You have heard of...

cupboard love?

Have you heard of pantry love I idly wonder?

That is what I am in the grips of and our relationship is only in its shy glance stage.

My pantry is a virgin, newly emerging like the phoenix out of the ashes... I am unashamedly besotted... sad I know but there you have it!

This is it, I love it like a mother loves the ugly scrap of humanity that is her eagerly awaited child.

Watch this space as the pantry takes on a life of its own.

I think I need to get out more if a pantry has this effect on me. 

What do you think?

Pantry latest...
this is it at close of play today.
Cooking Apple Green...
don’t you just love a posy pantry?

The kindness of...

strangers.

Yesterday morning early dressed in nightie and kimono I was happily watering my pots on the terrace.  Alright a chum on their terrace in Boulogne with a strong telescope could just about make out the vision that is me early in the day!  When from out of nowhere a car pulled up, on our side of the road right beside me pottering.  Adjusting my robe to cover my assets I said 

‘Are you lost?’

‘No, I’ve come to give you this!’

Slowly the penny dropped, well it was early in the morning and I was seriously discombobulated to be still in a state of undress.

‘Oh hello, it’s Ian isn’t it?’

The guy that had delivered the oak frames had said how lovely to live this close to the sea and what an 
ideal spot to fish from.

Agreeing I replied I had every intention of doing just that.

‘I will find you some gear to get you started and next time I am here fishing,show you how!’ 

That was Wednesday and there we were five days later with me equipped with the full kit and caboodle to be a 

bone fide angler.

He wouldn’t take a penny for any of it and said that he was happy to share the joy of fishing.

I hug...

that is what I do.

A hug to me speaks a million words.  What do you think?

Yesterday leaving the pub, I did my usual sweep of my favourite

people... men mostly.  Please don’t read anything into this?  I ought to explain, our local is like a party in someone’s front room, you more or less know every one.  As I was about to sweep out

Lady Docker-like minus the furs, obviously!  A woman said 
‘I love the way you hug, I hug trees!’  
I naturally gave her a big one telling her when Simon died in 2000, I went into the wood opposite where we lived and did just that.  The comfort it gave me was immense.  Alone in the wood with just my faithful, much loved dog. 

Her comment brought it all flooding back and walking home yesterday, I felt happy, content with my husband of ten years this October.
Hugs for me are the currency of life.

Peonies and...

the state of play.

You know how it...

is when you have had a good week, a good meal?  That is how it is for me this evening... 

Friday 20.20 pm.

We have found a class builder, things are progressing at just the right speed and more than that with a little light ribbing along the way he totally gets where I am coming from!  There are not many people in life generally you meet that are on the same wavelength as love, laughter, let alone building!

Tonight finds me mellow from a brilliant week of work done by a man that couldn’t have done it better than if it were for himself.

Funny thing, if you think about it, the journey you make through life, the people you meet along the way.  The good, bad and the darn right iffy.  My faith in humans is at an all time high.  Hythe seems to be awash with  genuine folk.  The like of which I can’t ever recall having met before.

Those of you that read my blog will know my feelings for this move have been mixed to say the least.

However my faith in the good of folk is at an all time high.

Thanks to one man and his dog.

Sitting at my post...

applying slap to meet the day...

this is what I saw...

a seal fishing.

We could clearly see the fish in his mouth.  Unfortunately my iPad didn’t do full justice to the scene.

Maybe this living by the sea isn’t so bad after all?

Spoilt brat I hear you thinking!

Funny the things...

you remember?

The pattern on the biscuits I was making this morning are a case in point, zapping me straight back to a holiday on a farm with my father. 

As I rolled out my mint shortbread 

biscuits in my mind’s eye I pictured the farmer’s wife in her kitchen making her biscuits.  This was exactly how she was doing it. At the age I was then probably seven, how and why has this memory 

stuck with me all these years?

So much of that holiday I can still remember.  Spaniel puppies, eating our food in a magnificent dining room, the narrow back stairs up from the kitchen.  The magnificent oak staircase.  My father rescuing me in the middle of the night, sleep walking I had taken a wrong turning and was hammering on the panelling 

thinking it a door!

The weirdest of girls, who she was I can’t recall, not their daughter of that I am very sure.  She took the greatest pleasure in shooting sparrows and wringing any birds necks that had the misfortune to fall into her hands!

Strange the things you remember?  And all because by the day I am getting fatter cooking cakes and biscuits for our builder. He is doing such a good job the investment in time is worth it.  The diet will have to wait...

I need HELP...

like seriously!

We have just returned from a taxing day, taking A to the hospital for an important procedure.

Can someone tell me why is it that folk who do the most, get thought of the least?  How does that work?  You always hear the daughter who is always there for her mum gets left out of the will, while the favourite one, mother never sees is adored from afar?

I am an only child and I have written about my admiration for A who I have adopted as my mum due to her being born about the same time as my mother.  Trouble 
is, whatever I say she disagrees with.  Not having had a parent to fall out with for years, is this how the relationship is between child and parents?

When we got to the hospital we were directed to the department and every step of the way A said 
we were going wrong.  She is weak 
and I knew what she was suggesting would have put more miles on the clock.  She wouldn’t let me get a wheelchair.  Nothing I say is right!  I do find it very  wearing.  She was obviously feeling worried about the forthcoming procedure and was having a go at me.  I realised that, and made excuses for her in my head which by this time was fit to burst.  All was well, although  still no definitive answer as to her ongoing medical condition.  She is looking increasingly frail and when I mention it she 
replied that she had put on weight!  It isn’t cancer, that we do know.  

Getting her back home she asked 

about us sorting out her phone, which we happily did.  However as I was explaining how to get it on loudspeaker she wasn’t having any 
of it!

  Himself, she thinks the sun shines out of his every orifice! He is prompted by me to do the things he does to help her and freely admits it.

 I chunter on as we drive home, 
 he gets  upset that I’m upset, my blood pressure rises.  All together not a very happy day.  When we get in I see I have lots of comments on my blog, that in itself is rare and bugger, it is from some stupid spam thing, which I then have to delete each and every one... is it any wonder I am doing three laps of the ceiling?

“Let them eat...

cake!”

Except looking at the the wedding photo’s it is not something many of them personally practice?

I know that to be the case!

I ought to say seeing the highlights, I have had a change of heart.

A trip to...

Hastings.

Don’t you just love a day at the seaside?

Our mission today is to pick up a pair of oars and an o and n vintage letters, like you do?

The oars are to be used as a hand rail for the stairs.  They will hopefully make an interesting view through the glass wall in the dining area of the kitchen.  The letters are... well just because!  It is so lovely having a builder with the same degree of wackiness to me.  Hubs looks on in bemusement as we crack on about stuff; he doesn’t get it and in fairness not many other people do either!

Waking up...

in bed this morning wearing a scarf?  He looked at me strangely, well you would wouldn’t you?  Even after all these years, he seems constantly amazed at how a sane ordinary bloke has got tangled up with such an exotic creature?

‘Why are you looking at me oddly?’

‘Well you do have previous with scarves, leaving one in the pub last night!’

I ought to explain, although I am working hard to perfect my dotty old woman image,(trouble is I am succeeding too blooming well)that really wasn’t the reason I was dressed for winter. It was after my  4 a.m. wanderings.  The house at that time of day is cold due to no central heating at the mo; funky rad’s are eagerly awaited.  As I sit drinking tea and hatching out more madcap plans it gets cold.  All blood transfers to my hugely overworked thinking brain,
 leaving the rest of the bod starved of the life affirming nutrients.  Alright it’s a load of tosh, but you have got to admit it sounds vaguely feasible?

Anyway, back to bed I go and forget to take off my scarf.

And there you have it.

Simple really.

I won’t be watching the wedding, will you? I do have previous, but that’s a story for another day, maybe?

Ask yourself...

do any of us really need comments?

Alright, some might say it justifies their very existence.

However, if that is the case, what shallow lives we all lead!

I do so want to...

be a slut!

Now before you jump to the wrong conclusion, I mean it in the not caring about tidiness way; sorry if I have got you here under false pretences.

I have always loved my home and homemaking, well until now when I have been tested by my ‘new’ ish seaside abode.  I gather things about me very similar to a hamster filling their cheeks with food, treasures to be enjoyed later. I arrange and rearrange them until I find their optimum resting place.

Some might call it clutter?  Trouble with all of this is dust. I don’t really like dusting or come to think of it hoovering, not to put too fine a point on it...

I’m top show, red hat and no drawers type of thing.

I sit and admire my artefacts and can hardly stir myself from the chair.

When I see how some people live in a total pickle, part of me admires their having ne’er a care.
The other part of me holds house- proud folk with a tad of disdain. This says a lot about me, you are free to draw your own conclusions here.  Don’t look now but I’m even contemplating getting a ‘woman what does’ to come in on a Friday and give the place a quick whiffty-ding as my old mum used to say. Only on the off chance of visitors, you understand?  Not that we ever get them due to their fear of contracting some dust/air borne little known to man diseases.

I have had an interesting...

day!  It is only 5.30am and already I have fallen down the stairs.  I personally blame it on the green ceiling? I got up early thinking about the shade I had chosen.  

I like the ‘News of the World’ reporter made my excuses and left the man.  Not sure many will understand this.  If you need an explanation let me know.
I crept down the stairs carefully, where I went wrong was by admiring the early morning light coming into the hall from the front door.  I mistook the third step for the last step and fell onto the bare wooden floor.  Finding myself on my back, looking back the way I had come.  The interesting thing about the whole manoeuvre was the elegance with which I accomplished the whole shebang.  Hardly a clatter was heard, I was mindful of not waking the sleeping giant.

I lay there for a while, accessing the damage, my knee mainly, my worn back wasn’t exactly chuffed 
at the unlooked for excursion.
Getting myself up, caused cramp to think about putting in an appearance?  By sheer willpower I decided to kick that idea into touch.  All this happened within hearing distance of the man.  I am  chuffed with myself for not making  even a mouse squeak while this was all going on.
I got myself mobile and did what all respecting Brit’s do...
made myself a cup of tea
and here I am no worse for wear.
Well maybe a little, the jury is still out as to whether my 9 am yoga class is a good idea?

The cooking apple green ceiling from where I sit... 
not quite right!
Not a kind colour!

The funny thing...

is when you get a glimpse of other people’s perception of you.

Last night I thought maybe this is how we are seen.

We watched a programme on the Ambulance service.  One woman had terminal cancer, the doctor had called an ambulance as he suspected she had sepsis.  Both her and her husband were treated by the ambulance paramedic with the utmost care and respect, she  was a shining example of the profession.  She phoned in ensuring that her patient wouldn’t be left in a corridor susceptible   to germs due to the chemotherapy.  As they waited in the ambulance he showed her a photograph of his wife on their wedding day, he clearly loved her to bits.

She was admitted into a side room and spent six days in hospital being treated for sepsis.

At the end of the programme, the update was she had returned home, decided against more chemotherapy 
and had died six days later.

The photo was shown of her on her wedding day, beautiful, happy, full of promise and looking forward to her future life.

They were old, I thought?  No! Very similar in age to us.

Our wedding photo, ten years ago this year.  We were married on the London Eye.

Where does the time go?

Old in the blink of an eye.

I said...

“You are fishing in the wrong gene pool!”

 Not sure he got my meaning?

Do you I idly wonder?

Sue...

Thinking of you.

LX

I had a day at...

the seaside yesterday.

We went to Folkestone!

The man went to sing in the Choir for Health.  As we needed paint, I   raked around the town while himself was singing his socks off.

Now, nobody, but nobody would ever level the word corrigible at my door.  In fact, come to think of it have you ever heard that word in conversation, or come to that written?  No neither have I!

Now incorrigible, yes, me always, sadly.  I have previous as he so often says.  To give you an example I once bought a marvellous sack barrow, like Orient Express platform, magifico, when all I was looking for on ebay was a metre or two of hessian.  Think about it, there is a slight connection, albeit tenuous.

However, wandering down the

arty-farty quarter I spied a shop that until now has always been closed.  In the window was a wonderful piece of neon art.  In I trundled to enquire as to the price... a shedload of pound notes in case you are wondering.  As we chatted the price fell by £500.

I took her card, knowing all the while past purchases of mine would pale into insignificance.

Now about this dog?

This isn’t it.

Dog days...

There was a dog, a very special girl, who died four years ago.
She left the hugest hole in my heart.  

At the time I said to himself not to let me have another dog because I would be constantly comparing.  That wouldn’t be fair.  To be honest until now I haven’t wanted one.  I have kept myself safe by purposefully not having a lot to do with dogs I meet.  That is until now.  Our builder has a Wheaten terrier who at my suggestion comes in after lunch and joins the gang.  He sits by the open door and watches the world wander by.  As he contentedly surveys the scene, I feel my resolve melting.  I have even started making the odd mewing noises about getting another rescue dog.  Trouble is, hubs has only gone and taken my request to heart and is strangely heart hardened about us getting another chum... Buggeration!

Once upon a time...

bare with me!  

I know, nobody starts their blog with these words... however.

A long time ago a girl returned from a broken love affair and a hard but magical life living in the highlands.

Being self sufficient is a tough old call on a relationship especially one which was doomed from the off!  An old boyfriend turned up when he heard I was newly single.  He, it would appear had been waiting patiently in the wings.  The lass had more sense when she was nineteen than she did subsequently, sad to say.

He caught her on the rebound, five years scratching about to make enough to survive, let along thrive was a hard call.

The old saying... When poverty comes in the door, love flies out of the window, is so true.

I walked away!

This was it when first bought, featured in a watercolour of my little York cottage.

This is it now.

From the N W coast of Scotland I found myself in York.  I had a tiny two up, two down terraced cottage very near the river Ouse.

  I had very little money. 

I needed furniture and this chair,

was discovered in an antique emporium.  I fell in love with it and had to have it.  My heart was hurting from the last falling in love!  I decided  that the ninety pounds was well outside my price bracket so it wasn’t for me.  Walking down the street I thought, if it is comfortable I could justify buying it.  So back I went and settled my  bum ceremonially into this most magnificent of chairs.  It was so cosy the dye was caste.

In those days it was upholstered in faded damask.  It had supernatural powers; I would sit for what seemed like hours staring vacantly into space, all the while the hurt was healing. 

Since then it has two looks, a lovely Liberty abstract linen union.  Trouble was, it wasn’t very well done.  This is the last 

one, still not sure if the fabric is quite right?

What do you think?

Lights, camera...

colour, action!

This is the state of play.

Lights I think are so hard to choose, they can make or break a room.

The one in the corner is a ship’s bulkhead light.  I chose these lights at the last house and 

although pricey they are beautiful and with the new led bulbs will be economical and as we know from experience caste a lovely light.

So important for a woman of a certain age!?!

These are the also ran lights.

Bulgarian, bakelite, unused 60’s/70’s beauties.

However not for here.

A false dawn.

I am a tart...

not a bakewell, nor yet a jam tart, but a retail tart... the worst possible kind.

In a past life, like last year, I would often bore for Britain about the deep and passionate love I had for a certain Mr Waitrose.  Folk that had the misfortune to cross my path would be stymied by my all consuming love for this most ethical of consumer emporiums.

On one balmy summer day enjoying a  leisurely luncheon outside in my much missed leafy garden.  

Brace yourself here because I am about to name drop, fully expecting you to be impressed at me being on the dizzy heights of the third rung up on the village social ladder.  Anyway I digress, the luncheon was going well until a barrister and a head teacher got into deep and meaningful conversation about Aldi.  On and on they went, comparing prices, prattling on about how their products and more importantly 
their wine featured highly in the press Best Of Lists.  In the end I said in my best estuary twang

‘For God’s sake put a sock in it!

I then proceeded to level the score by cracking on about my views on my favourite store.

Well fast forward to now and I am now darkening the door of a certain store in Hythe which is growing in my esteem and yes you’ve guessed it 

Aldi...

Bank Holiday Monday thoughts...

beer bellies.  We’ve seen them all; personally I blame it squarely on the sun.  It has brought them out en masse.

As I sit with my feet on this most shabby of shabby-chic footrests

 I could almost pretend I was sat in a front row seat of the catwalk.  Manly tums silhouetted against the sea strut their stuff before my very eyes.  To say they are not a pretty sight is frankly the understatement!

Big ones, huge ones, wobbly ones... Oh alright, the odd six pack one.  In the main the ones that should on no account be let out of the orange singlet that encases them.  Better generate an air of mystic leaving the gagging punter guessing, than present it as if tripe on a butcher’s slab says I!

We have seen frying pans walk by, I kid you not! Skimpy tops on lassies that should know better.

The British at play are an interesting sight.

Their view on us sitting beside a nearly full hippo bag pretending to be members of the higher echelons of Hythe society is sadly unrecorded.

‘There’s nowt so queer as folk!’ as my grandad from Keighley used to say...

‘Cept me and thee and thou’s  queer!’

is so true. 

I’ve had a ...

funny day, I am not sure whether I have enjoyed it or not?

Hot days at the sea bring out hoards of families, barking dogs, beach balls, buckets and spades, tents and all the paraphernalia of a day at the coast.

Now, there’s me who is trying to be a recluse and I’ve just discovered I’m not making much of a job of it, especially by moving here right smack bang in the thick of it!  I am fine if I decide I like you, but until then I would rather remain aloof.  This I realise is completely at odds with the me who used to invite folk in off the streets.  People do tend to smile at me and talk to me, bit like cats who have a sixth sense that you don’t like them, make a beeline for you.  Well, same thing applies.

Even tonight having a late walk along the beach; on the return trip I got into conversation with a couple sat out admiring the Turner sky.  We couldn’t get away. 

When we eventually did, himself said to me 

‘You hit the on button then!’

‘Me?’

And I suppose I did just by being friendly and passing the time of day.  When all I really want is to be left alone.  This being a recluse lark is obviously an art I haven’t quite perfected yet.

Just in from...

an early stroll along the beach before the warm day brings out the crowds.

A glorious start to the day in a lovely location.

A lazy bank holiday weekend amidst the building site we call home.
The progress so far...

The wall will have a large window
to allow us to sit at the table in the kitchen and see the sea.  That area has been made from losing part of the long going nowhere 
hall. My pantry will give me joy, filling it with pickles and preserves.

As you can see there is a particularly virulent species of wood worm in these parts! 

The plan is to play pétanque at the local cricket club, yes, I know they do things differently here in Hythe?  Then after a seriously fought few matches we will retire to the pub to refresh our well honed match fit bod’s?  There’s a mad, fun crowd that get in there on Sunday.

The man is then tasked with repairing a magazine rack we bought yesterday at the old toot emporium.  

As we pulled up outside he said 
‘This looks financially dangerous!’

He knows me so well.

You know when...

you see something and you just know you have to have it?

That happened to me today...

this? 

As you can see the marble top 

doesn’t really go, it has been cut to fit, for what purpose?

And then there is the hole underneath. 

‘Fab’or ‘Far’ on each end.

French undoubtedly but for what?

A very peculiar thing and even more strange my desire to own it

‘Any ideas?