Words from a Bird

Poor old Reg is sporting the Cone of Shame at the moment. I think I may have alluded to this before, but Reg is not the sharpest knife in the cutlery drawer (when the good Lord was handing out brains, he thought he said 'trains' and asked for a slow one) and getting into my car has had its moments of shame (on his part) and humour (on mine).   Last week he took a huge run up to the boot of my car and face-planted in spectacular fashion.  Percy, who had already been lifted into the car as befitting a gentleman of advanced years, almost had a middle-aged accident as he watched Reg disappear over the edge into a furry puddle on the gravel. We thought nothing of it until later in the day when Percy started being very amorous towards Reg, licking his face consistently.  Now this is quite normal behaviour for Percy especially when the little Shih Tzu four doors down is in season.  As the husband says, 'Any port in a storm'.  Reg seemed very happy to have this affection, sitti

Every Friday morning, in sun, rain, wind or meteorological maelstrom, my dear friend Mrs H (the Italian one) and I head down to the local market.  A veritable smorgasbord of fruit, vegetables, flowers, bread and cakes, cheeses, pet food and gift cards and wrapping.  There is also a stall selling clothing (most of which is made from crimplene with an elasticated waistband.  As Mrs H has standards (if she were a stick of rock, it would say 'Glamour Puss' all the way through it) we tend to walk past this stall rather swiftly, with eyes left, towards the wrapping paper and sellotape. Last Friday, she baled on me (something to do with work, so I'll let her off).  I was late going in on Friday, something I blame on an engineer who was coming to my house to sort my oven out.  'He'll be with you between 8.00-10.00', the lovely receptionist told me.  Well, I think we all know what that means, and after one hour and fifty three minutes of twiddling my thumbs, he finally t

Since we returned from our four week adventure in Scotland, there has been one question asked many times (from me, mostly).  'Where's next?' I know that there will be a couple of trips down to North Devon to see my cousin who has just taken over a pub, and I'm also sure that the lovely people of Wales will be cursing my back end (or the caravan's more to the point) when we trolley down there again.  But we do have one big trip planned - no caravan required. I might have said, but Mrs S (best friend one) departed these shores for sunnier climes earlier this year.  Every Tuesday, we have a good old fashioned catch up on my life here (kids, rain, gales, cost of living, putting the heating on) and her life there in California (learning Spanish, Bridge Club, extreme heat, not owning a cardigan, kids and not caring whether she ever sees a pair of black opaque tights again).  We have pencilled in a two week stay with her and her fabulous husband to be. He is ex RAF, so for

My feet are not happy... On Saturday, we were invited to a dear friend's 70th birthday party, and there was a live band, a DJ and a steel band.  One quick drink, and I spent the next four hours and twenty two minutes strutting my stuff to hits from the 1960's.  The husband has the dancing prowess of a cat on a hot tin roof with an added tic which involves throwing his arms out at any conceivable angle, irrespective of who is close to hand, and I saw at least two of the bar staff take a short detour to avoid a head on with him.  But he was having a lovely time, so I didn't think it fair to rein him in. During a two minute sit down with another bottle of water - it was so hot in the hall, and I was glowing (polite phrasing for 'sweating like a good'un) - the husband did his version of descriptive dance, that is, putting actions to the words.  The mother and I were doubled up at one of his moves, which involved waggling one hand on his head and another from his derrier

And in a blink of an eye, we are back to normal life (whatever normal is, I still haven't figured that one out yet). It was back to Pilates this morning - my first session in five months, so there was a lot of creaking going on with the old knees.  I'm not what sure what we did in today's class, but what I do know is that I will be paying for it till at least Sunday.  I'm walking round the house this afternoon like an eighty year old woman with a Dowager's Hump who's wearing a bra which is five times too small for her.  The husband will be thrilled to see me when he gets back home later and discovers that his wife can now do a passable impression of a side table. My sister, Mrs L2B (she has the ring, we are just waiting for the date) had a run in with the floor last year which led to rather a major op on Saturday to put everything back to where it should be.   Strapped up to the gunnels, rattling with painkillers and sporting a rather swish navy blue sling, she

So what have I learnt from spending four weeks in a caravan with the husband touring Scotland? Well lots, actually. Firstly, I am completely in love with the Highlands.  This came as no surprise to me, as I adore everything that Mother Nature can chuck at me, but the Highlands take this to another level. The mountains, the water, the silence, the deer, the sky (which seems to sit a million miles higher than the one where I live), the people, the history, the pride.  All of this I have tucked away in my heart, and while I am furious that in my almost sixty years on this planet, this was my first visit, I know that it most definitely won't be my last. I realised on Sunday morning that we have been living in a space the size of our bedroom for the past four weeks.  It made me wonder why we bother with all these rooms, after all, it's just more housework (I cleaned the whole inside of the caravan two weeks in and it took me eight minutes).  Naturally, after two days back, I'm q

And so to our last days in the Lake District. We had a really lovely time with my sister and brother in law (on the husband's side) and spent a most pleasant day ferreting around Cartmel Priory and various antique shops.  As you can imagine, the husband was thrilled with this, but he put on a brave face as he stood outside various establishments with the two dogs while Mrs W and I hit the second hand shops, vintage shops (see second hand shops), retro shops (see before) and a rather wonderful food store where I could buy a whole day's food with a whole week's housekeeping.  We agreed that 'Lake District' comes into the same category as 'London' and 'Henley-on-Thames' where is is completely acceptable to stick an extra zero at the end of any price.  This explains why I came back with just two lottery tickets and a pamphlet on the Priory. We finished off the day with a delicious meal at a restaurant courtesy of our lovely neighbours.  They had grouped

The last few days of our adventure have rattled through far too quickly, so let's see what has been going on. Nicely ensconced in the Lake District (somewhere between a lake, a bay and a few soggy fields) the husband and I are desperately trying to keep our smiles on our faces having left Scotland.  I'll be brutally honest, there were tears on the way down to the Lake District, and I only got into the car for the onward journey after the husband pinky-promised that he would bring me back to the Highlands next year some time. But there were still adventures to be had, and the husband, on a 'cheer up the missus' mission, said to me over breakfast, 'Fancy a train trip this morning?'  That man sure knows his way to this woman's heart, as I love a steam train.  This one went on a very short journey, and having bought our tickets, we settled down on the deserted platform with a cup of coffee and some very peculiar cake (Nut and Almond Rocky Road with a Mars Bar dr