Remember this?

The view from our back door?

Now it's this.The backyard now retitled the courtyard!

He had a whopper!

When we walk I nearly always take my camera with me, as I did yesterday. I thought I'd try it on the b&w setting and was merrily snapping away, pretending to be David Bailey, when we came across a man. Ohmigosh! His camera was slung over his shoulder and his lens was the length of his thigh! And he wasn't short!

I hid my camera behind my back. 'Me? Taking photos? No, I'm just walking the dog.' It wasn't a time for ' you show me yours and I'll show you mine.'

* * * * * * * * * *

I started a jigsaw on Sunday for the first time for at least a year and probably two; I had forgotten how addictive they are. 'Just one more piece ... then I'll come to bed ... in a minute ...'

Monochrome Maniacs

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My favourite letter

I was doing word puzzles the other night when a thought struck me: I really like the letter T. I wouldn't say it's my absolute favourite letter but it is in my top 3.

If I had to choose a favourite I think it would have to be O. It's so perfect in sound and shape. They're both soft letters, which I tend to prefer, and T is just so very useful for so many things. Rather like N, S or R, our words would be dull without it. It can blend or add emphasis; soothe over the moment or create a tension. And its shape, whether a capital or small case, is pleasing.

I'm indifferent about N, tend to dislike S - but appreciate its qualities - and am ambivalent about R. (To err is human; to arrr is pirate.)

I also like K, which, although hard, has attitude, character, the old kicking C of learning the alphabet.

I have put a lot of thought into this you can tell.

What's your favourite letter?

Rugby and stuff

I'm not going to talk about yesterday's rugby because I will have to hit something if I do.

Husband was on a boys' day out canoeing and, as the rugby's only on Sky, it meant I either had to go to the pub on my own or not watch it. I dithered for a bit but finally chose to do some gardening accompanied by the radio.

The neighbours must have wondered what was going on with the alternating 'Yay!'s, 'Oh no!'s, and 'Oh crap!'

But I'm not going to talk about it 'cept to say the Welsh had a great game. I've never liked Ronan O'Gara anyway.

* * * * * * * * * *

We were having trouble with t'internet on Friday, coincidentally after the thunder and lightning (very very frightening - except I slept through it) so Husband called out BT. Their little man called Saturday morning at 8.20 and after doing some tests concluded he needed a cherry-picker. 'And cherry-pickers don't work on Saturdays.'

* * * * * * * * *

Sort of related but different, we bought new phones for the house this afternoon, and they're magic! You can call upstairs - or downstairs if you're up - and transfer calls. It'll be dead good when Younger Son is back as he's always hiding the phone in his room.

Oh George!

It was very warm walking today and George thought a roll in some mud would cool him down.

Saturday Photohunt - Flags

Flags flying from the castle, people draped in flags and me with the Welsh dragon on my cheek: yes, it's rugby international day in Cardiff!

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xx

Between my legs

George has got into the habit of sneaking between my legs when I'm walking. I don't know if you've ever tried walking with a retriever between your legs but it's not easy.

Is it me?

Or is the world getting odder?

My home page is set to BT Yahoo and it comes up with headlines - I hesitate to call them news - the latest of which include these:

Stoned wallabies make crop circles;

Big Mac 'healthier than salad';

Mucky pup saved in dramatic toilet rescue;

Monkey urinates on Zambian president.

No, you're right: it's probably me.

What do you think?

I am of the opinion that going under a son's bed is above and beyond the call of duty and comes under the category 'Things a Mother Should Not Do.' What do you think?

Yes, I thought you'd agree. That settles it then: what the eye can't quite see won't worry me.

Although last time I did it I found 27 socks.

P.S. It was a beard under the desk.

Monster under the bed

Not actually under the bed as I haven't got that far yet.

There is something black and hairy under Younger Son's desk.

It is possibly a mitten but having seen some of the other things in his room I need an energy boost before I go there.

So I'm stopping for lunch.

I could be gone some time ...

While Younger Son is away I am spring-cleaning his room. I spent half an hour in there yesterday. Any longer than that in one go is not recommended by the H&S executive.

I'm back off there now.

Like a child

In church on Sunday Chris and Alun were talking about joy. Alun described a toddler fascinated by a bunch of keys, and suggested that most grown-ups have lost their childlike enthusiasm for the everyday.

We have to walk through a field to get to the river or the tip and it's just been mowed. I imagine the people Alun was talking about would look at it and say, 'About time too.' I look at it and say, 'Yay, piles of cut grass for me to kick!'

If Husband had taken me for a surprise picnic on the cliffs I'd have been so excited I'd have been in danger of falling off the cliffs. But that, as I said, is what marriage is about: tolerance. (Could you hear me saying that through gritted teeth?)

Honestly, I am wasted

Because we went to Hay on Monday we weren't going to do anything today to celebrate our anniversary but, as the day wore on, I began thinking that 31 years was worth doing something for. So I planned a surprise picnic on the cliffs. I put my diet on hold for the day and bought yummy bread and cheese, made scones and took clotted cream and jam, as well as melon, cherries and beer. Husband grumbled that I was making him walk too far. Then he said, 'Are you sure this is parma ham? It looks like gone-off bacon.'

Husband is not given to spontaneous romantic gestures. Next year I'll book us into a restaurant.

P.S. George and I enjoyed ourselves.

If you go down to the woods today

I'm never frightened in the woods but I had the creeps for five minutes today. It was the rustling in the bushes making me spin round every two minutes to see if a bear was following me that did it. I don't know why I worried: George would have protected me.

As long as he wasn't distracted with treats.

Walking back along the river yesterday we met a couple and a spaniel. The man asked me if it were very muddy further along. 'Not at all, 'I replied. 'It's fine.'

I walked a bit further then glanced back and noticed they were both wearing open-toed sandals.

Now not at all muddy and very muddy are comparatives, subjectives even. If you're used to sinking to your ankles in mud or getting water over the top of your wellies then it wasn't at all muddy ...

I saw the man again today. He was wearing sensible shoes.

What's wrong with this world?

So when we were walking in the woods I was thinking more about the question of why God doesn't step in when a child is abused.

We sin, and when we sin it's because we make the wrong choice. We were created with free will. The abuser chooses to harm the child; it's his decision. He is to blame, no-one else.

Why doesn't God step in? But at what point in the many wrongs in this world should God step in? When the abuser approaches the child? When the finger is on the nuclear button? When I am about to call someone a nasty name?

I'm not belittling child abuse, heaven forbid, but surely if we are to have a God then he must be consistent. And step in each time a bad choice is about to be made - and we would be robots - or not step in.

Sean mentioned a response that he'd read to the question "What's wrong with this world?"
"I am."

But I suppose the answer that comes closest to satisfying me is that there are things I just don't understand.

I don't understand why God allows child abuse any more than I understand why he allowed his son to be abused and killed for me.

Happy anniversary to us

Thirty-one years today!

'So tell me, what is the secret of a happy marriage?'

Love, laughter, tolerance.

And let's face it, it takes a very special man to have put up with me for 31 years.

But chocolate has helped too.

Fruit and nuts

You may have gathered that Zac's can be a little chaotic on times; last night it excelled itself.

I can't even begin to describe it; you had to be there. On Facebook Sean said, '... getting more convinced that Zac's Place is a 'fruit and nut' bar ...'

We're looking at David and there was a really good message in last night's reading about the grace of God but I wondered how many people had taken it in because of the distractions.

Just as I was leaving, Keith came over and chatted to me. We talked about one of those distractions: a man who wanted to know why God didn't step in when a child was being raped. There are all sorts of Christian explanations, reasons and 'answers' to that question, including the ideas of free will, sin in the world, and so on but most of us would admit that we can't comprehend it. It's evil and as the questioner said, 'If God can step in and part the Red Sea, why doesn't he step in there?' I don't know.

For me, where I am, where I've made the decision to follow Jesus, I have to say that I continue to trust God, and hang on to that. By the finger-tips maybe. Knowing that if a child of mine was raped I'd want to kill the offender.

But I didn't mean to go into that question. What I was going to say was that the questioner was one of those who didn't really want an answer. He had his view and though he asked the question he didn't listen to the answers. the most frustrating sort of questioner.

So Keith and I were discussing this and Keith said, 'Even if I don't understand what the Bible's about or learn from that, I learn about God just by seeing the patience Sean has. In answering the question he was so patient; I was learning from that.'

So my doubts about the benefits of the study were dealt with very effectively. This is what Christianity is about. Not about the Bible - though it provides a manual for life - but about living that life, and showing God to others through it.

I have such a lot to learn.
xx

Bad signs

1. Only 1 sandal in the study.

2. Back door open.

A search of the garden revealed the other - chewed - sandal.

That will teach me to leave my shoes on the floor.

(No, it won't.)

For the child

Some years, possibly as many as ten, ago I attended a talk by American author, Walter Wangerin, Jr. I bought a copy of his book, The Bedtime Rhyme, and asked him to sign it. I don't know if you can read the inscription I asked for but it says, 'For the child as yet unborn.' You see, Baby, long before you were to be born, long before you were in your mummy's tummy, long before you were even thought of, you were in my heart.
I love your eyes
Like fireflies;
I love your ears
Like boutonnieres;
I love your back,
Your bones in a sack;
I love your cheeks
And all your teeths,
Your nose and toes and tongue and such -

But you say, "Stop! How much? How Much?"

More than you will ever know, Baby.

Cake anyone?

I'm not very good at making small cakes. I think I must open the door to check their progress too soon because they're nicely risen when I look but, when I take them out a few minutes later, they've flattened out. Still I expect they'll get eaten at Zac's tonight. A bit of fancy stuff on top makes all the difference!

Hay today, gone tomorrow

We had a lovely time at Hay yesterday, mostly eating! We couldn't stay too long because of getting back for George and circuits, and we were late getting there so we didn't have much time to spend browsing. That's the trouble with Hay: it's too much! I'm darting from here to there, glancing at this and then at that. I couldn't find the books I was looking for - mainly because I was too distracted - but I felt Daughter's growing bump and bought a book for baby. So it was a lovely day.

Can you see the man arranging the books in the upstairs window?

Rock on

Another photo of pebbles on Pwll Ddu, this time, just after George had come out of the river and shaken all over, the stones, the camera and me.

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Hay, ay

As it's our 31st anniversary on Wednesday, Husband and I are both taking the day off tomorrow. Daughter and Son-in-law are spending the weekend with S-i-l's grandparents in Builth Wells so we're meeting them for lunch in Hay-on-Wye tomorrow.

Hay-on-Wye or the town of books. Yay!

Hay is a small market town of about 1,500 people, and it's renowned for its secondhand and antiquarian bookshops - currently about 30 of them along the couple of main streets. Everywhere you look there are bookshops, some in unusual places, like the castle and the old cinema.

Richard Booth came up with the idea of a town of books, opening his first secondhand bookshop in the old fire station in 1961. By the late 70s Hay was recognised as the first town of books and now there are more than 60 all over the world.

The Hay Literary Festival, which attracts speakers of the highest calibre including Margaret Attwood, Ian McKewan and Stephen Fry, takes place for a week over the May Bank holiday every year.

But I just love Hay for its bookshops.

Happy Father's Day

I decided to strip our bed yesterday right down to the mattress cover. Which was fine until it was time for bed and I discovered that;
a) I'd forgotten to dry the mattress cover;
b) what I thought was a spare one was for a single bed.

'Never mind,' I said. 'We'll sleep in a spare bedroom.'

With no children around, being in a different bed and with a television in the room, it was just like being in a hotel!

Husband, who works away a lot, is used to hotels and didn't find this as exciting as I did. However, he did get something in bed this morning that he doesn't get a hotel ...

warm croissants and milky coffee.

P.S. Meanwhile, in a nod at decadence, I, on my diet, had sliced banana with my Special K.

P.P.S. Why is it that you put the duvet cover, sheet and pillowcases separately into the washing machine yet they they always come out with everything inside the duvet cover? How do they do that?

Happy Father's Day!

South Africa 26 - 21 British Lions

The line-outs were dreadful, the scrum even worse, the kicks were bad, and they couldn't finish, but apart from that the Lions played the more exciting rugby.

The Springboks were mechanical and efficient in spite of not having played for some time, and at half-time, when the score was something like 21 - 7, it looked as if it could be a totally depressing game.

But then they brought on some more Welsh players including Younger Son's double and it came close to a turn-round. But not quite close enough.

The next two games are at altitude and, having lost the first test, the odds will be against the Lions, but in true Welsh spirit, I still believe they can win the series!

Saturday Photohunt - Creamy

Both Devon and Cornwall, counties in the west of England, claim the cream scone as their own, but today you'll find cream teas, comprising scones, usually two, with cream and strawberry jam, along with a pot of tea, being sold in teashops all over Britain. Whether you follow the Devon custom of putting a layer of cream and following it with a teaspoon of jam or the Cornish tradition of buttering the scone before topping it with jam and then cream, a cream shop is the perfect treat.

And scones are very quick and easy to make. You need:
8 oz self-raising flour
a pinch of salt
1 level teaspoon baking powder
1½ oz margarine
¼ pint milk
1½ tablespoons caster sugar
Beaten egg or milk to glaze

Preheat the oven to 220oC, gas mark 7. Lightly grease a baking sheet. Sieve the salt, baking powder and flour into a bowl and rub in the margarine until it resembles breadcrumbs. Mix in the sugar and add enough milk to give a soft dough.

Lightly roll it out to a thickness of about ¾" and cut out circles. Place on the baking sheet and brush with beaten egg or milk. Cook for about 12 minutes or until golden and well-risen.

Eat as fresh as possible with strawberry jam and clotted cream, a very thick and yellow cream, if available.

To take part in Saturday Photohunt, visit tnchick.
xx

I hate my scales

I have been on a pretty proper diet for over a month now. I refused to weigh until my shorts felt looser -and I should have stuck to that.

Younger Son had got the scales out to weigh his luggage and he'd left them on the landing. Feeling slim and good about myself I jumped on.

And I weighed more than when I started!!! How can that be? Those flipping scales are lying to me!! I hate them! I hate everybody and everything!

It's enough to drive a girl to chocolate.

Blooming scales. Mutter, mutter, mutter. Blinking ryvita. Pah!!!

Bye, bye, baby

Well, my baby's gone. Younger Son is flying off to Ibiza this evening and a friend was giving him a lift to Luton. He was quite calm and organised about it; I was the one who was fussing.

He'll be all right. I know he will. It's only for three months.

But I'm a mum. I've got to worry a bit.

The plot thickens

Our back garden neighbours have a climbing rose that grows out over the fence by the path, and it has occasional yellow blooms in amongst the white. It's growing quite near our domesticated wild rose so perhaps there's something in the soil causing the mutations.

Like Toby, our old cat.

In which George is frightened by mushrooms

George was frightened today in the woods when he saw the vicious-looking fungi on this tree. His barking grew even more ferocious as I approached it to take a photo.
'Don't go near it, mum!'
'It's all right, George; it's only fungi.'
'Yeah, like it was 'only a meteor storm' in London. We've all read Day of the Triffids.'

It is very hard for George being a dog of a sensitive nature and with a vivid imagination.

P.S. Okay, I've tried saving the photo and uploading again and it looks fine before publishing but then half of it disappears. It's a mystery.

Look, one leg!

It was really windy round the top cliff path today. I shouted to Husband, 'Lookity! I'm flying on one leg!'
'You haven't really got the hang of this flying malarkey, have you? You're supposed to fly on no legs.'
'That shows how much you know. If I flew no legs, I'd fall down!'
Honestly.

George the lapdog

Flushed but not with success

An image on The Depp Effect made me think of Auntie Vi's lavatory.

She lived in a small cottage - the type known as a Fisherman's cottage although not necessarily because a fisherman ever lived there - with an outside lav. To get to it you had to go from the kitchen round the back of house.

I used to love going to the toilet when I visited her as it was just like the one in the photo, more of a comfy chair and ideal for reading.

Ours was outside the back door too but it was an ordinary toilet so not at all exciting. I don't know if Auntie Vi kept a candle in there: I only ever went in in daylight.

And I don't recall if it had a flush but I think it did.

Auntie Vi's house was on the side of a hill and there were a couple of steps to get to the lavatory; my great-gran on my grandfather's side also lived on a hill but to get to her lavatory you had to go outside down a steep set of steps. It must have been hazardous in the winter. Did she have a wooden toilet too? She might have done. She had an old proper fire range cooker and made the best rice pudding.

What Lego-men do when they're not being pirates

I pulled a tissue out of my cleavage and a Lego-man fell on the floor.

What was he doing there?!

You are loved

The bible study had just started at Zac's when the door opened and a youngish (probably early 20s) lad came in. He asked if it was for the homeless and was told it was a bible study but that he was welcome to join in. 'Oh, I like a bible study,' he said, and found himself a seat.

A bit later on he walked across to Steve who was leading it and asked if he could read something before he went. This was in the middle of the study but Steve said, 'yeah, okay, go on.'

'My name is M***** P*** and I've just come out of jail. I'm going to Victory Outreach. I found out in jail that no matter what you do God loves you.'

Then he read the 23rd psalm, the Lord is my shepherd.

He was unsteady on his feet and looking rough, and I'm guessing that he'd come out of jail, met up with old friends and used again. Victory Outreach is a sort of Christian rehab organisation with homes across the country with very strict rules. M has a very long and hard battle ahead of him if he's going to come out clean and reborn (in the widest sense). I pray that God gives him the strength and determination to stick with it, and protects him from the wrong influences.
x

Dinner tonight

We had sea bass on tomato salsa with lightly-cooked courgettes. Husband complained that:

he doesn't like courgettes cooked like that;

the bass was cold and tasteless;

I'd bought him some nice bread but no butter to go with it.

I felt a Gordon Ramsey moment coming on.

By any other name

Sometimes when I'm walking over the tip I'll suddenly stop and take a deep breath. 'Ah, smell that, George.' Then I'll plunge into the bushes to stick my nose into a rose. There's nothing like the scent of a wild rose.

So a few years ago I persuaded Husband to take a spade and a carrier bag on a walk. (I'm almost sure it wasn't illegal.)

The bush flourished in our garden but the strange thing is that the blooms changed from something like this ...

to this ...
As if simply being in our garden domesticated it. The smell isn't quite as sweet either.

Not for me, thank you

Oh my, I just had a phone call and I honestly thought it was someone putting on a silly voice! It was a posh camp voice - a bit like Loyd Grossman (who isn't posh or camp) only not so harsh - and the instant he started speaking I began to laugh, thinking it must be someone I know trying to tease me.

I hope he didn't notice.

* * * * * * * * * *

After the disastrous red mullet on Saturday the waitress came round to take dessert orders.
'And what will you have, madam?'

The words 'sticky toffee pudding' were dancing on my tongue but suddenly I heard Devonshire Dumpling saying, 'Puddings make you fat!' I savoured the thought of the sticky toffee for a moment longer before I said, 'Just a pot of tea for me, please.'

Which was a wise decision as it turned out. Husband had the sticky toffee and he let me have a spoonful (he must have been feeling full as we're both normally very protective of our food - getting a chip off his plate is like breaking into Colditz) and it wasn't very nice at all. So my virtue was rewarded.

A bit fishy

I had red mullet, I think for the first time, at the weekend and it wasn't very nice. I couldn't decide if I didn't like the taste of the fish or if it were just a doubtful piece badly cooked, so I went to the fish shop in Mumbles to get some for dinner today.

They didn't have any.

So I had to buy local sea bass, which is probably my favourite fish, although I'm very fond of hake too. I was a little late getting there so they'd already started putting away the cockles, crabs and lavabread but I thought you might like to see some of the fish on display. Other local fish included Dover sole, slip sole, skate, plaice and trout.

This open-fronted shop has been a fishmonger's as long as I can remember, certainly back to my childhood, when it was run by Mrs Garner, whose husband named his trawler Katie Ann after her. Later her son, Bobby, took over the running of the shop - and it was a source of great excitement in the village when Bobby was seen on television in the crowd dancing on Top of the Pops. No, not TOTP, the ITV variation, um, what was it called?

A few years ago it was being run by a man who didn't seem to know much about fish and his produce was of dubious quality but it's been taken over by a Swansea market fishmonger and now the fish is always delicious.

Otterly possible

Because of my cold - I'm much better, thank you, as you've probably guessed from the lack of grumbling - and general busyness, I haven't been out with George for over a week! Today we put that right and headed for the river. It was bliss.Before we set off Husband was telling me about a man he met at the lake yesterday. He said there'd been reports of otter sightings and he was looking for paw prints. 'So keep an eye out,' Husband said.

I decided we probably had more hope of seeing a paw print than an otter, so, undeterred by the fact that I didn't know what otter paw prints looked like, George and I set off on an otter hunt. And look what we found!

And here's an otter print from Google.Well, if it's not an otter it's ... something else.

Keeping everyone happy

Making an apple cake, I managed to remove the peel intact from the apple. I immediately ran to the forest so I could dance naked in the clearing at midnight before throwing the peel over my shoulder to find out the initial of my true love. And what do you know? It turned out to be Husband's initial! (Which is just as well as he had been making threatening noises.)

Of course now George is sulking. 'I thought I was your true love.'

I tried to reassure him. I said, 'You are my doggy love,' but it didn't do any good and he has turned to drink. Or at least turned to eating the cardboard drink carton.

Have you ever seen such a sad face?

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A mother's job

I was in a funny anti-social mood this weekend, and that was unfortunate as we were visiting the in-laws. Still, it probably just confirmed their opinion of me.

The weekend started badly on Friday night with a church meeting about finance. The trouble with church meetings is that they're full of Christians. I was so angry I couldn't trust myself to speak.

But we had good news today: Younger Son has got a job for the next three months ... in Ibiza. I was so pleased that he'd been successful that I haven't yet started to worry about the fact that he's going to be spending three months in Ibiza, drink and drug party centre of the Mediterranean.

We - YS, Husband and I - were sitting outside eating lunch, talking about this, when I nudged Husband and said, 'You ought to talk to your son.'
'About what?'
'You know, condoms.'
Husband and YS burst out laughing.

And I missed it!

My lovely city of Swansea now holds the world record for the largest number of people dressed as smurfs. With 2,510 gathered together, the previous record of 1,253 held by Castleblayney in County Monaghan, Ireland, was easily beaten.

Our world

Barclays Bank CEO is to get a £22 million bonus.

Footballer Ronaldo will be earning £55 a minute, 24 hours a day.

Children are dying for want of clean water.

Saturday Photohunt - Lock

We run a Friday night youth club in church and this is the cupboard where the tuck shop goodies are stored. It's LOCKed, they say, to keep out thieves ... but really it's to stop me and my boss getting in and raiding the chocolate!
To take part in Saturday Photohunters, visit tnchick.

I'm posting early this week as I'm going away and so won't be able to visit until Sunday evening.
xx

KJ03 ZRN

Am I allowed to do that? Well, I don't care.

I was driving to Mumbles lunchtime following a red van, registration mark KJ03ZRN. Suddenly a coke can was thrown out of the passenger window. A few seconds later a plastic bottle was given the same treatment.

I honestly didn't think people did that any more.

I'm writing to the local paper next!

Proof if proof were needed

If you've read this blog for any time you may have gathered two things about me:
1) I can be a little bit twp on occasion;
2) I have been longing to be a granny.

Now before I tell you this story, which combines both these elements, I should say something in my defence.

Daughter had a sewing machine for her birthday; she's also a very good cook, and she'd said, 'be warned: everyone is getting home-made presents this year.'

So come Mother's Day weekend in March, Daughter and son-in-law came to stay, bringing me a lovely bunch of flowers. Later, when we were all sitting down, Daughter said, 'We do have another Mother's Day present for you but it won't be ready until November.'

Instantly Husband leapt up, very emotional, and began hugging them and saying, 'Wonderful news, well done.'

And I'm still sitting there thinking, 'Have I missed something?'

Swansea's answer to Pamela Anderson

I just saved a life!

While eating lunch in the garden I was idly watching a bee doing backstroke in the pool. It wasn't until its little limbs stopped flailing around that I began to wonder if it were normal for a bee to swim, let alone do backstroke.

I leapt into action. With my knife.

Have you ever tried to fish a bee out of a pool using only a knife?

I finally got him out and onto the table where I left him to dry off. I was a little concerned that I might have to do mouth to mouth resuscitation as I don't know which end of a bee is the stingy bit but, at last, one of its legs waved and I sat back satisfied that I'd done my duty.

I'm hoping that he'll remember and, when a swarm of bees is about to attack me, he'll push his way to the front and say, 'No! Stop! She saved my life; we must spare her.' You know, like that lion who had a nail in his paw.

From little acorns ... and conkers

Husband has grown an oak and a horse chestnut tree. Remember those poppies in our greenhouse? This is what they look like now.