Had a jolly good potter in the garden this morning and was joined by two robins.
As me and my gardening friend spaded and churned and planted and patted, the two robins gambolled, skipped, their capers making me smile. In awe mostly.
They bounced from tree stump to bird table to fence to water butt stopping stock still when either of us stepped a step. They exhibited a mad kind of braveness, flying close by to us humans and landing only feet away, one even watching me, his interested head and black bubble eyes burning into me as I gazed at a leek.

I don't do much gardening but when I do I become transfixed by the wonder of sodden earth and all the grubs brought about by tilling.

My friend and I finished the work and for a few minutes leant against the doorjamb, looking at my spindly brown youthful apple tree...I posed this question...."Where is the sweet flesh, the red, the green, the skin, the pips?"
My co-gardener looked a little bemused, stumped even.
"In its memory, I suppose".
And for some reason that twanged a chord, for a moment I saw the tree as a 'being' a living structure capable of storing memories. Memories. Some how I'll never bite into an apple with quite the same thoughtlessness again...

Being braised as I type is a nice gammon joint. The small beauty is lying on a mess of leeks, carrots and parsnips, and it's belly bathes in hot simmering stock.
I'll slice it a bit later and serve it with a couple of buttered potatoes. Mum will want mustard with it but I'll plump for onion chutney.
Pudding will be strawberry jelly and evaporated milk for Her Majesty and for me a quartet of digestives. Chocolate probably.

Cheerio :)

My Muse is disappearing into the wall and that is good because now I can concentrate on real life. And real life is always better than fantasy. Isn't it?

"Forcing myself out from under your cloak
I grasp the hands of the sun
allowing the pain
to scar me
it makes me
And I'm not afraid"

(My Muse doesn't leave without a fight...Bless Her)

It's been a queer day.
Decent humdrum mixed with a surprising phone call which could, could change my life a little. (I'm such a drama queen!)
So now with this stinking cold for company and a funny old day behind me, I go to bed to wonder.

It's A Sausage and Cucumber Kind Of Day

Yikesy crikesy is it that time again?
Seems only a few days ago (well it was actually) that I was dancing around Sainsbury's with my trolley, and here I am again, primed and cocked, ready to do it all over again.
Where does time go and why?
And how can I slow it down a little? I mean, time is the very stuff life is made of and my stuffing is seeping away:(

On the agenda today:
Combing bird nest-like Monty
Slapping Cucumber under suitcase eyes
Nap at two on account of me being awake at five:(
Staring at computer
Laying on floor with feet hooked under table on because of blancmange belly

Foodwise:
Cumberland Sausage in Apple Juice
Strawberry Swiss Roll with Ice Cream

I had a funny dream last night, I was laying on a park bench with a melon and a torch but it was sunny.

First Day of Autumn

And so all gone are the flimsy frocks of summer and in come the sensible woollies and sturdy boots for the gold and brown months.
I've always loved Autumn and Winter, because being a serious woman and bit of a hermit I tend to feel more at one with the darker days and take, in a curious and strange way, little bits of comfort from bouts of bad weather.
Some may say grotty weather enables me to hide away in layer upon layer of wool and leather and they may well be right, I suppose it's my reclusive nature.
I always wear a big coat and small hat when it gets a bit chilly and there's nothing nicer or more feminine than a short lady well buttoned up and wearing a silly hat in a jaunty manner.
I have to admit though I can look a bit of a plank.

Food.
I love cooking casserole after casserole, often dropping in various root veg which have no right to be there, but in my mind will add to the umptuousness of the rich sticky beefy/ lamby/chickeny thing I'm making.
And as for puddings, oh Perleeezzzze!......My life is defined by them.
I am a Pudding Queen.
Autumn and winter wouldn't be autumn and winter without a thick girthed lot of chocolate, syrup, lemon or jammy puds all lining up waiting and aching to be covered by pints of dripping steaming tongue bursting custard.
I worship Puddings.
In fact I'd get on my knees to a Spotted Dick.

Imaging if you will, 5 foot me, blade in hand, digging around and down the sides of a hot basin, and then ever so gently easing a big plump brown baby pud onto an eager plate, it is, quite simply, the most perfect sensation. I feel quite aroused just thinking about it. Of course one doesn't have to cover it with custard, one could drop a mound of whipped cream on top and then gaze open-mouthed as the slippery thick white stuff rolls down the sides and into the creases and cracks of the beauty which is begging to be eaten.
Er...where was I? Oh yes something about Autumn and how much I love it....
I do, very much.

So here I sit in my red polo neck woolly and white jeans looking out into the garden at summer's remnants, patches of brown and green grass, the lilac flowers of the Rosemary bush have come and gone leaving masses of spiky green leaves waiting to be stuck into a nice leg of lamb.
And the yellow roses, oh yes the yellow roses, they made me feel lots of things, mostly love, but they've disappeared now, and that is how it should be. But I'm going to miss their scent as I drive in and out and I'll miss their shudder as my lawnmower brushes up against them making a petal or two fall.
Sorry rose.

But mostly I'm going to miss them as I look up from my computer screen day after day because as I look out into my little garden, they won't be there any more.
The garden is going to sleep, and I won't disturb it by pottering about, I'll let it rest.
Because today is the first day of Autumn.

Grey is Good Too.

Nature's beauty isn't only about yellow sunrises and orange sunsets, it's also about grey ashen mornings like this.

As I look out of my window a pallid mist is draped over the houses like a heavy lace shawl around a small woman's shoulders.
It's quite lovely.
And because I'm so impressed with it, I'm going to sit here like a woman in the early stages of dementia, and admire it.

After that, Sunday can begin.