Down in Devon

The verges on the Devon lanes were filled with dandelions. I took a closer look at this one and realised they're really pretty. I've always thought of them as just weeds not looked at them properly. I know they spread like crazy and have horrid roots but they make a lovely show on the side of the road.Rose said they used to hold dandelions under their chin to see if they liked butter; we did that with buttercups. If you liked butter, you'd get a yellow reflection on your skin. Pretty impossible not to get a yellow reflection so it was probably a marketing ploy by dairy farmers.

While I was there I made some scones so we could have genuine Devonshire clotted cream, jam and strawberries.
And I can't post about a visit to Devon without a photo of Grand-Daughter. She's 5 months old now and is growing so fast! She had her first swimming lesson on Wednesday but she spent the time looking around rather than splashing. Born nosey. It runs in the family.

Night night

Just back from Devon so will have photos to share but it's time for bed now so I'll just leave you with this photo that Younger Son took a couple of evenings ago from around the cliffs.

Oh George!

George got a bit hot on our walk and cooled himself down by lying in a puddle. A muddy puddle.

Wetting the bed

For one reason or another I haven't been out walking with George much recently so we made up for it today with a two-hour wander around the woods. It was very obvious that Spring has certainly sprung.

The field next to the tip was a mass of dandelions. Were you told, as a child, not to pick dandelions as it would make you wet the bed? I'm sure there must be some herbal homoeopathic reason for that but, to this day, I've never picked dandelions in flower. But I've picked the fairy clocks and never wet the bed.

In the woods we came across loads of these strange little boxes. No idea what they're for but, I guess, part of an experiment.
A few years ago the council undertook a massive clearing project in Clyne woods to rid it of the alien rhododendrons, azaleas and camellias, which had migrated in from neighbouring Clyne Gardens, to allow the native species to thrive. The work took over a year and changed the face of the woods as we had known it. But it hasn't worked!

I can understand them missing small bushes or seedlings that were just shooting up but these flowers were on fully-grown trees.

They may not be in the right place but they're very pretty.

But the main reason we went for our meander was to search of bluebells. They're not out fully yet but are just starting to bloom. I love bluebells: they have a colour that is unlike any other. And a beautiful scent. Every time I walk through bluebells I dream my secret fantasy ...

Last day of work

Husband has just left for Newbury for his last day of work. He's had to take his laptop, mobile and pass to hand in. Officially he is in work until the end of April but after today that's that. No more communication possible, so no 'little jobs' to be asked to do.

I asked him how he felt. 'Wonderful.'

'Doesn't it feel a little bit strange after all these years?'

'Nope.'

He's worked incredibly hard all his life and has provided wonderfully for us, his family. He's reached the level he has through ability; he's never played golf with the boss. While he's given everything when he's in work, time with the family has always been precious and untouchable. He's worked to live not the other way round.

We got through his cancer scare twenty years ago and now we're looking forward to another twenty years - at least! - of enjoying life. We - the children and me - love him very much and hope his retirement is everything he wants it to be.

As for me, well, I have to carry on working. (Big 'aaaah', please.) Someone has to bring home the pennies ...

What a scrubber!

I blame you all.

Not one of you warned me that stone tiles are hard to clean. Ridiculously hard to clean. Or maybe it's just our light-coloured ones that are particularly dirt-grabbing.

I spent this afternoon, Cinderella-like, on my hands and knees scrubbing the kitchen floor. I ask you: is that any way to spend a Sunday afternoon?

I'd done about half and was exhausted so I stopped for a little rest. Husband, who was feeling guilty because he'd spent all day on the computer trying to prove that he's related to royalty, took up the mantle and finished it for me. I do love guilt.

By the way, Husband decided that he probably wasn't in line for the throne as the Mormons had got their facts wrong. No surprises there then.

Worth a chocolate brownie

I promised a chocolate brownie to someone in return for some information, some important information.

Like the name of the person who was responsible for depositing the Jesus clock in the office.

I shall bide my time and think of a suitable riposte.

P.S. I just looked up riposte in the dictionary. It means: a quick return thrust after a parry. Hmm, my return won't be quick but it will be sharp ...

When only ice cream will do

I'd been craving a Verdi's apple crumble ice cream all afternoon. To be honest, I'd been craving one since Wednesday when I'd had coffee there. (I actually had tea but to say 'I had tea there' sounds odd.)

So after our barbecue dinner last night I suggested a family trip down to the ice cream parlour. It was after 8 by the time we got there but the queue outside was as long as ever: it seemed that everyone had the same craving. I could see one man having apple crumble ice cream and I said, 'There'd better be some left for me.'

His wife, who was standing outside waiting for him, said, 'That's what he said. He came home from Bristol and made me come down straight down here.'

There was some left for me and I had it with another blob of praline pecan ice cream. Oooh yummy.

My new hoover is a ...

Sebo!

Yes, I know: I'd never heard of them until I started investigating cleaners. Sebo, Bosch and Miele came out top in the Which and other reviews. Bosch uprights were hard to find; Miele was about £60 more than the Sebo and only had a 5 instead of 10 year guarantee.

So Sebo it is.

And so far so Sebo. (That doesn't really work, does it, as play on words of any sort?)

We've gone back to a bagged cleaner - the bagless was useless with a George in the house - but this time I'll read the instructions before breaking it. I mean instead of breaking it.

I was going to clean the bathroom yesterday ...

but the sun shone so we took George for a long walk instead. Younger Son had told me about Millwood, a forestry commission site just behind Oxwich Bay. I'd never heard of it so we set off to find it and explore.

It was easy to locate just on the edge of the Penrice estate grounds. in fact it used to be part of the estate and was the location for the local mill, which gives the wood its name.

We wanted to end up at the seaside so whenever a choice of paths arose we took the one Husband said would lead to the beach. I should have remembered that Husband was thrown out of the boy scouts.
Bearing in mind that Gower is a fairly narrow peninsular with water on three sides you'd think it would be easy to find the sea. But it was like climbing up a hill when you keep telling yourself, 'the next summit will be the top,' but it never is. 'The sea will be over the next ridge,' but it wasn't.
After we'd been walking for well over an hour this was the closest we got to the sea.
Getting back to the car was a similar story. 'It's just down this hill,' Husband said confidently.

'Hmm,' I said doubtfully.

Still we got to walk through pretty Penrice village with its postbox from the reign of the King George.

And eventually ended up back at the old mill.
I didn't regret not cleaning the bathroom one bit.

I love this place!

I drove down to Mumbles this morning to meet a friend for coffee at Verdi's. This is the road I travel to get to work. I can hardly believe how blessed I am.

We sat outside Verdi's and this was the view from our table.

Not very a'peeling'

We were looking at the persecution of the early church last night in Zac's and I said that I worried about being persecuted (not constantly worrying you understand, just when I think about it) because I'm such a wimp they'd only need to tickle my feet and I would give way. At this Sean said the thing he really feared was being peeled.

'Peeled?'

'Yes, peeled. Having my skin taken off.'

Now that is something I hadn't even considered. Flipping heck!

Afterwards Blossom called me a tough old bird (he changed it rapidly to tough cookie after seeing my face) because he reckoned I underestimated myself. 'You go into prison, you talk to murderers and rapists. I know grown men who wouldn't do that.'

Talking to murderers and rapists? I'd never thought of it like that ... they're such nice polite boys.

Anyway on a lighter note, it was Baz and Di's 25th wedding anniversary yesterday so I made them a cake. It was a good excuse to use the lovely sparkly stuff. It's so cool eating sparkles.

It's not every bible reading ...

that is accompanied by a long, noisy trumpet blast of wind from the reader. But not every bible study has a Gerry.

Later on, very thoughtfully, he stood with his backside to an open door but the damage had already been done.

And where Gerry left off, our heavy sleeper took over with his snoring.

It's not every bible study ...

Husbands

There's a strange mark on our lovely little courtyard table. It's been there for a while and it was puzzling me. Today I asked Husband if he knew what it was.

'Chainsaw oil.'

'Chainsaw oil? On my table?'

'Don't look at me like that! It'll come off. If the pressure washer doesn't do it the white spirit will ... don't look at me like that!!'

Warning - cleaner at work

We've been let down by cleaners again. At Linden that is. Whenever we employ professional cleaners they turn out to be unprofessional. We've given the current - now ex - lot a few chances but I'm not God: I have a limit to the fresh starts I'll allow.

So yesterday in work I hoovered the hall, as it was being used for circuit training last night, and as I was working up a sweat pushing Henry around it occurred to me that the cleaners get paid more than I do. 'Perhaps I should give up admin and take up cleaning,' I thought.

Me? Cleaning? All day every day? I need to think that through more carefully.

Continuing on the cleaning note, my new 'hoover' has arrived. Except it's not a Hoover. But I'll tell you about that later: I know you're excited to find out all about my hoover but you'll have to wait.

Let's just say it arrived about 2 weeks ago and the weather's been too nice to use it since. Plus the volcanic ash keeps falling from the sky. (Ooooh, I could drag this out for years.)

Volcanic ash part 3

In church this morning we were asked to pray about the serious side of the air traffic disruption. Chris said, 'Angela was telling me that they're having trouble bringing a body back into the country.'

I probably shouldn't have laughed at that point but really ...

I was already in trouble for hanging up in the main hall the Jesus clock that appeared in my office. And I can't understand why nearly everybody looked at me in disbelief when I said I didn't know where it had come from.

Volcanic ash part 2

Has there ever been a better excuse for not cleaning?

My dressing-table is thick with dust 'but there's no point cleaning while the volcano's still exploding.'

The fact that the dust pre-dates the volcanic eruption is neither here nor there.

Volcanic ash part 1

Girlfriend was supposed to be flying home to Italy last week but after a not-too-pleasant stay in Luton she returned here yesterday. She's given up her flat so she's staying with us until she can get a plane out, probably direct to Ibiza now as she won't have time to go home before her placement starts.

She's been remarkably sanguine about it all even though she's missed her best friend's hen night and a family confirmation. 'There were lots of people in a worse situation than I was,' she said. She is a lovely girl.

We've also had a young lad from church staying with us for the last few weeks. This morning I said to Husband, 'Isn't it lovely having the house full?'

He was non-committal.

Is it supposed to be smoking?

Husband was doing his now regular lumberjacking thing so I volunteered to do some shredding.

'Are you sure?' Husband asked. 'It's hard work.'

'How hard can it be pushing branches through a shredder?'

It is actually quite hard work. The big branches I couldn't force through and the little branches were too bendy to push through. But I'd been merrily shredding for about 20 minutes when that question arose.

'Is it supposed to be smoking?'

'Turn it off!'

It was well and truly blocked.

I did wonder why more seemed to be going in than was coming out but I put it down to an illusion. Although when nothing came out I should probably have wondered a little harder.

There is a line

Husband is taking this retirement lark seriously and has joined the central library, mainly for the cds. He came home today with Best of Erasure.

Erasure?

Gin and tonic plus Erasure?

I am worrying about my husband.