After much huffing and groans and a much needed extra pair of hands from my neighbour we finally plunged the piano into the front room.

And so there it stands. Black and beautiful. Glorious in its simplicity. Homey with its imperfection. I like it.

It was yesterday afternoon we trundled to Southend in Bertie the campervan to collect our musical instrument. We, being, Rob's dad Trevor, Rob himself and me. And as we pushed and heaved the old piano out onto the street I wondered if I was mad. Or at least on the road to madness. Since my Stroke I've done some odd things. But I won't dwell on that because it scares me. Will I one day run naked along the Ashingdon road? Or worse still, eat fried eggs willy nilly? Hey lets just hope that day never comes.We arrived at the shop and had a run in with a twit in an illegally parked white saloon. The sneer we got as we stopped alongside him was a cracker. 
"We need to stop here" I shouted out the window. This is a loading bay. And we are loading a piano real soon"
He begrudgingly inched away and we parked nicely.



Anyway the three of us rattled the piano out of the shop and steered it across a very busy road into the loading bay area where old Bertie with doors open wide awaited his latest passenger.
Oh Lord it was a so and so getting it inside. Luckily Rob is a gadget guy and produced a homemade ramp type thing. All we had to do was lift the piano onto the ramp and gently push it in.
After a lots of sweat had drizzled down our faces we drove the piano home. Getting it out of the campervan needed another pair of man hands so I asked the man who lives opposite if he could help.
He did so glady asking in between huffs and puffs how I was getting on since my near death Stroke.
"Yeah I'm ok thanks, Sorry can't remember your name"
He laughed and continued humping.

The piano now stands along the wall by the door opposite the bay window. Last night I frightened the cat by tickling the ivories with an awful offering of "Rock of Ages".
I feel this  latest find from a charity shop will prove to be great and beneficial.

Although I do not envisage evening recitals more afternoon annoyances...






 

I bought a piano. Its beng delivered tomorrow. It needs tuning but imagine the fun trying to play 'Rock of Ages'.
Found it when Rob and me popped into a Christian charity shop in a backstreet in Southend. We'd gone in there not only to look at restored furniture but to enquire whether they'd be interested in having young Mark for a couplke of weeks as part of his work experience thingy which begins Feb 2016.
The chat we had was fruitful, infact we are all traipsing down to Southend this afternoon to see the manager.

Apart from selling restored furniture they sell musical instruments... The woman on the till almost begged me to take it off her hands. WHAT? Being a mug and keen show-off I made her an outstanding offer of...£10.
We'll deiver it Saturday she said and I danced out of the shop.
Something very weird and wonderfaul happened when my Blood and Brain collided. Thanks guys!

I sparkle.
Gone is the brown. The proper and sensible.  In are the lilacs, purples, cobalt blues and rose. I wear a sparkling scarf around my neck in shades of silver and midnight blue and on my nails, mauve varnish to accentuate the green ring.
I'm awash with the rainbow. And I love it.
Something very good has happened. I've read about strokes and what they do and one of the after effects can, in some cases, be a loss of inhibition. Well my dears my inhibitions went away on Friday the 13th November and havn't been seen since.
And it is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

After an Indian meal in our favourite restaurant I danced in the street, in the dark wearing a gorgeous black halter neck dress. There weren't a lot of folk about, it was late after all, but I couldn't hold in how I felt. I swirled and stretched my arms heavenwards managing not to fall. Rob looked on in utter amazement becuase only a few weeks ago I was at deaths door. The human spirit and a fair dose of good fortune got me there. Dancing on the pavement on a cold December night. And I won't forget how close I came to losing these priceless treasures.

And although I'm on a sack of drugs every day I feel as if my life is about to begin all over again. Only this time without the lessons...Been there.


Today, infact very shortly, we are off out to buy some Christmas lights for indoors. I already have the tree garlanded with clear lights but I can't get enough LIGHT. Everything needs to SHINE. Maybe I've got a screw loose, I don't know, what I do know however is that if this being bonkers then BRING IT ON. I'm ready....

Just thinking

Is that a rosebud I see from my bay window?

My first feeling was to dash out and cover it. Protect it. From frosty winds. My second thought was to Let it Be.
Red roses don't need a bad gardener like me interfering in their life. God knows they've survived long enough without my touch. So I'll just watch in wonderment. Wonderment? Is that a word? It is now.

I've hung Christmas balls on the outside tree, the tree which bears pink blooms in August, see I told you I'm not greenfingered. The balls hang by a thread (don't we all?) even last night's pushy winds didn't dislodge them. Not one. This morning I hung out of the window expecting to find the gold, red silver and green baubles scattered on me lawn like giant rainbow coloured dewdrops. But hats off to them they had weathered the battering and swung around in the morning sun.

I flashed my monthly bus pass at the sour-faced driver then took my seat at the back. The back where bad girls sit. Glancing adoringly at gaily decorated houses and bungalows my mind soon wandered to what gens I might find in two of my favourute charity shops.
Then I missed my stop.
No worries.

The first shop ~ A black PVC chain handled handbag. Excellent condition. Not the kind of bag I ususally use but it 'spoke' to me. Or was it Mum?
A black beaded shoulder evening bag with rope handle. Originally from Debenhams. Again in tiptop nick. Ideal I thought for lipstick and perfume on a night out.
A butter soft purse in Teal. From Clarkes. Good condition. Lots of pockets.
A suede roped bracelet with diamente diamonds swinging will nilly.


Shop two ~ a greenbox with two compartments. It's made of some kind of heavy duty resin. It is in the shape of a thick book. On the spine is a worrying looking pentacle. Underneath the withcraft symbol is a black spider with a shining ruby body. So cute. Laying on to top is the witches familiar, A cat relaxed with emerald eyes. What a beautiful boy. As I carried it home with all the other junk (treasures) I imagined twenty£ notes folded condertina style inside it. Yes a nice little money box.
What else?
A pair of black patent leather knee high boots (Next) . I could not believe my luck. I've been stomping around (pre-stroke) in a pair of brown leather boots from Faith (originally). Cost a small fortune (£8).  But post-stroke I've seen the light and the light is good it's shown me where I've been hiding...a deeply safe place but a tad dark and DULL. So I danced to the till and handed over £6 to the lady.
God I'm going to have fun in those I thought as I struggled out.
Also bought was a small brown beaded cross-body phone holder type bag thing. My antique phone fits perfectly. No more scampering around fingering my handbags hoping to find a buzzing phone. £2.

So I had a major two hour charity run and enjoyed every moment. Not a lot was spent, but I feel like a Queen.

Oh by the way. I found out who my benefactor was. Remember the mysterious bouquet of oriental lillies?
A former fun loving, Porsche driving sparring partner read my blog and a thousand blooms were on their way.

Now I must fly..............Into a cold kitchen to bake some homemade cod roe fishcakes, spiced-up wedges, pea puree, tomatoes and lettuce. Pudding will probably be 0% fat vanilla yogurt and apricots.

Keep warm All. Be good. And give to the poor. (I did, yesterday, a scallywag asked me for 50p, I gave it to him telling him to get a banana. He blessed me and called me Miss)

As I write this I'm keeping an eye on BBC Parliament watchijg and listening to the debate on whether to embark on military action in Syria.

I don't want to go to bed because I wriggle uneasily concerned by every ache, especially in my head.
This morning I woke early feeling as if myhead and neck had been encased in concrete then chained to the bedpost. Not nice.
Feeling heavy, weighed down I eventually rose about 11 and walked intot he kitchen wondering what to do.
Since the event of 13th Novemebr making a pot of tea is  a mammoth task.
But I love tea so I staggered on!

The House of Commons is swelling with MPs each speaker, some more bearable than others.
Shadow Foreign Secretary, Hilary Benn is on his feet defending his friend and leader Jeremy Corbyn who along with other members of the parliamentary Labour party were called terrorist sympathisers by David Cameron.Calls for an apology from the Prime Minister have yeilded nothng but silence.

I made some Drop Scones this afternoon and served them for tea with warmed mandarins in apricot sauce. And to ease the orange onslaught, a spoonful of natural fat free yogurt for some creaminess.

Today I received dozens and dozens of scented oriental lillies. I was speechless as the enormous bunch of my favourite blooms was placed in my arms by the delivery driver. My green dressing gown was smothered by the huge gift.
And the wonderful thing is....I don't know who sent them.
The card said Hope you make a speedy recovery.

If the much welcomed gift was sent by one of my readers I Thank You...

Now I'll sign off as Hilary Benn finishes one hell of a barnstorming speech...Members are clapping, cheering...
Is this Mr Benn's first shining step towards becoming Labours next Leader?

Depending on how I sleep and how I wake I might adventure out on my own tomorrow. Not allowed to drive but I have a bus pass..

So much to look forward to.............

I felt a bit normal today.
Swaying a bit but normal in other respects.
I switched on the tv and saw the snooker was on, I nearly cried with joy. An old pal.
Naturally I clung to it.
And as I prepared the sauce for my chicken legs John Virgo's gentle tones soothed.

Yesterday I spent some time with Rob's son, Mark. And as we watched some rubbish tv I held him in my arms stroking his forehead. I like being Auntie Angela. Rob and I also visited his ma and pa. We discussed life over biscuits and tea and how nothing no more will worry me. Too much.
Being hours from death kind of wakes you up.

I'm going out tomorrow with Jeannie (Mark's mum) and I promised her I won't fall over. I know my way to the charity shop in Manstead Gardens with my eyes shut.....


Now I must slowly glide into the front room where a half decorated Christmas tree leans against the wall. Can't find the balls but with its bits of tinsel it looks BEAUTIFUL to me.

Two weeks ago today the Strokestruck.
But here I am waiting to watxh the news at six.
My brain, although working, is on a go-slow. Taking a foot off of the pavement and into the road takes a minute or two. Luckily I always have someone with me. Utterly out of the question is the idea of moi going it alone. For a while anyway. But in the the meantime I eat amd sleep and oh my goodness do i sleep.
I had a session with Ailsa my physion today and love her as I do I could have throttled her as she made me walk up and down my hall looing tot he right, and to the left then stepping oven a small footstall. I failde miserqably. I walked ok....but when my brain needs to make TWO movements simultaneously I bugger it up. Typing not a problem. But don't ask me to drink tea too. Or even acknowledge that you are in the room.
It'll take a while Ailsa told me, to get back to perfect normality.But return I will....

My tatstes have changed.
Sweet stuff is a no=no, meat is on the back burner so to speak, I've been living on vegetables and fish fingers.
I long to sink my teeth into a chicken curry.
I'm attemptoin a little cooking this weekend, keep ypu posted on events.

Now I must focus on politics.. Thank goodness my Brain Attack didn't kill all my interests.
I thihnk Corbyn is a gonner.

On Friday the 13th I had a Stroke. Hospitalized for five days. Now recovering at home. Not allowed to drive or go out alone. Can't concentrate for long. Activity like brushing my teeth requires slepp afterwards. General mood is low. Shock factor off the scale. Time its taken to write this? forever.
Support is great. Rob taken time off work. Team of medics visiting every day. Prognosis? High risk of another one. My feelings are a sick mix of disbelief, despair and fear. but mingled inbetween theses is one of my finer traits..optimism
I will change my diet, my attitude towrds everythinjg.
John is keeping in the shadows.

And so as Igaze silently into the screen catching sight of typo errors I really don't give a shit.

And with that comes a certain relief =, freedom.
Nomore shopping lists, worrying about weight or whether God exists, aI am at one with the uhniverse .

Christmas in around the corner.
And as my situation has changed I'll be making Christmas presents this year instead of buying them ready made.
Baked goods of course.
Cakes and breads mostly.
I won't be always up to my eyes in flour though I have a needlwork project on the go. And I'm beginning to wonder what I've taken on. Mainly because I can't sew.
But that hasn't stopped me before.
My attitude to needlework is as long as it look nice it won't matter if its's made in an jaw droppingly amateurish sort of way. It's the thought and love that goes into it that counts.
In a mad moment I decided to make a cross stitch Unicorn.
If I ever finish it I will hand it to Rob's mum, Viola for Christmas. She loves Unicorns and has a particulary sweet one on her windowsill. Rampant, white and a wee bit dusty. My effort will be framed
I very much doubt there'll be other sewing gifts ,I'm sensible enough to know where my talent lies.

Can England carry on winning?

Lithuania shouldn't be a problem.


My reading has been eclectic. Elizabeth Goudge, Mary Stewart, Agatha Christie and poetry anthologies.....
And inspiration comes from others and nightmares.


I saw London in crystal
spears of it jagging into a mauve sky from the the dome of St Pauls
and floating on the river
rafts
sharp
 singing loud with visible notes exploding
and the hundreds of broken quavers making music
still

But back to sport...
I haven't missed a game, and tonight after tea I'll continue the love affair.

Spent Sunday afternoon at Vi's house. Rob being the dutiful son helped his dad with the family's miniature railway. Something to do with signals or something.
While they did that, I helped with lunch.
And very good it was too.
A traditional roast chicken with oodles of carrots and peas and little sausages and crisp puffed Yorkies and on a big white plate some smashing roasted potatoes. Gravy to drool over.
'Afters' was an impossible choice between a plump chocolate mousse cake or a jewel-like fruit salad.
I chose both.
Vi cooks very well.

I didn't know Mozart had a sister. Did you?

Much has changed here in the bungalow.

Furniture shifted and made better.
Dining table covered with lace tablecloth.
Home made table mats protecting the cloth which protects the table. Needlework in one place instead of scattered all over the place. A pin cushion here skeins of threads there and Aida cloth dangerously gathering dust by the bed settee.
My vintage wireless is in the grate.
Photos of mum and dad stare out at me from the mantelpiece . I often talk to them, mum and dad that is, not the photos, the pictures are paper. I wish there was another phase other than 'I miss them' that could sum up what their departure has done. But there isn't, at least I can't come up with one. So I miss them will have to do.

Dad, Mr Horsehound and a very silly mummy behind the chair circa 1989

Mum COULD be funny...1987

And I can just be weird! 1985

Eating arrangements altered. 
On account of needing/wanting space in the kitchen we now eat in the front room. Tiled kitchen table now used soley for prepping food. Huge amount of space now. Much better. More workmanlike. I do though still show my creative side by having a large ceramic vase in butter yellow on the windowsill. I couldn't go completely functional. I couldn't go stainless steel and smoked glass. I feed off of wood.

Antiqued bric-a-brac shelved in glass fronted cabinet.
A recent addition, costing 99p, Harry a well made small black and white china cat. Green eyed and not without some class, having not a hole in his underside, which one finds in most mass produced ornaments...possibly circa 1960's. At any rate he's gorgeous and I'm so pleased I found him in Oxfam. In Sudbury. A quick dip into the many charity shops before going to Kentwell Hall in Suffolk.
It is one of England's finest moated Tudor Mansions. And we all loved walking through the many gaily painted rooms. The living room walls were painted red.
The kitchen was my ideal. A long wooden table, rough walls. A clutch of 'Tudor' women dressed in olde garb wished us a Good Day while talking about a man who often takes advantage of their good and generous nature especially where food is concerned.
 "A pox on him" said one old dear wiping her hand on her apron
It was fun.
And tranquil. 

The Kitchen

A large patchwork quilt in shades of claret, lilac and snow white covers my old duvet. My bedroom hasn't changed much. Still not enough space. Old built in wardrobes sicken me. But they do hold my jackets and coats.
Last week I picked up a metal clothes rail for £1.50 so all is not lost.
Giving away sack loads of old clothes and handbags has afforded me a little breathing room too.


Visitors are many. And often. Mostly Rob's family. I did though spend some time recently with Mr Horsehound. We chattered on and on yet not saying much about important things. He did though enjoy his pasta. And I his company. The old git. By the way it's his birthday today...He doesn't want anyone to know he's 60.

Mr Horsehound

Before England play San Marino on Saturday in a European Championship Qualifier I have dinner guests on Friday. Jeannie and Mark, I'm making a Beef and Potato Pie.

Mum and me. Circa 1967

Some things never change.

Mr Horsehound. Circa 1985

The Chelmer Valley Car Club. Classics by the Sea.

Bertie and his new best mate, Colin the Commer

At night, me and a lovely Jack Russell

Jack had razor sharp teeth. Hence the pretty oven gloves.

Boundless energy. Dog had some too.

Lime and soda anyone?

Last night's car 'do' was fun. Beautiful classics, big burgers and friendly knowledgeable vintage car fiends.

Bertie evoked happy memories in a few people who were more than happy to share them with us. He's quite a guy is our Bertie. And coming along nicely too. One expert even suggested Bertie was in fine fettle and he should know because he'd renovated dozens of them during his career. His name is Bill and he took a real shine to Bertie.

Rob being an average cook had the audacity to try and out cook me by making and then baking a blackberry crumble in Bertie's small oven. We ate it at the table listening to salivating passers-by. 

Greater Love Hath No Stupid Woman than to sacrifice her noo tights for the Love of a Jack Russell

Where are the big boys?

I've just looked at a photo of the contenders for leader of the Labour party.

The heart sinks.

Classic Car Show in Purleigh. Essex.

As the sun melted our cornets we strode on gazing lovingly at the hundreds of classic/vintage cars on show.
Set in a couple of acres of greenery row upon row of restored motors stood, well loved and displaying their owners devotion and monies well spent.

Rob and I were the first to arrive in our red and restored 1972 Bedford CF Campervan. And having spent the past few weeks indulging in hard-work we were proud of how he looked. He wasn't perfect, he still shows his age but after a lot of time, effort and money he's a vast improvement on the Bertie who turned up in 2013 looking exhausted and ready for the breakers yard. Rob persevered and gradually he, that's Bertie, gets admiring looks.
We were going to stick a sign on the bumpers stating that although he's smart work was still in progress. But we didn't. All classic car owners know that restoring a vehicle takes oodles of time and energy and commitment. We did our best.

So after having a bacon sandwich, prepared by Rob on Berties little hob, we went walkabout.
Some of the motors were simply gorgeous.
Many Morris Minors, Triumphs of various descriptions, Jags, Ford Mark One Lotus Cortina (worth bucket loads of money) and a mark II looking spankingly fine in bergundy and...FOR SALE!
I cleverly steered Rob away from that one.
My favourites were a Latte coloured soft-top Morris Minor on sale for £6700. I carried on dreaming....

Metal things weren't the only things on display.
Owls and Falcons with terrifying talons also caught the public's eye. The smaller members of the huge crowd had the chance to ride a donkey, watch horsey displays and a tractor relay. It was so silly.
Dogs too had their day.
Owners of poochies could put them through their paces on the doggie assault courses. Two beige terriers wouldn't leave the red plastic tunnel. And one 'blue and white long haired collie' kept barking.

Of course with any event there was money to be made...
Stall holders of all shapes and sizes glowed with perspiration as they stood by their offerings.
I bought 4 retro pudding bowls (mustard with flowers) £2 and a bumble bee ring £1.

After the trek we went back to dear old Bertie, whose red and white striped awning stood out amongst his peers like a dead fly in a bowl o' cream.

And as people stopped and chatted I felt rather pleased. For Rob, who after much work, determination and love finally had his place amongst the vintage Greats.

Mum said "You don't grow old, you just wake up one day and you are old"
She's right.

Mum

Even though I still fling myself around I'm finding I do it less often.
Not because I hurt, but because I'd rather be still.
Contemplative.

Here it is.
My handmade bird feeder.
It's the one on the left by the way...

Click the pic for a close up...

After watching a few sparrows and a single robin cavorting from branch to bird bath to table to grass I had an idea.
Another bird table was needed. Maybe not so much for my flighty friends but for me because I adore watching these small creatures scoop and swallow my never ending supply of seeds.
So I went about the garden and garage looking for something, anything that might do as a bird feeding station.
Hmmm. Nothing in the garage. And not a lot lying around in the back garden. The side garden might hold treasures.
And wouldn't you know....Lying on top of a heap of discarded bits and bobs was a standard lamp. I had to laugh. I mean how fortunate am I?
And so after disentangling the lamp's wire/plug from my old bathroom sink taps I carried the tall lamp base into the middle of the back garden.
Not bad, not bad at all. Rain damaged of course, but the birds won't notice. It'll be alright.
There was/is a brass connector which held the shade fittings, you know the plastic things which in turn connect the shade to the stand. It was fine. A solid inch which would I hoped hold some kind of bowl or plate for the nuts and seeds.
After several attempts to fix various baskets bowls and whatnots to the brass thing I was stumped.
Hmmm again.
I sat down on the step and watched a blue butterfly swoop and dive finally landing on a pot of chives.
The butterfly sat, resting, I sat, thinking. Then we both shot up. The butterfly to the top of the top of the trellis, me to the lamp.

Turn it upside down. I thought. Yes.
So over it went, its base upended and the long wooden pole down into a hole from where once a washing line pole had been.
Perfect.

They'll need to sup I said. So I ran to the garage where a wicker cup with plastic interior sat amongst the cobwebs.
I filled it with water and placed it, crown like, on top of the base!
Surrounded it with seeds and left.

A picture will appear tomorrow.

Talking of pictures...
I recorded "Shutter" last night. A movie about ghostly goings on within an expensive camera owned by beautiful young American couple.
Seen it before. Very fair film. Not gory, just yukky. Especially the part when the ghost's purple tongue grows very long and tries to lick the man to death. I love that bit.
Anyway if you do get a chance to see it, do.

Talking of films.
I watched "The King's Speech" last night. Colin Firth's portrayal of Bertie, aka George VI, was just so good. His perfectly voiced speech at the end had me tingling with emotion.
Bertie's wife, Elizabeth, was played by the slightly eccentric but eerily gorgeous Helena Bonham Carter.
I would love to go inside her wardrobe.

Poor Cecil. King of the Wildcats.

Battlesbridge

The place for antiques.
Or vintage.
Or collectables.
Or retro.
Or old stuff.

I went in search of circa 1970's Hornsea 'Bronte' crockery, and came away with four dinner plates, four bowls, two saucers and a four bread and butter plates.

In a 'reduced for quick sale' box my eyes fell upon a medium sized flat wooden fish decorated with a loopy metal chain. Poor thing.
And an old slightly warped round brown tin with a picture of two shires horses on it. Only £2 for the two.

After slowing ascending the seemingly endless metal staircase in the old flour mill we stopped off for a tea and toasted tea cake. The view was wonderful. Acres upon acre of greenery, water and dotted here and there small houses and boats.
I thought poetic thoughts as I sipped the strong brew.
None worthy of a blogpost though. They were mere fancies of thought. Water and nature has that effect on me.
Once, along time ago, a time when I lived in my London flat I fantasized about owning a sparrow.

Pecking Ducks

Took a forest of pine planks to Two Ducks today. They now wait to made into decking out back.
I got stuck in as always and even after banging my head I soldiered on. Had a merry quip with the neighbours, something along the lines of "when you've finished plucking your weeds, you can pluck mine"
In between cups of tea and soup I fed my family of ducks. Cute yes. Pecking order? You bet. Feathers flew as the lead duck ripped at the bottom of one of the lesser ducks. No blood was spilled but the beaten up duck knew his place. Credit to the little one though he didn't run he just meandered around picking at the seeds this pink monkey threw down.

I love being there. At the caravan I mean. Apart from a few children getting over excited licking their ice creams the place is quiet.
I could quite happily live in a caravan all my life. The sound of screaming gulls, cooing pigeons, singing thrushes and blackbirds and the tiptoeing of the dinosaur like plovers and moorhens makes my heart soar.

Not a bad start I must say...

After a heart-stoppingly grim day yesterday (anniversary of mum's death, it's actually today, the 17th, but she passed away on the Thursday) I tried with all my heart this morning to be full of cheer. Not only for others but for myself.

And after a solo breakfast I talked with Mr Horsehound, and even when the line crackled I still heard what he said and didn't say.
I have to say it I miss my friend. And so when important words were aired and snuffles mopped we came to an accommodation which I feel will see us alright.

He and Miss Redhead are orf on a long journey this morning to see a family member, and I feel Ms Redhead will meet her match, because my sister-in-law can talk and talk but what's most important is, she talks eloquently.
Yep, it was lovely chatting to Mr H I think a corner has been skillfully and tenderly turned.


Just returned from a shopping trip. The usual groceries emptying my purse, but I must say I've become very skilled in the art of money management so much so that I treated myself to a new basic no frills or buttons iron.
And some reduced lamb.

As for grief. It never goes away completely, yesterday I wallowed in memories of my lovely Lilly, how her fight to stay alive humbled me and how whenever I feel like jumping in a river, any river ala Virginia Woolf style I simply remember who my parents were.
And then I go home.

Have ton of stuff recorded so if I get some time off this weekend from pottering in gardens I will watch something. With sweets. And a happy heart.

Grass, the green of deep seas, felt velvet on feet without shoes
and the curvacious river, a tantalising mix of colours, jiggled, delicately along.
I could stay here I thought as the sun left
but my heart beat and beat

Ladies semi-finals this afternoon.
Wins I hope for Muguruza and Sharapova.
Doubt if I'll see much of it though on account of a visiting Mr Horsehound.

Tomorrow the gentlemen play. No visitors just a quick trip out for groceries.

Four years ago today my darling daddy's life was all but over. A sleeping man with greying stubble on his face didn't know I was looking at him wishing for a miraculous recovery. 'Just stop right there' I said, to an invisible someone 'you HAVE to do something,'
Something was not done.
Daddy had cancer like thousands of other poor souls and he'd soon die and my life would stop then start again.
Little did I know that three years later mum would go too. This is not unique. My feelings are not unique, neither is the losing one's parents. It's how things go. Ususally.
But during the years 2011-2014 I vanished then re-appeared. Shrivelled then grew. It's been quite a ride.

Had an old friend for lunch

I saw my friend Ken yesterday and treated him to a beef salad, strawberry cheesecake and tea in the lush surroundings of my caravan.
It was smashing.
I've known Ken for a very long time and an honour it is too. He's the type of guy who quotes. Mostly utility costs. Very practical man is Ken. But so funny too. Yep, a really nice man all round. Another thing I admire him for his is resolve. If he sets out to do something he does it. He's been unwell recently but in spite of that he still rocks. His red and black motorbike on display by my flowering courgettes. Cool.
The next time he visits, either here at the bungalow or down by the riverside at Two Ducks Mr Hairy Suit and myself will push the boat out with a more lush lunch. Properly costed of course!

I'm off to market in a mo, won't haggle, but will buy some liver.

It's all about birds.

The Swan Family regular visitors to our caravan 'Two Ducks on Wallasea island. The parents hiss if you do anything untoward, like move an arm or blink, but so far I've managed to hand feed them without losing a finger. Very pleasant but I wouldn't trust them...

A wary but welcome visitor catching some rays on the sturdy steps erected by clever clogs Mr Hairy Suit. He made the verandah aswell, a real feat of engineering by the geeky civil servant.

Mum and dad swan their cygnets and around 18 ducks all lunching on seeds, bread and fresh water. I adore playing lady bountiful to my feathered mates, I know they cruise the caravans on the lookout for stale Hovis but for an hour or so every day I play at being St Francis in a frock.

Hey you're supposed to DRINK the water, not sit in it. I put out a pretty bowl of fresh water so they could enjoy a slurp after munching on their vast array of seeds and bread, one of the cygnets though took to like a um a um duck to um water...I'm gonna need a bigger bowl.

A baby Thrush flew into the bedroom, Mr Hairy Suit did his Birdman of Wallasea act.

'Two Ducks' our lovely little retro caravan down by the riverside.

The small buffet carefully and lovingly prepared then laid out by myself and Mr Hairy Suit for our guests Mr Horsehound and his lady friend, Miss Redhead. They made it home with no ill effects... Better luck next time...


Remember to click on the pics for a more astounding view.

Heather Watson

This lovely creature had 33 year old Serena Williams in a panic. During the final set British tennis player Heather Watson came within one point of beating, who is possibly the greatest woman player of all time, Serena Williams. The gutsy performance was spellbindiing. Even Serena applauded.
Even though she didn't make it today, Heather must be one to watch in the future.
Well done.

Wimbledon is proving good viewing.

Andy Murray plays tomorrow, I'm hoping his match starts late afternoon on account of me having a day out to Maldon.
Lots of charity shops and a classic car show. (going to Maldon in Rosie the MG)
Should be a super day.
Hoping for a couple of good buys and a Murray win.

Rafa v. Dustin

Despite Rafa pulling out all the stops he lost to the dreadlocked German, Dustin Brown.
It was one of the best matches I've seen and I've seen a whole lot. The German, ranked around 100 in the world had a serve like no other. Being 6ft 5ins helps. Poor Rafa was truly trounced. And afterwards, as he signed autographs, I felt for the Spaniard, he's a gentlemen on and off court and brings a zing to men's tennis but today he lost to dynamic charismatic 30 year old Dustin.

Oh Boy! A post in Wimbledon colours

Pity the players at Wimbledon today. Weather forecast says temps could reach 95 degrees f. Way too warm for my taste. But Wimbles is a summer sport and with that comes perspiration and near collapse.
Can't wait.

Not a titter from Mr Horsehound. He will be cursing this heat though. Never a man for lounging under the sun he prefers to stay inside. Very wise man. In some respects.

On account of the increase in temperature I've had to start taking my arthritis pills again. My knees bulge and my my fingers too. But as long as my mind is healthy I can tolerate physical blips.

Started re-reading Elizabeth Goudge. A dear author of mine. Stella, the protagonist in Gentian Hill is a strong loving girl awash with human weaknesses resonates with me a little. She's courageous but not daft.

Made twelve Fig Fingers yesterday. Such a simple recipe. I did tweak it though. The original recipe uses dates. But as I adore shop bought fig rolls I thought hey let's play dangerous and use figs instead.

Now I kit myself out in long floaty frock and sun hat and drive down to Two Ducks where I will sip water watching tennis on tv.
Our caravan is looking more habitable now, lots of growing veg and fruit, herbs too. Flowers in abundance. A rainbow coloured ceramic bowl filled with water for all types of birds. Magpies, ducks, pigeons and a family of swans.
I'll sort out some pics.

Have a nice safe day everyone and don't be a daft grill-yourself-under-the-sun-Brit.....
STAY IN THE SHADE!
 
 

The Grief Tap. Full On

Wimbledon.
Not the same without my lovely mummy.
I've been looking forward to it too. When I've been up to my eyes in caravanalia and missing husbands I hung onto the prospect of Wimbledon fortnight for dear life.
Dear Life
Dearest Life.
How fragile you are.
One minute you're alive on a hot beach the next your distant family in England cry.

My husband the ever reliable Mr Horsehound has gone. To pastures far away. And I don't and can't blame him. Infact I welcome it. God knows he deserves happiness.
I just wish he'd told me first.
If he'd bought a motorbike or grown a beard or even found the Lord I'd have kept him in my bed and heart but he fell into that old hole called love and vanished. 
I see him occasionally. I worry all the time. But it is his choice and I must respect it.

It's nearly a year since mum fell asleep forever and that awful bullish undertaker took her away leaving me behind. My God I've lost count of the times I've wished I could see her sultry blue eyes and hear her caustic observations on life. Laugh? I nearly died. Nearly? On reflection maybe I did. The afternoon she ceased to be a sentient being I kind of stopped being a being too.
The being I was, the one that kept the bungalow afloat and made love and cakes accompanied her on that sad little day to her final residence. 
My body still exhausts itself likewise my mind but I have a heaviness about me, one that wasn't there before.
'Oh bugger' I sometimes say.

I keep crying.
Last week in Morrisons I crumbled by the pet food, Mr Hairy Suit held me up.
Then in a charity shop when I had to get out and get in the car before I scratched someones eyes out. I didn't feel very Christian in the Church Shop.
Hairy Suit again steering me home.

I've been spending a lot of time with Hairy Suit's family. Mum, Dad and young Mark. And Mrs Hairy Suit too. We get on very well.
And they are fine.
Good people doing crafts and loving each other.
I like them.

But if a dream had foretold that my parents would die and my husband leave me without a word or a penny to bless myself with I'd have dashed out of bed, had a strong cup of tea and thanked God it was only a dream.


I didn't get the job I applied for.
My back hurts.
I ache for mum and dad
but
I'm loved
A family of swans hang out at our caravan
I've started writing again
and Andy Murray plays tomorrow...

What a lovely day.
The sunshine has lifted my drooping sprits.
Out in the garden tidying and creating has been the tonic to beat all tonics. Thank you Lord.
On the inside I made some curtains for the conservatory and completed the look with the addition of wicker baskets and retro wireless. I think I'll do my sewing out there seeing as Spring is making a welcomereturn.
And as Mr Horsehound is away for a day or two (friends barbeque etc etc) I'll have time to read, sew and generally let my hair down. Hey anyone want to join me?

All this hoo hah over debates and whether or not Cameron will do a head-to-head with Mr Miliband has whetted my already big appetite for the circus of the soon to be held General Election. What a debacle.
I know very little about what goes on in the corridors of power or inside the head of politicians but even my small brain has figured  that a Cameron non-show with Miliband will do the leader a great deal of harm indeed.
A seven person event is going ahead featuring the main party leaders and non-entities like the Greens ( apologies to Green supporters) will be abysmal. There they'll be...The Welsh, The Scots, UKIP and others answering quick fire questions quickly in order to get on to the next quick fire question.

Cameron should be ashamed of himself.
Instead of standing erect as leader of the Conservatives and Prime Minster he'll be no more than one of the group, one of the others..
Imagine Mrs Thatcher agreeing to that? She would want top billing and centre stage. It'll be interesting to see where Dave stands.
I see a picture in my mind....
Dave in the middle and fanning out around him like small tattered inconsequential wings the leaders of several other parties. Who, I wonder, will make up the appendages... UKIP I'm sure. Probably a little party like Plaid Cymru, Respect Party, Ulster Unionists, Labour Party, Cleggs Lot and just to add to the fun of it ...The right wingish Britanicca Party, The Communist Party of Great Britain (Marxist-Leninist) and for good measure the No Candidate Deserves My Vote party.
I can't wait....

Turkey Balls

Um....
Now you all know I'm old. And seen and done a lot of things. A few even legal. And I came to the conclusion that not a lot freaks me out. But when I heard that the World Cup finals would be held very near to Christmas Day I got choked up.
Never in the history of Ridiculous Stuff Happening At Ridiculous Times has a stupid decision like this been made.

Christmas is frantic enough as it is but to have Supreme Footie shot at us while we're thinking of stuffing Turkeys is too much for my plate. Mate.

Having said that I CAN'T WAIT!

My New Bathroom

Work in progress but chuffed with it so far...

Right Said Fred Gotta Do The Ceiling

Apart from doing the ceiling, the bathroom is almost complete.
Plumber man was a dream. No fuss. No rush. Entire life history expelled over tea and ham rolls. Nice chap. reminded me of Hugh Laurie. Only Laurie is posher.
He and Mr Hairy Suit did a fine job of converting my rust bucket hell hole of a bathroom into a white Victorian STYLE bathroom complete with mouldings and flowers and little taps.
I spent yesterday just looking at it.
Today, however I went in and Gloriafied it. Flowers in fine jugs, white and brown wicker baskets, lace doileys, a yellow metal kitty, mirrors that shine brilliantly and all signs of John's dandruff shampoo locked away in the white cupboard I rescued from a charity shop for £2.
It's beautiful.
Pictures to come......

Bit Early

The plumber arrived a tad early but I was overjoyed to see him. Mr Hairy Suit likewise.
They are still at it.
Maybe if they didn't chatter over tea so much it might get done sooner. But I'm not complaining, no not at all, I love my plumber. He's short in stature but big in cleverness and ideas. He and Hairy Suit are getting on very well. Two know alls!

Apart from being tea lady I've kept myself out of the way by making bread and vegetable dishes and puddings (info on My Table).

I peeped in while the lads supped tea and it's looking awful/wonderful. Tiles missing/water damage from years of drips/cupboard yanked from wall/sparkly lavatory.

As the bread rises I'm planning the decor. A couple of artificial ferns and a gaily coloured blind for starters...

Saturday Disco At Rayleigh Conservative Club

Mark and I waiting for our fish and chips before going to the disco

Mark with one of his lady friends dancing in front of a group of his peers from the Mushroom Theatre Company

Two Marks. Rt Honourable Mark Francois MP and Gorgeous Mark receiving a cheque for the group.

Yes Sir, we can boogie

Spot the wacko

One cider

Winter is giving me the pip.
I went out this afternoon wrapped up like mummy, only wanted some butter, but as I was out and near the charity shop, I thought it'd do no harm to pop in.
Joan, my old favourite volunteer, was just doing up her brown coat.
"Oh there you are" she said head cocked to one side and a wee half smile on her face
I immediately felt in the wrong.
Joan is lovely, a bit of a talker and gasbag, but wise and warm and has always offered me hugs when times were bad.
"Yeah" said I sloping towards her arms outstretched.
"Well, where you bin? asked she
"Nowhere, just been cutting up vegetables"
As I disentangled myself from her mumsie grip I held her hands and asked about her family wondering if her very sick daughter had improved.
"I'll tell you next week" she said "When we've got more time"
I sensed there would be much befriending next week and so as she walked away I promised I'd be in next Thursday possibly with cake.
"You'd better be" she joshed.
Dear Joan, built like an over fed auntie and with the faith of Job...





Oh God, I miss International Football.
England aren't playing until 27th March. Lithuania at Wembley. A friendly. March March March...
That's when the Riverside caravan site re-opens and work starts on my decking. Already have the wood just need to stick it together.
Daffs, decking, football and Spring.
I can't wait.

I must have a word...

Before I trundle to the Co-Op pushing my 'Burberry' patterned trolley I have to tell you what I just heard on Radio 4.
"Mozart has been reincarnated and lives in a house on Jupiter"


This, and other interesting beliefs, are held by Spiritists.
Not to be confused with Spiritualists.

Wolf Hall v. Harry Hill

Recently became converted to historical novels so the new BBC drama Wolf Hall had me all excited. Being also a fan of Harry Hill I had looked forward to his new tv show Stars in Their Eyes.
Loved one, didn't quite get the other. 

Wolf Hall was mesmerizing, all candlelight, bloodshed and brilliant performances.
Harry Hill left me wondering.
His commentaries on You've Been Framed are the best, silly, sometimes near the bone, just hilarious. Well worth rushing through your pizza for.

And although I enjoyed Wolf Hall I was put off, nay puzzled, by the leaping about from 'present' day say 1592 to the long ago say 1583, but, as it's a BBC production with a bag of top notch actors, I'll give it another go.
Harry Hills Stars though etc will have to try harder.

It's not that I don't do zany, I do, I loved Milligan, Hill and Bernie Winters (!) and to date I've loved Harry but this queer mix of talent show meets comic capers leaves me baffled.

But as with Wolf I'll give Harry another chance. But not this Saturday because this Saturday I'm going to a Vintage/Retro Disco at the church hall in aid of a local lad who's unwell. It's been arranged by a gang of vintage car/rock and roll enthusiasts who have reassuringly declared it won't be essential to go the whole hog and dress like a Teddy Boy/Girl. Thank God for that. I'll be wearing a pair of Oxfords bags, sparkling shoes and velveteen blouse.
Rock and Roll my hat!


A not-too-hard-up plumber is coming soooon to quote a price for fitting my new once in a blue moon priced fantastic priced basic bathroom. He must be doing well because I'm still waiting..............................................................................................................................................................................
So I will get on with tonight's dinner.
Chicken thighs on a pillow of cabbage.

I'll be concentrating on my food blog this year...

Happy New Year All 

x

OMG. This is NOT a poem

I am so old
the mirror's reflection told me so
en embryo of a turkey neck
OMG I am so old
Is my right breast leaning to the left

I think lots of coffin thoughts

Simpering in bed at midday
wishing my husband was someone else
like the Hero in the murder novel
like the Man of My Dreams
I'm rather dry in the thighs
OMG I am so old
Can I afford a brace for straighter teeth

I'm talking to dead people

I need good cash to stash in the pretty biscuit tin by the peas
But work would kill me
I wouldn't last a day
impure thoughts would cast shadows as I oggled my my line manager (whatever that is)
OMG I am so old
Frozen Chocolate Penises defrosting under the bed

I'm having trouble deciding on Milk White or Dark chocolate. 


My future is coming fast
I can get in cheaper at the bowling alley because I'm 55+
BUT on reading that, albeit with some difficulty, I laughed
Young carnivores in the burger bar made Spicy Bean Burger scoffing me want to vomit
Where has my love of cow meat gone
OMG I am so old
I knock on God's door more for professional guidance
He's always out,
But to be fair I am receiving subliminal messages mainly through tv adverts.

Throaty laughs are being interspersed with giggles ( and I have always hated giggling women who think that by making teenage girl noises they are somehow more desireable to men. Yeah right)
I have though had such fun.


I'm using more E45 cream and less lipstick.
Being thought of as an overblown overly dry and over painted middle-aged woman really scares me.
OMG the thought of morphing into my great Aunt Edie sobers me up no end.
It was rumoured that her sudden glamourisation ( beaded berets, diamond rings and a holiday chalet in Skegness) was down to the sickening fact that she'd 'allowed' great Uncle Bob to pass away in the middle of the night instead of dashing for the doctor and by so doing bag the contents of his fat bank account.
LOL!
As if I could


I spend too much time smiling on account of it taking more muscles to frown than to grin.
Resulting in approval from folk but deep lines in the cheek area
Oh bugger.
I soothe myself by knowing absolutely that what I lose on the physical front I gain in the brain.
I'm swallowing Edward Marston novels like they're sugared almonds (which my the way have made their way into my handbag, a sign surely of approaching vaginal dryness)


With physical deterioration has come a little wisdom
and playfulness.
OMG I'm approaching 59 and I'm kinda not scared.
As many doors close, many are opened
As more sleep is needed, more beauty I attaineth
As natural anxiety about love and the future attend my every day
I seize it.


OMG I like life!