Those holiday moments.

I haven’t abandoned my blog again, I just went away on holiday and despite paying for internet access, was unable to get onto the internet successfully. Ah well, not being a computer geek I failed miserably at that. I also never mentioned the holiday. It terrifies me that, in this day and age, people announce they are going on holiday to the world. It’s like saying ‘hey! my house is empty, if you check online you’ll find all my details somewhere, come on by!’ OK my house is never actually empty because I have various offspring that live locally who come and look after it for me and look after the cats, but I would still not want to put them in a position to have to deal with unwanted intruders.

Anyway, the holiday was a welcome break. Nothing special, we stayed at a holiday caravan park in Devon. I’ve never had that many holidays but this was still a new experience to me. One of my sons invited Harry and myself to spend time with his family. I was unsure at first because this was the first time I would have stayed with them and caravans are small right? Wrong! the caravan was a static home and slept the five of us easily with two separate bathrooms. Now H and I are big people and the space round the bed was no wider than my laptop, we had some laughs I can tell you. The bathroom and a wardrobe were at the slightly wider space at the bottom of the bed but you couldn’t get to either if doors were open or another person was in the same place. We were reminded of those little games where you move the tiles around to make a picture. H slept next to the window wall which also had a heater beneath it, more than once he lay slightly over the side of the bed and got a very hot backside… more uncontrolled laughter from us in the middle of the night. Good job we were the other end of the bed small space for big people

We had a great time and probably went more places than we would have had it just been H and I. But it was also the little things that made the holiday for me. The journey from Gosport to Devon was great. The roads were good, it didn’t rain either which is also a bonus but it as being back in the country that touched me the most. What a perfect time to travel, along side the roads and motorways the gorse was in full bloom. I have never seen so many flowers on the bushes in my life.

Roadside Gorse

Roadside Gorse

holiday 2013 156
These pictures were taken through the window of the moving car and don’t capture the amazing colour well enough. Hooray for digital photography. The next two were in a tunnel.. I couldn’t resist it.
on the move the other side
We visited some really amazing places.. take a look at the next two.. just another village? well yes… the model village at Babbacombe.
model village wedding bells
I could post dozens of photos but that is like inviting friends round for drinks and subjecting them to hours of boring holiday pics so I will end with just one more of a feathered friend sheltering from the rain in the new buds of a roadside tree. sheltering from the rain


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Daily Post – The Little Things..

It’s the little things that mean so much. I love that statement because it is those little things that have touched my life more than anything else. It’s a smile, a touch, an image, a beautiful piece of music, a song, a word, a kind act… those things that make everything ok. I don’t wish take anything away from these moments they are the moments that make life worth living. I crave them, yearn them, notice life around me, look and listen for them. It’s all about being positive and I like to think I have a positive and loving heart but there are so many little things that have plagued me, taunted me, haunted me and …. eat my garden!

I went out to water the shoots, plants and flowers that are responding to the beautiful warm weather. The roses so far look amazing and healthy, marigolds that the children planted last year are in bloom. Along the border the blue of grape hyacynths is a joy to behold and the herbs are in flower, mint strong and green, oregano, chives, sage and rosemary and thyme nearly ready to use, ferns unfurling their fluffy fronds, hostas uncurling their pointed spikes,lily of the valley leaves cupping their tiny buds and the miniature narcissus …. bare; nothing but stem and leaves, my primrose is flowerless and the primula – little clutches of miserable leaves and bloomless cups holding onto life with desperation. It’s the little things, those tiny little buggy things that are the negative influence around me.

On my walls, minute snails nestle in the crevices, under leaves small green caterpillars seem immune to the cold winter weather, in the soil grubs waiting to grow into weevils and each one doing its best to destroy all my efforts at growing strawberries and a little piece of country in my garden. I watch them as they creep nearer and nearer my goji berry and blueberry bushes and wonder .. why they don’t eat weeds. I mean that I wouldn’t mind. Overrun with cats there aren’t any birds to help rid my garden of pests and it is only a matter of time before I put my hands up and either let them chomp their way through everything or get out the bug sprays against all my efforts at being green.

Hmm sometimes it is the little things that have biggest effect for sure and I know which kind I prefer…

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There’s a tiny house….

My love of miniatures and little boxes was being fed right in front of me this evening. The One Show had the perfect shed. Ok, not as miniature as I prefer but something that was so cute as to almost qualify. I dream of that ‘room of my own’ and I know I have a room to myself right here in my home but it just feels like any room. It’s a work room, I paint, make models, draw, write, build my dolls house, do the ironing… do the ironing!!!?? That makes it just another room and besides the light is awful so I practically have to sit on the windowsill to do anything creative and move around to dodge the shadows as the sun slinks silently across the window. Now this shed was a miniature house; lounge, kitchen, bathroom and two bed spaces upstairs. It was on wheels and could be moved anywhere, a little like the size of a caravan and just perfect to have that time alone to work on all those things that need solitude.

It’s all about the light see. Many years ago I lived in very rural Sussex and our garden was huge with trees and bushes and hedges. It backed onto farmland that nestled in front of a yew forest, actually the largest natural yew forest in Europe, and the track from the road led up the hill to Kingley Vale. I was blessed with hundred and eighty degrees of sky and all the noisy silence of the countryside, fresh air and all the uninterrupted light I ever needed. I had a caravan in the garden, my space, my solitude and surrounded by all the wonders of nature tucked away in the garden; truly a room of my own with all round natural light. I miss that so much. If anyone asked my one big regret in life, it would be making the decision to move to a town. I mean I swapped all that for views of bricks and mortar houses, traffic pounding past the window, noise constantly droning past my windows day and night, drunken reveller not heeding the hour, polluted air, tiny slivers of restricted light and less that 45 degrees of light polluted sky….

My house in the country...

My house in the country…

But this little shed was perfect. I might not use it as a house and I might have put an extra window in the roof for all round light. I could make it my special room but I think I could only put it somewhere remote and deep into rural England to give me that unique feeling of just being… being creative, being alone to think, to meditate, to pray, to write, to find myself. My own little box, my miniature space, my room just where I want it. How perfect would that be? Well, I can dream can’t I?

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Am I a reader or a writer?

Trouble is, I love both! I believe the two go hand in hand; to be a writer you need to be a reader. Now I have always wanted to be a writer and indeed I have books and boxes of stuff I written from poetry to almost a complete novel but, and this is the question, why, oh why do I prefer to read when inside me there is a whole library waiting to get out?
I know I am the world’s best procrastinator, drifting from hobby to hobby as the mood takes me and it irritates me. I want to write, ideas come to me all the time but by the time I get to put pen to paper, the words refuse to sound as good as the thoughts in my head. Hmm, I need to focus and make some sort of strategy to encompass everything I do.
I am a writer, I know I am, I am a reader, avidly so, what I also need to harness is the belief in myself to succeed.
I started a writing course in order to focus and be a little challenged but the problem remains. I can give advice, point people in the right direction, I mean I taught creative writing, so why can’t I write it myself…?
Then there are the books, a big passion of mine. In fact it might categorise me as a hoarder, I have hundreds. More than the stories I have written, but I love each and every one. I keep records of the ones I have read, I keep records, scribbles in notebooks, ideas for stories that I never get to write and every time I find them and reread them I am amazed at the philosophy behind each statement or quote.. So why can I not write to demand? There has to be an answer!
Hmm… ok an outpouring of thoughts, hey, Im good at that and now all I have to do is work out how to use it all.Maybe I should stop trying to analyse it all and sit down and apply myself ….

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Inspirational Question?

What was the one experience that completely changed your life? What happened? How did it change your life?

The one experience that changed my life eh? Now that is an impossible thing to answer. Maybe I am someone strange because there isn’t one, an experience that changed my life I mean. Does anyone have just one experience? I ask myself this over and over again. My life must be incredibly chaotic when I think about it because I have have an experience every day that changes something in me and therefore how I see, feel hear, taste and live my life.Taste life

If there was to be one thing I guess it would have to be… being born or was it my first word or step, school, the bully, my first sexual experience, marriage, giving birth? I could go on and one could say they are just ordianry things that happen to everybody, so what other stuff that might not happen to other people has actually changed my life?

The way I see it is that every living moment is an experience that changes something about me. I see something crazy or beautiful, poignant or tragic, something minute or something magnificent in its magnitude; hear a voice, the sounds of nature, an emotive piece of music or an article on the radio; Hearing time passing[/caption]

Hearing time passingnotice changes in me, my partner, the world around me, my garden and feel tiny things that only I will ever know just what they mean. Every single one of these things makes a change to the way my day will be or influences how I will do things from that moment on. Each one of them is as important as the next in forming my world and how I exist in it.

So I think this inspirational question has itself, changed my life. It has made me think about the little things. It has made me think that maybe my life is boring because I haven’t experienced an epiphany of any kind but then maybe it shows me that I am a person that walks through life noticing the little things and appreciates every single one of them as a special lifechanging moment that makes me into someone new every time I become aware of it.


Hmmm, I can see that this is one of those questions that goes round and round and ends back where it started. A bit like the circle of life really. I know, today’s experience has been trying to answer an unanswerable question because it has made me notice the little things, shown me a different train of thought and given me an idea for an article I could write… Don’t ask me tomorrow though, I’m not sure I could cope with too many life changing experiences like this….


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Those quiet weekends!

I just love the weekends, or maybe I should say I love the unpredictability of weekends. Ok Saturday we shop, like it or not there is always that trip or two to the shops but after that anything goes. I just love waking up knowing there is no need to get up early on a Sunday morning. Harry doesn’t have to go to work and generally the housework is all done so I can relax. Then once I get up there is nothing to do and somehow I miss the structure of the week and I’m bored. The weather isn’t good enough to garden yet, although maybe someone should tell the bugs that. In particular the snails.

Most people know how I have battled the bugs and diseases in my garden, well it looks like this year is going to be no exception. Barely have the first few green plants poked their shoots above ground then they are there, waiting like a wave of germ warfare at its strongest, to dessimate the few plants that have survived the feline invasion trying to unearth them while they slept.

Outside my back door the light wall seems to attract snails, they even park themselves on the bathroom window, watching, taunting me. A daily roundup does nothing to lessen their numbers and despite a vigourous ‘sweep’ of the wall and surrounding garden, another marauding wave arrives to start all over again the next day. Tender leaves on a goji berry plant disappear overnight, flowers on the primula that struggled to get above ground level last year are once again a tasty meal for either the slime brigade or the fodder to ease the hunger of the green and mutiple legged walking mouths.
The pond is another trap for anything that is destructive and the blanket weed that has resisted all treatment finally choked the pump, filter and fountain to death halfway through the winter.

Well, we planned to spend time on trying to eradicating the problems as soon as we could but never quite got around to it. Then this weekend two of my children came over, one of whom was my very energetic and strong son. It took him less time to fix the pond pump etc, sort the electrics and get everything working and catch a few baby fish promised to a friend than it took for me to prepare the Sunday lunch for him, my daughter who popped over too see him, and two granddaughters who played perfectly in the garden gathering snails.

I think I should maybe retitle this entry as those wonderful, unpredictable weekends. What a super day, and far from being a relaxing, do nothing, lazy kind of day, more was achieved in the garden than would take me a week to get half way through, Harry managed to recycle some old timber to make a bridge cover for the drain, we fitted in a visit to friends in the country to deliver the fish and share a cuppa and a chat with, we ran a couple of errands to my other daughter’s as well as spending the precious time with the children. Best of all, after all that ‘hard work’, a lazy take away supper was the final order of the day. The bugs and slugs will have to wait until another lazy Sunday.

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Saturday Shop, Bah!

I don’t know about everyone else but weekends, far from being a relaxing time,become the busiest day of our week. OK housework is all done so apart from the mopping up after any small people visiting, it should be a time to relax. Especially for poor Harry who works a 12 hour day, five days a week. We seem to spend Saturdays trawling round various supermarkets and shops. I like to have a list, get into the store, shop and go home to put it away. Well that is my plan every time but, bless him, Harry is a browser and most of the weekend is spent ‘window shopping’. I can hear my daughters say ‘And what’s wrong with that?’ I hate shopping! that’s what’s wrong with it.
This week, I tried to get round it by shopping online; I spent less, got exactly what I wanted and felt really satisfied that I had foiled the shopping wander. Hmm, there is always one thing I forget.. this week was cat food, and I do agree, the supermarket has the best priced stuff, always difficult to buy because the cats are so fussy it’s unbelievable. Never the less, I groaned at the prospect of the trip despite only needing one item, especially having thought I’d got away with it this week. Three shops later and an entire afternoon wasted I return home exhausted with sore feet.

I’m not complaining really, it becomes a bit of a laugh and if I didn’t have to deal with the pain of an auto-immune problem, I would probably love it. A friend of mine suggests I get a ‘doom buggy’ she calls them. She works in a supermarket so I’m guessing that has something to do with the name, but all the while I can walk I will and it is really so nice when I get back home and enjoy a cup of coffee knowing it is all over for another week.

I do confess to being a bit of a hoarder but I’m also a neat feak. The kids laugh at me when I do my housework and bandy suggestions like OCD. No I like my home to look nice. So where does the hoarding come in? Just open my fridges, freezer and food cupboards. I was from a large, poor family as a child where at times food was meagre and I have also a large family of my own. We lived for many years in very rural Hampshire where the nearest decent supermarket was eight miles away so we shopped monthly. You could afford it in those days! I guess I got used to keeping a store cupboard because I still do the same when there is just the two of us. I reckon I feed us for quite a few weeks without ever having to go to the supermarket, which, I might add, is probably my subconscious intention, so why do I need to go shopping every week? Oh yes, I prefer to eat fresh food. I reckon that maybe, just maybe, it might be me causing the problem after all? Hmmm
You'll never know when you might need it! Fruit anyone?

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