The warmth of a cocker spaniel
Monday Mar 19 2007 13:26:18
Logged on to read the blogs for the first time today. Some are very wistful are they not, quite the Edwardian Country Diary type. Some are very funny and some quite puzzling.
Here I am in Yorkshire and glad that it's cold everywhere else that you're blogging from. I have just spent a fortune going 'wireless' on my out-dated (four years old, I ask you) Apple Mac so I could move it out of the laundry room/dog's bedroom where it's blissfully warm but dusty and into the 'office' part of the dining room. Where, I find today, it's blummin' freezing. So after finding my way to my husband's kind heart with hot pork-and-apple-sauce buns at lunchtime, he indulged me and lit the impossible log burner in the sitting room and here I am typing at the coffee table on the old kilim cushion (which the dog thinks is her bed mark II) with Dirty Gertie lying beside me, fire side, and keeping my right thigh toasty. Hence the title.
Just been in the field for a walk with Gert. I was standing contemplating the dead cat in the river at the bottom of the field and whether I could get down there and prod it a bit with a stick so it floats away to be dead at the bottom of someone else's garden, when I heard a manic squeaking. The field is full of small holes, presumably from the shrews and voles we discovered under the wood pile a couple of weeks ago. I must have been standing on a tiny tail. I looked very hard but couldn't find it under the long grass (neither the shrew/vole nor the tail). Oops, sorry and all that.
Dead cats are a bit of a recurring theme in our family. The day we moved back into our renovated farmhouse last year we found a large kitten in the garden, looking very worse for wear. It was late and the vets were closed so it went into a cardboard box on some newspaper. Milk and water were provided but it was too weak to drink. Fleas leapt around with great joy. Gert the puppy leapt higher than ever to see into the box on top of the stove (it was switched off before you start writing angry replies!). Needless to say after several smelly convulsions it shuffled off this mortal coil. So out went the box on top of the bin for the night until I could bury it.
Tears and prayers from devout six year old - 'Mummy make Smokey a headstone!' he shrieked from the school gate. Oh, erm, ok. So there I was with a left-over half paving stone and a chisel. SMOKE (no room for the Y, slight misjudgement there) and off to dig a hole under the gnarled hawthorn tree. Hole dug, fetch cat, cat out of box, stiff as a board. Won't fit in hole. Hole can't go any wider because of tree roots. Tragi-comedy ensues.
So Smoke (now renamed officially) dealt with and to this day I find myself having to persuade ghoulish son and friend with psychotic tendencies from digging him/her up. "I will dig up smok' said a secret note in his bedside drawer 'privaet no guls alowd'. I'm not a gul I'm a mother and that's something completely different.
It's snowing and I need another cup of honeybush tea so if anyone is interested I'll regale you with the subterfuge and varied deceits surrounding dead cat number three another time. I definitely have more luck with dogs. Don't worry about Gertie.
S*d the environment, it's cold
Monday Mar 19 2007 15:56:46
It's very very cold and all the hard work reprogramming the central heating timer and turning down the thermostats by 2 degrees each has just been reversed by having to put the heating on the all day setting. Am going out on the school run soon and will pick up more long-life light bulbs to make up for it. And maybe some jerusalem artichokes from the farm stand on the way to school. Or not, methane = bad, no? And I am wearing all the thermal vests and jumpers I can get on at once. Nice look.
So pleased to hear you all had lovely mothers days. My sweet darling tiptoed in at 7am and whispered 'Happy Valentine's Day', then disappeared to play death and destruction games with his Playmobil badgers, involving lots of 'aaarrrggghhh! Eurgghh!' at top volume. A charming card with his smiley face popping up from behind a balding hedgehog (clever lever work with a split pin, the child's a genius) bore the message 'Mummy I love you I hop you have the best time in the wold'. So far so good.
Decided to take my Mum to Betty's for breakfast (if you don't know Betty's cafe and tearooms, Google it - best in the wold! Mum had caught wind of the fact I was cooking lunch for the in-laws so wouldn't let me go to Betty's - no time, no time! Panic transferrance extrordinaire. Dad looked glum, I'd been bigging up (get me, I'm hep with the cats in the hood) the breakfast rosti to him while we decorated the spare room together last week. Poor old chap, denied, again. So no treat.
I'm worried people might think I'm a cat murderer from last (or first depending on how you look at it) blog. I'm not, they just all come to me to die. Why do they come to me to die? (from which film? It sounds kinda familiar). I did lie to the vicar last week,though, so I'm going straight to hell anyway. Ho hum.
Stuck in a moment...
Tuesday Mar 20 2007 11:57:08
I'm having a country chic crisis today. Sunday found me wearing the same chocolate brown cord jeans as my mother-in-law (nearly 60), today found me having a cup of tea with my own mother (nearly 70) and we're both wearing the same Tesco cashmere polo neck. The Lands End catalogue is in the mail box and I'm feeling drawn towards comfy separates in linen. I'm only 34 for pete's sake! I'm having a moment.
I was feeling sorry for poor old Kate Middleton as the papers slated her latest Boden-babe look (I'm all for it - loafers, scarves and tweedy jackets, fab). Lamb dressed as mutton! they scream. Me too, my mutton moment is upon me, although I'm hardly a spring lamb like Kate.
I met an old schoolfriend the other day, haven't seen her since sixth form. I was probably sitting under a bush learning to smoke Consulate minty fags last time we met (hiding from teachers, not in a pixie-emulating way). She exclaimed "You haven't changed!', and was probably referring to my clothes, meaning it very literally. I haven't changed, the shape of my jeans has probably changed (although 501s then, 501s now, plus ca change...)
And now we are so passe if we wear bootcut. It took me years to get used to them, feeling like a Bay City Roller with them flapping about by my ankles, and now they take them away! Cruel twist of fashion. I flicked through the Sunday Times Style mag yesterday and am bemused by much of the current trend - wooden wedges anyone? I'd sink in the mud/gravel.
It's tricky when you're a country girl. You can't wear heels or else you sink/break/ruin them, anything smart that can only be dry cleaned is out as everything gets muddy/sooty/mossy very quickly around here. I once tried white jeans. Ha!
I'm confused. Old before my time, fuddy duddy and middle aged prematurely. Premature maturation. Too old for TopShop and H&M, too young for Liz Claiborne? Stuck in a middle aged rut I've been in since I was 17. I think I need a makeover. Suggest a new coumn for CL - in the style of GH's Look for a Lifestyle.
Up hill and down dale
Wednesday Mar 21 2007 20:32:11
Today was a good day - fortified with moleskins and wellies, a walk with my parent's walking group in the Yorkshire Dales. 9 oldies, and me. And it got me thinking as I chatted to 9 other people with no axe to grind, not points to score, no egos to be flattered; how simple life seems to get as you get older.
Not for everyone, I know, my neurotic Aunt who's in her 70's has all of the above issues and then some, but these people knew who they were, what they wanted and where they were in life. We puffed up and down hills, admired spring flowers, lapwings, curlews, Swaledale black face sheep, peacocks (yes, really, even here) and blooming marvellous views and just all got on with our walk together, with a bit of friendly chat and companionable interest in each other's dogs, anoracks, fleeces and walking boot choices.
And afterwards in the car, no-one said "Did you see what she was wearing? Can you believe what he said?"...etc.
All the talk about the school playground on the site here (with which I completely sympathise, having exorcised my last ghost a year ago and am still feeling exhilarated that I won't let her bully me any more) has made me think about those things we say that leave us with the gnawing in the pit of our stomach that won't let us forget, or sleep. The most innocent and well-meaning comment will be taken as a snide, cutting remark by some, usually those with the biggest insecurities.
So I made a decision, as I later lay on the table to Give Blood, (I told you it was a good day - I'm feeling SO Virtuous after a long walk and a donated pint) - speak out if you need to, encourage those who show the courage to have convictions, defend yourself when attacked. I did all this in 2005 and have been in a much happier place since. (And Zoe, I liked the mohair cardy I wore in 6th form, even if was my mother's, and I defy you to ever bully me again and make my cry. Even until I was 33 I let it happen and now I say bugger off you evil schoolgirl.)
Cheer up y'all. The lambs are gambolling (never thought I'd actually use that word) in the fields - go and watch some bouncing and skipping ad just jumping for the hell of it and I promise things will feel so much better.
The smell of squirrels
Friday Mar 23 2007 10:07:23
"I can smell squirrels" said boy-wonder on the way to school this morning - we were in the car in the back of beyond. "What do squirrels smell like?" I asked, trying not to laugh. "Funny, like nuts, sort of." At this point I burst out laughing and we chuckled along together the rest of the way to school. I had been conclusively cheered up after my pre-menstrual gloom of yesterday and boy-wonder was so proud of himself for making me laugh with an innocent comment that turned into his best-joke-ever. The blue skies today help - it's all big sky country round here again.
Yesterday was drizzly and grey, but in the half light the buds on the hawthorn were like little green sequins ready to pop. You just don't notice them the same when it's sunny. Not enough rain, though, to swell the river and wash away the dead cat that's still lodged at the bottom of the garden. I tried to get down there and poke it free with a big stick on Tuesday, but as I stepped down into the water my foot sank in to soft mud up to the ankle so I had to sit down on the bank to steady myself and prise my foot and welly free. And the baby nettles stung my bottom through my jeans. Ow. They are so little yet so vicious. A light dusting of snow covered the cat on Wednesday. I'm obsessed, I know.
Day of morbid ironing and cleaning yesterday, but when I collected boy-wonder from school, kind friend Lucy (mother of boy's best friend) invited me round for a coffee. I sat in my customary chair at her kitchen table in my gloom as she supplied me with coffee, then wine, then fed all the children (and me on the leftovers). She has three small children, a lovely house, always has time for a chat and a coffee, always has hair done and makeup on, is never scruffy, is never late for school. I'm in awe.
Well, off to Pilates now. Like CountryNobody's yoga blog this morning mine was going to be about the community centre where we do Pilates on a Friday morning. I get to have a lie down (don't you love an exercise class where you get a lie down?) and listen to Mums and crying tots, and the social group for people with learning disabilities shouting and manically laughing (I try not to laugh along but it's infectious) in the foyer as we breathe the wrong way round and try to relax! As if! It's a true community centre - the council have tried to jazz it up with a funky name, but it's our cinema, theatre, meeting place and melting pot.
Fish and Chips tonight on a bench overlooking one of the most beautiful views in Wensleydale, if the rain stays away. In the car if not - steamy windows and the smell of salt and vinegar for days afterwards. Happy days are here again!
Village Fate
Monday Mar 26 2007 21:27:14The dead cat has gone. I'm so relieved. It's been lurking in the river for a week and now, thankfully, something's moved it along. I feel like a dark cloud has lifted. Too much time spent standing on the bank staring at it was not good, too morbid and a little disturbing, mainly for the neighbours (strange woman in red anorak still standing staring at the water).
Full Playmobil weaponry lurking at the bottom of the murky bath tonight (ouch) - once again I get third bath (we're being ecologically sound and of course mummy's little darling gets first bath, it's a mean race for second). Third bath,also known as Soup of the Day. Yuk. I long for fresh bubbles with some Ren Morroccan Rose Otto (whatever) bath stuff. Only on a Sunday morning do I get first bath - tons of hot water, so deep, read a few chapters and put a treatment on my hair.
And what about the weather? I do so hope you've had the day we have up here in the frozen north. Frozen no longer! It was positively balmy. And to think a week ago I started blogging from the fireside because the rest of the house was so frigid. Today I threw open the french doors and took my book into the garden (ok, so I was still wearing the red anorak, replaced at lunchtime by a new Lands End fleece which arrived in the post. With my initials embroidered on it! How tragic - how I love it! I'm going to pretend it's ironic but I'm chuffed to bits!).
Decided it's too taxing to think of an interesting title for the blog every time, so I'm going with today's title from now on. Shame, really, as it was my novel title, so please don't anyone steal it - I may yet get around to using it in earnest. No, honestly. If I only had a plot...
Tuesday Mar 27 2007 10:59:27
The plumber came back! At last I should have an en-suite bathroom. The renovation of the farmhouse is nearly finished, we extended into an unused roof-space to create what was going to be a bathroom and dressing room, but both would have been tiny and the bath we wanted was huge, so we abandoned the idea of a walk-in-wardrobe to have a large en-suite. And it's going to be lovely (once it's plumbed in). We've put two dormer windows in overlooking the garden and fields beyond and I'm so excited!
Just need the electrician to come and deal with the wires hanging out of the kitchen walls and we're another step closer. My DIY-phobe husband excelled himself before Christmas and installed the oak floorboards in the dining and sitting rooms - and made a great job. But now I want him to turn his attention to the skirting boards he's gone all evasive on me again.
It's gardening weather and we've got 2 1/2 acres to transform from muddy paddock into gardens. We have plans for a large wildlife pond, orchard, wildflower meadow, veg garden, cutting garden, knot garden, covered walkway... lots of work but lots of inspiration from back copies of CL, Gardens Illustrated, the English Garden etc.
I was helping a friend with ideas for her new kitchen the other day and got my trusty scrapbook out. I collected images from magazines and brochures over the years and stuck them into a child's scrapbook covered in a gorgeous wallpaper sample pinched from Laura Ashley. I am amazed at how many of my ideas have now come to fruition, ok so we couldn't afford the Fired Earth bathroom or Mark Wilkinson kitchen, but what we have found independently is much cheaper and just as lovely. Our local cabinetmaker has hand-built a beautiful oak kitchen which is a true one-off and at less than half the MW price.
I have splashed out on the lovely fabrics from Vanessa Arbuthnott (going to make some little curtains from Out and About for the en-suite this afternoon). The kitchen's all duck-egg Cockerels and Hens (many chickens as my friend's two year old noted) and the sitting room has the Arts and Crafts inspired Pie in the Sky. Just lovely. I can't believe how lucky I am to have all this - growing up in a town I can't remember ever wanting to live in the country, and I was a City girl in my early twenties, but falling in love with a country boy does strange things to you and once you get used to being woken up by the cockerel and cows there's no going back.
I'll take a picture of the lovely new bathroom once it's finished and try and post it here. For now, here's a practice with one of the dog, Gertie. Searching through i-Photo to find a pic I found the pics of our house during part-demolition stage almost exactly a year ago. To think how far we've come, I am blessed!
Tuesday Mar 27 2007 17:49:30 Tsunami the plumber has lived up to his name once again. He hasn't been gone half an hour and I notice a puddle on the kitchen floor. Think the dog has disgraced herself (she's still a puppy so the odd accident is bound to happen...) but no, the water is coming from behind the door frame to the laundry room. Puzzled, I look up - dampness in lines all over the blummin place. So I turn off the water at the stopcock and run upstairs.
Where there is meant to be an ensuite bathroom there is a basin (ostensibly plumbed in but you wouldn't dare turn on the taps), and two shiny chrome standpipes. No bath, no loo. The hot tap is leaking from inside the standpipe. The screws fixing it to the floor are so tight I can't get the pipe off to see where the leak is and do something about it.
This morning I read exmoorjane's sad and grumpy title and thought, in a particularly Doris Day fashion, "oh, don't be sad and grumpy, be happy!' but now I'm sad and grumpy too.
Just sent husband upstairs to unscrew the pipe - just what you want when you get home from work, another plumbing emergency.
And I was so proud - I built half a stone wall this afternoon. Flipping Tsunami has rained on my parade again. Literally. Grrr.
Wednesday Mar 28 2007 21:16:48
Tsunami the plumber was appropriately contrite this morning. I was kind, and didn't shout or nag, just pointed out that I managed to mend his leak with PTFE tape (my Dad served his time as a heating engineer - albeit 50-odd years ago, and there are some things you just learn by osmosis when you help out as a child!) so maybe he might check his work next time before he leaves the scene of the crime. So not too much water through the kitchen ceiling today, which is a Good Thing as Saint Martha Stewart (I heart Martha) would say.
So we have a basin that appears to work and not leak, and a BIG bath in the middle of the room. Great for my exceedingly tall husband, but it's so big that very small me just sort of disappears into the bottom and it's all slippy and odd. So pouff goes the dream of rose-scented bubbles, champagne and a good book for hours on end. Back to the old bathroom, paint-splattered original bath and dripping taps. Hey-ho. The new bath's the kind of bath you share - in a romantic way. Having been married nearly 10 years, I've forgotten why you'd want to share a bath...
Almost finished the stone wall this afternoon - it's looking really good, rustic but satisfying. My back's breaking but in a good way. Nothing a stiff gin won't sort out! I'm definitely going to take a pic and show off about it, I'm so proud. All the old stones from the bits of house and wall that had to come down last year to appease the planners (grrr, planners...) are being re-used. How eco-friendly.
Lots of blogs today telling a story like my life from somewhere else, I love to read that. A big red sun at dawn like the one I walked across my field under yesterday, just stunning. Plumbers and plasterers turning up or not, animals behaving badly or strangely. All in a day's work. It makes me feel my slightly off-kilter life is less odd than I feared.
The man from FWAG is coming in the morning to look at the wildlife pond site and give me some advice, looking forward to that. The a church service for the end of term in the afternoon - I have to read a piece so now I'm off to hunt out a bible to find out what it is before Desperate Housewives (and another G&T? I've stopped buying wine as I think I drink too much of it so now am drinking anything else I can lay my hands on. That last half inch of Kahlua circa 1995? Meths and tonic anyone?)
Thursday Mar 29 2007 18:47:26
The FWAG man cometh and the FWAG may says we can dig a pond and puddle it with clay and fill it from a land drain under the field - hurrah! And he said we should keep some geese to keep the grass down in the meadow. Oh dear me, I am scared of big birds. So I took advice on the chat forum and Gardenwitch says no, and I gather she knows her stuff. So I am heeding that advice. I shall just buy a hardy mower.
Easter service this afternoon, got all bright-eyed at hearing the children singing Mary's Song (Tell me why did it have to be done/when my feelings of love are so strong/could it be there's a reason for taking the life of my son?) Gulp, I defy any mother of an only son to not be moved by those words, sung with such passion by forty small children. Deep breath, don't blink, there, all gone now.
Have bought a beautiful weeping willow-leaved pear tree for the turning circle on the front drive. And, on the advice of the FWAG man, some silver birch saplings for the bank of rubble in the field. We'll plant a stand of them to cover the ugly bank and provide a delicate screen. I love seeing the sun shine through birch trunks - it's like a barcode. Or driving past a birch sapling wood reminds me of the flashing lights you get with a migraine. Only less painful!
In true it-shouldn't-happen style, I have just made some yorkshire puddings to go with the sausages and mash (toad out of the hole) for dinner this evening. When I try and get them right, they're a mess. Flat, tasteless, stodgy. And then tonight when I pull the flour jar out and there are only two-spoons left in it (and no spare bag in the larder), I substitute the other two spoons with SR (cardinal sin in YP making circles) and then think it looks a bit odd so bung another egg in. would you believe it, they're the best ever. But I know I'll never ever be able to replicate them. Especially not when the in-laws are round for Roast Beef. And me an adopted Yorkshire woman, the ability to make the native puddings should come with the territory.
Just to finish, something that always makes me smile on the subject of toad in the hole. A French friend said to me one day 'I cannot understand this turd in the hurl.' So it's Turd in the Hurl round here to this day. Always makes me chuckle.
Friday Mar 30 2007 17:13:03
Have just had a giggle on Google. Looking for a pic of a glass of wine to embellish my boring blog of the day, I typed in 'glass of wine', as you would, and there are loads of people on their hols holding up a glass of wine to the camera! Ho Ho. And a picture of a dolphin, and some chickens. Bizarre.
The glass of wine is because I'm craving. In an attempt to drink less (although on two/three glasses a day, I hardly need AA yet) I have stopped buying wine. And started raiding the cupboard. Gin doesn't do it for me any more, when I drink gin I get achy shoulders, which I know sounds a bit odd, but so does my sister, so it's not just me being strange.
So I almost finished the wall - some achievement for me. My day job recently has been beauty writer for a local magazine. So boring, but they pay well. It involves me learning lots about anti-ageing and anti-cellulite treatments. The Editor says 'go and have your wrinkles done'. I think 'What can she see that I can't?' I may well have a few grey hairs and there is an element of slight crepeyness under my eyes (but realistically only I can see that in my magnifying mirror), but I am far, far from needing Botox. Cheeky madam. AND, I'm not a footballer's wife. But, on the plus side, I have met some lovely blonde girls with tans who know lots and lots about hot wax.
So, you see, building a wall is a big deal for me. And it looks quite good. I promised a pic and will post one when I can find the camera and the USB cable.
Oh, bugger it, I'm off to the supermarket to buy wine. There are health benefits you know. It's Friday. Will probably buy an Indian take-away meal too, might as well spend the Beauty fees on things to make me have bad skin and cellulite. Give them something to work on next time!
Sunday Apr 01 2007 11:21:47
Meant to be following a donkey from one village to the next this morning in the Palm Sunday procession. But didn't wake up until late-ish (the bliss of turning the alarm clock off!) so couldn't face the full-on nagging session that would have had to ensue to get boy ready, me ready, dog walked, breakfast all round etc. It's Sunday, a day of rest, not a day of frenetic harrying and temper-losing.
And how, may I ask, is it going to take an HOUR to walk a donkey two miles? There would have been lots of standing around, and despite the fact the sun's trying to shine, and without the red anorak (down filled, ahh) I would have frozen (can't wear muddy anorak with dog-biscuit filled pockets to church).
So, heathen that I am we're not going to church on Palm Sunday. The boys only use their crosses as guns or swords anyway. The only bit of Christ on the Cross they're bothered about is how much blood? And did they really nail his feet? Cool. Boys! Eye rolling! (Must stop doing that.)
Have a rosé induced headache again this morning. After Friday's blog I rushed to M&S Food (our local market town finally got one last year, and there's rumour of a Waitrose too - how exciting) to buy ready meals and cold wine - only rosé in the fridge, so I bought a couple of bottles. Delicious but two (umm, maybe three, just tiny ones, though) glasses gives you a whopping headache. Did it stop me going back to the bottle for more last night? Of course not. Glutton for punishment. Or just glutton.
Thanks for funny comments on Friday's blogs, made me chuckle. I'll keep you updated on the beauty front.
And for Gardener's hands? Keep your nails a bit longer so the ends of your fingers don't crack, keep an anti-ageing handcream on your bedside table and really slather it on before bed, and if you have the luxury of half an hour watching TV on an evening, rub in handcream (do your heels as well - best after a bath when the skin's softer) while you sit and watch. Keep Atrixo next to the sink so when you've washed your hands you can put a bit on. It's an oldie but a goodie.
Monday April 2nd 2007
You guys! Milla and exmoorjane, genius with the show all thing! I have comments galore - seven on one blog from last week which touched a nerve about fashion for the older lady! Thank you *all* for you lovely comments and for actually reading the rubbish I type. Oh, tearful moment, love you all so much, virtual friends rule! And you can't see me looking rough in my mismatched Primark PJs.
Finished the wall tonight. Will take a pic tomorrow and work out how to post it. Had to mould concrete onto the top to match the old part, but was quite fun patting it into place.
'A bit like smacking a bottom' I commented cheerfuly to a passing neighbour.
'I've seen it all now...' she muttered, looking appalled as she walked past with her fat dog.
'I bet you feel like putting your nipples in it.' said my husband, admiring my handiwork.
'My Nipples? What? God, do you ever think of anything else?' and I was off on a rant (again).
'No, I said INITIALS.' He replied.
'Ah, oh. I see.' What more could I say after that?
Another day of horrendous misunderstandings and rudeness in our household.
Tuesday Apr 03 2007 16:42:42
Here's a pic. And I shall say no more on this subject.
The dog smells, the house is cold and the boy is upstairs with his best friend building 'aminal' world out of Playmobil. We tidied all the Playmobil away into an attractive plastic storage chest of drawers newly purchased to make the playroom tidy (which in turn was created from the small spare room to render the bedroom tidy). I've just heard an avalanche noise accompanied by little friend saying 'You're going to get really told off now.' Sigh.
Kind Lucy gave me wine at 3pm, while her sweet miniature dachshund slept on my knee, so the afternoon drinking headache is coming on already. At least it will save me drinking more tonight. But now I am craving just one tiny Marl. Light. And I gave up 10 years ago! Will the addiction never go away?
Karate tonight, burly man from Hartlepool with lots of tattoos teaching my baby boy how to defend himself against school bullies and would-be-abductors. He needs a head-guard and a groin guard, I feel that's a father and son task. I just have no idea where to start on the cricket box front. Never seen one, just heard rumours.
Have to go and force seven year olds to eat fish goujons (for goodness sake they're just funny shaped fish fingers, just eat them) and at least two types of veg before they're allowed chocolate.
Hope everyone's well and happy - does anyone else feel a bit flat now the holidays are here and nothing exciting's happening? Need to get the 'I'm Bored' books out, don't I?
Wednesday Apr 04 2007 17:48:39
I have the proverbial joys of spring today, after yesterday's slump of misery I am back on form.Sadly for some readers I started off the day with the sort of country loving hedgerow gazing pursuits that really peeve some people off. Sorry. The badgers had cleaned out their sett and pushed soft brown soil and stones all over the lane, so I helpfully cleared that up (at 7am, Pollyanna had nothing on me), then saw a flock of what might or might not be fieldfares, too far away and didn't have giant prescription sunglasses on (can't find normal specs, so am buggered driving in the dark). Then two yellow birds flew out of the hedge right near me (greenfinches, yellowhammers? )and were so pretty and chirpy. Blue skies! White clouds! Smelly dog! Grubby anorak!
Then best ever friend with new baby and four year old came to play. New baby V sweet and beautiful, didn't cry much (all babies cry when I pick them up, I think I'm too bony or something. Maybe they just know I'm mean and don't like other people's children much), four year old delighted to play with my little delinquent and vice-versa, old friend and I drank tea on a bench in the patch of bare earth we laughingly call a garden, and chuckled and snorted a lot. Perfect.
Acupuncture this afternoon, ah, the bliss of lying down for half an hour in a darkened room with a heat lamp over your tummy. Don't know whether it works or not but I do like the lie down. Am trying to sort hormones out after three years on a 'dead from the scalp down' mini pill that suppressed all hormonal activity. I need, shall we say, perking up a bit. Sadly for my patient and long-suffering husband, all my 'perky' thoughts seem to be directed at lovely TV gardener Dan Pearson and stand-in-teacher at Karate. Husband gets the Primark pyjamas (my friend's husband calls her long nightie the iron curtain!) and cold shoulder treatment. I am such a cow.
And yes, the giant prescription sunglasses are a bit WAG but just as I sensibly chose the all-in-one price for £50 pair, the (canny) nice optician asked if, purely out of interest of course, I might like to look in the Bling cabinet. Ha! said I. Not interested in that sort of expensive tat... until I spotted some giant D&G ones, plain black with with LEOPARD print inside! How could I say no? I love a bit of leopard. I'm all Homes and Gardens with my Farrow and Ball (yes, I know, only in one room), but show me a leopard print cushion and I start channeling a Texan Whorehouse.
Thursday Apr 05 2007 09:01:05
It's a noisy morning out there today. Last night at about seven it was so peaceful and calm, this morning at about seven it's all baa, cock-a-doodle-doo, moo, woof, caark (bang), tweet, rumbling tractors, beep-beep reversing farm vehicles, rattling trains and distant traffic noise. Must be something atmospheric that makes it noisier on a morning. Much better though than the sirens and booming bass of car stereos that paraded past my window when I lived in the city.
Thought husband had come to a sticky end last night when he didn't turn up until after 8. He won't have a mobile so although I knew he was going on an errand for his parents, thought he'd be back by 6.30. Was musing that maybe, just maybe, at least the giant, suffocating mortgage would be paid off, when he came back.
He'd been to the auction house to pick up some furniture his mother had bought last week. It's a dangerously expensive addiction, buying things at auction.
I went up there a few weeks back and managed to get a beautiful Arts and Crafts oak sideboard for the dining room for £20. And then I bought Foxy Brown. Well, nobody wanted her, the bid went down to a fiver, I held my number up and then somehow the next bid was £30. Eh? Yer what? How did that happen - some sort of bid rigging I think. I ended up giving in to the auctioneer who was making comments like 'there's a lady that likes a bargain' and 'just one more bid? another five?' and paid £35. But she's a beauty. No fleas on foxy.
"Pretentious" said my sister, so I gave her (Foxy not sister) a little bow around her neck. Just sets off the ginger fur beautifully. And of course, what could be better than leopard print - turquoise leopard print?
Glorious morning, but whose idea was it to have Easter holidays? Had to separate the boy and the dog twice already this morning. I don't need to have an extra child, the one I've got picks a fight with the dog, the TV, any inanimate objects at hand instead of a sibling.
No alarm clock-rude awakening today, husband got up early and walked the dog for me (she's my dog so it's my job, especially when it's raining!) so I got a little lie in. But how depressing we're both finding it that as you get older (and do more gardening) you can't lie in because your back aches. Even a new expensive mattress has not cured that one! No rest for the wicked or the gardeners.
A lovely weekend planned just pottering around. The garden furniture comes out of a two-year retirement to a shed today. I'm dying to get the raised beds in place for the veg seedlings and sweet peas languishing in the cold frame. It's so gorgeous to have a proper home at last, there are still things in storage that we've largely forgotten about. Unpacking each box is like getting new things all over again. It's amazing what you forget about in two years.
The kitchen man is sending someone round for a look at ours in the morning (in exchange for a case of wine - fair deal) so I'll have to polish the perma-dust off the granite and hoover the dog hair up off the floor.
Easter Sunday means a leg of lamb. The one I've bought is so big it may have come from a giant mountain goat. No-one can decide what time they want dinner, or even if they want to come at all (anyone for a better offer?) so I'll have to nag to find out numbers today. My sister jokingly asked if I could plate it up and take it round to them in their garden meals-on-wheels stylee. So much for a family get-together. It's not so much they don't want feeding, it's just we're all terrified the sunny weekend may be the last for a while.
The little straw hen was a gift from my friend Kay last Saturday. It falls over, left to its own devices, so has to rest on the spoon that was unearthed while digging a hole for a tree. An old fashioned, silver plated tablespoon - I'd love to know how it got there and whose it was. Can't imagine farmworkers in our tumbledown house of yore using silver cutlery!
PS If anyone's doing the Coast to Coast walk - let me know and I'll make you a cup of tea on the way past! The walkers have started trooping through the village looking weary and causing havoc with cars (and milk lorries) driving too fast on the railway bridge.
Friday Apr 06 2007 13:31:48
An amazing discovery - potatoes have tummy buttons.
While sorting 6kg of Pentland Javelins into egg boxes to chit (to chit or not to chit? experts are divided) this morning, noticed that each tuber has a stumpy umbilical cord where it was attached to its mother plant.
Have persuaded husband to go and get the rotovator and start churning over the patch for the veg garden. Hurray!
Little fluffy ducklings, umbilical cords, I think I'm getting broody. She who doesn't like children. Must be those hormones.
Friday Apr 06 2007 21:27:03
So sorry, don't mean to go on and be one of those every five minutes bloggers, but did you see Christine's Garden tonight on BBC 2? Couldn't you just hug her? Don't you just love Reg and his smile? It's one of those simple, feel good programmes that is just perfect. Her comment at the end 'everyone can go and see a garden in the sunshine, but not everyone sees one in the rain when everything sparkles' was so pure and heartfelt.
Likewise, Monty Don on Gardener's World. To know he suffers from depression and to see the man's passion for the garden he's creating is wonderful. His book The Complete Gardener is my bible for creating our garden. Likewise Carol Klein and her veg. She has inspired me. And now I know Joe Swift's Dad is Hyacinth Bucket's husband it's so obvious!
Family fallings out round here today. Mentioned the leg of goat meal on Sunday (Sorry again, I really didn't mean to refer to an earlier blog so you'd have to trail back and look, so boring and tedious). The gist is, I invited Ma & Pa and sister and entire family (three kids aged 17-23 plus boyfriend of eldest). Heard nothing from sister. Ma annoyed she hasn't committed. Rang sister to check. Not coming, she says, also invited to In-laws on Monday and doesn't want go so can't come to ours as has had words with husband about it. Sister annoyed with our Ma & Pa for many and various reasons - all the usual stuff, you know how it is. They're not interested in her veg garden, nor my wall, much to her annoyance etc...
God! All I wanted was to see my family all in one place for a meal. Didn't mean to cause WW III. Have invited my own in-laws as well as my parents. They can discuss genius grandson and the Grannies can feed him as much chocolate as possible before dinner, and not stress when he eats no veg. And look at me like I'm neurotic when I stress cos he's eaten no veg.
MamaHen, I'm down at the bottom of the garden with you, eating worms.
I hope you like my forget me nots. Are being transplanted around the new weeping pear tomorrow. Tres picturesque.
Saturday Apr 07 2007 20:30:15
The kindness of the neighbours knows no bounds. Jerry next door (of Jerry and Margot, so obviously not his real name) donated three wheelbarrow-loads of plants to the empty borders appeal fund. Irises (three types), aquilegia, hardy geranium, peonies, hellebores, thistley things, all healthy and lovely and now planted in our nursery bed, awaiting borders being prepared.
Today we made the raised beds for the veg. Inspired by last night's Gardener's World, we recycled oak beams from the part of the house that was pulled down a year ago (FWAG man said we could have got £100+ each for them, but never mind - also £2 each for the Georgian bricks we've used to make paths), old roof joists from our house and in-laws house and scaffolding boards nicked from the Stella Artois-fuelled scaffolders who in turn had nicked my topiary box balls in lead-look cylinders. Bustards.
Off to pick up some horse poo in the morning from husband's (henceforth called the Tall One, cos he is. Very.) work colleague, the saintly Sarah (I love her because she takes all the daytime flak, thus reducing the amount of moaning I have to put up with on an evening). Not for the potatoes though, says my sister, who is donating a no-longer-needed massive trampoline (hurrah!) to the bored nephew appeal fund. Will admire her giant and much more professional veg beds (she's très riche) to make up for the fact that Mum hasn't.
Have gone a bit overboard on the Easter egg front. A hunt will take place at the crack of dawn. Hopefully I'll be awake just before the crack to place eggs all around. In bird bath, in fork of plum tree etc. Now have to write clues. Child genius has a plethora of little foil wrapped eggs to hunt out, and myriad toys also. I can't help myself, little soft bear from M&S, Playmobil mini magnetic sets (x3, I was out of control in the shop, but I feel I'll have to retain a couple for future bribery purposes), WRVS Wind in the Willows charity mini soft toys from the Halifax in town. The hunt will culminate with a large Elizabeth Shaw mints egg (strange adult tastes in one so young). My son, spoilt? I think so. And we're meant to be skint - I've had to hide most of these from the Tall One but I'll be outed in the morning.
Well, knackered and aching, I crawl off to my bath in the Roman sarcophagus we call our 'posh' bath. I have asked that, when we extend (we haven't even finished the original bit yet), I might have a lovely little slipper bath to call my own. Tall One pointed out that by the time we can afford to extend I will need a bath with a door. Or a hoist. Hmm.
Couldn't photograph the forget-me-nots in their new place as they all wilted in the sun and look dreadful. Hope they will perk up, have watered them relentlessly. Here's the bleeding heart from my last garden, a promise of things to very shortly come.
Happy Easter all, hope the Bunny's kind to you.
Sunday Apr 08 2007 08:18:05
After a sleepless night worrying about being the Easter Bunny, and thinking my blog last night made me sound totally profligate and my son utterly, horribly spoilt, I have had a wonderful morning.
He woke at 6.45 and tiptoed into our room, eager to go outside.
'Just watch TV for ten minutes while I walk the dog so she won't chase you round and find any eggs first. OK?'
'OK Mummy, but take her up the lane, don't let her go in the garden!'
His absolute faith and earnest little face was very heartwarming. So the dog and I tiptoed around the garden hiding tiny foil wrapped eggs in plant pots and in the branches of trees. A couple of small treats (I put the rest in the birthday gift drawer) and the one large egg up the plum tree and that was it. A modest stash, but he's thrilled. I loved to see his wonder at the Easter Bunny's kindness.
And the best thing, we're going to collect the manure in an hour or so, my friend Sarah has a little grand-daughter and my kind boy has chosen a clutch of his eggs to put in a little paper basket for her. I am suitably proud that he has chosen to share so freely. He has even offered to share the Elizabeth Shaw mints out after dinner this evening. I actually think Grandpa and Grandad would make perilously short work of them so he'd be better keeping those to himself!
Have a lovely day everyone, remember to stop eating chocolate before it actually makes you sick!
Love, Kitty x
PS, Lovely kind comments as usual, thanks. I think the spotty eggs or little nests are much more in keeping with the spirit of Easter, to my eternal dismay I fall prey to the commercialism of these festivals every time. Simplicity is key, the little familiar rituals are what will be remembered as special long after the sugar rush dies down!
Sunday Apr 08 2007 21:37:42
A lovely day. Since I last blogged we seem to have done more than a day's worth of things.
Shovelled horsey poo on and off a pick-up. Bounced on the trampoline (I feel the gravitational pull may bring on a self-induced hysterectomy if I'm not careful. Must engage pelvic floor. Zip, tuck and engage. it's what all that Pilates is for!). Dug over veg beds, planted new seedlings of cowslips and primroses stolen from sister's garden, made dinner (fab leg of mountain goat/giant lamb), eaten dinner, drank lots yet still strangely sober.
My face looks like a schoolboy's knee. Gorgeous son and I were having a race to the trampoline when I somehow found myself crumpling towards the ground. Scrubbed face along the mud, so now I have a cut under my chin, grazed upper lip (as if the un-Jolened 'tache isn't bad enough) and a bruised browbone over left eye. A good look. Goes with the cake-listening burn to cheekbone near right eye. I'm a real looker, me. I blame the tumble on the gardening clogs. And for the record, I fell over, I did not 'have a fall'. That's what old people do and it's all too Alan Bennett for me yet. And I had NOT been drinking!
And for those who may think I just swan around in (Tesco) cashmere from my recent comments on another blog, let me paint a picture of today's wardrobe choices. Aforementioned gardening clogs (navy blue plastic) replaced green wellies at around lunchtime. Old cords with Copydex glue on them (it's the glue that smells, not me), jumper donated by a friend - bobbly under arms, t-shirt that somehow had not come off since last night in bed when it was a bit cold. As I was shovelling horse manure this morning, did not see sense in changing out of 7am dog-walking gear. Didn't in fact look in the mirror until my face was covered in mud.
After a hot bubbly bath (bless my husband - took pity on pitiful me), changed into Tesco smart jeans, Matalan Minnie Mouse style spotty summer blouse (too tight over bust, which mercifully didn't hit the ground, always the worry they may pop!) and New Look shoes (espadrille wedges, SO last semester, darling). No makeup, face too raw/sore. But thank goodness for Beauty Ed job and a new sample of By Terry foundation pen/brush thingy. Will come in useful in the days to come!
Off to bed now, exhausted from day's shenanigans. Whatever next?
Monday Apr 09 2007 13:01:32
I have a neanderthal eyebrow today. Just the one. After the calamities of yesterday I am walking gingerly today.
And typing gingerly - now wondering, along with others on the site, why we get attacked for writing our own workaday blogs. Nothing of great excitement happens, but sometimes something marvellous or funny is worth sharing. Or if you're feeling blue, a quick blog and someone or other cheers you up.
Each to their own and I suppose everyone is entitled to their say, good or bad, passionate or quotidian, kind or cruel (though easy on the cruel please, I'm a sensitive soul and cry at the slightest criticism).
Here's the plum blossom that I photographed yesterday morning when the sky was so blue it felt like I was in Greece. Until I turned round and saw the new crack in the new render. Ah. New worry.
Tuesday Apr 10 2007 09:33:31
I was born in a seaside town, took years of elocution lessons, moved to the big city to get a job, came to the country to get married.
The one thing this has left me with is a strange accent. Seaside accent was pure Teesside (we're known as monkey hangers). Elocution drummed out the flat vowels. Next to the big city, a touch of Geordie - when I arrived I really couldn't understand a word the assistants in John Lewis spoke, never mind the taxi drivers! Down to the midlands and another job, eyup me duck y'aaarite? And now ee by gum, I'm in't country reet and proper.
My husband, the tall one, has never left Yorkshire (except for holidays). Imagine his confusion when I booked him an appointment at my hairdresser and the lovely girl (pure Teesside) said 'Iyaer! Howee over 'ere.'
'That means hello, follow me, come this way' I whispered. He looked utterly bewildered.
The rogue plasterer who worked on our house last year unwittingly told me the funniest story - it made my week. We were discussing 'going out' a local preoccupation. 'Where do you go out then?'
'Oh, we don't really much, not very often any more, I'm too old for pub crawls now.' I admitted.
Plasterer obviously felt he needed to up the ante to keep my interest.
'I reely like that restaurant, Lord's' he said. 'Me and our kid [brother] took our lasses their. it was dead nice. There was this bloke in a suit at the door saying 'owee in' and everything.'
At this point my eyes were almost watering and it was all I could do to stop myself bursting out laughing. I had a mental picture of Stephen Fry as Jeeves, standing at the door of this Country House hotel and restaurant, ushering in the fab foursome and murmuring 'Good Evening, Ladies, Gentlemen. Howee In.'
There's a marked divide in restaurants around here. You can tell whether the customers are from the more industrial towns to the north (ladies v. glam, lots of jewellery and heels, chaps with shirt hanging out) or Yorkshire (chaps in cords, red socks and pink shirts, ladies Boden and loafers).
At the county show last year I was talking to a young girl in Dubarry boots, designer jeans, a Joules polo top and the inevitable leather cowboy hat. She quite transparently wanted a red-socks type to finance her horse habit. 'Good God, all these townies!' She decried 'Eating burgers and showing too much flesh.' I could see what she meant, that divide was there again. But it's the influx of 'townies' coming to see the boring County Show that in fact keeps it going year after year. There just aren't enough country folk to fill the showground it seems. The Hunt came into the arena with the hounds baying and horns tooting and my lovely new friend's eyes shone, she was almost breathless as she tossed her blonde hair about and made eyes at the men. 'That's my friend Greg!' she squealed, 'a car dealer, got himself the most super horse and joined in!' This townie, it seemed passed muster because he had a handsome grey mare, a giant horsebox, a Chelsea tractor and a twinkle in his eye. Double standards ahoy!
(The girl in the cowboy hat got her man. The rake from the Hunt introduced her to a short, portly chap with red socks, cream cords and a tattersall shirt. They clicked. They're now in London, he's trying his hand in the city. She's biding her time until a particularly juicy bonus and daddy-in-law's sad demise means they can buy an estate and some horsies. And then she'll probably run off with another rake from another local hunt.) I sound cynical, but this gorgeous girl is straight out of Jilly Cooper or Veronica Henry!
Here's a pic of Primula Denticulata. And thanks for the nice comments about my photos. No skill involved, just a good camera and lots of pretty flowers!
Sorry, it's a long one. Hope you managed to stay awake.
Tuesday Apr 10 2007 17:32:16
Now that MaidofKent's Little Puss is back home safe and well, thank goodness, I feel I can fill you in my 'another dead cat in the river' saga.
I think the farmer up the lane must be shooting wild cats and throwing the bodies in the river. Or else they're all going fishing and fall in. The last one was black and white, this one's grey, and I know they have grey farm cats up there because my neighbour's got two beautiful fat ones that were rescued as kittens from one of the barns.
What do I do? I can't accuse the man of shooting cats. He's a great farmer, very neat and tidy, lovely farm, keeps all the permissive footpaths in order, plays by the rules. But how many cats must I stand and worry about? This is the third in as many months. Another died, probably of poisoning, in a box in our kitchen, not making it until the morning when the vets opened.
I'm not a huge cat fan after having two black and white beauties (Stan and Ollie) that constantly had fleas and regurgitated worms on my kitchen worktops (there I go with the vomit again) - and before anyone says it, they had their injections, were microchipped and regularly wormed and de-flead with expensive stuff from the Vet. Ollie got into a fight, got an infected leg, the vet couldn't seem to cure it and he had to be put down eventually after many and expensive drugs. Stan ran away constantly, and has now turned up on my friend's parents' farm (after a three year absence) and lives happily in a barn under an assumed name. Stan is now 'Mr Smith'.
So as you can see I am wary of cats, they and I don't seem to gel. But so many dead ones? Is this some sort of divine retribution? Help!
Fritilaria Meleagris - snakeshead fritilary (not sure that spelling's right) photographed last April 21st at Holker Hall, Grange-over-Sands, Cumbria. Beautiful. And breathe...
Wednesday Apr 11 2007 17:48:05
Warning - this blog has no wholesome country message, deals with kids, choc, money and wine. And horse manure.
I have been very brave today. I let my son go on his first solo bike ride to the village - across the crossroads - gasp! He's 7 and as he said, he's an old boy now.
I stood on the doorstep peering down the lane muttering 'stick to the left, no, the left, slow down a bit, now sto-o-op.' And then he was gone. No squealing of brakes, no awful crunch. He stopped, looked, listened. All was well. It reminded me of his first day at school when I stood in the front garden of our house (opposite the tiny village school in our old village) at playtime and lunchtime, listening for his cry, just in case.
Can you tell I'm the mother of an only child? Neuroses-R-us. I didn't dare have a glass of wine to calm the nerves in case the newspaper headlines ran 'Wino Mother of hit-and-run boy's Shame'. (Can you tell I'm a frustrated tabloid journalist too?) So I scoffed three mini Bounties in succession. Like I had Bulimia but without the Vomiting (Ha! knew I'd get it in! Tasteless, but it feels good.)
Anyway, he came back in one piece, had gone as far as the church and turned round, had a poke at the squidgy fungus on the tree stump on the green, and now he's exploring the badger set. Now listening for growls and squeals. Serve 'im right.
A good day - nice lady in the local family department store told me Boy didn't need new school shoes or trainers - £60 saved!. Slight hitch is I'll have to clean them both now before Monday.
His worrying rash around his ears is good old prickly heat and not horrid old eczema, serves me right for getting his hair cut and then sending him out in the sun without a hat. New hat (from Fat Face so he'd actually want to wear it) - £14.50, boo! But, passing the veg stall on the market at 3pm there were all kinds of bargains to be had - four bags full for £9.70. Unsure of provenance of most of it, but such a bargain and supporting a local business and market, so not TOO bad.
And I've had to backtrack on the veg bed and un-shovel manure as carrots and parsnips don't like it. Hard work in the sun but will be worth it when we're eating our own veg. Sarah Raven's course notes from the 'Veg for Beginners' day I went on last year are priceless gems. Worth every penny of my sister's money (she bought me the course for Christmas, told you she was tres riche). She has the signed hardback book, of course she does.
This is my mud-flat garden with the partially-broken rotovator (belonged to husband's grandfather) and the 1970s rescued from a building site Dumper Truck that is stranded because the steering's gone and nobody has fixed it yet. It's directly underneath the washing line so you have to hoist the sheets really really high. However, makes a good place to put peg bucket and washing basket so will miss it when it's gone in a strange kind of way. Picturesque, no? Erm, no.
Thursday Apr 12 2007 19:26:05 Little Britain is happening in our village hall tonight! We've just been for a walk down to the in-laws' to get some garden tools still stored in their stable since the moves, and there's a 'do' on at the hall.
Thought it was W.I. at first, but some old chaps there too. There they all were...Marjorie Dawes, Vomiting (yay!) old ladies, flutey hotel owner, Bubbles de Vere. They're all there! And then out walked an old chap with a vast paunch (even bigger than mine) in a nylon polo shirt, sweepover hairdo, big thick glasses and mouth hanging open with flabby tongue on show. Andy or Lou? Don't know which one's which. All we need is a Gay. (He would be the only one, as far as I know). And the smell of the food emanating, pure old folks' home. How do they do that with normal food?
This is why I'm anonymous. I'm sure anyone local could work out who I am if they could be bothered, but I wouldn't be able to do this if my cover were blown. I'm Kitty to you (and starting to be Kitty to me to, especially when I have another blogging dream, scary) but someone else to the rest of the world!
Today a nice lady brought a case of Chianti (wine - strike 2) to the door. On behalf of the kitchen man. Payment for me whoring out the kitchen to prospective punters. Chianti was the wine my husband and I drank on our first proper holiday after we got married. He had never drunk wine before (bit girly for a Yorkshireman) but the Amalfi coast seduced him into being a sophisticate for a week(!) No socks with his loafers and everything.
I asked him at lunchtime whether I should cook a meal that reminded us of that holiday to eat with the wine. 'Veal' he said. Veal? I had forgotten, but every time the hotel put any sort of meat other than chicken on the menu it was described as veal. So we're having veal, well, minestrone soup, but it does have bacon/veal in it. Takes us back nine years. All together now, aah!
Pic is of the cherry blossom which erupted in the night. I looked out of the window in the dark, hoping to spy the badgers or the very noisy vixen, instead saw what looked like cotton wool scattered in the tree. Beautiful.
No choc, no kids, no money, no fluff - am I doing better?
Friday Apr 13 2007 08:33:48
The fog has come down in the night and enveloped us. But it's breathtakingly beautiful out there. I got the camera out at 7am to try and get a few shots. Here's the oak tree in the bonfire field across the river from our garden. It was still in full leaf on November 5th for the second year running. Global warming?
The blossom on the Japanese cherry is like popcorn, I've decided. One minute it's not there and then 'pop' it just seems to explode into bloom.
Last day of the Easter holidays, have to say I regret we haven't done more - we're so obsessed with the garden. The boy has been cross and lazy a lot. He's bored mindless as there aren't any boys his age in the village. He climbs trees, digs holes, cruises around on his bike, bounces on the trampolene and explores but it's not the same without a friend. I hoped a trusty dog by his side would cheer him up but she just annoys him. Spoils his games. Bad mother alert.
He's had a couple of bike rides with granny to see the lambs and piglets down the lane, has seen lambs just an hour old and watched them on their wobbly legs. Seen the Large White sows digging mud holes with their snouts to lie down in and snore. The little white piglets with pink ears charging about and squeaking 'wee wee wee', all the way home.
We've had a bonfire and several picnics in the garden, have dug up all sorts of 'treasure' and sat for hours at the top of the field waiting for the shrews and voles to make an appearance. We've watched for water voles and mink, seen minnows, and an invasion of little black spiders in the field.
So maybe we've done enough. Maybe when he gets back to school there'll be enough tales to tell from our garden and riverbank. Maybe we didn't need to get in the car and spend money to validate the day. Maybe I'm doing all right after all.
Saturday Apr 14 2007 21:03:58
