STOP PRESS...

I am unable to comment.  A long story, which is boring and due to last night having completed the eight week mindfulness course and now practicing NOT being judgmental I won’t lay the blame squarely at Mr Google’s door.

If anyone knows how I can be recognised as Lettice once again please let me know?  Google has the wrong email address, which I can’t change.  12 year olds in the apple shop run for cover when they see two old duffers hoving to clutching iPads. Tech-whizzes of the land have tried to remedy the total cock-up of my many and various email identities which hubs and the mere broth of a boy in the shop kindly organised for me!  If I could I would knock their blooming heads off.  Mindfulness eat your heart out!

Where to go now? 

Turn the comments off?

What do you think?  Bearing in mind I can’t reply...

... 

I can’t sleep...

is it any wonder as the excitement levels twitch and stretch their muscles.

A funny thing happened today as I drew back the curtains.  

6 am-ish and there just below me was an old lady on an electric bicycle.  She was dressed in all the gear, crash hat and bright pink trainers,  What’s the big deal here LL I am sure you are thinking?  Well she was cycling, to say cycling was a slight exaggeration, not one revolution of the wheels type of cycling.  Hugging the wrong side of the road, next to the prom, she took both legs momentarily off the ground and did a sort of circle, getting off once that was complete.  All the while I watched on in wonderment thinking surely she needs to have one leg higher than the other in order to propel herself along.  Before I go any further I ought to say I’m no yellow wearing jersey clad in lyra lovely!  For one thing my boobs 
are far to big for it to be an 
attractive look... ditto my thighs, so what do I know?

On I watched as a snail overtook her (fib).  Then I noticed the stabilisers, have you ever seen stabilisers on a grown-ups bicycle?  

No? Neither have I!

Maybe that was why she was out and about at sparrow fart and who could blame her?

There are only so...

many hairs you can pluck out of your chin.

Tapestry stitches to sew.

Boxes to pack.

Cakes to make and send to friends.

Instructions to issue.

Countries cuisines to replicate as you sit and wait.

Blog posts to write to bore the few folk who visit.

People to watch as they pass by on the prom.

Plants to to water.

Books to read.

Fishermen to watch catching fish no bigger than whitebait.

Dogs on rescue centre websites to coo over.

Papers to read and chunter over.

Stones with holes in to look for on the beach.

Huffs to get with hubs when he tells me to uncross my gammy leg.

Times to resist the temptation of chocolate.

Walls to climb out of boredom.

Days to count until we go.

Cups of tea to drink before 
billiousness sets in.
Times I can resist showing just one photo of our new home on this blog.  Even now with just a couple of weeks to go I am worried I will jinx the deal.

Is it any wonder I say... 

‘I’m bored, what can I do for badness?’

An oft times refrain heard in this house never more so than 
NOW!

Pros and cons...

of living by the sea.

We have both lived by the sea,

me miles from anywhere on the north west coast of Scotland.  Himself in Budleigh Salterton in Devon.  You really would have thought we might have given it more consideration before we plunged in, as it were?  We didn’t factor in the loss of privacy, how  not having much of a garden would impact on our daily lives.  Arriving at the beginning of December 2017, our stretch of the coast was quiet, not a soul in sight.  That all changed with the advent of last year’s long hot summer.  Coming from a village our cottage was close to the centre  tucked off the road... nobody knew we were there, just how we liked it.  I didn’t chose the header to this blog for nothing!  The summer gave rise to an influx of visitors, all looking in at us, just as we did on our visits to the coast, envying us our magnificent outlook!  All the while we looked
 back at them thinking what have we done?  The noise of children showing their enjoyment by 

screaming and having fun, ditto dogs barking, car doors banging, day and night.  Motorcycles 

revving up as they do 0-60 in 

nanoseconds along the straight that is our road. 

Not one of these things did we consider before we moved here...

What a pair of clots!?!

In just over three weeks we move on.  Happy in the knowledge that we tried it and hands up it didn’t work.  No shame there.

Simon always used to say

‘A wise man changes his mind, a 

fool never does!’

Looking on the bright side we will never pay a premium in a hotel for a sea view!

In your head you are...

still a bright young thing.

Or to put it in simpler terms in my head I am a bright young thing?

Worrying I know.

Just this morning as we munched our brekkie we got to talking about last night’s mindfulness lesson.  Each week I state to himself, this week I will put a sock in it and not say a word.  Each week I fail spectacularly.

‘You are so artistic LL!

said our teacher.

My mouth opened and closed without me saying a word... a result!

Wot!?! 

reverberated around my brain, what gives her that idea?

This morning we got into deep and meaningful about her statement.

‘What made her say that?’

I enquired from him wot knows?

‘It is so obvious by your whole persona!’

‘Wot?’

I can be very fluent when the old grey matter is engaged like NOW!
‘Is it how I dress?’  
I answered my own question by saying 
‘It can’t be as since pain has been a constant I’ve thrown clothes on without a thought!’  
Mobile charity clothes bank comes to mind.

‘You have presence!’

The funny thing is for years I thought I always in any situation flew under the radar.  So much so I well remember my opening gambit to someone was (and by the way it 

wasn’t a man!)

‘You probably won’t remember me, we met at whatever!’
‘Oh yes, I remember you very well!’

My mouth opened and closed and this time I resisted the temptation to say...

yes, you’ve guessed it...

‘Wot?’

When I told hubs my thoughts, he replied

‘Yes, under the radar like the difference between a battleship and a submarine!’

Blooming cheek!

Wearing Y fronts over his...

trews he worked on my knee, back and neck.

Alright, alright you and I both know I am telling a whopper!

He could so easily be doing though, as he now is my most fav. man of the moment...

Superman in a white coat.

As a throw away line I said I am suffering awful headaches with the worry of all the things that have been going on of late.

His hands felt my neck and the legs of the ironing board that had without my knowledge found there way up each side of my neck resisted his touch and some.

‘I see what you mean!’ he said sagely.

As the knee is now much improved he worked on my neck and back.  Which after much cracking and I ought to say the odd groan or two, I walked out feeling like a new woman.  He said as an afterthought my high blood pressure would benefit from my not toting around this ironing board ironmongery.  I’m hoping he’s right as I felt positively lightheaded as I floated up, up and away.

I am off next week to have an orthopaedic surgeon look at the cause of chronic knee pain.  All this with just four weeks now before we move out. Talk about 
taking it to the wire?

You see strange...

things when you live by the sea.

On a cold and bleak day my interest was piqued by a woman sitting on the bench opposite.  What drew my attention was the fact the man with her stood looking this way.  What was that all about I idly wondered.  A car pulled up with four people who got out to join them.  Two women and a  boy and girl, late teens at a guess. The three older women busied about putting things on the bench.  The girl in her moth eaten old fur with black leggings and stout boots, the outfit topped off with jaunty  black beret stood apart crying.  The boy sat on the end of the seat looking forlorn.  The two older men, hands in pockets doing what older men seem to do on these occasions being there in a supporting role without actually displaying any emotions. Perish the thought... showing the merest glimpse of any sort of weakness was I suppose in
their books a sign of the very thing they were trying to avoid... weakness?

The girl cried on, being comforted in turn by the women.  The boy took himself off to the beach and had what I thought was a quiet cry.  The girl joined him, they clung together in mutual grief.  Still the men stood stoically looking on.  

A grey bitter cold day for them to show their respects.

As they drove away the sun came out...

You smile as if...

you heard every word.

 The fact is not one got through the fog that inhabits your ears.  Does your enigmatic smile give a clue to the disconnect that is a constant camp follower of your progress through life?

You are walking wounded: not that the hearing folk can see, nor on occasions seem to have any sympathy for!  You don’t actually want sympathy just empathy with a sprinkle of fairy dust.

We told Audrey our news on Saturday, she took it so well, her Buddhist principles came to the fore.  In a funny way that made it so much worse for me, I was expecting her to have a real go at me, as she has been having of late.  She understood.  Her health is failing, the latest problem being an undiscovered ulcer on the bottom of one of her feet. My battle to get her greater care she 

undermines at every turn.  In many respects our relationship is what I imagine a lot of mother/daughter
relationships to be.  Not having my own mum for 48 years we never got this far!  Her friend living in the same complex is taking up the reins, he luckily is a retired social worker and isn’t phased by her fire.

I wrote this yesterday and decided to post it as it stands.
Not my ebullient self I am fully aware,  however that is where I’m at at the mo.

Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible...

A pot pourri...

of pain overlaid with a large dollop of snobbery.

 Not natural bedfellows I agree. Since being laid up with my gammy leg, I have been unable to indulge in my usual get up and get at ‘em M.O. As a consequence I have craved fuss, indulgence, nubile young men dancing attendance 24/7. Gromit my trusty turn-to in times of need has been packed in readiness for the move.  Himself questioning the need for my being ahead of the packing game with weeks to spare has been silenced as suddenly he can see where I was coming from.  That’s a first in itself!

Alright, alright, where does the partnership of pain and snobbery come in I can hear you thinking... or maybe not?

Well along with the flowers, the choccies, the whole jelly and blancmange scenario, decorated with hundreds and thousands, naturally.  Comfort food is what 

is required.  Never in my long and
 varied life have I ever thought 
of a fish finger sandwich.  That’s a lie maybe I have with true cordon bleu sniffyness, had occasion to think...how very common!

Yes, you’ve guessed it... feebly, frail of voice I requested, nay demanded hubs should venture forth and buy high-end fish fingers.  He returned looking forlorn...

‘Will Capt. Birdseye do, it’s the

 best Hythe has to offer?’ 

‘I suppose so,’ I weakly replied.

A panini full of fish fingers and ketchup were just what the doctor should have ordered instead of an orthopaedic surgeon appointment.

How has the deliciousness of such humble fare passed me by?

Snobbery of a culinary kind, that’s how!

As he peeled me...

off the ceiling, I think our little chat over the telephone  rang true.  The osteopath  suggested it might be the meniscus which had decided to go walk about.  

‘There is no way that you will be able to bend my knee!’ I said in my very best Lady Docker voice.

He snifferly replied

‘I have over 200 ways to tackle getting the meniscus safely back into your knee!

I felt suitably chastened and thought to myself Ted has a point: why can’t I just let the experts get on with their job, without my two penneth?  I do have previous!

Crabbing up the stairs, I eventually flop like a beached whale onto his couch, where he attempts the very thing I said he wouldn’t be able to do.  The squawk, screech, blood curling cry reached the channel tunnel entrance hard on the heels of a train off on a jolly to Paris. 
Running into the arse end of the train it bounced back, reverberating along the tunnel exiting on the British side with all the vibrato of a mystical creature in extreme pain.  

Brexit will never happen now...

‘Sacre bleu!’

‘What was that?’

Entente cordiale eat your heart out?

Anyway back to the couch.

‘Oh dear!’ he said

‘You do seem to have severe infammation!’

I could have frigging told you

that, I ungraciously thought!

It is marginally better now, I go back next Wednesday for more torture, oops I mean treatment... wish me luck!