Oh to be in England now that April's there

I think that's how the ridiculous poem goes.

What a  month.  We have had unseasonable warmth, rain (in torrents), hail, sleet and snow, Frost and very cold winds, in fact a year's weather  in a month.

Last Saturday we had a service for the Queen's 90th birthday at St. M's, with all the great and good of the county in attendance.

On Sunday afternoon we had the Annual Scouts Dedication Service and St George's Day combined.

Somehow we seem to have miraculously avoided the worst extremes of this crazy month and have avoided being either drowned, frozen or struck by lightning.  Can't imagine quite how.

My theory is that we have had several centuries of St. George being in charge of things and now things  have changed.  The dragon is taking over the proceedings and the weird weather we are experiencing is him, flexing his muscles.

There are buds on my early roses, leaves and buds on my tree peony but the daffodils are still in bloom.  That is, until Hector (that's the dragon) singes them with his hot breath.

This morning I watched a crow dipping some bread I'd thrown out in the ice-covered bird-bath before taking off with it.  Perhaps if he had hung around for a while Hector might have toasted it for him.

At present, 10.58 pm it is pouring and the rain and wind are lashing the back of the house.

Who knows what we may get tomorrow.

Thank heaven it will be May on Sunday.

A Head Like A Sieve.

I have never been good with money matters, do not understand how most investment systems work, and am deeply afraid of losing the little money I have.

It has therefore been quite a struggle since John's death to keep an eye on what is in the bank and what it is doing.

My one attempt to save over a set period and leave at the end of the set time with the original sum intact, plus, hopefully some interest, has now matured and I spent an hour and a half with a lovely helpful girl in my bank yesterday trying to look into the future.

We have finally sorted everything out to my satisfaction and with one further appointment made for a few weeks time, I left the bank feeling reasonably happy.

Since it was one of my St. Mary's mornings I made my way there after the meeting.  Under my arm was the black leather folder with all the papers detailing what we had discussed.

After my morning stint I headed for Marks and Spencer to do some grocery shopping then down to the bus stop to get my bus home.

A few hours later I realised that I no longer had my folder.

Panic !!!

This morning I phoned the Church, Marks and Spencer and the bank to try to recover my papers.

No joy.

Thinking I may have left them on the bus I tried unsuccessfully to find a lost property number for the bus service I use.  There is no number.

As I had to shop in town again this morning I talked to the bus driver who kindly rang round a few of his colleagues.  Again no success.

My folder appears to have vanished and I am desperately trying to remember exactly what information is contained in the papers.  I think (hope) there is no card or pin number and the bank seems to think it will not be possible for anyone to try to use them fraudulently.

Here's hoping.

I fear I am a bear of very little brain and what brain there is appears to be scrambled..

NUISANCE CALLS AND STRESS!!!!!!

This is how I feel.  

So far in the past 24 hours I have had 4 phone calls from an organisation calling itself UK Lifestyle, or Lifestyle UK.

This is the same organisation which nearly drove me mad last year and I foolishly imagined they had given up.

All the callers are Asian, mostly but not all male, and they all begin with am I speaking with Mrs Barnez.

Followed by good morning/afternoon and how are you today Ma'am?

 So far I have managed to refrain from telling them exactly how I am, but told the last one to stop phoning me.

Currently I  am pretty stressed anyway, (domestic problems), and my blood-pressure is rapidly reaching boiling point.  To say nothing of the fact that stress makes my PD tremors return despite medication

What on earth will it take to get rid of these awful invasive leech-like pests?

If I knew where to buy one I would buy a whistle and every time they  call blow it deafeningly.

BT are totally uninterested and apparently unable to do anything to stop them.

I was about to go and have an brief rest (;possibly nap), but am so het up I feel like pulling the phone cable out of the wall and stamping on it.

I think I'll join a nunnery.

Low Sunday

What a very strange feeling.

Today is Low Sunday, a concept I find difficult to understand.

Apparently the choir is  not required (de-choired), so we may have the day off.

In previous years I have attended church as part of the congregation on this day, but this year have decided to have a day away from St. M's

Despite the assurance of all those who know about these esoteric things that I am not expected to be there, I feel guilty.

It has stopped raining and the sun is out.  I can have as lazy or active a day as I choose, yet there is this cloud of guilt hanging over me and I feel unable to relax. (Like the days when I played truant from school).

It seems to me that guilt is built into the fabric of humankind in case we should decide we might like to enjoy ourselves.

In the 17th Century the Pilgrim Fathers were depicted as miserable, long-faced, psalm-singing, bible-quoting zealots whose belief in God was a sober and fearful thing.  They didn't last long (not in this country anyway) but perhaps they left us with this legacy of guilt.

Original sin is a Roman Catholic concept but where did permanent guilt come from?

Please feel free to ignore my melancholic mumblings but if you have any thoughts on the subject I'd like to hear them.