Boys will be boys, bad boy, bad boy

The scallywags have obviously decided that there's a need for a litter bin by the bollard. Just in case, I suppose.

To hide behind the glare of an open-minded stare

I gave a snort of laughter whilst listening to Ken Bruce announce that Mr and Mrs Whatever were celebrating their diamond wedding and were going on a tour of Switzerland. I couldn't help but wonder whether their children had got them a bogof deal at Dignitas.

(wonders if you can get gift vouchers)

In an English country garden

Although I love flowers, I'm not a great fan of having cut flowers in the house; it just seems wrong somehow. Flowering pot plants are okay because they're still alive and can go back outside later, but cut flowers are doomed to wither and die. Almost all the flowers I grow in the garden are scented ones; roses without scent, no matter how pretty, are like tasteless food - they lack that which makes them interesting. I love wandering around our very own (the excitement about paying off the mortgage hasn't worn off yet!) small patch of England smelling the various plants that my lethal fingers have so far failed to kill, but there's not much left so late in the season. So I gritted my teeth, got the secateurs and brought in all the flowers to enjoy them indoors.

There are roses (New Dawn - the pale one with holes (not a breed characteristic btw) in the petals - has the most delicious scent, but is also seemingly clad in barbed wire; I can't remember what the other one's called); sweet peas; jasmine; the last spike of phlox; and a few sprigs of photinia to add a little leafy interest. My flower-arranging skills are only slightly advanced from the 'bung them in a jamjar' technique, but I think they look quite pretty.

And the sitting room smells divine.

I'll go back to black

Tuesday Challenge #29 is on the subject of 'Black'

So here's my interpretation.

"Y'all remember to wipe your feet"

I wonder if anyone knows what she and Billy-Joe were throwing off the Tallahatchee Bridge.

I've always reckoned it must have been a baby.

Whenever you stroll along with me

Having a few days free I loaded Beattie in the car and took her to visit the Aged Parent; while we were there we found that the best place for exercising a dog with arthritic feet was the wonderful miles of sandy beach.



There's a pier



and around the base of each leg the sea has scoured the sand in an interesting way.



Beattie found she could step out quite briskly on the hard sand without hurting her feet



but didn't really enjoy the bracing sea breeze



so she tried to eat the camera when I laughed at her.



But she didn't try to eat the jellyfish.

But I might die tonight

For the past week I've monitoring the growth of a random mushroom that started growing in the greenhouse.

Day 1


Day 2

Day 3

Day 4

Day 5

Day 6


When I went to check it this morning I found it had fallen over (probably felled by the influence of the slug visible in picture 6) so I picked it.

Day 7


I'm slightly perturbed to see that the gills aren't the nice pinky-beige (aka 'mushroom'), or even dark brown, colour I was expecting, but are instead a rather unhealthy, pallid-looking white.



Boy reckons it's a Destroying Angel or something along those lines so I probably won't add it to the shepherd's pie.

Like the circles that you find

As you know, there's a saying "It's a small world". I'm acquainted with someone who hates that saying, so it's worth repeating if only for that reason; not my favourite person. But I digress. The smallness, and frequency of odd coincidences was brought home to me a couple of weeks ago. Brother #2 had recently visited our mother in her new home Oop North, and was chatting at work (in Sussex) to a new student they have working with them. The first coincidence was that the student's father worked with Bro's wife; then it got surreal. Bro mentioned he'd just been to the Frozen North, and student told him that his grandparents lived in Yorkshire, on the coast. In a nice little town, in a quiet road ... which turned out to be the exact same town and the exact same road that Mother lives in. Spooky.

That weekend Bro and Sis-in-Law went to a dinner celebrating a friend's marriage after many years of widowhood. The groom was a nice chap, about Bro's age.To cut a long story short, it turns out they'd been to primary school together in Cyprus in the mid 50s - chap had been in Bro #1's class and remembered him well.

After a while this sort of thing can mess with your head.

There's room enough for two

I was spoilt for choice regarding titles for this blog. I could have had "Right smack dab in the middle of town", or "It's peaceful as can be, or "I get away from the hustling crowd", but finally chose yet another line from the same song.



Luckily the holidays are nearly over and the village scamps will soon be back at school. Is it wrong of me to admire their ingenuity?

God didn't make the little green apples

When The Boy was really quite small, he and I planted a pip from an apple he'd just eaten, on the offchance that it'd grow. Well it did, and was duly planted out in the garden. The years passed and it grew taller, but it never flowered - until this year.



The bees did their stuff, there wasn't a late frost to kill the baby fruit, and they gradually grew. Ned & I had always believed that apple trees that grow from pips don't produce 'real' fruit, but only sour crabapples, but Boy assured us (with all the weight of his arboricultual training) that we were talking a load of old toot, and that they'd be real apples.



And he was right. The fruit are still growing bigger and weighing down their branches, making them easy to pick when the time comes. Every time we thin out the crop to lighten the load on the branches we try them - they're certainly not too sour, but as yet lacking juice; hopefully that'll come in the next couple of weeks.



They're certainly pretty apples, despite some of them being a bit spotty (no sprays here!)



And getting to be a reasonable size too.



The size of the tree is a reminder of how long we've lived here - it came as a bit of a shock!

She certainly can can-can

Every year I grow a few chilli plants, trying a different variety every year. Some varieties are just hot; some are more like sweet peppers; some have flavour as well as warmth. Usually the bigger the chilli the milder the flavour; we've learned to treat the little b*stards with caution. The seeds can be the worst. This year I've grown 5 plants of the variety "Heatwave".



The plants took a while to get going, and still look rather leggy and leafless, but at nearly 3 feet tall they've been flowering forsome time and the fruits are growing nicely. On one plant in particular they've started ripening, so I picked one this evening to add a little frisson to an omelette. Before I added it I tried a teensy slice from the end, about a millimetre long.



After I'd found the back of my head which had been blasted across the kitchen it took me some time to regain the power of speech. The variety is well named!

The more I'm a merrier me

Visual humour:

Who's this?






It's me!


Oh suit yourself. I thought it was a funny joke anyway.

A simple garden, with acres of sky

Although I took my camera along to Cropredy it spent most of its time in the tent so I took very few photos, with the result that I failed to preserve some interesting sights for posterity. During Yusuf’s performance I was too busy wringing my hands in ecstasy to have been able to do anything as technical as clicking a shutter! That was the absolute dream come true, and could only have been better if he’d done another couple of hours.

I missed the music on the first day due to a sudden attack of projectile vomiting (and no, I hadn’t had a lot to drink), so stayed back at the campsite, trying to correctly time the journeys between the tent and the portaloos. Mostly I got it right. With the wind coming from the arena field I heard most of the Buzzcocks who sounded okay (apparently the language and spitting startled a few parents of young children), as did Steve Winwood, though I’m told he was rather self-indulgent and ‘went on a bit’.

Next day I was feeling as though I might not die quite yet, so went on the annual “Let’s watch Andy fail to find a geocache” expedition. This year he excelled himself and managed to fail to find one he found last year. In the arena field, Ade Edmondson and the Bad Shepherds were very entertaining, performing punk songs in a folk way (guess the intro), apart from one famous folk song which was sung in a punk way. There had been a moment’s panic on the way to Cropredy when Ned suddenly realised he’d left his hat at home; anyone who knows him will realise what a disaster that is! So after that set Ned & I scoured the stalls for hats (all possible ones were too small) and eventually settled for a rag (“Don’t lose your rag.” “NO I BLOODY WON’T” etc) and he became known as ‘The lovely Yasmin’.

(photo courtesy of Stu).

It didn’t rain for Richard Thompson, and Seth Lakeman was great but the bass drum thingy hurt your chest if you were within 300 yards of the stage.

Saturday’s music was opened as usual by Richard Digance, whose set was very different to previous years, but thankfully the thousands who’d brought hankies along specially for the morris dance got to wave them at the end. Then I actually took some photos(!) of Nelly and Tammy talking to Mr D (a surprisingly big bloke close to) and getting his signature.


Then Ned and I shared a Goan fish curry ("Goan, Goan, Goan, you will, you will" etc) which was delicious and next year we'll have one each. After that we wandered around between campsite and arena and village (some people were a bit naughty and stayed in the pub a bit too long meaning that the supper got a bit overdone and we missed Nik Kershaw) but we saw most of Ralph McTell’s set and then it was the traditional emotional end with Fairport and guests. The all-too-brief performance by the wonderful Yusuf was the highlight, but the version of “Who knows where the time goes” and “Meet on the Ledge” brought a few more surreptitious tears because we all knew how close we came to not being a full complement this year. But Hutters and Mel stayed to the very end, for the first time! I think they enjoyed it (I told you there were fireworks!).

The only annoying occurence of the weekend was during Saturday night when the inhabitants of a nearby tent decided to have a special cuddle. Vocally. Again. And again. It didn't seem to cheer the female participant up very much - the next morning she had a face like a trod-on chip.

Other randomnesses:

1. On the towpath I saw an adult-sized tricycle padlocked to a unicycle. All the relevant parts for two bicycles.

2. Hutters went into the disabled portaloo so Mally and Tammy and I leaned against the door and only let him out when a genuinely disabled person needed to use it.

3. I learned a new rude word.

4. Hutters thoroughly enjoyed himself by winding up children with his laser-pen, and managed to avoid being arrested as a paedo.

5. When I got home I found a clothes-peg in my pocket.

But the drumbeat strains of the night remain

Oh wow! Oh wow, oh wow, oh wow! That was the most incredible experience; one that for years I thought I'd missed forever, but was wrong! It was supposed to be a secret but some weeks ago the Cat was let out of the bag, and one of my huge heroes for many decades performed live again - his first festival in 37 (or was it 27?) years. Only four songs, but so powerfully performed that it didn't really matter - grown men cried with joy. Why? Yusuf (T.A.F.K.A. Cat Stevens) was the guest performer with Fairport at Cropredy - and he sounds the same as he did 40 years ago. What a privilege to have been there.

The annual summary of the weekend will follow later - Cat deserves his very own blog all to himself.

I can see all obstacles in my way

From the passenger's point of view I wonder which is safer; being driven by someone slightly over the alcohol limit or by someone sober who hasn't got their glasses.

So happy together?

Advert on Freecycle this morning:

Heading: OFFERED: One husband, totally useless.
Details: As the title says. Can prob make his own way there.

I'm so curious about what he's done - or not done!

Going to the chapel of love

It was a very lovely wedding. The bride (as is compulsory) looked gorgeous. The groom had scrubbed up well. The weather pulled its finger out at the right time, and everything was perfect. I've never seen two people so very happy and totally in love as Nelly and Tammy.

As usual, clicky the piccy for bigness. Stu's will be very much better.

It was thought a good idea to label the participants in case anyone got confused.


One of the beautiful bridesmaids



The rain stopped at just the right time.



Phew! Mission accomplished!



Thank you both for inviting us to share your perfect day. :)

Sweets for my sweet

It's just wrong. So very wrong. In so many ways. Pizza is bad for you. It's full of fat, it's overflowing with calories, it blisters the roof of your mouth and it sends your cholesterol through the ceiling. Chocolate is (mainly) bad for you. It's high in fat and sugar and rots your teeth; but on the plus side it stops you murdering so many people. (Did I say that out loud? Oops.)

I have pizza. And I have chocolate. It's a chocolate pizza. Yes, a pizza made entirely of chocolate.



It's rather yummy.

But you aint got a dime, theres no time for the phone

I've heard of ouija boards and unconscious writing, but never receiving messages via the bath. Someone or something has left, in hair, the word 'Iran' by the plughole. Now I need to know what was the question, and who asked it.



*can't wait till the bathroom's updated*

Friday night and the lights are low

Abba was one of those bands whose music everybody liked, even though at the height of their fame it was terribly unfashionable in certain musical circles to admit to it. The songs were crafted with stereotypical Scandinavian professionalism, which although it sometimes made them slightly clinical they never seemed to fall into the 'churned-out soul-lessness' trap that other successful bands have succumbed to. So when friends suggested getting a gang of us together and going to an open-air performance of Abba music at Warwick Castle, performed by the English National Orchestra and cast from the stage production of Mamma Mia, (bring a picnic) we thought it'd be great fun.

They certainly wrote some great songs; we just hadn't realised just how badly they could be performed! If those singers were more than understudies it made us very glad we've never travelled to Town to see the stage show. Still, the picnic was good and we met some nice people there, some of whom had decided to get totally into the spirit of the thing and dressed up as Abba members (several OS Agnethas!)

The driver of the minibus that took us there was extraordinary. He didn't really know where he was going, he didn't get out of 2nd gear (but didn't go fast enough to strain the engine) and every time someone spoke to him he slowed down to reply. Not a natural multi-tasker! We were pleased that it was a different driver for the return journey ... but I'm not sure he was thrilled because by then we were well into singing. Not Abba stuff - Beach Boys, Monkees and rugby songs. It was difficult singing the harmonies because of the challenge of working out what key the melody was being sung in. All of them, I think! It was great fun going out as a group so it wasn't a totally wasted evening.