Hold tight, how the...

mighty have fallen... in one short day from yesterday’s blog post!

The husband has a cough, we were going to see some dear friends on Sunday.  The dragon that is me decided that it would be prudent in view of their very elderly parents to postpone the trip.

A superbly sensible decision, even though I say it myself!?!

I was on a bossy roll, deciding to rush out and get enough loo rolls to build a impregnable wall around our little patch.  That I ought to say is a stonking fib, I only got enough for a drawbridge... fib... ditto!

For an old girl I only have one speed, warp factor... squillon.

Getting home unloading the shopping, I sat long enough for one cup of coffee to be downed, then off I strode up to town. For this self-imposed exile I needed library books, so best I go before that emporium of maybe germ-ridden items, sported a black cross on the door.

As I stepped smartly out, a woman was stood smack in my path.

She said,

‘I saw you coming from way off and I just have to tell you how wonderful you look!  You have obviously taken a deal of care over your outfit!’

My mouth opened and closed a couple of times as I glanced down at my hastily thrown-on togs!

‘Thank you, my husband often says what is it about us women that we compliment each other?’

Thanking her once again I floated off at speed, into the library.  In, two books chosen then home via the fishmongers.

And this is where it all came tumbling down.  Marching away, I looked down at my scarf which was coming untied.  Ever so gently I felt a slight shift in my head. Oh no, not the dreaded BPPV!  Just disregard it I thought as I slowed my pace.  As I stepped onto the walkway to the High Street, I started the usual listing to starboard.  Just get to the fish shop and then it will go... famous last words!  I got the fish paid and then said

‘Do you mind if I sit down as I have a vertigo attack just about to overtake me?’

They couldn’t have been kinder.

I phoned up the man for him to come and pick me up. I sat trying not to move and willing myself not to gag!  I was led away by himself looking for all the world like the drunk I probably appeared to passers by!  Once in the car I dry-heaved all the way home!  

Getting in I was horribly sick I then went to bed with Gromit, my go-to sleeping companion in times of illness... a hottie bottle!

After an hour’s sleep I feel a lot better, still delicate... not a word anyone would describe of me!

And here I am large as life and twice as ‘orrible!

Strangely enough I thought as I hadn’t had an attack since moving to Ludlow, I had grown out of it!

Wrong!  In fairness yesterday I had moved enough soil single-handed to make the ancient Egyptians proud.

I’m one of those...

blooming awful people that always looks on the flaming bright side... well to be 100% accurate most times!?!

Don’t they just get on your t*t ends?

It was brought home to me when the 2004 tsunami hit.  I know for a fact that I would have said

‘Relax, it’s only water!’

Whereas husband was a diver and knew the power of water.  Me a not exactly confident swimmer has self confidence inflated water wings. So I ask you what do I know?

The idea of self isolation is for me, a latent bag lady i.e. tramp, a  chance to hibernate, distance myself from folk, apart from my germ-free blog obv!?!  The garden, the books, the hunkering down, the walking on the wild side in the woods, the reemergence of a moth so stout it is unable to fly is an experience to be well...

experienced!

Don’t you just always hate these always look on the bright-side people?  I know I do!

My mouth dropped...

open making a perfect O 

my mascara wand hovered in midair as if I was the conductor of this performance.  There from the bedroom window I witnessed the most graceful display.  A pair of red kites were wheeling and circling over the college field.

Various fly-pasts were executed low over the mirrored glass of the orangery allowing me to look down and identify the undercarriages of the stars of my own personal fly past.

My breath stood still as I watched in awe.  The crows had a different take on things!  The kites swooped dipping slightly, showing  

total disdain at their entourage of noisy very disgruntled clergymen of the air. As with black cassocks flapping, harassing and haranguing they made the most unholy of rackets!

Home alone and no one to share it with... 

What a magical start to my Tuesday morning!

Does it say more...

 about me I wonder that I felt discombobulated by her assuming I remembered National Service?

Sadly I think it does!

This afternoon as a volunteer I was charged to sit with a lady who had just been admitted.  She had a very painful break which was causing her a huge amount of discomfort.  Tears rolled down her face as she recounted her life story.  Her marriage, her children, their happy retirement until her husband was diagnosed with cancer and his very speedy demise.  She was one of life's talkers.  From tears to smiles and then chuckles.

As she told me about her man doing his National Service she said  ‘Do you remember those days?’  Fleetingly I felt disgruntled as I replied

‘No!’ followed hard on the heels by the thought... well I obviously look as if I should!  The next thing that crossed my mind was...

what a tart to be put out by this simple question, how shallow is that  as I sit here hale and hearty!?!  Our conversation was free flowing, she started to ask things about me, a good sign I thought, taking her out of her particular painful here and now.

Listening is a skill, knowing when to shut up, knowing it is okay for them to give free rein to the tears and sad times.  As we said our goodbyes she looked perkier, brighter and in a small way I felt I had made a difference.

Walking home through town I glanced at this old dear reflected in a shop window and thought...

Yes, I do look as if I might remember men being called up for National Service.  Get a grip LL age is just a number, you’ve had a blooming good life...

madam that you are!

He walked into the bedroom with...

what I could best describe as a plate of dark pink blancmange?

‘It’s for you to help build up your strength!’

‘What is it?’ I feebly enquired.

‘The liver from a freshly slaughtered lamb!’

‘Thank you so much Iain!’

What else could I say as my tum did back flips in horror?

Most nights the shepherd would call, climb the stairs to come to see whether his neighbour showed any improvement.  After hard days on the hill he found the time.

My admiration for the kindness and generosity of the Scots knows no bounds.

It didn’t go...

away and it didn’t go away, if anything things got worse!

The doctor was called, he examined me saying my chest sounded clear. A bottle of jollop was given, red cough mixture.  The next visit... ditto, only this time orange tincture.  By the third visit, I had developed a pain that I can only describe as a sabre being plunged between my ribs deep into my chest.  I laid in the bed to all intents and purposes like a corpse in a coffin.  The reason being I was scared to move because the pain was excruciating.

 As luck would have it on this visit my GP was accompanied by a young doctor who said 

‘Could it be psittacosis?’

A blood sample was immediately taken and sent away for analysis. Back came the results, a large percentage parts

per million of the virus!  

Back they came with an antibiotic that had not long been discovered that tackled it.  The doctor said a few years ago without this drug you would have died!  With the cross over between birds to humans the symptoms don’t develop or show in the same way.  That was why he couldn’t hear fluid on my lungs.  Pneumonia, but not as we know it!  The next question was how all that way from civilisation had I picked it up?

I wracked my brain as to just how; the only conclusion I could come up with I had not long before visited my father in Deal and had stepped into a pet shop.  A long shot especially as the shop didn’t have a resident parrot!?!

The final thought was maybe I had breathed in the dust from my hens’ feathers?  

The Coronavirus sweeping the world has reminded me of my skirmish with the disease crossover from animals to humans. How so little us supposedly intelligent beings know about the weird and wonderful world we all live in and I ought to say take totally for granted.  Best we all wake up!

Let me tell you...

a story.

A long time ago when I lived a self sufficient life on the North West coast of Scotland.

I developed psittacosis.  Yes, parrots disease!  Some who have followed my exploits for a while might not be surprised?  The surprise is where did I pick it up, living as I did ten miles from the nearest village, let alone the nearest flaming parrot?

It all started when one snowy morning I was driving to Inverness 101.6 miles away.  The start of the journey wasn’t the greatest.  My plan was to drive into Lochinver to get petrol.  Driving down into the village the snowplough was slowly coming up the hill.  The car started to skid on the ice, and as if in slow motion I was heading for the blade on the front.  As luck would have it my cool head was on that morning, thankfully I managed not to oversteer and we passed with just a whiskers breath between!

As the journey got underway it was obvious the snow was becoming more of a problem?  Blizzard, whiteout conditions. You realise pretty quickly how important the snow poles are at the side of the road!
Then to add to the problem the alternator started playing up.  It was decided we should call into a garage in Ullapool about halfway there to see what could be done.  Nothing as it turned out!  A new one would have to be ordered.  The advice was to turn round and drive  home with the strict instructions to keep the use of the windscreen wipers to a minimum in order to get us home before the wipers completely killed the alternator.
Well you can imagine the drive I had, the weather was deteriorating, the snow falling thicker and faster.  How I got us home to this day I will never know?  The joys of being the only driver, the man of the moment couldn’t drive, had never learnt!?!
As I parked the car I struggled in exhausted.  The strain of the day I assumed?  I started to cough that was the start of me being confined to bed for six weeks...
to be continued...

Ground control to...

Major Ted!

Work goes on a pace.  If there’s one thing I love and that is getting out there and doing stuff.  I suppose it comes from my other self sufficient life?  Oh and my very hands-on farming life.  I well remember a rep calling and saying to me

‘Look at your hands!’  

Horror writ large on his face, as his well manicured digits hovered over his order pad!  I have my mum’s hands... large, capable!  I can still feel the stinging on the back of my legs as I ran ahead of her up the stairs, in trouble again!  And they say only children are spoilt!?!

Yes my hands are built for work, soil under the nails, I just love it!  No acrylic nails for me thank you!  Come to think of it it would be like putting lipstick on a pig... so wrong!

Anyway back to the greenhouse base.  The slabs have been jiggled about, it is now a case of levelling.  The husband is the main man here as my ‘That’ll do!’ mantra, all my life (yes really!) just won’t do.  Reluctantly I will be the second-in-command, novel but there you are!

Spam....

how does it work?

Anyone know?

I am often known as a daft tart for my odd take on things and skewered way of thinking.  However could it possibly be if the post either has a heading i.e. my last post, that could be misconstrued or the content is slightly risqué?

Does that flag it up?

Next question surely a real person doesn’t sit reading blog posts all day and decide Ah ah, here’s  one!?!  Maybe they are so advanced a machine does it?  Anyway next question does anyone read this rubbish?  And more importantly then act on it?  I think not!

One thing I do know, it so blooming tiresome having to check and then delete.

With that I leave you with this image which some of us remember fondly or possibly NOT?

Off volunteering today so hopefully being of some use instead of the full-on pain I usually am!

Chin, chin!

Forking hell...

we made it!
Second instalment.

This is now...

It put up one hell of a fight.
The ball is now definitely in our court... boom, boom!
Look closely Ellie isn’t carrying a hand grenade or in her case mouth grenade, but a Kong.
The ground is clear, trouble is the next two box balls need lifting.  The one on the right is looking decidedly rough, the one on the left looks fine to be transplanted... trouble is where?
We have marked out the area for the base and now play with graph paper and bits of paper to work out where and which slabs will fit?
The only question now is... 
Do I need to get out more?
Careful how you answer that!

‘We’ve got them by...

the balls!’ 

we cried as commando-like we crept up the steps.  Ellie was the advance party sent ahead to sniff out where they were camped.

We weren’t really surprised at her report that they hadn’t moved.  It was obvious on an earlier reconnaissance that they were settled in for the long haul.

How to get them out was the main thing?  Yesterday we identified the weakest and concentrated our efforts on killing that.  In the process we did sustain one injury nay death!  The garden fork broke its back in the initial onslaught.

The Commander-in-chief sent a squaddie out to the local arms department for a new weapon of mass destruction.

‘Make sure you get the very best they have!’ 

she barked as he slid on his tum away from the theatre of war.

More to follow on the exploits of 
Mum’s Army...