My Bosoms Are Ready

A pair of bosoms have kept me up all night

I bet you never thought you'd hear me ever say that did you.?

Yesterday I did too much work, clearing stones and preparing the allotments

Bosoms' first two plots are now ready for fencing ( which should arrive today)

And then planting.

However all the lugging and carrying yesterday has had it's effect on my sciatica 

Which has kept me awake for most of the night.

Buttock aches at 3am are not a laughing matter.

Anyhow, I think I need to remind people just why my allotment has been given the name of bosoms in the first place. 

I have to thank the RFWF for that one.

A year or so ago, I asked him to think of a nickname for the allotments.. Like Cro has for his vegetable plot ( he calls his Haddocks)

The RFWF looked at me as if I was a loon, but gave the job a little thought when I added that the nickname could be something he perhaps liked or indeed greatly admired

I rest my case 

Bosoms was thus named.

Anyhow I will have a day off from bosoms,geese and from country ways tomorrow as I am off to South Yorkshire for a long overdue catch up with some old friends.

I am having " tea" with my old spinal injury days matron " ohhhhh matron!" then will catch up with Zara wearing old queen John, comic fan Mike and old girlfriend Jane....

I've even ironed a clean top for the occasion 

....as a box of frogs.......

It was 7.30 this morning,when I was right in the middle of having a long awaited and satisfying dump in the loo when I heard the slightly familiar " Yooooooo hooooo" from the "mad lady of the village"
The bathroom window was open so with some difficulty I did that slight limbo dance, all people tend to do when they are caught "halfway through a job"  and I popped my head through the window and called down with a rather testy " I won't be a minute" .....I have worked out recently that I can't really keep her waiting.
"Mad lady" is thankfully only visiting the village...apparantly she leaves today....
Now, I only say thankfully here, because she has a noticeable " pressure of speech"  and has a difficult tendency to keep you talking when there is much to do...but she has a thing for fresh eggs, which she has bought on almost a daily basis for a week or two now and seems to gain a great deal of pleasure talking to Bingley, who because of his hormones, is spending most of his time watching passers by at the fence by the gate.
A few years ago, before the Professor and I arrived in Trelawnyd,there was a really disturbed character living in the village who went by the name of "Mad Mick". He was infamous for slashing the tyres and damaging the bodywork of scores of cars up high street and with a drink problem compounding mental health issues, he was not a guy to be trifled with....

I notice I have used the word mad three times in this blog entry. As a previous psychiatric nurse I should really know better, but as a generic description of " not the norm" I find it lazily useful....
In fact " mad as a box of frogs" is one of my most favourite of phrases.... But like I said, I really should know better.

Anyhow, I sold another six eggs to my early morning customer this morning and before I said my goodbyes ( so I could return for a comfortable read of Empire Magazine on the loo) I rooted through our freezer and gave the lady a juicy bit of home grown pork " for being such a good egg customer"
She gave it straight back to me, before I had even said " goodbye"
" I don't eat pigs " she said cheerfully " they carry diseases"
Nuff said..........

She's Let Herself Go

Irene ..not looking her best

"She's let herself go"

It was a common enough phrase in my mother's era, which perfectly described an acquaintance who had perhaps fallen on somewhat difficult times.....

Perhaps the shampoo and set wasn't quite right.....perhaps the woman in question was seen down at the off licence in her carpet slippers.......or perhaps her net curtains had gone a dismal shade of grey....whatever the reason.....in those long aspiring  middle class, Abilgail's Party days, you were only as good as your decor and personal grooming...... 

Going to the supermarket in your PJs could have sent you to a social wilderness from which  there was no  return.....

Today I caught a couple slagging off my Soay ewe, Irene.

Ok, I will admit, she has seen better days, 

To be honest, she looks as though she's been forced to hide inside a tumble dryer for an hour

But spring means just one thing to a Soay sheep

It means that they moult their winter wool..

A causal observer could be forgiven that Irene had been abandoned somewhat for she does look remarkably slutty, what with her dirty brown coat hanging around her ankles for  most of the time...but overhearing a remark that was being mistreated got my dander up.....

It's a bit like parent hearing from another that her child has given the whole class head lice....

Oh the shame of it all!

I explained to the couple of the ways of Scottish Highland Sheep......and they looked suitably dubious when I pointed out that they didn't actually needed shearing .....the phrase

" she's let herself go" still resonated in my mind...and probably now in theirs!

Control

Did I tell any of you that I am a bit of a control freak?
Oh yes..... I am!
I am certainly the " cock of the walk" when it come to home life
I control furniture arranging duties within the cottage,
I choose the decor,
I do the gardening and the DIY
I even have sole responsibility for naming the pets.
It's all me, me , me, me me!

Well I have just taken the first baby steps in relinquishing control over something at home!
It was tough!
And I have had to bite the old tongue several times ,
But I have done it!
Today I have let the Professor start work ALONE on the cottage garden.

I almost wavered somewhat, when I thought he was about to pull up a particularly favourite aquilegia  of mine.... But I kept my trap shut.....

It's difficult to keep stumm when you are a natural gob shite

Crime Scene (CSI Trelawnyd)

You will have to read the previous post to understand this update

A neighbour suggested a novel way of making a point of this morning's 

erratic driving

Mrs Slocombe's Pussy

 "You know, animals are very psychic.  I mean, the least sign of danger and my pussy's hair stands on end."

So trilled Mrs Slocombe in an episode of Are You Being Served back in the 1970s

People that overly pamper their pets have always provided sitcoms and movies with stereotypical battle axe matrons and camp old queens, who kiss their pooches on the lips whilst cooing

"Whose mummy's little soldier?" 

I generally don't have much time for people that treat animals like surrogate fluffy babies

And so

What have I found myself doing?

Mr Gray's Pussy

I have been making a rod for my own back

That's what I have been doing.

A few weeks ago, in a fit of decadence, I bought Albert one of those expensive gourmet food packs from the supermarket.

bugger alone knows just why...instead of his usual non branded, foul smelling meaty chunks, Albert  was suddenly faced with a "cuisine seafood medley" or a "chef's collection" of delicate " mini fillets in a sumptuous gravy" 

And it all went to his head.

Now he won't touch his normal food

And looks at a mound of whiskers as if I have just offered him a pile of my own faeces on a plate

I have created a gourmet loving monster snob cat

"I've got to get home.  If my pussy isn't attended to by 8 o'clock, I shall be strokin' it for the rest of the evening."

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I will conclude today's rubbish with a bit of a sad tale. A woman from the village knocked on the cottage window early doors, to tell me that one of my chickens had been squashed in the lane.

The car that hit her was a 4 x 4 out on the school run, and the chicken, that was killed was left right in the centre of the road for someone else to deal with.

Escapees always run the risk of a careless driver

And Sod's law dictates that she was one of my best layers.

Hey ho

Be Careful What You Wish For....

A Previous " object of desire"
My gargoyle birthday gift from Chris a few years ago
I had wanted one for years
Bugger knows why

Working on Intensive Care gives a person a chance to thank goodness for the good things of life.

Having a healthy and happy family and friend group , of course is the most important thing to be thankful for in this world.....but once you put that aside ( and all nurses have to put this aside in order not to go gaga in the workplace) " what I want" is an interesting debate to have in the wee small hours of a night shift, when a gaggle of over tired night nurses get together over a hastily grabbed cup of instant.

Having taken a healthy family as a given, most people said they wanted a bigger house, a bigger garden, the opportunity not to work, more money..... Nothing too original there......

But after the dross......more interesting things started to appear.

A pair of Manolo Blahniks.....an apartment overlooking the Bay Of Naples.........a personal shopping experience........a professional cookery course.......a magnificent new cleavage......a J lo arse

And so.........What did I eventually ask for, I hear you ask?

Well the answer is an easy one

A Cow full of milk........of course

Whinging Pom

Bloody Hell my last post was all a bit Whinging was it not?

So much so that I have pulled myself out of my lethargy

by the proverbial bra straps

and have hit my lists running

A rambler has just stopped to buy a couple of goose eggs.

She wanted to paint them rather than eat them

Silly Mare