Thursday, May 31, 2018

The woman in the mirror

Every now and again I catch a glimpse of a blonde tanned woman and I wonder who she is. Then I remember it's me.

I didn't deliberately go blonde: my highlights have gone rogue in the sun. And I have a tan deeper than I can remember having for a long time.

Gradually going lighter-haired will probably be the way forward as I prepare to face my grey. (Not for a long time yet though.)

In the meantime I'll enjoy the sunshine and take what it gives.

P.S. I am a very careful tanner always using sun cream and restricting my time in the sun.

Wednesday, May 30, 2018

More fun than it sounds

Yesterday I met a young friend for ice cream and a walk out to the lighthouse as we discussed the appalling staffing levels in the NHS (she's a newly-qualified doctor who finds herself the only doctor in charge of five wards), death, sinking dinghies and our sorrow over the death of Victoria Wood. (Our walk was a lot more fun than it sounds.)

Then I lay in the sun and finished reading Dear Mrs Bird. A lovely tale with a very real voice. Set in wartime London the narrator is a young woman who finds herself working for the ferocious and unsympathetic agony aunt (the Mrs Bird of the title) of a failing women's magazine. Because Mrs Bird has a long list of Unsuitable Subjects for publication Emmeline starts replying to the letters herself.

If I'd not read so many wonderful previews and hadn't had my sights set so high I would have given it ****. As it's very hard to live up to such extravagant praise I'll award it 3.5* But definitely recommended. 

Then it was off to Zac's where there were two extremes. One man, newly-released from prison, celebrating and praising God for being with him in the darkness, and one woman for whom life has taken a steep downward turn and who is in a desperate state.

And a reminder from Sean - and Paul writing in his letter to the Ephesians - that God's love is for everybody. That nobody is outside it and that it's not something we earn.

Tuesday, May 29, 2018

Cue hysterical laughter

As any statistician will tell you, statistics can be quoted to prove anything you want. Or something like that. 

Usually when I publish a post I have a quick look at my stats. After a brief period when I was getting hundreds of views regularly they've been steady within a 60 - 200 daily views range recently. Imagine my surprise then when I looked at the stats this morning (9.50 am) and read this:
Yesterday - 90
Today - 1,227.

Once I'd picked myself up off the floor and stopped laughing I looked the map: is it those Russians again? No. 

Of the 1,227 views today 1,229 originated in France. Curiouser and curiouser.

Of course if you were a fan of Yes, Minister you'll know that Britain's greatest enemy has always been France so now they're getting into the tech-war. (Taps side of her nose knowingly.)

P.S. I just looked for the relevant clip. Couldn't find it but did watch some scarily accurate forecasts about Britain's role in the EU.

I'd do-be-do

A lovely Bank Holiday weekend with weather much better than was anticipated/forecast. Lots of time with family, eating or in the sun and in the pool. 

We live not too far from the site of the music festival so we were able to enjoy some of the music in our garden. Some of it was louder than the rest or maybe they just angled the speakers differently during the day to reduce the chance of annoying locals too much.

Nothing quite like bopping in the pool to George Ezra (live). I was even able to impress the grandchildren by singing along to his songs. Maybe impressed is too big a word. Let's just say they gave me strange looks.

Of course all this enjoying myself means the pounds are creeping back on. It's very strange: if I lose two pounds I am offhand about it - 'It's only two pounds,' I say - but if I put on two pounds I am a huge flabby monstrosity.

Next weekend we have our family party but then I will have three weeks until we go away on holiday. I want to be back at my target weight by then.


Monday, May 28, 2018

I fought the martyr

Today I woke with a martyr mentality.

I'm tired, I have a slightly sore throat but I've got to do stuff. I must do stuff because I'm not worth it, not worth looking after, not worth caring about.

I'm fighting it. I remember my resolve of not so long ago to stop trying (and failing) to be perfect, to accept my limitations and myself.

That said I have just had a little clean-up in the kitchen but that actually makes me feel better and isn't too stressful. Quite simple in fact once I decide to throw away all the little things that are lying around on the work surface just in case they're important/part of something bigger/needed once every three years. Liberating.

* * * * * * * 
Twenty-six minutes ago the timer on the washing machine said it had twenty-seven minutes left to run. I just went out and checked it and it now has twenty minutes left. 

I suppose I could call 'a man' in but it works albeit in its own time zone so doesn't seem worth the bother.

* * * * * * *
The pram was collected yesterday. I am very sad to see it go.

Tim, who collected it, said it would be used by old ladies who have baby dolls. That is immeasurably sad but it's also good to know that the pram will be loved and used and of value to women who have lived long and have earned the right to be content.

I can see me being one of those women, pushing a pram around. I really loved that experience and time.

* * * * * * *
On Saturday I bought myself a cauli-based pizza thinking it might be healthier and have slightly fewer calories than a normal one and thus generally better for me. It proved to be the case.

Mainly because I ate less than half of it. 

It wasn't that it was hideous exactly. Just unappetising. I don't think the fact that I forgot to remove the polystyrene backing before cooking harmed it; in fact it probably added flavour.

* * * * * * *
The reason, in particular, for my fatigue was the Saturday sleep-over by three grandchildren. Waken at 5.30 am by three little voices saying, 'Hello, Granny,' sets you up for the day.

'Go back to bed,' Husband growled.
And they did but they were wide awake by then so at 6.00 am we four got up and the grazing began. They didn't stop eating until 11.00 am. By which time, please note, I had been up for five hours instead of my usual two.

I'm going to lie in the sun now and read my book. I fought the martyr and I won.

Saturday, May 26, 2018

Once a mam

As I mentioned previously it's the radio one Biggest Weekend music festival today and tomorrow when huge crowds are anticipated. Driving in the other direction this morning I noticed lots of scantily-dressed young people presumably making their way to the event. I couldn't help it: the mam in me came out. 'I hope they've got woollies for later on when it gets colder. And a plastic bag to sit on. And, if the weather forecast is right, a mac.'

* * * * * * * * *
In the village I walked past my old family home. It was sold a few years ago and renovations have been going on. I guess the new owner - maybe developer - ran out of money as there's been no progress on it for ages and it looks so sad. Overgrown garden and derelict-looking house. Nobody to care for it or love it.

* * * * * * * * *
I am delighted to report that my pram has found a new home! It's going to a care home for residents with dementia. I'm not sure what they'll do with it - I'll ask Niki when she comes to pick it up tomorrow - but I am so pleased that it will be going to be loved again.

Friday, May 25, 2018

When I was in the car today T-Rex singing 'I love to boogie' came on. Well, I'd forgotten what a great song it is.

If you'd seen me I think I would have looked like the woman at about 1 25 into this video. If she'd been sitting down.

Passing of an age

I'm taking my pram to a charity shop. Before I decided that Husband suggested I take a photo of it and put it on Freecycle.

I went to take the photo and then I stood and stared. Husband said, 'Don't go getting upset now. Just take a photo.'

But I am upset. The pram was wonderful and pushing it was part of a very special time in my life. I am very sad to see it go but the children don't want it because it's too big and impractical for their needs/cars.

I don't want it to go on Freecycle because I think someone might take it and then sell it. Ideally I'd like to vet the person who has it but I suppose that's not really practical so a charity shop is the next best thing. At least it will be sold in a good cause.

Daughter very happy in pram thirty-eight years ago.


Falling out of trees

I've noticed that a number of bloggers I follow are posting irregularly if at all these days. I suppose life gets in the way often.

My posting is just as irregular in that I'll go for a few days without and then splurge as I did yesterday and write loads of posts. For Lent I resolved to write on my blog each day (I think. Or am I imagining it?) And I'm going to try that again. I don't know what it is. Sometimes I'll sit down with the intention of blogging and then make excuses: a typical writer in fact!

But I do enjoy blogging and finding topics - as opposed to my usual ramblings - will be a good challenge for me.

One thing puzzles me though. I called in at Stu's blog yesterday and he had written about updating his blog-roll so obviously i checked to see if I were still on it. I am. But why? All the other bloggers are intelligent, witty, politically-, scientifically-, or bike-minded, and generally not like me. I am probably a bit of fluff - in the nicest sense of the word - or light relief, in the middle.

Anyway I was going to tell you about my massage last night. 

Hannah, my fitness teacher, asked on Facebook yesterday if anyone was free and wanted a massage in the evening. I nearly fell off my seat in my rush to say, 'Yes!'

She is a student and needed someone on who she could practise. She's learning sports massage and when I arrived she asked me basic questions about health and any aches, so I told her about my shoulder. 

It's not been the same since I didn't exactly fall out of a tree (left) about eighteen months ago. Lowering myself out of the tree I discovered that the ground was a bit further away than I had anticipated so it had a jerking, pulling effect on my shoulder.

Between them Hannah and the teacher narrowed it down so that in all likelihood the muscle affected is the alterior deltoid. (Possibly. I may have that wrong.) Hannah was able to suggest exercises that would help it regain it springiness. It's stretched but if you stretch it a bit more the chances are that it will spring back further than its starting point. Does that make sense? That's the way I understood it although my terminology is a translation.

I'm definitely going to have some more massages from Hannah. Because it's a college and students are practising it's a lot cheaper than a fancy salon. But it smells as nice.


Thursday, May 24, 2018

All stung up

We're a bit into nettles at the moment. 

Younger Son has done and led courses on foraging and nettles, as well as being everywhere, are a superfood, good for all sorts of things. 

So far we've had ...
nettle and wild garlic omelette
nettle and wild garlic omelette and 
nettle and squash risotto
nettle and butternut squash risotto.

Today YS also made nettle pakoras and a healing balm. Presumably to take away the sting after you've picked your nettles. 

Dear Mrs Bird

Returned my books to the library today to discover my reserved copy of Dear Mrs Bird was in. I'd heard about this from various authors I follow on Twitter and it sounded so brilliant I couldn't wait for it to come out - they'd all had early review copies - and as soon as it did, put my name on it. I shall let you know if it lives up to the hype.

The three books I returned were: Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein; Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows by Balli Kaur Jaswal; and The Little Coffee Shop of Kabul by Deborah Rodriguez.

I'd probably give them all 2.5-3*. Nothing amazing but all good sunbathing/bedtime reading. The Little Coffee Shop was described on the cover as 'If Maeve Binchy had written The Kite Runner.' Now I've read Maeve Binchy and I've read The Kite Runner and I can safely this this was nothing like the latter. Could have been written by Ms Binchy but is nothing like Khaled Hosseini's story apart from being set in a Middle eastern country.

What all three books did is give a good glimpse into a different style, place or time of living that I enjoyed and all were written by people with experience or knowledge of the topic whether that be running a coffee shop in Kabul, being a female pilot during the second world war delivering broken aeroplanes for repair, or allowing women without a voice to tell the stories they wanted to read.

Royal wedding 2

The highlight of the wedding came from a most unlikely source: the address. Quite often, especially at grand royal affairs, you expect the address is to be non-provocative and slightly boring but the Presiding Bishop of the American Episcopal Church delivered it with all the flair you might expect of a black preacher. And passion. And words. Yes, it was quite long. But very worthwhile.

His message was simple: the power of love is the answer to the problems of the world. And love is from God. 

He mentioned the two commandments Jesus gave: to love God and to love your neighbour as yourself. He didn't go on to develop the neighbour bit although in the gospels Jesus did. When asked 'who is my neighbour?' he told the story of the Good Samaritan.

Precised down to basics, Jesus said to love your neighbour who is the woman down the street who gossips about you, the drunk in the gutter, the Muslim with whom you have a mutual distrust, the gay transgender who wants to marry for love, Donald Trump, the suicide bomber. You get the idea?

No-one said Christianity was an easy option.

Royal wedding 1

Royal wedding last weekend. Most of my friends on Facebook are pinky - or possibly scarlet - liberals and would have nothing to do with it but when I dared to say I was watching it a few came out of the closet and admitted they would too.

The bride looked gorgeous and so happy. The groom looked terrified. I loved Mike Tindall stroking his wife's pregnant belly. And David Beckham so jolly and smiley. Surprised to see one the York girls in crimplene. Hadn't realised it had made a comeback. The York girls. Hm, now there's a dynasty brewing that could challenge for the monarchy. Were we living a few centuries ago.

Music-wise apart from Stand By Me and Bread of Heaven it was rather drab I felt. Not quite cheery enough for a wedding. I understand a lot of it was suggested by Prince Charles. I assume the congregation was under strict instructions not to join in with Stand By Me but they could have at least jiggled. Or looked as if they were enjoying it. 

But a beautiful day for a couple who seem very happy together.


the lies they tell us

1. That women can multi-task. I left the kitchen for a moment to look at something on the computer and I burned my bacon.
Which leads to point 2. That things don't stick to (or burn on) non-stick pans.

Either a dead mouse or dog poo

We're strolling across the tip when I spot something. 'Look, a dead creature,' I say to Husband.
'Is it?' he says doubtfully.
'Yes, a mouse I think.' I look more closely. 'Or possibly a bird.'
I peer again. 'Or it might be a bit of tree. Or dog poo.'

Back in the real world the wild roses have started to bloom on the tip. I've said this before but I will say it again, 'I wish you could smell them.' Is there anything as sweet as the scent of a wild rose?
wild rose

dandelion clock

Little snippets

Daughter messages me to say they can't come to a barbecue because they're going to see unicorns.
'Unicorns?' I say.
I tell Husband. 'Oh yes,' he says knowingly.
I tell Younger Son. 'Oh yes,' he says.

How does everyone except me know about the unicorns?

Husband mentions that Amy's house suffered flooding. 'I didn't know that,' I say.
Husband says, 'Elder Son told us.'
'I must have missed that conversation. I was probably playing with children.'
'You're better at talking to children than to adults,' Husband says.

That's probably why I never know what's going on.

* * * * * * * * *
A homeless man in Zac's commented on my good tan. If a homeless man comments it must be getting good. Either that or he's just more used to my normal deathly pallor.

* * * * * * * * *
Checking the meaning of pallor (paleness) in the dictionary I came across the word, shigella. What a pretty word, I thought. Then I read the meaning. A rod-shaped bacterium in particular one that causes dysentery.

That doesn't stop it being a pretty word though. As Shakespeare said, 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.' (Okay, not entirely sure that's apt here but you get my gist.)

* * * * * * * * *
Radio One biggest weekend swansea
Our brief heatwave aka summer has been replaced today by grey clouds. Thunder is forecast for the weekend, which is coincidentally Radio One's Big Weekend, which brings stars including Ed Sheeran to the city. (He, Taylor Swift - who is a women despite her name - and George Ezra are the only ones I've heard of.) Fifty thousand people are attending. And it's a bank holiday giving us good reason to stock up with food and settle ourselves in the house/garden for the weekend.

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

She would have been 97 today

It would have been my mother's 97th birthday today. I feel I should write something but on searching my blog I find I've already written plenty. Here's a link to one post that says most of what I would say.

However it is perhaps a good moment to encourage you - it's too late for me after all - to appreciate your parents and show them how much they mean to you.

My mother died about ten days after her first stroke but for that time in hospital didn't know me. It was too late then to sit at her bedside and tell her I loved her or ask her about how she'd felt when she had me or any of the other hundreds of questions I still have.

My mum, great-gran, gran and me: four generations living in the same house.


Feeling proud

I repaired the hoover!

Perhaps that sounds as though I did a bit more than I did but, on the other hand, it wasn't working and now it is, therefore I repaired it. Yes?

It was easy once I stopped trying to emulate Husband i.e. unscrewing everything in sight, poking it, and forcing bits apart, and instead consulted the manual. And the problem? George hair of course, blocking the tube.

Whence compassion?

Bloom is part of Linden Church, run by Rachel to support asylum seekers and refugees. About once a month Bloom takes over Red Cafe, a local coffee shop, and asylum seekers prepare a meal traditional from their country. For one reason or another we've missed Syrian, Sri Lankan and Iranian meals but we finally made it to the Pakistani meal last Saturday.

For starters we had wild garlic and potato soup. This was made by the Italian chef so possibly not entirely Pakistani in origin but very nice.
Then we had a dish made up of lots of tasters: chicken, lamb, vegetables, rice and sauces.
Delicious, as you can see from my empty plate.
We also met a young woman. Let's call her Jenny. Because she's in her early twenties her case for asylum was considered separately from that of her mother and younger sibling. Her request has just been turned down resulting in instant destitution. Her money was stopped and she lost her accommodation. And she's not allowed to have paid employment or live with her mother.

I assume the idea is to make her feel as unwelcome as possible so she reaches the state where she's glad to return to her native country. From which she fled. 

Where is humanity? Where is compassion? Where is decency?

I don't know her story but I hope to find it out.

First swim of the year

 Thinking about it. Do I really want to do this? Twenty degrees sounds a lot warmer than this feels.

'Waaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!'
Okay, after swimming nine lengths I am getting used to it. Or possibly I've just gone numb.

Bread is my downfall

'I've put on two pounds this week!' I exclaimed to Husband after our Tuesday morning weigh-in. 'How can that be?!'

Especially as he'd lost weight after spending much of the week doing nothing except lying in the sun.

I've come to the conclusion it's the bread. And the ice cream but we won't think about that. The trouble is once I start eating bread I can't stop. It's never just one slice. And I love it thickly lathered with butter. 

Also I've been rather remiss and casual about eating in general. I keep forgetting that the Slimming World (or any other club) diet isn't a diet; it's a way of life. In other words it's about changing the way I eat and cook food.

Can you hear my big sigh?

Okay then, I will do better this week. I will.

I was so disbelieving that I could have put on two pounds in one week that I decided to weigh again when I got up. Just in case it had been a blip. Husband said, 'Don't forget you've just drunk a cup of tea.'
'How much difference can that make?' I asked.

.2 of a kg is how much. Seriously? Tea weighs that much?

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Which wild flowers can I pick?

I meant to list the Twelve wild flowers on the List. they are:
Common dog-violet (Viola riviniana)
Red campion (Silene dioica)
Primrose (Primula vulgaris)
Greater stitchwort (Stellaria holostea)
Cow parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris)
Meadowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria)
Meadow buttercup (Ranunculus acris)
Oxeye daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare)
Common knapweed (Centaurea nigra)
Daisy (Bellis perennis)
Yarrow (Achillea millefolium)
Dandelion (Taraxacum officinalis)

And if you're like me and unsure what some of these look like here they are:
Common knapweed

Meadowsweet

Cow parsley

Red Campion

wild flower I can pick
Lesser Stitchwort

Yarrow

Can I pick wild flowers?

I was wary of posting this photo on FaceBook. I feared Younger Son - and possibly others - would tell me off for picking wild flowers. And indeed YS did warn me that it is illegal to pick some wild flowers. However those are rare ones or those growing on private land or in conservation areas on the whole.

In fact the charity, Plantlife, is organising a Great British Wildflower Hunt. That means recording rather than picking them but it has listed twelve of the best to pick. It explains its reasons on the website - getting children back into nature, becoming familiar with and appreciating it - but its green light to pick has roused the anger of beekeepers

The Wildflower society says: Generally, uprooting is harmful, but picking with care and in moderation usually does little damage and can foster the appreciation of wild plants, which in turn benefits their conservation. 

In case you're worried the flowers I picked were from very large groupings (okay), on the list (okay) except for the bluebells but they were picked with care and in moderation, and not on private on conservation land (okay).

It is illegal, however, to sell wild bluebell bulbs or seeds.

When I was a small child my cousin, Lynne, and I were in Clyne Gardens and as we wandered around we picked some little flowers. Imagine our horror when we were suddenly surrounded - yes, surrounded - by what seemed to us little children to be huge policemen but I assume were park-keepers who told us off and confiscated our flowers.

So, no, I don't usually pick any sort of flower when I'm out. But these were in such abundance and so pretty.

Don't believe everything I say

So I led bible study and it went well. I enjoyed it and was enthused by the topic; I don't know if my audience was!

Before the start a young man asked me if he could read me the prayer he had written. It was lovely, heart-felt and honest. He had to leave early so i asked him if he'd read it to everyone at the start of the study. He agreed and did.

Turned out he was a bit of a showman so it was quite an entertaining few minutes but very worthwhile. He's had his problems and has been in jail and rehab. At the moment he's on the up so let's hope/pray he can maintain that.

For the study I was looking at Joseph and Nicodemus, the two members of the Jewish ruling council who buried Jesus. They'd both visited Jesus in secret previously: to show affiliation with him would have meant big trouble for them in the Sanhedrin. But at the end they made a decision; they believed what Jesus said. Although their action would have put them at odds with the rest of the ruling council they didn't care.

One of the points I was trying to make was that it was good to challenge long-held views, 'party lines' etc. Just because you've always been taught to think in one way it doesn't mean it's the right way. Biblical scholars can use and misuse the scriptures to suit themselves. The best way to check stuff out is to do the Jesus test: does this tie in with what you know about Jesus? Is this the way he would have acted/spoken?

I quoted some words from, Jeff, a preacher and fellow blogger:
We have to be careful how we discern what is right and noble and what is wrong and bad, lest we be misled. 

We may end up coming back to our original belief but we should still have enquiring minds and not take everything that is said to us as 'gospel'. I've written on here before about the dangers of believing everything we read on the internet but the advice applies to many facets of life.




Tuesday, May 15, 2018

I'm always late ... well nearly almost

I an attending a funeral at 1.30 today. I'm giving Lily a lift so I have to go into town first to pick her up. I don't want to be late so I planned to set off an hour before the funeral, which would work out at about 12.30. For most people that is.

I showered, dressed and said goodbye to Husband.
'You're a bit early, aren't you?'
'No, I'm picking up Lily, don't forget.'
'What time is the funeral?'
'1.30.'
I looked at my watch. I had a think. 
'My watch says 11.36. So that means ... I'm an hour too early! Is that right?'
Husband nodded.
'Oh fiddle!'

George can't make a decision

George and I set off for a leisurely stroll this morning. I wanted to rehearse leading the bible study so we were going to meander slowly over the tip, nice flat ground. George was limping slightly but I wasn't in a hurry so I hoped it would ease off as his joints limbered up.

We had gone about 100 yards when George sat down.
And wouldn't move.

I gave him the choice: we can carry on or we can go home and give you some pain-killers. He still wouldn't move.

I took his lead off so he could show me what he wanted. He still didn't move.

After a few minutes of talking to him, pointing out that what ever he wanted to do I'd do but he couldn't just sit in the path I made a decision. 'Okay, we'll go home. We'll give you some tablets and try again later if you feel better.' I started walking back.

Eventually he got up and followed me but then stopped again.
Another debate. I pointed out that if he hadn't been so flirty with those pretty little bitches yesterday he wouldn't be in the state he is today. (Mean I know but true.) He gave me a dirty look. 

We got home finally. I think his heart wanted to go for a walk but his poor old hips said no. It is so sad to see him like this. 

Does anyone remember when he was a very little puppy? First times out too scared to go beyond the garden gate. 



It didn't take him long to realise there is a great big exciting - and food-laden - world out there and he began to escape at every opportunity.

Monday, May 14, 2018

Growing babies

International Dylan Thomas day
Today is International Dylan Thomas Day. How did I not know about it?

Apparently it is held every year on May 14th, a commemoration of the day Under Milk Wood was first read on stage in New York in 1953. Lots of events are taking place in Swansea (his birthplace), all over Wales and indeed the world. 

Anyway, belatedly, here's my favourite quote from Milk Wood:
"Nothing grows in our garden, except washing. And babies."

I loved that when my babies were small and it was oh so true. And what better thing is there to grow in your garden that babies? 

Making the most of sunshine and children

This morning I planned to do some preparation work for the bible study I'm leading tomorrow in Zac's. Then Nuora messaged me.

I told Husband, 'Change of plans: I'm not studying this morning; I'm going to the park with GrandSon4 instead. I am so bad.'
'No, you're not,' he said. 'You should take these opportunities while you can to enjoy the sunshine and play with grandchildren.'

I do love Husband.

Still when I got out of the shower and was rushing to get ready I remembered I'd planned to take off the sofa covers and wash them. I didn't have time to do it then and my first thought was about to be, 'You lazy stupid woman!' But I stopped myself. I recalled my decision to accept my inadequacies and not to put myself down at every chance. 'The weather forecast is good,' I told myself. 'I can do the covers tomorrow.'


P.S. I finished my study preparation this evening finally. Just have to practise it tomorrow.

Special moments in prison

There was a special moment in prison yesterday morning. The chaplain had just finished speaking when one of the inmates asked if he could say something. He's a man who's been inside for some time and nearly always comes to the Sunday service. He stood up and told his story.

He'd been walking along a dark lane one night when a car had come speeding around the corner and hit him. The only thing he knew was that he could see a bright light and then heard a woman's voice telling him to go back. 

He said that was why he believed in God. Because God had spared his life.

The other men applauded him.

Saturday, May 12, 2018

Farm life

Not far from where we live you'll find the only city farm in Wales. Swansea Community Farm was set up by members of the community twenty years ago and is now a registered charity run by volunteers. 

"A city farm where volunteers care for livestock, wildlife and each other to improve community wellbeing and resilience."

For the first time today I visited it along with Younger Son, Nuora and GrandSon4. 

As well as all sorts of fowl they have sheep, pigs and donkeys, a vegetable growing area, and loads of fruit trees and bushes. And a superb mud kitchen!

A genuine mud pie.


The animals are mostly rare or Welsh breeds.

And best of all I got to feed a lamb!

Entry to the farm is free although donations are welcome.
Fr

Friday, May 11, 2018

The Great Bee Adventure Part 4

The hive is in situ, not on the newly-repaired kitchen roof but on the shed roof.
They seem quite happy and active when the sun shines.
One wanted to get to know me.
Younger Son has made his first inspection. He was unable to locate the queen so he was a little disappointed but everything seems to be hunky dory.

Bees must be one of the natural wonders of the universe.

The trouble with me

Yesterday morning I got so worked up and stressed I felt sick. In order to resolve this recurring problem I need to do some things.

1. I need to stop trying to be perfect. When I always fail I beat myself up.
2. I need to stop trying to please everyone all of the time.
3. I need to recognise my limitations and stop agreeing to everything and then wearing myself out trying to fulfil my promises.
4. And if I fail I need to forgive myself.

Flipping heck. Not much then. Pray for me/wish me luck.

Tuesday, May 08, 2018

The Great Bee Adventure Part 3

The sun is out and the bees are finding their bee-arings.
They fly in ever-increasing figure-of-eight moves all the while checking their position so they can eventually travel up to three miles from the hive and find their way back.

Things I have learned about bees this afternoon
1. The Queen can live for seven years.
2. Workers only live for about a month and they don't sleep!
3. During the night you can hear a humming from the hive: it's the flapping of wings to dry out the honey and make it evaporate down to 10% of its original quantity. Mead is made from the liquid form.
4. Worker bees only sting if threatened and then they die.
5. Drones don't sting.
6. The Queen only stings other queens. The first action of the first Virgin queen to be hatch is to kill all her potential rivals i.e. the other queens not yet born.
7. The workers are in charge. They decide when the it's getting too crowded or when the Queen is getting past it. They decide whether the queen needs to lay drone, worker or queen eggs.
8. Worker bees spend the first half of their lives cleaning the hive and doing repairs. Then they forage for pollen and nectar.
9. The drones are sex machines. They don't do anything else but they only do it once and then die.

So much more but I'll stop there for now as I was getting a little confused.

The Russian Effect

Every time my visitor stats go up it's because of an influx of Russian visitors. I am starting to get paranoid ...

* * * * * * * *
I have a post I keep meaning to write but it always slips away. It's in my brain and then I lose it. Just flutters to remind me it's waiting. It's something about words and the use of and why it matters. Or possibly, does it matter?

Next time I get a whiff of it I must write a note to myself.

The Great Bee Adventure: Part 2

Husband was out and I was curled up in front of the television when I heard a noise outside the back door. Bravely I went and opened the door to see what it was. (George wisely stayed in his comfy spot behind the sofa.) Turned out to be a ghost-buster.
Husband and Younger Son had been to collect the bees to put in the hive on top of the kitchen roof. They'd had to wait until evening when the bees would be sleepy. The photo shows Younger Son getting ready to release the bees into the hive. Apparently they were fed up of the car journey and getting grumpy. The bees that is not Husband and Younger Son.

CORRECTION
I was a bit puzzled as to how they had managed to transport a load of bees in the car but Husband has filled me in. They didn't just bring the bees: they brought a hive containing bees. A hive that that had been sealed up for the journey. 

So we now have two hives in the garden. Apparently it's nearly time for a new queen to be born and when she is and when she's ready she will take half the bees and go off and find a new home. YS has to be able to spot when she's getting ready and take her and her entourage to the second hive rather than let them go off in a swarm, never to be seen again, I presume. I'm sure I'll be corrected if I have that wrong.

Bees are so awfully clever. I am learning a lot about them.

The only problem is that I have exchanged worrying about a poorly goldfish to worrying about a whole hive of bees. 

Younger Son messaged me and asked me to go and check that they were flying in and out. I watched for a while and only two flew out. However there are several just clinging to the wall looking shell-shocked. Husband says they'll perk up when it warms up and that they probably need this cooler period to re-adjust slowly to their new environment.

I am wondering if I should offer them some sugar solution. Will ask YS.

Monday, May 07, 2018

Clyne not completely in Bloom

So, we walked in Clyne. It's a bit late coming into bloom this year. Unless it was early and I missed it. Normally in May the council puts up lots of poster advertising Clyne in Bloom but I've not seen any this year, however, I did notice the marquees were up for teas and Sunday afternoon music.
Bluebells

My favourite tree
Red blooms - I'm hot on horticulture

Wild garlic


George and the dragon

I had to force George to come for a walk with me yesterday morning. He really didn't want to go. But he hadn't walked the day before and it wasn't yet the heat of the day so I 'persuaded' him.

His pace was such that I was able to study each blade of grass and crack in the pavement on the way. One man stopped his car to let us cross the road. I was tempted to wave him on: he was in for such a long wait. George has no concept of cars, traffic, roads, not being the most important creature in the place. 

I had intended to walk to the top of Clyne Gardens - it's built on a hillside - but he was so slow I told him we'd just cross the bottom but then ... he began to play with an 18-month-old dog and suddenly he had energy.


'Right, we can walk up the hill now then!'
'Oh, no, I'm too tired. Don't make me walk up the hill.'

Okay, I'm very tired now.
Ah, that's nice, just what I needed.
P.S. Title of post is dramatic licence.