In The Pink

 I complemented Bethan on her corner garden this morning. I’d say she has the fourth best garden in the village behind Marion Jones, Animal Helper Pat and the lady who lives in the London Road cottage whose name has just escaped me. She told me she had just scattered her mothers ashes into a new herbaceous border filled with only pink flowers .

“ She always said she was in the pink , when you asked her how she was” Bethan quipped “ Now she is!”

The velvet voiced Linda at the coffee morning

The Memorial Hall was open today, the shenanigans with it’s insurance sorted by the Community Council.

It was nice to go to the first coffee morning of the year.

The first person I saw crossing the road very carefully with his wife was Mr Poznán.

Now Mr Poznán is perhaps my most favourite man in the village. 

In his late seventies, he has the most benign and friendliest faces of anyone I have ever met and with his crinkled smiling eyes and broad grin he always reminds me of a soft featured Polish Farmer ( hence the nickname).

When I separated from the Prof and was in danger of losing the cottage , it was Mr Poznań who originally proposed the idea of buying the cottage so that I could stay in it.

He is a gentle quietly spoken man, who is popular in Trelawnyd.

It is well known that Mr Poznań has a cardiac history and catching his wife’s worried eye, I realised that he was more breathless than usual so I popped over to take his pulse and to share some nursery advice.

We sat and talked for a while.

It was lovely to catch up.

I cut my visit short as I’d planned to meet another old friend in Chester. 

I’ve known Nigel, who now lives in Manchester for nearly thirty years, and we talked solid for three hours. Drinking Turkish delight tea in the Storyhouse restaurant and eating Mr Whippy ice cream by the Dee

Inside the Storyhouse

The Dee

Touching base with friends, over the last couple of weeks 

Life feels normal once more