* nothing to do with the post, the visuals just amused me
I think I can be forgiven repeating a good story from the Ukrainian Village days yesterday.
I had little to say and no news to speak of.
Repeating a good story reminds me of being a child, when, my sister Janet and I would push for my grandmother to recount stories of daring do from her wartime years.
Of course we had heard them all before.
Many many times before…….
The embellished stories of getting trapped in a blackout on the sixth story of a warehouse only inches from an open pulley door and with rats running over her feel….of running for the shelter as the bombers were over and for dressing my uncle Jim in a chenille curtain and high heels as they were being evacuated from their bombed house on Louisa Street, Liverpool
We knew them all and delighted in how they were delivered, with a wry smile over the ironing board or sat behind the colander being filled with shelled peas
I was only thinking of my grandmother’s storytelling yesterday when taking the dogs out for a walk
We were passed by a skinny man in Lycra out jogging and a phrase my grandmother other used suddenly popped into my head like an exploding firework ,
….fifty years after I first heard it
“ The muscles on his scrawny arms stuck out like sparrows’ Knees!”