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.