Words from a Bird

The husband is in a state of shock... With this blessed lock down, I have been moaning about my hair for several weeks now.  I am nine weeks overdue for a haircut, which will teach me not to cancel any appointment I may have, thinking it will be fine to go in the following week.  As well as the length of the hair, there is also the issue of a grey and rather dull looking parting across the top of my head, but I am resigned to the current 2020 style trend of The Badger, so am kind of okay with that.   'I could cut your hair for you', piped up the husband one evening this week.  'Really?' I said, my non-existent eyebrows (these also need colouring in) shooting up further than a Starlink satellite. 'Well', he continued, in what I considered to me a measured and fairly sane tone, 'I reckon I've been out with enough hairdressers to know what I'm doing'.  Now based on that theory, I should be really good at mushroom picking, horse shoeing

The husband is currently up the ladder, perched delicately on the roof while he changes three broken tiles.  You can tell that the List of Things To Do is getting shorter as he is now resorting to jobs which will make no difference whether they are done or not.  This is the equivalent of me looking for stuff to iron on the odd occasion when I am thoroughly enjoying doing my weekly clothes flattening.  We have been without those tiles for more than ten years now, but who am I to stop a man on a mission. In these most unusual of times, I have taken to writing to my children, and I have had lovely replies coming back from them.  Each of them have said that they had never received a handwritten letter before which is a dreadful sign of the times really.  If I take one lesson from this life experience, it will be that I write to those I love regularly.   On Easter Saturday, the husband and I took part in our third 'pub quiz', which is run by Jolly Sock Man's parents.  T

As we start week three of isolation, the husband is in the final throes of a whole wheelbarrow full of attention which has been lavished on the lawn.  Our lawn has never looked lovely since the day we moved in fourteen years ago, and over the years has been subjected to scarification, aeration, weedkiller, feed and seed and enough watering to give Noah cause for concern.  Despite all this 5* love, the lawn has continued to look rather threadbare, so the husband has given it all of his love over the past three weeks. So now, instead of having a rather shabby lawn, I now have no lawn at all.  It would appear that the only thing making my lawn look green was the fuzzy moss holding hands.  Remove that (with an industrial strength scarifier) and all I am left with is a rather patchy version of the Somme, with scattered bald patches. These have been sprinkled with grass seed, which to date doesn't seem to be doing anything like the picture on the box.  In fact it looks like

I've been rumbled... Since I started eating more healthily and avoiding all the food stuffs which give me migraines, I have become very limited on the treat front.  It's a well known fact that nearly all women have a sweet tooth - usually one that's been filled twice, had a root canal and then extracted, but a sweet tooth nonetheless.  Months of trials over various types of confectionery have revealed that one of the few things I can treat myself to are Squashies.  If you haven't tried these (you don't know what you're missing ladies) these are tiny pillows of raspberry and apple squashy stuff - hence the name I suppose.  When CV hit this green and pleasant land, I had one bag on the go, and another on back-up, but as the days have passed, and the need for Distraction by Sugar has became more desperate, I have been munching away on them and the second bag was empty by the end of the first week.  I should point out that Distraction by Sugar is allowed at