Friday, 24 June 2016


All my worst fears are realised.

The flag-waving, jingoistic tub-thumping pseudo-patriotic posturing of the Leave brigade has defeated common sense.

Gullible ill-informed and easily swayed the mass of the British public has voted us out of the EU.

What am I afraid of?


Perhaps my greatest fear is that this is the thin end of the wedge which will allow fascism (never very far below the surface) to begin its slow creep into the British psyche.

This after all is the way Nazi Germany began to gain its hold over the reasonable fair-minded part of the population.

All economic considerations aside, and there are many, the insidious racist verbal attacks on sections of our society which have been so evident during this campaign are just the tip of the ice-berg.

Where do we go from here?.

Who knows, but I am praying hard.

Tuesday, 21 June 2016

Nocturnal Wittering

Where does sleep go when you need it?

Why, after a more than averagely tiring day is it impossible to rest and relax.?

Who decides when we will sleep and when we will remain wakeful and uneasy?

What perverse and contrary part of our own brain refuses to shut down despite the hour?

Knowing that the morning will be taxing and that the need for sufficient sleep is more important than usual, merely puts more pressure on the weary would-be sleeper.

Worrying about sleeplessness is absolutely pointless, as is deliberately attempting to relax, so, what to do?

Watching television is boring enough during daylight hours so not even worth considering.

Reading only makes the mind more active (well, mine anyway)

Please don't say hot milky drink.  Ugh!

Suspect phoning one of my brothers might lead to excommunication (at the least).

Phoning anyone at all not a good idea.

Listening to the silence is unrewarding and a little unnerving.

Talking to myself is unproductive since I have nothing of value to say.

Don't want to go on a spider hunt (might find one)!!

Thinking about Thursday's vote is not going to help anything.

Mentally wandering down the highways and byways of my past is a daunting process since, as we age memories become hazy, fact merging with fiction and however full our memory libraries may be the retrieval system is unreliable.

This is the Summer Solstice and I am a Celt.

Could it be as simple as that?


Tuesday, 14 June 2016

Stay in or Leave?

Despite the fact that I know how I am going to vote I am still, against all my basic instincts, listening to arguments on both sides.

Somewhere hidden deep inside of my mind is a glimmer of hope that I may even now hear something which will convince me, one way or the other.

Given the calibre of the argument so far that is a vain hope.

Among the lies, half-truths, wild flights of fancy and scare mongering there is occasionally a grain of half visible truth.

There are real concerns as well as blind prejudices, crude racialism, fear-driven attacks, so far only verbal, but the heat is growing.

I do not own a crystal ball, have no secret information which is unavailable to the rest of the country, and have never claimed to be any kind of expert on political problems, but...............

There is just one thing which convinces me that staying in Europe makes better sense than leaving and that is the calibre of people who are espousing the 'leave' campaign.

If nothing else could make my mind up once and for all it is seeing  'Barmy Boris' and 'Foolish Farage' leading the opposition.

Tuesday, 7 June 2016

Out of Action

OK so the picture might be exaggerating slightly, but this is day five of a really nasty cold/virus/lurgy which has kept me in bed for 3 and a half days, and wanting to be in bed the remainder of the time.

Usual very sore throat, streaming nose, sneezing and coughing coupled with bouts of giddiness.  Sweating profusely at the slightest exertion (or none at all) and total loss of appetite.

One kind neighbour bought my oranges, squash and grapes so I didn't have to even think of going out, another put out and replaced my bins for me on collection day, so there was no need to make any gestures toward 'normal activities'

Obviously, having missed church on Sunday, and my favourite anthem "Drop drop slow tears" I also am losing out on the suddenly wonderful weather after a really cold grey week.

This, in case you hadn't noticed is a  bout of self-indulgent self-pity of the first order.

Having got it off my chest (so to speak), I should feel guilty but relieved.

I don't.

If I were a baby I'd throw my rattle out of the pram.

If I were a toddler I'd stamp and scream.

But I'm just a miserable, whinging old woman, sweating and whining.

And Blogging

Thursday, 26 May 2016

They're Back

Planet Arachnia is sending out missionaries again.

I suppose 'they' could have been lurking here in dark corners for a while but I suspect this is a new team sent to raise hair on necks.

A couple of days ago reaching for the hand towel in the kitchen I just managed in time to spot a large thick-legged member of the species squatting in all its ghastly leggy blackness waiting for my unsuspecting fingers, with an evil glint in its eye.

Opening the back door I shook the towel out into the garden and saw it scuttle off at speed.

The usual feeling of panic subsided slowly and I gradually lowered my guard and began to move around the house more naturally again.

Then last evening/night I was about to go to bed when I saw a suspicious movement against the skirting board of the office.

Reaching for the waste-paper bin I grabbed my long-handled feather duster and advanced on the enemy which suddenly shot behind the bookcase.  With a "damn you stay there" I poked at the edge of the bookcase, to no avail.

It appears to have vanished - but - I know better.    It is just waiting for me to drop my guard again and out it will come

What instinct is it that prompts these horrible creatures to choose the worst possible moment to 'drop' in?  How do they know we are just relaxing and ready for bed, or settling comfortably to read and how much does it amuse them to know the fear and agitation they  cause in cowardly hearts like mine?

This is only the beginning of the season.   HELP.

Thursday, 12 May 2016

Time to take it easy

What a lovely idea.

The prospect of taking life at a slower pace is a very appealing one, but not the same in practice as in prospect.

For the past (almost) seven years I have been trying to fill my every  waking minute with activities.

The alternative seemed to be  to sit and examine my navel or stare at the walls and try to discover the meaning of life.  So, I sought activity, busyness, occupation to the extent that I now find myself longing for a day off.

This is a "normal" week.  Sunday  leave the house at 9.00 am for St Mary's,  Back home usually about 12.00 noon.  Monday Tuesday and Wednesday leave the house at 9.00 back about 1.30pm
Thursday shop or do household chores , Friday am same as Thursday but choir practice from 7 to 8.30 ish (out of the house at 6.30 back at 9.00pm
Saturday unless there are activities at St Mary's or in the Close household chores, paper-work etc.

But, wonder of wonders I now have a cleaner who does 2 hours every Monday, and from the 26th May I will have a gardener for a couple of hours,

The huge relief I feel at finally getting some help is perhaps a reflection of the build-up of stress I have been experiencing as my house became gradually grubbier and my garden turned into a weedy jungle.

Despite my bravado and apparent "I don't care what it looks like" attitude, I have been feeling slowly more and more aware that having someone in for coffee or a chat was beginning to feel embarrassing
as the general scruffiness of my surroundings grew daily worse.

Hopefully in a few weeks I will once again feel happy to have unexpected visitors and who knows may even be proud of the garden again.

First steps taken.

Friday, 6 May 2016

Quality or Quantity?

Yesterday, or rather evening, we at St. M's celebrated Ascension Day.

Services on a weekday evening are generally poorly attended, but I think it's the first one we've ever held in the Chancel.

On one side sat the congregation and the servers, and on the other the 'choir', or the seven of us who had turned up.

The organist sat at the keyboard and the Rector on the Altar steps.

fifteen of us in all.

While some of us were muttering sadly that it was hardly worth turning up, our lovely choir-mistress/musical director remarked quietly that it was not a concert but an act of worship.

Viewed in that light it was a lovely intimate and very personal little service and we all left at the end feeling lighter-hearted than we were on arrival.

The fact that the anthem was one I didn't like, and the fact that I had the 2nd reading had made me a bit nervous and uneasy, so the short but good sermon and the close atmosphere had a mood-changing affect which I very seldom experience.

Sometimes the 'message' gets lost in a big busy well attended service where quantity rules.

This time we had quality, and very good it was too.

Deo Gracias.