Last night we were presented with our first gift from Luna our usually lazy madam who prefers the comfort of the underfloor heating in the bathroom to the great outdoors.
She does go out, usually at night. She wanders through at exactly the moment whatever we’re watching on the telly is reaching a critical point and claws at the door at the bottom of the stairs. One of us has to get up and open it before she makes more of a mess of the door thus spoiling the emotional atmosphere the drama is trying to portray.
She likes to slip through my bedroom window and over the roof. She then reappears sometime in the night, landing with an enormous thud on the wooden floor and waking me up. I know it’s the cat and not a burglar because no self-respecting burglar would make such a noise.
She came back early last night, and I could hear scrabbling on the stairs so opened the door before she tore the carpet to shreds. It’s new and supposed to be my forever carpet. There on the bottom step was a gift.
Fortunately for me – not the gift – it was dead.
It was late and dark, and I wasn’t up to chasing said gift around the house while it’s packed to the gunnels with other people’s stuff.
I’m afraid I didn’t give it a decent burial, just a quick one.
I enjoy a bit of history and the more obsure the facts the better. I don’t usually go back to the Middle Ages preferring the Tudor and Stuart eras but this tickled the psychologist in me. Times may change but human nature is human nature
It is said that the Bayeaux Tapestry, actually an embroidery and commissioned in the 1070s, features 623 men, 190 horses, 37 ships, 35 dogs, 3 (yes 3) women, and 93 penises of which 88 belong to horses.
The horse with the largest penis belongs to Duke William of Normandy later known as the Conqueror.
It appears that the dick-mobile has a long and checkered history.
I’ve just realised I haven’t written anything for a couple of weeks. I have been busy with family commitments, Comic Cons and meeting new and old friends at St Andrew’s Church Book Fair. I have also been writing quite a lot too. An interesting submission call got me quietly excited, and I reeled off a story and sent it off. We shall see.
I had not been the Northwich Comic Con before so was looking forward to meeting new people as well as old friends. I had a lovely day, the weather was gorgeous, I covered costs, met the lovely James Lefebure, a fellow writer and caught up with folk I knew.
The return journey was a bit of an adventure. I don’t know Northwich town. I’ve not been for years so I switched on the satnav. I really just needed it to get out of the town.
Well – I don’t know if she’d been reading the Dirk Gently books by Douglas Adams, but she certainly took me down some very interesting country lanes, through a ford, past villages I didn’t know existed and signposts to nowhere I’d heard of before finally coughing me the right side of Crewe. I doubt I’ll ever find that way again …
My house is old – very old. So old that we have to have planning permission to change the use of the cupboards. Well, perhaps it just feels like it because planning for the new extension took on biblical proportions
When I was younger – er young – I used to babysit for this family who lived in a really old house and you get seasick walking along the passage to the child’s bedroom upstairs. I always vowed I would live in a house with floorboards that had grown wonky with age.
Everything about my house is old and quirky which is how I like it. I love history and things that have a story behind them. I am fascinated by the fact that I am touching something that has been touched by someone who lived long ago and had a life, perhaps good, perhaps bad. I try to feel them through handling the object. (Don’t judge, we all have a thing, that’s mine.) I scour the flea markets for interesting items that I need and look good in my house. No IKEA here.
Beware what you wish for.
Imagine facing this when you come up stairs in the dead of night.
I always imagine that one night I shall see feet in the gap beneath the door.
That I shall hear heavy breathing from whoever waits for me to get close enough …
That I will hear the click as the latch is pressed …
That the door will slowly swing open …
I have to admit to never, and I mean never, walk upstairs after dark with my eyes open.
I thought I was doing alright. Okay, I’m past my Biblical sell-by date and life’s a tad fraught at the moment but I passed a recent MOT at my doctor’s with only one advisory.
Having received a message about a dementia course run by the very same doctor’s surgery I considered it, decided I know who I am, that we now have a king not a queen, why I’m standing staring into the pantry (looking for jam) and what month it is.
Or do I?
I thought it was March, a spring month. On the strength of knowing it was March I sent my elder nephew a birthday card (2nd) and have bought one for my eldest granddaughter (18th). I have arranged to meet my son and his family for a Mothering Sunday brunch and have taken the summer curtains out of storage ready to put up in time for the change to British Summer Time.
I wake up to this.
The local theatre sent me an email advertising the 2023 Christmas play and inviting me to book.
TICKETS ON SALE NOW FOR THE NEW VIC’S SPECTACULAR CHRISTMAS SHOW FOR 2023!
My local supermarket has a shelfful of this!
If anyone knows who I am and what month it really is please let me know.
I like to watch odd things on the telly and last night I watched a programme about The Black Death. It seemed appropriate at the time.
We think Covid is bad – and it is but we had far worse things in the Good Old Days. As a child I experienced such things as measles, chicken pox, rubella and mumps along with the rest of my age group. But I’m not talking about my Good Old Days – I’m going way back to the Very Old Good Old Days when you had such things to look forward to as the Bloody Flux, Pestilence, Black Death and Buboes.
Imagine writing a note to your child’s teacher back in the 16th century.
I am most verily afraid that Samuel will not attend your school this day as he has the bloody flux.
These names conjure up such horrors that make the state of the country today look pretty good.
You can actually still catch any one of them if you’re very unlucky. Fortunately we now know how to cure them, and I have my Plague Mask, just in case.