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!