" You've Got A Lovely Bush"

The Ceanothus 

I am presently making a soy and honey marinade for a chicken supper, only Mary is up watching me carefully from her seat at the dining table. The other dogs and Albert are all in bed. It's 9.30 already and they won't be up until at least 10.30.
I've just put goose eggs out on the garden wall in a covered bowl. I have a glut of them and need them sold, but already this morning two people have stopped for hen eggs, neither wanting the larger and richer goose eggs. Both visitors have commented on the  ceanothus bush in the front garden, which is almost in full bloom. " It's a lovely show" the woman said, and she's right!

May is the best time for flowers at the cottage, both inside and out and The Prof always seems mildly amused by the amount of  bloom filled vases dotted around the place. " ooooohhh very nice" he'll quip when faced with another display, but secretly he rather likes how the flowers lift the place.
I've always done it, even when we lived in the city.

So this morning we have white lilac in the window, ( I know it's supposed to be unlucky) , honeysuckle and buttercup on the mantle, aquilegia on the kitchen table and wallflower and white aubretia on the window ledges.

No wonder I enjoy the Flower Show so much

Mrs Jefferson's Sad Day

Things in life have a nasty habit of being bookended
When things go well and are happy, invariably there is a little bit of shit ahead to balance things out.
So I thought yesterday evening when, after a lovely weekend away, I had to drop a mountain of flower show schedules off for Mrs Jefferson.
I run the flower show in what may be loosely termed an " informal" way, so often I am late when Mrs Jefferson, who is another of the village matriarchs , requests her share of posters and information..
Mrs Jefferson, is no stranger to the finer things in life, so was eager to hear all about The Royal Ballet and Nu's glamorous fiftieth bash , but I did notice that she wasn't quite her usual powerhouse self as we chatted at the door of her neat little house on the edge of the village.
I was soon to find out why, for Mrs Jefferson confided that her best friend for a generation had died unexpectedly only a few days before.
I gave her some space to talk and the tears flowed unchecked for there was very little I could do but give her a long hug, as she told me that their last conversation was about grooming horses.
An inconsequential and banal conversation which pained her so very much for it was not a conversation of farewell
I was very aware as we hugged, that only hours before I had the fantastic opportunity to tell my best friend just how fabulous she looked, and now I was trying to comfort a woman who was never able to say goodbye to hers.
Life's bookends eh?
It's always the way.
_________________________________________________________________________

I'll leave you with a photo. the aquilegia is flowering in the cottage garden as is the montana over the garden gate, and along the path the dogs are mooching at the smell of a baby rabbit who has just escaped Albert's clutches .......

Happy Birthday Fabulous!!!

This voluptuous piece of woman is my best friend Nuala (who is also commonly known here as just plain" Nu" )
She is "fabulous at fifty"
Fifty, I am reliably informed , is the new 35!
When my mother was fifty, she looked 65
But that was back in 1975.
When everyone looked fucked!
Happy Birthday dear old friend, I never told you yesterday!

Ohhhh errrrrrrr

I shall give a prize to anyone who could tell me where I am

Ma'am as in Spam

No, it's not a joke.....what has .the Bishop, the Flower Show Secretary and the admiral! Got in common?
Well they all went to a garden party at Buckingham Palace yesterday that's what they have in common. How amazing is that?,
My sister was one of the chosen few who donned their best tucker and alongside The Queen Prince Philip, Prince Charles and Princess Anne  sipped tea and ate afternoon snacks on the manicured lawns of Buckingham Palace.
Not bad for a Prestatyn gal eh?

Not had much access to internet at the moment so comment/replies may be thin on the ground ( Stephenson please note)

Epitaph

With yesterdays chatter about tombstones, I thought I would share with you mine.......I'm not planning to pop off this mortal coil too soon, but it's always best to be prepared.....

What's your graveyard epitaph ? I'd be interested to know

Here lies

John Gray

Formally of Bwthyn Y Llan , Trelawnyd

Friend, Brother, Husband

Blogger, Nurse
and fabulous Dog Owner

" I 'll admit I may have seen better days
But I'm still not to be had for the price of a cocktail
Like a salted peanut" 

Drifting Off To Sleep?

There is a mouse hiding under the sofa and its 23.37pm
House dogs and cat are all working very hard at locating it
I am in bed........
Wide eyed and very awake
This is animal hell

Yanks In Town

William , Winnie, George , Mary and I were returning through the old Churchyard Yesterday afternoon after a brief catch up with the Alcapas in Mrs Frazer's glebe field, when a bright American voice sang out from behind the gravestones.
" I guess you're a real local" the woman called out.
I should have known that the Yanks had arrived as parked next to the Lych Gate was a large white minibus. The Graveyard suddenly seemed full of them .
They descended on me, greedy for information.
In the mid 1840s, Trelawnyd elder John Parry Sr led over 100 Mormon converts from North Wales to Liverpool in order to catch a steamer to the United States. Parry and his followers went on to settle in Salt Lake City where he became the first conductor of the famous Mormon Tabernacle Choir .
Now, on a regular basis, his descendants arrive in the village for an hour or so, intent on locating Parry's meeting house ( thought to be a set of cottages up High Street) or in the vain hope of finding an old gravestone of the Parry family amongst the few intact gravestones in the old graveyard.

I gave them as much information as I was able which proved to be a rather odd experience as it was only after five minutes that I realised one woman was filming me on her mobile phone!
I showed them the 13 th Century Prayer Cross, and explained that it was (and is) common for Welsh headstones to document the names of the houses in which the deceased lived , a fact which often makes research easier with so many Jones', Parry's and Evans' living in one place.

As I was showing them around , I suddenly recognised  a few words on a tombstone I had never seen before. The words " Tan y Fynwent " sticking out like a sore thumb.
Now, Tan-y-Fynwent was the ancient Welsh name for our cottage and when translated it literally means " Under The Graveyard" a rather apt description as the cottage is located on the lane that borders the lower Western part of the Church boundary.
I had , by accident, found the previous occupants of our cottage.
People who had lived and died in the 1800s an early 1900s