still the major difference of living in a modern house facing the sea.  The sun comes in the front all day and hanging watercolours that won’t fade is a problem,
 especially as I have a fair few to hang.  Added to which blank, bare walls leave me feeling a little glum.
I can’t wait to get cracking on
my postage stamp,only good for wine drinking and watching the world go by, terrace garden. 
Which again will be a challenge getting the plants I love to grow
in the harsh salt laden air.
The back garden will also be an interesting one to crack, mainly the size, minuscule, protected, however no sun to ripen my usually hugely successful french beans 
grown in tubs.
An allotment might be the answer?

More to follow as I get to grips 
with my new life.

This I found on the walk into Folkestone yesterday... planted today.

This was her...

and I missed her.

I didn’t push it,  because back in the day I was so sure that no other dog would come close.

Hopefully the family who have reserved her will give her a happy and loving home.

It does hurt though!

14056 steps...

‘Let’s  walk to Folkestone...

I need some more of those non-slip hangers from Primark!

Where do I get these crazy ideas from?

Off we strode, luckily with the wind behind us.

We got there in one and a half hours making our mph just under three.  Good going for a pair of old codgers.

‘I will buy you lunch with the money saved on petrol!’ he said.

So a pickled egg in a bag of salt and vinegar crisps?

Last of the big spenders!

Folkestone is such a happening place now, the ageing hippy in me felt happy as we trogged up the Old High Street.  Being a Monday and out of season, he was safe, his flexible friend, if you’ll pardon the expression, stayed safely stowed away in his pocket!

We found a superb Italian restaurant serving a plate of pasta for a fiver, had two drinks 
each and were very happy travellers as we climbed up the stairs in the bus to bring us home to Hythe.

I just knew it...

would happen!

I just didn’t know when?

It was today!

And I made him promise me faithfully he wouldn’t give in to my pleas... why did I do that?

If only I hadn’t opened my big mouth to extract the commitment from him?

I must confess I surprised myself that my resolve has weakened.  It is this bloody internet that makes it so easy.

Four years it has been and I was okay until yesterday when into the charity shop walked a lady with son and wonderful lurcher in tow.

We got into conversation like you do when selling raffle tickets.

She told me the dog was a rescue and that was when my wall of resolve came tumbling down.

I do so want a dog in my life.

I’ve seen the one, I’ve shown him the picture, I have had a little gentle plead, but no he is not negotiable. 

Would he have been this strong if I hadn’t been so clear about him not giving in to me,

I idly wonder?

I wanted to post the photo of the dog, but I want it so badly I think you will go and bag it before I have had time to weave my 

magic.

Sad!

This isn’t it!

I get bored...

easily.  I’m not proud of the fact, it is just me!

As a consequence, best not to expect me to visit every third Thursday in the month.

In short after a couple of months I would be bored out of my tree.

I much prefer and find it far more meaningful to keep any arrangements fluid.

Today was a case in point, the thought of trolling up to our local boozer for cards and crisps has already this early in our time in Hythe lost its appeal.  I do still love the ambiance, the people... but time to move on.

This morning we had been busy pottering and decided to go shopping.  A weekly shop is now a thing of the past here, as we can so effortlessly walk to all supermarkets, so we tend to shop as we go.

My brain is taking a while to catch up with not planning the weeks’s meals on the hoof as I shop. Most days we walk into town, a whole different way of life.
Our cars sit strangely idle as we pound the prom.

We set off to try
another bar in the High Street recommended by our electrician.

Four real beers, four ciders and four wines... Simple.

Unpretentious: real folk enjoying real beer... what better?

A fabulous Sunday lunchtime pint for himself and a glass of wine for me.

A taste of...

my day in Hythe.

I love to volunteer, over the years I have worked for CAB, Samaritans, Air Ambulance, Hospice, 

High Kent, WRVS,

the list goes on.

Some might say I’m a tart, touting my wares!?!  And I ought to say, they would in part, be right.

However why wouldn’t I harness my

enthusiasm and happy go lucky character in order to be of some small help to others?

My idea was to gently, gently, catch a monkey and not in my usual way rush in and get 26 (slight exaggeration!) things to do.

However, I did think an easy start was to offer to volunteer in our local hospice shop, never having worked in a charity shop before. On only my first day, I offered to go in the following day to sell the tickets to win a wonderful hamper.  If I say it myself, I am good at selling raffle tickets. 
 My finest hour, or should say hours were selling tickets for a Mini for Air Ambulance,  A fiver a pop I thought would be a hard sell... not so!  Added to which, a great prize for a fabulous charity... easy-peasy!  Loved it!

This morning I was out of bed like a long dog and off to ‘work’.

I said I will do a couple of hours, then be off home.

Four hours later...

If you believe in what you are selling, secure in the knowledge that the hospice movement is crucial to so many lives,

what better way to spend a Saturday?

If you think about...

it nothing stays the same?

Tonight after a full-on day, the man and I decided to go to our local pub.  Two games of cards, two drinks and we were ready to go.  I fancied fish, himself, the best home made pub pies. We went first to the fish and chip shop... No!  Then off to the pub that makes its own pies... Oh dear in the two weeks since our last visit it had changed hands.  The pies are no longer the glorious home- made not your standard factory produced pies.

I cook that is what I did for a living, trouble is I don’t want to do it every flaming day!  A treat for me is to go out for good honest pub grub, nowt fancy, just let someone else do the cooking.
Not a lot to ask... is it?
Disappointed I had another glass of wine and and ordered the pies on offer.  We trolled back home along the prom, all the while thinking... ‘Why can’t the good things in life stay the same?’

I suppose it’s the
 buggeration factor?

I’m having...

issues!

Is it me, or is it my ageing iPad?

Should I get a new one?

Is the extra money for more capacity worth the money...

I idly wonder?

Would a blog writing app help?

Trouble is I wouldn’t understand a cotton-picking word it said!

Worrying!

If you have any thoughts I would be grovellingly grateful to know!

Cheers!

Oh dear, today...

I went to a chiropodist.

My first visit, is this the direction my life will take now we have done what so many old duffers  have done before us...

move to the coast and vegetate?

What next?

I’ve got the shopping trolley - tick.

I’ve spent enough money on my teeth to buy a small terraced house - tick.

I saw the light when one day I thought to myself why are you paying for highlights/lowlights to hide the grey, when nature is giving you them for free?

I am now silver and proud.  Alright some times I catch a glimpse of me as I pass a shop window and wonder who is this old lass?  The awful truth dawns as I scuttle away.

I have absolutely nothing to grumble about...

I am fit and well, that at the end 
of the day is all that really matters.
Before you know it I will be planting ruddy dahlias

That isn’t me, in case you’re wondering?

A white feather...

On Sunday I decided even though it was a bit drizzly I wanted to finish off my Derek Jarman inspired garden.

As I stepped out of the french doors... a good name as on a clear day we can see France.

On the terrace was one white feather.  As I bent to pick it up I thought of my lovely mum who hasn’t been in my life since her death in 1971.  She died suddenly weeks after the birth of my son, whose arrival she awaited with increasing excitement.

Just days before her death we left him with my parents for our first night out to see the film 

‘A Lion in Winter’

funny how you remember inconsequential things?

My father said when we got back that the minute our car drove away she proudly took him around to show him off to the neighbours.

Her greatest hour in the all too short 48 year life.

I digress!

A white feather, alright it was in all probability a gull’s feather, was to me a sign from her that she was watching out for me.

I needed that reassurance at the moment because it has been a huge change in my life this move to Hythe, and even for such a tough old nut as me I still after all these years... miss my mum!

Does anyone really....

really like maroon dahlias?

Does anyone buy maroon dahlias...

come to think of it...

does anyone buy anything...

maroon?

Designer handbags...

I totally do not get!

Why would any woman pay mega amounts of money to hang a dead cow on their arm?  Added to which they are paying all this money to be a walking advertisement for the company who sells them...

Logos-a-go-go!

This I can live with.

What really gets me hot around the collar is designer dogs.

What is wrong with a proper dog, one that isn’t a fashion statement?  

These ‘dogs of the moment’ are very likely bought at huge cost from puppy farms.  Carefully concealed by a journey to a ‘respectable’ home and supposedly reputable breeder.

Huge amounts of money spent acquiring the ‘must have’ furry accessory, only to find even larger amounts of money are needed to be paid to correct the unscrupulous breeding.  Not to mention the pain and suffering these little dogs have gone through to pander to man’s overblown requirements!

What about all the unloved and cast off dogs that would dearly love a home? If you love dogs why wouldn’t you want to give a needy one a home?

O ye of...

little faith!

Every year I buy hyacinth bulbs they get to this and...

I always think they are sub-standard, they will be like glorified white bluebells! They then prove me wrong by sneakily going and growing into the most majestic of flowers.

Will I ever learn?

A doubting Thomas...

not a good thing, I don’t even have to idly wonder...

I know!

The thing is...

folk talk to me... why?

I have no idea, they always have and I suppose they always will?

It is certainly not a problem, well to be exact it is becoming a problem because due to me becoming increasing deaf I can’t always hear!

Tonight in our local was a case in point, on a Friday night we go up for ‘early doors’ about five-ish.

We have a couple of drinks and play cards, happy in our own little world.

Tonight when we got there, a young guy was sat at a table alone, drinking what look like coke and looking intently at his phone.

We got our drinks and started to play our usual game.  After a while he turned and asked what we were playing, husband explained, the chap asked if he could join us.

And this is where I get decidedly uncomfortable as himself politely and gently said no.
The young guy took it graciously:

we played on, all the while me feeling a complete and utter 

party-pooper.

My heart went out for him.

We had another drink... while himself was at the bar the guy said that he had been waiting for a friend since four o clock.

‘A girlfriend?’

‘I wouldn’t mind if I’d been stood up by a girl!’

‘Have you tried phoning to see where he is?’ 

I pathetically inquired.

‘Yes, the phone is switched off!’

All of this conversation was conducted by me who can’t hear that well and a guy who is obviously far from well.

My lucky duster is...

the vital ingredient for me to play well.

This late in the day I have found a sport that I not only enjoy but surprisingly am okay at playing.

Nobody is more chuffed than me?

The game in question is pétanque.

It came about by the man inviting me to have a go at playing, secure in the knowledge I just couldn’t throw anything straight.

‘You see that little coloured ball just throw that down the piste and try to get your boules as near as possible!’

‘What like this?’ 

I replied wanging one down to sit cheek by jowl on the coche.

We played for the whole holiday, with me winning every game.

Himself wouldn’t have minded so much if the piste hadn’t been smack in front of the bar.

Is it any wonder on our return

home that I was keen to join a club?  Would I have been so interested if I hadn’t been as good... I think not!

This getting...

old is a bind!

Today I went for a hearing test in Folkestone.

I can see and don’t need glasses for which I am eternally grateful, however my hearing is getting worse.

On balance I think I would rather wear glasses than FDAs

Flaming deaf aids!

If I had a pound for every person that said ‘Pardon?’ when I admitted to becoming deaf, I would be a very rich woman.

In the grand scheme of things I am  very, very lucky and have never lost sight of that.

Happy days!

I’m in a bit...

of a quandary?

  My small terrace garden overlooking the beach is 

decking squares and some shingle.

My plan is to lift the decking and replace with shingle.

Where to get it is the problem?

Do I brazenly nip across the road bag it up and carry it over?

Part of me thinks that as my postage stamp garden is just a tiny extension of the beach it would be reasonable to do just that?  The other part of me thinks if everybody did that there would be no beach left, so get along to the nearest builders merchants and buy some pebbles.

There is a snag, and that is the last bags I bought looked for all the world as if they would be more at home on a grave!

The other answer is under cover of darkness, nip over and fill an odd bag and slowly do it that way.

I just can’t make up my mind as to the best way forward.

Any ideas?

If I had a...

net curtain I would have twitched it!

The scene before me was a cross between a ballet and mime.

In the darkness they gathered together their belongings carefully and meticulously.

Their head torches giving off an eerie light, I sat in the dark upstairs watching their every movement, fascination was the name of my particular game.

 The men of the beaten up old car and the ramshackle old van had had a full-on weekend of fishing.

I watched as they prepared to leave, the tents were packed away, the fish were divided up, the rubbish was carefully carried along to the bin.

The tackle was stowed into the vehicles, the water and wind proof gear was shrugged off and slowly they came back from the obviously absorbing world they had inhabited over the past two days.

As they drove away I tried to imagine what life they were 
returning to, whether a family awaited their return or just a hot shower and a sound kip in their single beds?  Today waking up away from the sea and back to their normal everyday lives?

Living off grid...

a van has appeared outside on the seafront.  It was there when we opened the curtains yesterday morning, there when we closed them last night and still in position again this morning.  To all intent and purpose the occupants are fishing.

It is parked right beside a notice that states.

No overnight parking.

The windows are running with condensation, their fishing rods and tents are still on the beach.

A weekend by the coast what could be better?  Fishing for your supper.

As yesterday progressed I idly wondered what they do when they need to go to the loo?

Cr*p and cornflakes boxes I am reliably informed by my step daughter!?!

Happy days...

Last night I...

dreamt I was dying...

I was condemned to death.

The vicar who was in charge of proceedings stood over me.

My hands were palm to palm in front of me in prayer.  

I could see my little much loved dog Lettice curled up asleep. Touching her a friend said

‘She’s dead!’

I knew.

I slowly leant sideways, knowing

I wasn’t ready to die.

You, choose the time?

If you are ready, not before.

Is this what dying is like

I idly wonder?

g

A blank canvas...

the thing is...

where to start with a characterless box of a house?

My style some might say is wacky:

 discarded road signs, the flotsam and jetsam of a bygone era gives me great joy.

With every fibre of my being I have to walk-on-by hub caps that passing cars have shed on their journey through life.

Worrying I know!

Moving has given me sleepless nights, I have lost my way.

Modern just doesn’t get my creative juices going the way an ancient house does.  The very fabric of an old property without trying speaks to you...

the joy, the pain, marriage, consummation, life, death...

Walls made from wattle and daub, full of imperfections weigh in as heavyweights against the pristine perfection of plasterboard...

No contest!

Drinking tea alone at 4am, giving full rein to the doubts...

What have we done? 

Sitting in the pool of light from my reading lamp the plain perfectly formed walls seemed to gloat in the gloom.

Getting up this morning I decide the way forward is to start getting my pictures unpacked and on the walls...

Do something don’t just wallow, 
whinge and moan!

It helps that the day dawns fair and bright and men from across the county are bracing themselves for the second day of a fishing contest.  Small tents are erected tackle out(?), the juiciest lug 
worms are carefully selected and off they go.  Cheek by jowl they 
sit, not a spare patch of shingle can be seen from here to Folkestone.  The day passes, inside spirits lift with just one or two treasures finding their way onto the wall.  Outside they sit, patiently waiting for the one bite that will catapult them up to the top of the leader board.

All is suddenly good in the world in this particular part of the Kent coast...

Well there’s a...

thing...

Thirties cinema seats

just don’t look right in

a nineteen year old house.

Can I bear to part with them 
I idly wonder?

Shall I sell them on eBay?

What do you think?

The view from...

my window before the sun was up

this morning.

‘Red sky at night

shepherds’ delight 

Red sky in the morning

shepherds’ warning!’

This little ditty I learnt not a million miles away from here across the channel in Le Touquet.

I was six on my first holiday abroad walking along the prom, never having heard it before I was enchanted with the lovely evening sky and the fact I had new information on the way of the world!
 Now, too many years to admit to later, I was reminded of it as I drew back the curtains.

Would it prove to be correct I idly wondered?

Writing this just at midnight with a gale blowing outside and after 
the most awful day of rain.  I now know those shepherds were on to something!

New home...

thoughts from 

a broad... me.

From the highest village in Kent... we are now living at sea level on the Kent coast.

It has been so long since I last posted, that I have forgotten how to get recent photo’s on to the blog.

 

Err...mouse quiet with every fibre of my being I tried to do it and 
eventually success... this is us on Christmas day on the prom just outside our new home.

Happy new year...

I hope to be back blogging...
if I remember how...