Falling on deaf ears

Husband and I had a lovely walk this afternoon around Clyne Gardens. Lovely after the first ten or fifteen minutes that is. For all of that time Husband was grumbling at me, mainly about my idea of gardening.

"You move everything and then just pile it up and leave it!"

My explanation that it was all in piles ready to go to the tip/recycling site fell on deaf ears. Finally the worm turned and I said, "Well, perhaps if you got up from your stupid computer game and did something it would help!"

Because of his heart, feet, chest, eye problems, I've been reluctant to nag him to do anything for, well, a couple of years. But he's better now so he can jolly well get a grip!

* * * * *

Up early this morning - probably why I was so tetchy - to put in a morning shift at Zac's, then came home and made banana and chocolate chip bread, bara brith, and chocolate raisin slice, ready for the art workshop on Saturday. I'm out all day tomorrow so had to get ahead of myself.

You too can look like me

According to posts on facebook if I:

suck ashwagandha gummies, I'll be calm;

take bloatburn, it will flatten my stomach;

take hormone harmony, I'll reduce my cortisol levels;

take a magnesium supplement, I'll sleep like a baby;

do tai chi walking, I won't recognise myself.

I could also try a fatty liver detox, or hypnosis and a water fast. 

But my favourite is: Your body is not old. Your fascia is blocking your lymph flow.

Excuse me, I've got to go and unblock my fascia.

Potty!

You would think Husband were Head Gardener at Kew to look at his collection of pots.

I told you I had a cunning plan for the bit at the end of raspberry patch. It is coming to fruition but neither Husband nor I are doing it.

A young man from church mentioned on the whatsapp group that he and his partner had a small business and were available for garden work, sheds, etc. So they're coming this weekend, weather permitting to sort it out for me. It will involve a bit of digging and filling and concreting and slabbing. They're also going to cut down a tree while they're here.

But that meant I had to empty the storage box full of pots. After I'd struggled to get the table (old desk) out of the box and hauled it across the lawn and into the garage, I discovered it came apart. 

Husband just came in and I asked him if he really needed all those pots. His answer was a definitive, "Yes!"

Gertie's day

Today is St. Gertrude's Day. Yes, I know it's also St. Patrick's Day but I've told you before about Patrick being born just up the road from us here in Banwen. (Some people may argue that he was born elsewhere but we Welsh know the truth.)

By Simon Bening

So, back to Gertrude. She was born in 628 in what is now Belgium, and she and her mother founded the Abbey of Nivelles. At a young age she declared that she would never marry as she was called to be the bride of Christ, and she spent her life helping the sick, elderly, and poor. 

This earned her the title of patron saint of travellers, widows, and mentally ill. She's also patron saint of gardeners, and her name is invoked against rats and mice.

Sometime in the 1980s cat-lovers decided that, as she stood against vermin, she must be in favour of cats, and she is now wisely known as patron saints of cats and cat-lovers.

There is a legend that one day she sent some travellers to a distant country, promising that no misfortune would befall them on the journey; when they were on the ocean, a large sea-monster threatened to capsize their ship, but disappeared upon the invocation of Saint Gertrude. In memory of this occurrence travellers during the Middle Ages drank the so-called "Sinte Geerts Minne" or "Gertrudenminte" before setting out on their journey.

She died at 33 "because of too much abstinence and keeping of vigils", according to Cambridge Mediaeval History. Which just goes to show.

Today is the saint's day for at least twenty others, including the closer-to-home, St. Llinio of Llandinam.

St. Llinio's church in Llandinam. I got distracted. It looks like a very pretty part of the countryside with some lovely houses for sale, including one 20-bedroomed mansion. 

The Milk Saga continued

So I emailed the company. This is part of their answer:

" ... we noticed that no delivery instructions have been provided for the driver to follow. As a result, there is currently no specific place where your milk is being delivered."

The company was taken over recently. The old owners didn't need telling where to put the delivery.

I could easily turn into a grumpy old woman.

* * * * *

It's the 'paint along with Jo' art session this coming Saturday. We're up to the limit we set of thirty attendees, assuming they all turn up, which is brilliant. It will raise a good total for Zac's.

However several people named Sarah have booked. I'm hoping they're all different people and not someone who got confused and booked several times. As I got confused when I went to the shop just now and took my peg bag with me.

Doorstep delivery?

I saw this on Twitter.

Wales beat Italy

Who beat Scotland

Who beat France

Who beat Ireland

Who beat England.

Therefore Wales must be champions.

Sounds about right to me. We might be bottom of the table but in our hearts we're the champions. 

* * * * *

We have milk delivered to our door in glass bottles. We've always done it that way.

We are currently considering/arguing about whether to give up. Husband grumbles because it's far more expensive than milk in the supermarket but I like the convenience, and the fact that bottles are recycled. Normally the only problems we've had have been birds pecking the tops. That was resolved by leaving a tile out for the milkman to put on top.

But this milkman is driving us closer to giving up. 

The last few deliveries he's left at the top of the steps. Not so convenient but we didn't complain. 

This morning he left the milk outside the front gate. We also have one full and one being-filled crates outside our door. 

Can you see those little white things outside the gate? (This is from our bedroom window.)

I've written to complain. And threatened to cancel. 

We won!

31-17! 31-17! 31-17!

Wales has not won a Six Nations game since March 2023; that's 15 games and 1,099 days. And what a way to do it. At half-time they were leading 21-0 and no-one was quite believing what they were seeing. The second half was a little more stressful as Italy battled back into the game, but, oh my, what a game.

I'm surprised I'm not hoarse today. 

GrandSon3 and I both had dragons on our faces. GrandSon1 was too cool for that but not too cool for a sheep hat. I was tempted to buy a dragon hat but when I tried one on I realised it looked like a giant red willy hanging from the front.

We had a fab time. I'm so glad we decided to go. The atmosphere in the stadium was fantastic.

A Big Day

I have had a rotary clothes dryer for as long as I have been married but it's only recently that I realised I could turn it around to hang clothes on. Up till now I've been walking around it. Doing its job for it I suppose. It's still a struggle to remember.

* * * * *

I had a message from someone yesterday saying I brought a ray of sunshine into the church with my quirky sense of humour.

I told Husband. He said, "She means weird."

* * * * *

I have two things to do this morning: learn the national anthem and write a prayer for Mothering Sunday.

I'm going to the Millennium Stadium in Cardiff to watch Wales play Italy this afternoon! With Elder Sons and GrandSons1 and 3. It was a last minute decision. The Welsh team has come to so close to victory on the last couple of occasions, they've played bravely in spite of all the criticism and off-field hoo-ha about getting rid of a team, and the atmosphere was amazing last time they played in Cardiff. And there is a tiny possibility they could win today. I'm not holding my breath on that point but it will be good to be there.

I have learned the anthem in the past but then I don't use it for a year and forget it again, and I want to be able to sing my socks off today. (Out of tune of course.)

In 2013 Husband and I went to Rome and watched the match there.

I swapped hats with an Italian supporter at the end.

The pain in the middle of the night

Yay! The roofers have finished and the scaffolding has gone from the front. The rest of it is still there but at least we don't have that huge tower in front of our bedroom window any more.

I had a terrible pain in my chest in the middle of the night and was wondering how long I should wait before waking Husband and telling him I'm having a heart attack. Then it went away. So it was probably the half a doughnut I ate in Zac's.

A lovely walk this morning with Daughter and Louie, with a little bit of gardening this afternoon. In between I researched Mothering Sunday for this week's church newsletter. Did you know Mothering Sunday was less to do with mothers and more to do with the church? 

From the 16th century, the 4th Sunday in Lent was designated as Mothering or Refreshment Sunday. The idea was that on that day you returned to your 'mother' church' i.e. the one in which you were baptised or your local church or nearest cathedral. The strict fasting rules of Lent were relaxed for that day and you were allowed to eat slightly richer food.

It was also the day that domestic servants were allowed to go home and visit their families - the only day of the year they had off apparently.

Mother's Day in America is a completely different thing and happens on the 2nd Sunday of May.

(Oh, I just found a spot on my chin.) (Probably that doughnut again.)

The camellia bush in our garden is looking absolutely gorgeous.