Assassin needed

I just listened to a bit of the live reporting. Apparently Putin has said he has warships ready with enough nuclear warheads to take out the US and all of NATO. I really wish I hadn't listened to that.

So I decided if the world is going to end tomorrow I might as well eat chocolate.

Surely only a mad man would start a nuclear war? Oh wait . . .

But there must be some people in authority in Russia who can stand up to him?

I remember the Cuba crisis but didn't understand enough at the time to be scared. Now I am. Instant death is one thing but the surviving in a post-nuclear world - and trying to find all your loved ones - is another.

Gee, this is cheery stuff. On a lighter note, I wonder if I ought to binge-watch the final series of Peaky Blinders. Would hate to miss it.

Not to mention all the books I haven't read yet. And we have a holiday in Italy planned. 

Somebody take out Putin please!

Not fat, just tired

I could cry sometimes I get so frustrated with security and passwords and things not being what they're supposed to be. We're just changing from Mcafee to Norton  and it's supposed to be intuitive. For whom I don't know. Take a deep breath - okay. 

Anyway, I read an article on the BBC website and about hunger and sleeping. Apparently if you don't get enough sleep you can put on weight. So that's the answer: I'm not overweight, I'm tired. I need more naps.

Sadly that excuse doesn't really work as I get plenty of sleep. It's really referring to shift workers whose eating patterns are all over the place.

I'll have to go back to the old excuse. I'm not overweight, I'm short.

And now I'm supposed to be drafting my next radio talk. Only problem is I don't know what I'm talking about. I'll rephrase that before anyone says, "Do you ever?" I don't know what my theme is for this week.

I feel I should talk about war in Ukraine but a) other people know far more about the situation than I do; and b) everyone else is talking about it. I need inspiration. Or a different angle. And on that note I think a little germ of an idea might be sprouting. I shall get my lunch and ponder a bit more.

Have a good day.

Oh to be a man!

Almost every evening when I go to bed it is with a feeling of having fallen short. No matter what I've done it's not enough, I didn't do it well enough, I could have done better and more, and definitely I should have eaten less.

Last night I went upstairs and into the bathroom where Husband was cleaning his teeth. When he'd finished I told him my thoughts. He said, "It's a hard life being you."

"Do you ever feel like that?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Sometimes I think I should have been more enthusiastic and got stuff done - but then I think 'Sod it.'"

Oh, to have that attitude!

Is it a man/woman thing? I'd love to hear your thoughts.

There's always next year

It's odd the way football pitches seem to be colder than anywhere else. Admittedly lots on Wales are on the top of hills but still. It was so much warmer this afternoon walking over the tip with George. The sun was shining, the birds were tweeting and best of all we only saw two other people. It's not that I don't like people exactly; I would just prefer to avoid them.

That was followed by a trip to Elder Son's to watch the rugby - The Big Game i.e. England against Wales in the English stadium. I watched expecting England to win and it began to look likely. Then Wales perked up and the score grew closer. And then we lost.

This is the problem with being a Welsh supporter. I went in with no hope. Then my hopes were raised. Only to be quashed again. Better to just have no hope I think. It makes life more bearable. Rugby life at least.

One good thing: Elder Son made cawl for us for dinner. Cawl is the traditional Welsh stew and must contain lamb and leeks. Unusually Elder Son cooked his on the barbecue, smoking the lamb for a while first. It might not have been traditional but it was yummy.

One ingredient ES included that is missing from my version was garlic. And here's a photo of the young wild garlic beginning to shoot in the woods today. I think now, before it flowers, is the time to pick the leaves for a garlic pesto.

Lazy birds

A lovely day out yesterday with Elder Son and family at the National Botanic Garden of Wales. Not a lot to be seen flower-wise but we very much enjoyed the flying display at the British Birds of Prey Centre, based there.

The only brief clip - which came from Elder Son - worth showing.

Did you know that eagles are lazy birds? A research program has shown that they spend, on average, only seventeen minutes out of every twenty-four hours flying. But they can see a rabbit two miles away - I suppose then they decide if they can be bothered to go and catch it.

This morning we went to watch GrandSon1 play football. We got there in spite of a slight communication problem. Elder Son wrote "At Daniel James School." That's not far, I said to Husband.

But that was because I read Daniel James but thought Dillwyn Llewellyn. DJ was actually about twice as far. And, incidentally what I thought was Dillwyn Llewellyn School is Dylan Thomas School.

Husband meanwhile read the message as Daniel and Jamie (the grandsons' names) and was also confused.

But here's my new t-shirt.

When only M&Ms will do

Had the five local grandchildren around for lunch and the afternoon yesterday. GrandDaughter1 asked if my back was better. I said it was and she said, 'It's your first old woman thing!'

I didn't bother correcting her and telling her about all the other little aches and pains.

Had her brother for a short while this afternoon too as he didn't want to go too far in the car with them. Poor thing is still suffering post Covid. I made some M&M cookies to cheer us all up. 

I think we all needed cheering up after waking up to the news that Russia has invaded Ukraine. Very black days.

I have just watched the film Red Joan, based on a true story of an 87-year-old English woman who was unmasked as a spy. After World War II she passed on nuclear secrets to the Russians, not because she was a Communist sympathiser but for parity. She was convinced to do so after Hiroshima believing in the need for both sides to have the nuclear deterrent in the hope that neither would dare use it. As she says in her defence when she is finally unmasked, 'Well, it's worked for fifty years.'

Dame Judi Dench plays the quintessential English woman pottering in her neat semi-detached garden when the police come for her, and the story is told in flashbacks.

Paranoid? Moi?

In the village I stepped aside to let a woman and her dog come through a gap on the pavement. Then I stepped forward. As I did so she said, "Thank you."

Trouble is, it sounded like a sarcastic thank you. Did she think I'd stepped forward too soon? I don't think I had. But I walked the rest of the way to the library worrying if she'd been sarcastic or grateful.

That's the trouble with paranoia or neuroses - I don't know which one this falls into - you're always on the lookout for fails.

Anyway, this sign always amuses me.

Cows hold grudges

On Facebook, for those unfamiliar with it, they remind you of posts you did on that day in previous years. This morning I had a reminder of this one from 2016.

Easily distracted. Supposed to be reading up on Lamentations but have discovered that while cows make good friends they also hold grudges for a very long time.

Actually perhaps I'll check the date here in my blog. See if I wrote anything that explains it. No, I didn't. Must have been a grumpy cow then.

Roving the range

You know when an author drops a clue and you know straightaway that someone's going to die? 

It's happened in the book I'm reading and it's putting me off finishing it. I like a happy ending! It should be the law: all books must have a happy ending. And please don't tell me about all the successful books that don't.

* * * * * 

Out walking today we came across another fallen tree, this time right across our path.

George had no hope of getting over it so he and Husband took an alternative route through the mud and the brambles, while I scrambled and climbed my way through.

On the way back a driver tooted and waved at us. Being a well-brought-up child I waved back. I have no idea who it was, not even if it were a male or female driver. And I am pretty sure I don't know anyone rich enough to drive a Range Rover.

Becoming granny

Exercise class on Mondays is as gentle as you want to make it so, as my back was feeling okay, I went along telling myself and the teacher that I would take it easy.

Then the music started and that was the end of taking it easy. You can't keep still when 'Is this the way to Amarillo?' is played. I felt okay so I jigged and jogged the same as usual although I was a little more careful doing the lunge-type moves.

So far so good.

The sky is blue, the sun is shining, and the wind is worse than Friday! But I think we're only on amber alert today. I shall definitely be avoiding trees though. 

I've hung washing on the line, hoping it doesn't blow away, but I've noticed pegs these days don't seem to be of the same quality as the 'good old days'. Good grief! I'm talking about pegs. I have become my granny.

There's nothing like being prepared

Deciding at the last moment to 'go' to church on zoom today my communion preparations consisted of breadstick and orange juice.

My back is improved today and since it might be - or not - because of yesterday's treatment I decided to repeat it.

I think this could be the new me, wearing hot water bottles under my clothes when it's cold. Next grandson's football match here I come.

Embrace the mystery

There is a lady in Linden Church called Sue Heatherington. She and her husband live in a quiet Welsh valley with their alpacas. Sue writes thoughtful meditative pieces on LinkedIn. This is an excerpt from her latest post and I pray it for all of you.

May you embrace the mystery 

of your presence, 

the essence of who you are 

which cannot be boxed or labelled. 

Here is where your identity resides. 

And may you be satisfied 

as you pick up the mantle 

of your unique role 

in the ongoing creation of the world, 

because only you can do this.

Goodbye Hog Roast, hello chilli beetroot

One thing I was not sorry to see the back of during lockdown was the trend for people to have hog roasts at their parties. I mean, basically, it's a pork sandwich, and only one if it's a big party and you feel guilty going back for more when there's not much left. And that's it.

Forgive my grouchiness. I am putting it down to me mistaking backache for hunger pains. To try to sate the hunger I am eating spiced chilli pickled beetroot. While nice it's not very satisfying. Also I'm not sure how much I can eat before my gut starts to object.

That's all. I have just prepared fish pie and I was going to sit down and begin re-watching House but Husband has told me he will watch it with me - this evening. I shall have to find something else.

Oh yes, we walked over the tip today and there were at least five trees down in a small area near the adventure playground. 

And one for all you sew-ers out there.

Living in Paris with or without a hot water bottle

"What seemed like ordinary backache almost killed woman in four days."

Seriously Facebook? You think a hypochondriac like me needs to read headlines like that?

I've just lain in a hot bath and now am sitting with a hot water bottle stuck down the back of my trousers. It looks tres elegant, as the French probably wouldn't say. I have no idea if it's helping but it's fun.

Anyway I have friends, and I know people, who suffer a lot with backache and it's not funny for them. I've had it for three days and I haven't stopped moaning; I don't how they put up with it so quietly. So I shall shut up now.

* * * * *

Last night we watched a film on Amazon called The Good Liar. It stars Sir Ian McKellen and Helen Mirren. He is a conman trying to get hold of an attractive widow's money. So far so good. I imagine it will work out that she is also a conner and when they realise it they will go into business merrily scamming people who deserve to be scammed.

It wasn't like that at all. The ending was so dark! I didn't like it a bit. Most disappointed. 

I mentioned previously that I was reading The Paris Bookseller by Kerri Maher, and I have to say that I loved it. It's rare for this to happen but I want to live in that book!

We didn't win!

 And as Charlie Brown so wisely said, 'Nobody remembers who came second.'

Did someone say 'storm'?

As the Red storm warning was only until 1.00 pm we decided to risk going for a walk on the beach. Normally we'd go via the woods but went straight down the road today where we still had to pass some trees. Husband said, "If you hear a loud crack, run."

I stopped and grabbed his arm. "You'll have to tell me which way to run! And don't use words like right and left!"

We passed through safely but there were trees down in the playing fields.

But once on the beach it was a case of, "Storm? What storm?"

Until you looked in the other direction.

It was lovely though. And George enjoyed it.

Storm Eunice Damage Report

A book fell off the shelf in the study.

In other news, back much the same except the ache has moved up a bit, I suspect because, when I forget to make the effort, I am walking in a strange way to stop it hurting.

GrandSon2's 10th birthday today. He is already off school with Long Covid so he hasn't benefitted from the Bad Weather Day Off! However his sisters are home with him so no doubt will have fun.

Oh yes, Husband tells me a ship caught fire off Portugal. The crew have been safely taken off and they're hoping to rescue the ship and its cargo of 3,695 cars including 1,100 Porsches as well as Lamborghinis and Audis. That is one expensive cargo!

In another headline the BBC tells us that the price of Kitkats and Durex is set to rocket. Interesting that the headline writers chose those two items to spotlight. Chocolate and sex. It's what people want.

Although further down in the article we're told price rises will also affect Marmite and Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I'm sure there must be some sort of love it or hate it joke in there.

dudley, Eunice and frog spawn

Thank you for all your sympathy. My back is better but not completely right yet. I have been working on my writing and I can feel it starting to ache again so I'll leave the computer when I've done this post.

Fortunately Husband arrived home - complete with silver tooth - before the delivery man arrived so that problem was resolved. I wonder if he will set off the alarm in airports should we ever fly again.

Here in Wales we are just in between two storms, Dudley and Eunice. I mean seriously, Dudley and Eunice? Do they sound threatening or do they sound like your granny's friends who used to give you sixpence?

Dudley was fine but the Met Office has issued a Red Warning for us tomorrow. Apparently that is very rare. So we are all panicking. All schools will be closed and now the buses have said they're not going to be running tomorrow. (I wonder what a bus sounds like. I hear it in a northern accent, 'Eeh, lad, we're not running tamorra.')

Back in 1987 the Great Storm caught everyone unaware. The weatherman on the BBC even said there wasn't going to be a storm. Then we had the worst one for years. We were living in Southampton at the time and a tree fell down right across the road in front of our house. And I slept through it. Anyway since then I think they've tended to be on the over-cautious side. 

Time will tell. If tomorrow I am reporting that our roof has blown off I will apologise for doubting them.

In other news we saw out first frog spawn of the year today. It is one of Husband's markers for the seasons. When my back is aching less remind me to tell you the story of the stolen frog spawn.

It just went

For no obvious reason my back seems to have seized up. It's okay as long as I don't move. At all. 

I am expecting a food delivery between four and five. It's five to four now and I'm thinking that perhaps I need to start making my way to the door ready. 

It started in my first exercise in my class today, on my very first step up. Then it improved and I have been moving most of the time since until I sat down about half an hour ago. And now it's gone. 

And Husband is at the dentist's so I will have to carry my shopping in. Okay, definitely going to stand up and start moving now. See if I can get some oil in my muscles or whatever they need.

I could be gone some time.

A little mystery

I ate an apple and saved some to give to George. He was asleep in his usual position on the rug in the hall. I went out and waved the apple under his nose. 

No response.

I tried again, and again, no response. 

At this point I panicked and checked he was still breathing - he was. I gave up and waited until he woke up.

This is very unlike George. Normally I only have to go into the kitchen for him to get up from wherever he is and follow me. Even if I try to hide the fact that I'm carrying a banana or an orange he still knows.

We are all getting old.

* * * * * 

I made a to-do list this morning and I am doing quite well at completing it. I have a letter to write but it is difficult so, although I have started, I will wait for Husband's help. I am supposed to be a writer but he always knows what to say.

One item on my list was to clean my glasses. I used washing-up liquid but I don't think it worked very well. My mother-in-law was always telling her husband to go and clean his glasses. "How can you see through those?" she'd ask. I think she'd be asking me the same thing.

Another item was to email some computer shops to find out if they have the means to convert a film on a video cassette into an MP4 file. So far no joy.

I have been successful though in doing a Sainsburys order, editing chapters 12 and 13 of my ghost-written book, finished and recorded my radio talk, and even showered and washed my hair. (I wrote that on the list after I'd done it so I could cross it off.)

Now, a little mystery. 

Just about every time I record my talk something strange happens. I do the testing, testing, 1,2, 3, bit and play it back to check it's okay. Nearly every time it's recorded at a fast speed. (That can't be right. Stored at a fast speed? Hm, anyway.) After I've listened I carry on and test again and it's always normal then. I don't change anything. I don't do anything except start again. Listen.

Fiddle, I can't include just a sound file. I'll have to do something to it. Don't go away . . .

Here we are.

Losing the oompfh

Well, Wales won (20-17) but it was a tense match with the lead going to and fro. And England won today so we're two happy bunnies.

To celebrate -  not really but just because I was in the village and it seemed a good idea - we're having an M&S Valentine Dinner for Two tonight: leek and cheese tartlets, followed by duck with plum sauce and dauphinoise potatoes, with billionaire's pots for pudding. Diet starts tomorrow definitely.

We don't celebrate Valentine's Day. We did once upon a time but then decided it was unnecessary.

* * * * *

This morning I did a pile of ironing, had a headache, and then had to deal with some comments on a post I'd put on Facebook. It was a perfectly innocent post that was deliberately misread. I had to bite my tongue, or in this case, my typing fingers, and not say what the poster could do if unhappy.

Perhaps 'deliberately misread' is not right. Maybe it was more a case of reading it from an already biased/injured place. Someone with issues shall we say?

* * * * *

In better news I wrote a thousand or so words of my new novel. And reminded myself I'm supposed to be promoting and marketing my others. It's so hard to self-promote, and boring when I see others constantly plugging their books. But how else will people know? 

During lockdown and when I published the sequel to my first novel, I was on it. I even did an online marketing course and followed it to the letter, but without the success it promised. Then I got bored and stopped doing my newsletter and rarely updated my website. Must try harder if I want to justify the time I spend writing. Then again do I need to? 

The answer to that is no but I was brought up, I suppose, to feel I must be doing something useful with my time. As I stare at the dust and George hairs on the floors I can almost hear my Granny tutting. But not loud enough to do something about that either!

When the Tardis is out of action

Another busy week. GrandDaughter3's 3rd birthday in Italy (sad face) on Tuesday and Daughter's birthday on Wednesday. This afternoon we're watching the rugby at Elder Son's before a belated party for GrandSon3 who was in isolation at the time of his actual birthday.

In between excitements I've been doing some work on my new novel and looking after GrandSon2, as well as all the other normal weekly stuff. Oh yes, and I forgot a meeting.

This morning I went to watch GrandSon1 playing football. I was late setting off and then ended up driving around a cemetery and down an unmade road in my attempt to find the playing field. By the time I go there he'd played his first match, the second match had been called off, and he was reserve for half of the third game. So I ended up watching him play precisely ten minutes.

But I did get to talk to Dwayne Peel's dad. Now 99.999% of you won't know who Dwayne Peel is but he used to play rugby for Wales. His dad was giving me all the inside gen. Apparently Gavin Henson's a lovely boy, and Shane Williams is lovely too in spite of all the negative stories about him.

And we both agreed Wales has to beat Scotland this afternoon to retain any credibility or hope in the Six Nations. 

Then on the way home guess who I was following!

I suppose even the Tardis has to go in for servicing sometimes.

The promised land

Writing my talk for the radio yesterday I recalled what was said to us in prison. "Don't make heaven sound too nice in case anyone kills himself as a result."

In my broadcast I'm thinking about the promised land and heaven. After saying how jolly nice I'm sure it will I thought I'd better cover myself and make reference to living this life first.

I probably only have five listeners; I can' afford to lose any.

* * * * * *

A reason to stay alive: to see lovely things like this. Our local postbox has been yarn-bombed!

Talking posh

As I have often said, I was painfully shy as a child. In an attempt to help my confidence my mother sent me for elocution lessons with the wonderfully-named Kate Kolinsky.

The lessons were held in her front room and there were a group of us, and that's all I can remember. I imagine her front room was much like the front of the music teacher I also went to as a child, the sort of front room you would associate with elderly spinsters in the 1950s, with antimacassars and dark furniture. 

I'm thinking Miss Ball for my music teacher but I'm not sure of that. I didn't keep music lessons up for long because I could never be bothered to practise. I regret that now. I would love to be able to play the piano.

The reason I am reminiscing is that yesterday I was looking after GrandSon2 who is still suffering the effects of long Covid, and he wanted to know what I looked like as a little girl. I dug out my photos and found this with them.

Yes, I have a certificate in talking posh. That's the only one. I hated the lessons. Rather than combat my shyness they simply drove me more into myself.

GrandSon3 also wanted to see Granddad's many trophies. He has a whole shelf for football and ten-pin bowling. As I was showing him I realised, 'I don't have any!' Maybe I should frame my certificate.

P.S. On reflection I am sure it was Miss Ball.

Unbelievable!

Gosh, I've impressed myself.

For my new novel I've had to make up some historical details. Having finally retrieved the manuscript and started reminding myself what's in it I read these details and actually believed what I'd made up. I had to stop and think - and even check on google - if what was there was fact or fiction.

I am really impressed with the believableness of my writing. 

Teacher's pet

This is where George is usually sleeping when I come down the stairs in the morning, although he's usually got his head curled around a bit more. I can walk down the stairs, past him, saying, 'Morning George,' and into the kitchen and he still doesn't know I'm there. 

I can't decide if I should feel sad for him being so deaf or whether he might think it a blessing. I suppose he probably isn't aware of the change. There was an interesting post on Victor's blog about how much animals 'think' and how much awareness they have.*

For George it's probably quite pleasant being in a quiet world - except when I walk up next to him and he hasn't realised and it makes him jump.

It certainly doesn't stop him having fun. Yesterday we walked on the beach with his new friend, Barney, who is a fifteen-week-old cavashon.

The only problem was that Barney got all the attention and fuss from passers-by who all exclaimed over him. I could almost see George thinking, 'That used to be me who got the fuss and treats.'

* George obviously is the exception to the rule as he not only thinks but has deep meaningful conversations with me.

* * * * * *

When I go to exercise class I try very hard to do exactly what the teacher says because I know that, in most cases, the right technique will have the best result, or the result that is intended. Yes, I am a nerdy teacher's pet but lots of people aren't. And it does upset me.

Usually I can ignore it but this morning, well . . .

Xa, to my right, works to a different beat and is always slightly faster. I don't know how it's possible to move not in time with the music. Obviously it is possible but difficult I would have thought. She's not too bad; I can ignore her. 

Xb on the other hand is directly in my line of sight. I stare at the teacher and still see Xb jigging away, doing her own thing. Not only does she work to a different beat I think she's in a different class. No matter how hard I try to focus on what the teacher is doing Xb keeps distracting me until I want to scream, 'Please! Do what teacher's doing!'

First world problems of course and if that's all I've got to complain about I can probably cope, but I've got to have something to write about on my blog. And they're both lovely ladies.

The Good News

I just saw this poem on Debra's blog and it has some wonderful lines in it. It's by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Zen Buddhist monk who was a peace activist, author, poet and teacher of mindfulness and walking meditation. 

The Good News

They don’t publish

the good news.

The good news is published

by us.

We have a special edition every moment,

and we need you to read it.

The good news is that you are alive,

and the linden tree is still there,

standing firm in the harsh winter.

The good news is that you have wonderful eyes

to touch the blue sky.

The good news is that your child is there before you,

and your arms are available:

hugging is possible.

They only print what is wrong.

Look at each of our special editions.

We always offer the things that are not wrong.

We want you to benefit from them

and help protect them.

The dandelion is there by the sidewalk,

smiling its wondrous smile,

singing the song of eternity.

Listen! You have ears that can hear it.

Bow your head.

Listen to it.

Leave behind the world of sorrow

and preoccupation

and get free.

The latest good news

is that you can do it.

Big sighs

I knew I was keeping Maltesers from Christmas for a good reason. Sadly it was to drown our sorrows after both Wales and England lost their rugby games today. 

At least England came close to winning while Wales was thrashed by a far superior Irish team.

Ireland 29:7 Wales

Scotland 20:17 England

Yesterday was Welsh Language Music Day so to cheer me up here's the Welsh national anthem being sung before another rugby game.

Ulysses and me

It was about this time fifty years ago today, another Saturday, that I hadn't long come home from hospital where my mum had died.

Fifty years is a long time. I think I should feel something but I don't. Maybe it's the long passage of time or maybe it's just me. I certainly felt it at the time.

Anyway, today also sees the beginning of the Six Nations rugby tournament, which I first watched with my mum, although in those days it was the Five Nations as Italy didn't join until about 2000. As I said previously, much of this afternoon will be spent sitting in front of the television.

This morning though I've been very efficient, doing 'stuff'. Efficient by my standards anyway, and while listening to Ella Fitzgerald. She really has a magnificent voice. 

And I'm reading The Paris Bookseller by Keri Maher. I'm really enjoying it. It's the fictionalised story of Sylvia Beach who opened an English bookshop in Paris in the 1919. Her shop, Shakespeare and Company, was frequented by many famous authors including Ezra Pound, Ernest Hemingway and James Joyce. It was a home from home for many. It was Sylvia Beach who was the first to publish Ulysses in its entirety as its publication had been banned in America following an obscenity trial.

Ms Beach endured a lot of hardship along the road to publication but was determined to persevere because she believed so strongly in the book and was convinced it was a masterpiece.

I haven't read Ulysses. Have you? If so, would you recommend it? I think it's hard to read so that's probably put me off.

Stephen King allegedly said if a book is banned you should make sure you read it. Correction, he did say it. Here it is:

"Read whatever they're trying to keep out of your eyes and your brain, because that's exactly what you need to know."

However I'm not convinced I need to know what it says in Ulysses.

Now this is rather worrying

In November, if you recall, I took part in NaNoWriMo, or rather in my version of it, which I think I called MyWriMo.

Although I came nowhere near the target they set of 50,000 words I did manage a good number and was pleased. Then came December and all that busyness so I put it to one side with the intention of picking it up again in January. 

Well, that came and went so I was determined to start again in February. I've managed to put it off so far but this afternoon I took the proverbial bull by the horns and opened the file.

At least I would have opened the file if I could have found it.

All I seem to have under the name of MyWriMo is a two page document of odds and ends, research I thought may be useful, and some details I wanted to remember. But of the several thousand word document that is the new novel there is no sign.

I am not going to panic. I know I saved it. I just have to remember where and under what name.

I am not going to panic. My  breathing is a bit fast at the moment but that's okay. I need chocolate. 

I am also convinced I jotted character names and ages n a scrap of paper that was on my desk. But that's not here any more. Did I imagine it all? Was it just a dream?

It must be here somewhere!

P.S. FOUND IT! It was cunningly named New book. I must try to be more sensible with my file names.

P.P.S. However now it's too late to start work on it. I have to go and make pizza topping.

I was gone some time

I did find it. (See 'I could be gone some time'.) Eventually. Both the paper copy and the file on the computer. 

But only after taking out all my old notebooks, folders, scraps of paper, with stories, ideas, poems, words scrawled all over them, and having a good clear-out. Some pieces of writing I had numerous copies of. Some made no sense whatsoever. Some I could imagine as the basis for future talks or writings. Some were so bad I tore them up and threw them away.

I also found these.

Sadly I have no means of retrieving what words of wisdom or literary gems they may store. Maybe it's just as well.

* * * * * *

It's National Storytelling Week and I've recorded a story for Zac's (so it's a vaguely Christian one). It's about three or four minutes long and has pretty pictures to accompany it, if you've a moment and you're bored.

* * * * * *

More importantly it's Eat Ice Cream for Breakfast Day on Sunday. Got to be one to celebrate!

Also the annual Six Nations rugby championship begins on Saturday. Wales take on Ireland and England play Scotland, so we'll have a busy day in front of the television. That's Chwe Gwlad Rygbi Pencampwriaeth to me.

Tripping over my metaphorical feet

It occurred to me recently that, come November, I will have reached my allotted span of three score years and ten. And I panicked!

Whenever I've spoken or led anything people often come up to me afterwards and say, 'I don't know how you can be so calm. You're always so relaxed.'

I tell them it's my swan impersonation. Serene on the surface but underneath my metaphorical feet are paddling like crazy, and in my case it takes this form. 'Why did I say that? Is anyone listening? Does everyone hate me? Why did I say I'd do this? Never again. Is that woman asleep? Oh what comes next? Don't panic. Keep breathing.'

I don't know why my realisation caused me such stress but maybe it's the fact that the majority of my life is behind me. Also this week sees the fiftieth anniversary of my Mum's death. I think I just suddenly thought, 'I can't keep on wasting time! I've got to live everyday! Make the most of this precious life before it's gone.'

That said I'm not sure exactly what would entail. Probably less time on Twitter and playing solitaire. More time smelling the roses photographing the snowdrops.

I'm pretty sure this flower is confused. It shouldn't be out at this time of year.

Oh and last night the young friend who was hostess said she didn't know what ten score was. How to feel old. She presumably doesn't know what a florin is either. (I mention florin because it was the answer to  clue in a recent crossword. I don't do hard crosswords but enjoy the sort of puzzles you get in magazines, where you can guess the age of the setter and the targeted audience from some of the clues.)

* * * * * 

You can listen to my words on the Welsh Valentine here. And read my article here.

Going out out

Last night I went out out.

I had been invited for a meal in a friend's house. It was terribly exciting: I even put on mascara.

And we had a lovely time. There were three of us and we chatted and ate and admired and encouraged each other. And the time flew by.

Earlier in the day I'd looked after GrandDaughters1 and 2 for a short period and I was asking them about their friends in school. GrandDaughter1 started to list hers but she ran out of fingers. GrandDaughter2 said, "I'm friends with everyone in my class."

Not to be outdone I said, 'I'm going to a friend's house for dinner tonight. Yes, I have a friend!'

And now, good heavens, it's February. Just like that.

Oh and you'll find my latest article for The Bay magazine here. It's all about a donkey with a false leg.

Leg Tourettes - or I get the urge

As I typed the title of this post I suddenly wondered if my attempt at a light-hearted post could be misconstrued as offensive. While I have no wish to offend anybody it is hard sometimes to be woke. Is that the correct use of the term?

Anyway I'll take my chance and hope that my regular readers know me well enough to understand that I mean no offence.

And, in fact, that introduction/explanation is going to be longer than the actual post.

Sometimes when I'm walking around the house I have the urge to kick my right leg out to the side ninja style. Naturally I give in to the urge.

Also, similarly, going from bedroom to bathroom I have to do a little balletic leap. (I use balletic here to indicate the sort of leap rather than my precise style, which is more elephantine than prima donna.)

And that's it. Does anyone else get these urges?