Is this Autumn?

Looks as though its that time of year again...the cold misty dawn sent me hurrying back under the duvet this morning ...yet there have been many mornings this year I have clutched my mug of tea, opened the front door wide to the fresh morning air and opened the computer up to see what is going on in cyber land. I am a morning person, I love the freshness, the peace and quiet in the house, no TV or other background bubble...let them all sleep and leave me winging round the world to read blogs and catch up. But one look out at the hills this morning to thick blue grey mist and drizzle and it was back to the bedroom with my mug of tea. I've just realised that we still have the winter duvet on the bed ...oops how did that happen. Its about now I change them over and lug one of to the industrial washer in Welshpool ready for the next changeover. Mmm dont know how that happened...strange... never had any hot flushes in the summer nights or even had the fan on ...hang on a minute I thought it was supposed to be getting warmer! Obviously not here then!

I am also a summer person, although I can appreciate the beauty of the autumn colours, and the mounds of available produce for my other hobby ...preserving and pickling ,I am going downhill fast towards the long dark nights and the winter. For weeks on end I only see home at the weekend ...I leave for work before it is really light and have to drive home in the dark. I hate it. I was born a Leo, a summer baby, and I do not 'winter' at all well. I loathe snow and cold. The minute I can smell that tinny metallic smell of snow I am in the house and that is it. There have been odd times when I have gone out and shared a plastic bag and whipped down the hillside shrieking and screaming with the rest of them and thoroughly enjoyed it but I never crave a repeat of the experience and as for skiing ...no chance.

We have been replenishing the log store this afternoon across the fields with the trailor and chain saw to reap our winter fuel from where the wind ripped through an ash tree last spring. So different to when my mother would set out on an autumn Saturday in her old mac to go down the river meadows sticking. I love sticking...gathering branches to saw up for the fires..we would take my mum's idea of a picnic ...a packet of crisps with a cold sausage and a hardboiled egg and an apple. We had to drag our sticks home then and leave them propped up ready for Grandad to saw up. Grandad always maintained you get at least two warms from wood...the one when you saw it up and the one when you burn it....we used to get three when we had to drag half a tree about two miles home. It was easy today ...I was loading the trailer as fast as the logs were sawn. The smell was wonderful...seasoned wood. I have always wanted to work in wood, Grandad used to whittle sticks for hours into animals heads, birds and even people. I did go to wood carving classes a few years ago and really enjoyed it but simply couldn't fit any more into my busy schedule but it is definitely something I would wish to return to in the future at some stage.

Home again and sticks unloaded and stored it was time to unload some bags of vegetables and start peeling and salting. I have a market stall next Saturday and an array of jars will be expected. So there are beetroot cooking slowly on the back ring of the cooker in an old saucepan kept specially for the purpose. I sliced a huge red cabbage up ...and was straight away transported as always back to art classes when my lovely teacher would present us with a red cabbage to slice and draw the whirling patterns that are within...we could then take it along to cookery and pickle it! Just have a look the next time you slice one ...it really is amazing. Then it was the time to don the plastic gloves, the glasses, grab a mug of tea and move outside to the table and set to to peel onions. I can't say it is a task I enjoy ...endure would perhaps be a better word. It is a job to be done outside...it does help to be in the fresh air and a breeze if possible. I have been spotted on a November night sitting on the doorstep in a howling gale when I have run short of pickled onions for my stall. Today the sun was warm on my face as I peeled and peeled until half a large bag was done and dusted. I must do the other half tomorrow what ever the weather.

Soon it will be time for the crab apples and sloes and winter will be here before we know it. As I peeled and sliced I thought of other things....do I pick another Open University Course to follow next year.?...I have really enjoyed OU studying and had a 'gap' year this year as I became a grandmother and wondered what would be expected of me along those lines. Or do I just sit down and get on with the final book in our local history trilogy?....most of it is written and ready for action but there are still research tasks to be done and legends to unfold like who DID murder the nun at Hogstow?...we know who hung for it...unfortunately both he and the nun remain roaming the countryside frightening the natives at the most inopportune moments. So where do we head for holidays next year? I really fancy Le Chateau, Ireland is calling very strongly and he has mentioned a canal boat which I loved last time as well...and a friend has just returned from Tuscany extolling the way of life in Italy. Now shall I be brave and venture a little further from these shores ?...mmmmm decisions, decisions! Decisions to ponder on as I peel another bag of onions!

Carry on Ireland!

When I re read that last entry I was just a teeny bit worried that someone may have thought I was having a poke of fun at the Irish...so I was indeed deeply honoured by Irish Eyes' lovely comment and I heaved a sigh of relief that must have been heard over there on the Emerald Isle. Anyway just to set the score completely level between us I will just tell you of my awful embarrassing accident when on holiday in Ireland the last time!

We had decided to take a ferry out to the Aran Islands which in itself for me was a bit brave with not a travel sickness tablet in sight...it was a beautiful day and the sea and sky met in beautiful shades of sparkly blue. We landed on the main island and straight away realised that we had a choice...we could either walk, take a horse and cart, a mini bus or hire a bike. We wanted to get to the far end of the island to see the ramparts of the old fort which are indeed spectacular...but how? It was going to take too long to walk, the minibus...on a hot day..no thanks, the horse and cart appealed but it was actually rather expensive...so a democratic decision was achieved...bikes it was!!

Now although I remember learning to ride a bike in my childhood years I have never actually possessed such an article so my cycling skills are non existant. Feeling rather like an intrepid explorer I mounted my trusty rusty steed and we sallied forth along the narrow lanes , between stone walls and honeysuckle hedges....I was soon left to my own devices as husband and son tore off in front... I could see them ...specks in the distance and then they would come tearing back to have a laugh at me plodding away and then they would disappear again. I was very happy, I felt elated, I had never envisaged riding a bike on holiday but, here I was ,thoroughly enjoying the experience. I began to be brave and overtook walkers...at some speed I might add! Wheeeee!

I did wonder why the other two had stopped and were looking back over their shoulders and laughing...I could see them ....but oddly enough the road went round a corner and disappeared down a bank...mmmmmm...I suppose the brakes work...but just in case...as one is sarting to hurtle down what suddenly became a very steep bank...scream! Very loud screams that were probably heard back on the mainland. I could not control the dratted machine at all and a veritable wobble crept in as I gained even more speed. Apparently the screaming reached a crescendo when I realised there was a ninety degree corner to get round at the bottom of the bank.........a crashing noise was heard and silence!

There were some beautiful stone buildings with a soft grass verge all the way down the infernal bank..farm buildings ...near the bottom and just before the corner there was an opening ...just a sort of window hatch thing. Yep! just like a 'Carry On' film I had catapaulted straight through the opening into the farm building ...the bike was still spinning in the road. I was lucky enough to have had a soft, but not very clean, landing two goats just stared at me mid chew and a couple of chickens squawked a bit, a donkey eyed me from across the yard as I struggled to stand. By this time husband and son were peering through the opening looking for mum! After getting my bearings I realised that I had no option but to either climb the outside wall back onto the road or get back how I had arrived ...through the window! So with husband and son heaving and me sort of abseiling up the wall I returned to the road. The bike was bashed back into shape and off we went again....they rode off and left me because they said the smell was so bad!

I sauntered along ....there was a couple in front of me having a row because she was fed up with cycling so I just overtook them .....'morning' I called and pedalled on ... they just stopped and stared open mouthed....I must have looked a fright...filthy, bent bike, bloody elbow...we stopped by a little bay and I was able to clean myself up a bit in the crystal clear sea ...but they kept holding their noses ...my horrible family. We reached the fort, we had lunch outside a little whitewashed cottage...and I longingly eyed a horse and trap up for the return journey...but no I had no option but to return on my new best friend...the pain I had to endure!

The next day I could hardly walk...did they care? did they hell! Just kept on saying that next year we were going on a cycling holiday.....in the Alps!!

So there we go... fifteen all! I could go on to tell you about the breathtaking scenery, the paths down to the beach where orchids grow like common daisies, the lonely ruins of a convent overlooking the sea where short fat dumpy cattle grazed in what would have been the chapel. Or how about an earlier trip when we found Kenmare and the jauntily painted houses lining the streets, Killarney and the flowers, the beauty of the Beaura peninsula and the historic port of Cobh and the Titanic museum, the sub tropical climate due to the Gulf stream, the little shrines with the fresh flowers and the cliffs of Moher...shall I go on?I think I'll finish at the folk museum in Cashel where I found the poem of the willow pattern china.....

The Willow Pattern

Three little swallows in the sky,

A little vessel passing by,

A little village near the town

And drooping willows hanging down

An orange tree with oranges on it,

An iron gate, and all along

Three little people going to Dover

this is the bridge that they pass over

This is the church without any steeple,

This is the parish without any people.

Two Irish gentlemen!

It is Fennie's fault ...I have just read her wonderful blog about scents and sounds and was immediately transported to Ireland with the mention of peat smoke! I have a long standing love affair with all things Irish and have frequent bouts of what can only be defined as homesickness when I read Irish Eyes. It started many years ago when for quite a time I was in a relationship with a mad, bad, red headed Irishman . He worked in TV, was a writer and an artist, he introduced me to Ireland, to Dublin in particular and I was hooked. Looking back quite objectively not romantically, I think this was the nearest I was to come to my Mr Right...and of course it was wrong at the time...he was staunch Catholic and I was a newly divorced young mother. My family went wild with horror...I never asked what his did! I met his sister, she was the first nun I had encountered at close quarters and we got on famously. Eventually distance was to mean 'out of sight out of mind' instead of 'absence makes the heart grow fonder' and the last I heard of him he was working in Japan.

But Ireland had 'got' to me and never am I happier than when I am on a ferry heading West! I soak up the atmosphere like a sponge, the history , the culture, the mist...whatever ...just bring it on. We have spent countless holidays discovering Ireland, from all of them hilarious memories float to the surface and include....the 'cottage' we rented in an asylum seekers complex next to a dog track. The cottage we rented right out on the West coast that we reached by a causeway when the last words called to us over the owners departing shoulder was 'you will look after the cows!' Whaaaaaaaaaaat! Cows? Where? Oh yes ...there were two of the dearest Hereford cows with three calves that came with the cottage...and came with us for walks on the beach, joined us at mealtimes on the lawn and would have come in and settled in front of he fire had we let them! Noses pressed to the windows as soon as the curtains opened...theirs not ours! I could bore you with photographs of them but I haven't got the technology.

It was while staying at the Cow cottage we found The Burren, an amazing almost lunar landscape with plants and flowers to die for, Thor Ballylee the castle home of the poet W. B. Yeats, Sligo and the Isle of Innisfree...and we met Pete and Doug!

The day had been unbelievable ...July and you could not see your hand in front of your face. The thickest sea mist had crept off the sea taking the sunshine and blue sky, it was like November. It was a case of donning waterproof clothing and walking from one end of the island to the other ...it simply was unsafe to drive anywhere. We took our lunch and our picnic was held in a bus shelter with an old horse and a couple of sheep joining us for company. We trundled back to the cottage not having seen much except rusty corrugated iron, a couple of donkeys and the travelling people's encampment with damp washing strewn across the gorse. The evening beckoned in front of the TV with the log burner taking the chill off the stone cottage. But as quick as it had arrived the mist went and there we were.. a beautiful evening, the sun shining on the clear sea, the brown sailed curraghs slicing through the waves as the teams practised hard for the forthcoming weekend races.

The mist had curtailed our travels around this part of Ireland and we were not going to waste a minute of a sunny evening so off we went with a flask of coffee to the hills and lakes where we watched a couple of gnarled old men shearing sheep by hand under the shadow of a drystone wall. We sat outside a bar near a lake with Guiness for him and an Irish coffee for me and watched the evening sky change to pink and gulls wheeled overhead. On the way back we came upon areas of peat bog that was cut for the home fires ...I was out with the camera and spotted a couple of peat diggers working away as the light dimmed. I walked across and asked if I could take their picture working in the peat. They were only to pleased to oblige and smiled broadly for my camera...I think they only had three teeth between the two of them. I perched on a pile of cut turves and a conversation struck up about peat, the quality, the amount needed to see a home through the winter...I was transfixed. We discussed everything that evening Anglo Irish peace pacts, dog racing, sheep farming, Ireland, England, families...husband had joined me and brought the flask and four cups, a bottle of Jamesons Irish whisky appeared from under a pile of cut turves....the moon shone down on us. One conversation always comes to mind when I think back to that night.....'Well is Shropshire anywhere near Bristol?' .....'Not really...its further up the Welsh border.' ....'Ah ..but I know Bristol' ...'Oh have you been there?' ....'No...but my son is in prison there so he must know it!' mmmmmmmm no answer to that really!

So now when I smell those evocative peat fires as we wander across Ireland I remember two men digging peat...we named them 'Doug' and 'Pete' in the photograph album.....and the evening we put the world to rights under an Irish moon.

Now ....where is that ferry booking form.....

homework!

Thank you En Peu for the baton and here is my homework.....

Twelve sounds or smells that would surely reach me...

1. have got to start with sweet peas...my mother loved sweet peas and she grew them every year all over the wire netting that bordered the chicken run from the striped lawn. There was always a bunch on the kitchen windowsill, and every other place she could find to put one! When I got married I carried a basket of sweet peas and pink and white roses...and the church was stuffed with them. Thanks mum. One whiff of that scent and I am madly looking for the flowers.

2. The song of a thrush...after rain .....early evening in May.

3. Bacon cooking.....I have known strict vegetarians nearly wilt at this smell..but it always takes me back to evenings when my Uncle would visit my Grandad...and my mother would make them bacon sandwiches and we would all sit outside under the trees in the early evening.

4 Richard Burton reading Dylan Thomas' Under Milkwood......amazing.

5 Now for one smell that is simply not available anywhere else but Brighton on the South coast. Its just the smell of summer....geraniums, ageratum flowers, lobelia, the sea, sun tanned skin, coffee, hotels, buses, chickens being spit roasted, antique shops, hot pink concrete, pebbles, oil paint and linseed oil...all mixed up! The favourite smells of teenage years long past.

6. The Rhos Male Voice Choir from Llangollen...I have a dear friend who sings in this choir and have been to many performances that leave me spellbound. But good old Dylan Thomas creeps in again because hearing the Rhos singing Eli Jenkins Prayer is just wonderful.

7. The smell of damp wool....the real stuff...still on the sheep...clean sheep of course! Working with the sheep when they are damp you become enveloped in this smell..it is so warm and comforting somehow. Early in the year in the lambing shed ...as a new lamb is born and it finds its mother and they bond seemingly by unique smell...and the shepherdess heaves a sigh of relief. A pure wool garment washed and drying flat still has that smell.

8. The sounds of the sea.....rushing and sucking over a pebbly beach.

9. The smell of the hay harvest...pure sweet grass drying. As dusk falls if you walk through it and disturb the top layer......Estee Lauder beat that!!

10. I have no idea if it is the custom in all seaside towns, but in Wales where they need little excuse for a good old sing song on a Sunday night...open air hymn singing. With the sea gulls wheeling above in a clear blue sky. We stood amazed one evening as a drunken yob of about 20 years of age staggered from a nearby pub and balanced his pint on the seat of a parked motorbike...leaned on the handlebars to gain support and sang the whole of Amazing Grace ..the proper hymn book version without missing a note! We all stood and clapped...and he sank to the floor!!!

11. Lavender....oil, flowers, whatever...just pour it on...

12. Kris Kristofferson singing 'Me and Bobby McGee' .....years ago I was somenone's 'Bobby McGee'..........

there you go..homework done and dusted and I'm off...out through the door like the proverbial scalded cat to go and cause mayhem somewhere..just like when I had real homework all those years ago....

Baton handed on to Mountainear, Country Craft Angel, @themill, Irish Eyes and Posie Rosie

Emily

There have been some wonderful country characters remembered between us ...here is mine...Emily.

Born in a simple cottage in the hills she certainly knew what hard work was all about from a very early age....that hard work never hurt her she would recall.. in fact it shaped her life. She had a wonderful memory and an eye for detail and loved to share her memories with anyone who cared to listen. Emily became the font of all knowledge when we were compiling our local history book...we would scurry along to her cottage to check something, to borrow a photograph...but once there we were but flies in her web...we would only be 'popping in'...don't be silly....'popping in' could take two hours at least...how many times was I caught on that one...how many saucepans did I burn I wonder? Emily would settle down in a straight backed chair...smooth her wrap round pinny over her lap ..tuck a wisp of hair back in its correct plait coroneted about her head...fix you with her beady all knowing gaze... and that was it....captive audience!

She told amazing stories of her life in the hills, of carrying dynamite in her bicycle basket, her father was keeper of the powder house keys. Those keys were brass to ensure no sparks could be accidently caused. A this stage keys would be produced from behind her .... a magician could learn his trade here. A strange casket of blue, purple and white crystals would twinkle in the evening light...we would lean foward to gaze in awe as Emily pointed out the different mineral characteristics within. From birth to death Emily could recount the lives of families that lived along the 'dingles' the scandals, the tragedies...the everyday life of country folk she was a 'people watcher' like no other.

Emily married and lived up here in the hills but sadly it was not a marriage blessed with children and I think that may have been her one regret because she certainly loved children ...now and then if you looked closely a wistful look would be there for a second...fleetingly. As if to compound that she became a widow at quite a young age. Her faith became her backbone...her family had been staunch Methodists ...'they signed the pledge' she would proudly acclaim. I think Emily had as well because she was not a happy person when the WI had their monthly meeting in the pub after a walk....definitely not a happy Emily that night. It was through the Methodist chapel that Emily was to meet her second husband Tom ...who sold potatoes and was known to all as 'Tato Tom'. Well if ever there was an incongruous pair this was it! The whole village stood back in amazement..open mouthed..gobsmacked...whatever label you want to put on it! She preached in chapel...virtually hell fire and brimstone...He wheeled and dealed around the countriside...a couple of calves here, a few spuds there out of an old green van. The original country version of Arthur Daly.

One of the most remembered quotes in 'Never on a Sunday' referred to 'Tato Tom'......

'Uncle Harry lived at Crowsnest and had a butchers round..he had a shed where he cut up meat. He used to trade a bit with Tommy G that came up from Minsterley and one Sunday morning Tommy came up and wanted to trade....

'How much do you want for that cow?' asked Tommy

'No...I amma dealing today!' Uncle Harry replied

'What do you mean you amma dealing today? he said

'Well its Sunday'.....said Uncle Harry, 'I dunna deal on a Sunday..'

Tommy thought a while...

'Well..if today was tomorrow how much would you want for that cow?..

So it was that Emily married Tato Tom and became pasenger in the old green van with a couple of Jack Russell terriers on her lap and a sheep or goat in the back looking out of the window. On Sundays she would preach from the pulpit and he would sit in his Sunday best in the congregation as proud as could be but no doubt thinking of his deals for Monday! They had fields dotted around all over the village. a barn here.. a shed there..their way of farming would leave a modern farmer heading for the auctioneer's hammer and a farm sale. So the fun would really start at hay harvest...it would be all down to logistics...how on earth they ever sorted it out I shall never know..but they did...the barns and sheds would be filled..the animals moved around by walking them along the village lanes...Tommy in front like Moses leading the tribe with Emily dashing frenetically around at the back accompanied by a handful of terriers who did little but make a noise.

Emily was however to become a widow for the second time and after the funeral we waited ...and watched...and waited for Emily to give up the small holding and the animals and perhaps retire gracefully...but no! She carried on as if nothing had happened...not selling the bags of potatoes perhaps but the animals seemed to multiply until the very hedges were bursting with goats, chickens, ponies, donkeys and sheep. Emily couldn't drive so how was she going to manage her kingdom dotted about as it was? A trusty neighbour stepped in, he and his wife shared Emily's love of animals. One of the last times I think I saw Emily was perched on top of a trailer of hay bales ....in her 80's. The rickety trailer being towed by Wilf's pony...she was laughing and waving regally.

Writing and performing were Emily's passion. She wrote one act plays for the WI and would perform in them..dressing up accordingly..sometimes they did not appear to have been written by one so deeply involved with the Chapel! Poetry simply flew from her pen, hymns, songs, dittys..all recited at the local Eisteddfodd each March...or indeed wherever she could find a captive audience. She was the original Victoria Wood and would have a village hall full of people rocking in their seats with tears running down their weatherbeaten faces.

So it was that I came knocking on her cottage door for snippets of information about the history of our village...I never left empty handed...apples or plums from the orchard, eggs warm from her hens, a couple of pullets my young son had been playing with. We would sit in the straight backed chairs in front of the fire...Emily would talk and I would listen...her hands were never still...as she talked she would be stirring a basin of batter for welsh cakes that would cook on the griddle in front of us..which we would share with mugs of steaming tea...so strong it would catch the back of my throat...but that was how Tommy had liked it apparently.

One evening I arrived and was amazed to find Emily with a man in a turban loading up some of her goats into his van. They were laughing away like old friends ....I went to leave not wishing to interrupt what was obviously a business transaction...but Emily called me back and I was introduced to a very charming gentleman of Indian origin who bowed low to us both as he left. I must have been standing there open mouthed ...Emily laughed and put a weatherbeaten brown hand on my arm...'for goodness sake girl stop looking so shocked!' ...Girl! I was in my forties for goodness sake! 'come on in and have a cuppa and I will explain' ...and explain she did..still laughing at the incredulity that must have been so apparent on my face. What...she asked me ..just what was she supposed to do with all her male kid goats? Not ever having had a lot to do with goats this was not a problem I had encountered..so I waited for the answer which was simply that she had an arrangement with this man who took them away for religious festivals....errr but dont they kill them? Hysterical laughter followed...so what do they do to lambs at the abbatoir? The comment that followed was one i have never forgotten...'they have the best life they could have ever wished for while they are with me and my dear you would do well to remember there is no room for sentiment in business!'

There's a song...'Isn't it ironic?' that I can hear in my brain...something about winning the lottery and dying the next day ....a fly in the Chardonnay....rain on your wedding day...etc etc...

So it was with Emily...she wrote a magnificent poem for the millenium...I heard her read it once at a WI meeting in October 1999. She helped us with our local history project so much and was so looking forward to its publication and the book launch in 2000. One Monday evening in November 1999 she played the piano for choir practice went home ..sat in her chair for her evening cuppa and simply died. The next time I heard her poem read was at her funeral. Our book was published in 2000....at the front there is a page that reads.....'this project began in 1998 is dedicated to those who gave interviews, information and support, but who are sadly, no longer with us to have seen the project completed.....Emily is there in that list........'they may rest from their labours: for they take with them the record of their deeds'.....Revelation 14.13

A PS to Wipso ...please join in in the comments box....I dont mind sharing!!

'Granny Grumble' on tour!

My first 'granny grumble' day was lovely...the sun shone...we walked miles and T was as happy as a chubby baby without a care in the world could be. We wandered through the woods along the old railway line and T avidly watched the leaves on the trees moving in the breeze. When we hit the tarmac again we seemed to attract baby watchers like bees to a honeypot...what should have taken me an hour took nearly three because the world and his wife wanted to see the baby, have a natter and tease me unmercifully about becoming a granny...'I can remember your mum taking you to school...' (so can I ...she used to make me run if we were late!) 'OOOoo what a lovely little girl..whats her name?' (blank look ....he is all in blue with a blue monkey..perhaps her eyesight is going..bless) I was even presented with an L plate ferreted from a garage shelf....cheeky!!

Noticed the blackberries in the hedge by the farm gate ...so had to dash home to get plastic bowl and then teamed up with a real 'professional gran' She had arrived to take care of three while mum went to work and had had another couple dropped off as well....she was totally relaxed about it all....she was actually hiding by the rabbit hutch sucking well on a Benson and Hedges when I spotted her! Off we went looking like the raggle taggle gypsies (can I say that these days?.....too late just did....sorry to anyone offended...none meant) a good natured Grandad was hauled out of the TV to join us ...useful for the high ones. We spent two hours laughing at the kids squabbling over 'the biggest blackberry'...we all got stung by nettles and had to find dock leaves...left the spitting bit to the grandad. We stood and watched the buzzards wheeling and mewing above us...the grandad doing the nature study lesson for all the little ones...he was very good and they were mesmerized...back to the job in hand...we picked loads. The pram was weighed down with plastic cartons of all shapes, colours and sizes...well that's what prams are for aren't they? So many nifty numbers appear to be fashion accessories these days with scant regard for the actual comfort of the poor child. Mind you I sometimes wonder if some babies aren't just that as well but we wont go there...no rant today, the rant has gone away...bit of an old tune there...was it the Kinks?

So far this year we have picked strawberries, raspberries, blackcurrants, whinberries and now blackberries...still to come are the crab apples and the nuts...think I may need a bigger pram! T of course slept...oblivious to all the shrieking and laughing going on around his chariot. We free wheeled home down the bumpy lane watching the children playing horses on sticks they had found in the hedgerow. Professional gran sneaked another B&H on the way ...S has forbidden smoking in the house...gran's not offended...understands perfectly but enjoys her crafty fags.

T slept ..flat out in the shade of the tree until it was time for tea but first two doting uncles had to have a play time so there were shrieks and giggles that could be heard all over the village as they proceeded to vie for his attention. He has a toy mountain at home but looking at the amount here as well we could probably set up a stall. All these toys available and yet this afternoon we watched as five children between 6 and 11 played horses with sticks..they can still do it.

Most of you will have seen the picture below when Jackofall and I were hysterically trying to put pictures up in the common room using the wrong codes so I apologise for it..... but BOD...RAN...where are you....won't have seen it because she was away at the time and somehow didn't realise until the previous post that I was a real live granny grumble!

People watching

Today is the start of a different phase in my life....granny! Or 'granny grumble' as my son describes me! I have been a 'granny' since March but today the work actually starts in earnest as we all pitch in to support T as she heads back to her NHS career. Their mortgage on the little house on the prairie is one of those 'sharp intake of breath' ones...for such a little house.My heart goes out to the youngsters of today struggling to get a toe on the property ladder. Neither set of granparents can offer serious financial assistance so between us we will make sure they have no child care bills to pay! My first 'practice' day.... Saturdays or Sundays will be my normal days but today I have taken a day's leave to 'have a go' where there was a gap in the planning schedule which reads like a military operation! I shall be in total charge from breakfast to bedtime...she says rubbing her hands with glee....! We will be spending much of the day walking...I have a pram up here for such occasions...we shall be sheep watching, showing off to the great great grannies that will no doubt be nosing under the hood of the pram...they will get a shock when Toby chortles back...he is not a tiny bundle at 5 months old...and doesn't he love a conversation!! While he is having a sleep I will be indulging myself by popping in and out of the common room a little more frequently than working full time allows. I suppose I should be doing houseworky things but hell it is my first day as a proper 'granny' I'll celebrate in my own way!!

I shall no doubt be introducing the baby to one of my favourite pastimes ..people watching. I was 'taught' so well by my mother.....on those afternoons when she used to haul me off to Shrewsbury to avoid the pig killing spectre being carried on at home. We would perch on high stools in Sidoli's Coffee Shop in the Square and have big white cups of frothy coffee and watch tables of old ladies gossiping, lovers canoodling, business men discussing..we would guess their names....what area they came from....their likes and dislikes....... Much later...back at home...mum would get out the white paper and a biro or a pencil and sketch them out of her memory and we would see them all again.....and carry on in the firelight....wondering where they went when they left the cafe...where were they now. Some of those sketches are still here, I treasure them....somehow they are all I have been left with from my mother's art work and I just do not know how that happened...because there was so much of it all over her house a one time...big pictures, little pictures, sketches balancing behind ornaments on the mantelpiece intricate doodles all the way along the newspaper edges..these she would do outside in the sun.....the neighbours faces, the dog, an open gate, flowers, me...a chubby five year old in red shorts.

My days of wearing red shorts are long gone and it appears the puppy fat returned with a vengence and it will soon be my turn to draw the pictures for T and watch the people passing by and try to guess what makes them tick. We may get a few right ...we may not... but that doesn't matter because we will be sharing a special time.

Some of my girls are grannies too! The lambs are still with us due to restrictions currently in place...normally they would have been shipped out to the salt marshy areas on the Welsh coast. Strange how things happen for the best......last summer was so dry we were worried about the lack of grass and had to ship them off to Wales early. This year due to the rain they are in grass up to their armpits so we do not have to worry about the restrictions ...well not for a while yet anyway!! ...and before you ask ...no ...that red brick bungalow with the great wall of china and numerous stone ornaments is absolutely nothing to do with me!!