Pebble-dash

I have been painting the render on the outside of the cottage for much of the day.
It's an odious job.
Twice ramblers have stopped for eggs ( remembering I sold them from previous hikes) and twice they have been somewhat startled by the sight of a masturbating bulldog rubbing her fanny on the garden steps when they leaned over the lane wall.
I'm so used to it, I don't bother to even acknowledge her behaviour any more.
" Oh dear" one woman exclaimed when she spied Winnie whipping herself into an absolute frenzy this time against the outhouse wall " a woman has needs, don't you baby?! " she cooed. Her husband was more practical and certainly nonplussed
" She'll have all your pebble-dash  off with an arse that size " he warned 

A Jar By The Door

I spoke to someone recently who spent their birthday alone.
Without a hint of self pity they mentioned that they had received just one Facebook Birthday greeting and shared that their birthday treat to themselves was a coffee in a city cafe where the waiter was kind.
Loneliness seemed to seep out of them like sweat

I'm fifty five years old and I have never really experienced loneliness. I am lucky...so very lucky
Today, in the churchyard a man sat quietly on a bench in the blustery weather. He was visiting the grave of his wife. I waved at him as I fed the bachelors and he waved back.
He once told me that loneliness was " worse than cancer". 
His wife died of cancer.

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, picks up the rice
In the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window, wearing the face
That she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Father McKenzie, writing the words
Of a sermon that no one will hear
No one comes near
Look at him working, darning his socks
In the night when there's nobody there
What does he care

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

Ah look at all the lonely people
Ah look at all the lonely people

Eleanor Rigby, died in the church
And was buried along with her name
Nobody came
Father McKenzie, wiping the dirt
From his hands as he walks from the grave
No one was saved

All the lonely people
Where do they all come from?
All the lonely people
Where do they all belong?

More Entries!

Two more entries have been received

For the novelty veg competition  

From Carol Caudwell 

From Notesfromabroad

Please send yours to me at 

jgsheffield@hotmail.com

Stormy Weather

Torrential rain seems to have moved in and the cottage looked dark and slightly depressing after the sun of yesterday.
I have switched on the gay pink flamingos in the kitchen and everything looks slightly more cheerful.
I am making bolognese
We have only had one bit of excitement this morning as Mary careered around the house yelping like a puppy.

She had trapped her head inside a plastic coat hanger!

Three Words

Theresa May spoke for all of us today when she said calmly and with obvious resolve

" Enough Is Enough"

Jump Start

Jason the affable despot told me that the village hall has a new vending machine.
It turns out that a community defibrillator has been fitted!
Now I am somewhat surprised that no information has been given out by the community council as an initiative like this needs publicity, especially as it could be instrumental in saving someone's life.

Trelawnyd People take note...it is situated by the side door!

The International Novelty Veg Photo

I can't say that I have not been  just a little disappointed with the number of entries for the International Novelty Veg/fruit photo competition so far.... But  the ones that have arrived so far have been lovely and rather  innovative!
Today Sue Williams sent this " Flower Fairies " photo! Followed by Sondra's " Onion Breath" 
Please keep em coming please!
Send your photos to me at jgsheffield@hotmail.com

Fat Feet

After a night shift comprising of multiple  code browns , and without any sleep I have helped the Prof  set the tent up at Porth Eirias Beach.
We looked like a couple of Victorian safari porters as we treked over from the car park with two folding deck chairs, a wind break, a beach bag stuffed nose to nipple with everything any self respecting boy scout may need in a crisis, a cool bag with salads, melon and fruit , ipads and toilet roll, and after the obligatory row we set up base camp on the golden sands of the North Wales coast.
It's been more stressful than organising the friggin Olympics!